Chapter 16
RAFE
I ’d never been one to be impressed by things like fancy cars.
Or men driving them.
I grew up in an overcrowded city where walking and taking the tube were common. Fuck’s sake, I didn’t even have a driver’s license.
But seeing George behind the wheel had me squirming in my seat. He drove fast but he was totally in control. His whole demeanor since we’d left the ship seemed freer, more relaxed. And when he smiled at my joke about flirting—not a joke—I got that fluttery feeling in my stomach again.
Every passing minute with him revealed another aspect to the man that I wanted to explore. Like the trifle we’d had last night, I wanted to dive right in and taste every single layer.
We exited the highway and took a one lane road along the winding coastline. The sun was almost set and cast everything—sprawling estates, tall palms, and fruit trees—in golden light.
“This restaurant is located on a pier. It’s not big, but everything they serve is locally grown and caught,” George commented as we turned off the main road and unto a sandy laneway.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I replied. “I love this part of the country. Everything is lush, and a bit wild. The houses and buildings complement the scenery rather than competing with it. It’s so different from Miami, where everything has to be bigger to be better.”
“I agree with you. Quality is always more important,” George replied and grinned at me. “In anything that matters.”
“It’s not what you have, it’s what you do with it?” I quipped.
“Exactly.”
“George Bernard, are you actually flirting with me?” I asked.
He chuckled as we pulled into the parking lot.
We stopped at the edge of a sand dune lined with surf boards in a massive, colorful row. The lot was packed with cars, motorbikes, and bicycles. I’d have thought at this hour everyone from the beach would be gone, but there were plenty of people walking, swimming, and surfing.
George parked and walked round to open my door again.
“You’re spoiling me, you know that?” I told him as I unbuckled my seat belt.
“This isn’t spoiling,” he replied as he took off his sunglasses.
Then he offered his hand and I placed mine in his.
My hand tingled; fucking hell, my whole body lit up.
A lump in my throat lodged there and wouldn’t leave.
I slid out of the car and stood in front of him, eye to eye, my heart racing like a runaway train, faster and faster.
His eyes captured mine and I had no desire to escape.
“I’m a man of few words but greater action.
This is me, apologizing for every harsh word I’ve ever said to you.
For my stupidity at not taking the time and effort to see who you really are.
” He paused and bit his lower lip. “And this is also me, showing you how I feel about what’s happening now.
Unless I’m mistaken, something special is building between us. ”
Then he lifted my hand and kissed it, his eyes never straying from mine.
“I…I…”
My brain short-circuited. I could blame the heat, but I was no liar.
I shook my head. “Both of us were fools. And you’re not mistaken.”
Surprising myself, I leaned up and gently kissed his cheek.
It was a chaste kiss and yet my lips tingled, and my blood heated until I thought I might incinerate on the spot. George smelled so good, and I knew he would taste even better.
But the middle of a parking lot was not the place for our first kiss. I drew back, the simmering heat sparking as our eyes met.
If—no, not if— when , it happened, I wanted to take my time. For his pleasure, for mine. Like this incredible synergy building between us, our first kiss deserved a special moment.
I forced myself to look away, needing to calm down before we headed out in public. But I didn’t want to ruin the moment with a joke.
“Come on, it’s a bit of a walk to the restaurant and we have a table waiting for us.”
I moved aside as he closed the door and locked the car.
He offered his hand again and I readily took it, interlocking our fingers tightly.
George pointed to the far end of the beach and the wooden pier at the edge, where the restaurant was located.
It sat at the end, lit up with tiny lights as the sky darkened around us.
We walked over the dunes and down the beach, the gentle roll of the waves so peaceful and calming. People strolled by us, laughter and voices carrying in the air. A few minutes later, we reached the pier.
The boardwalk planks, pale from sand and salt, creaked under our feet as we headed up the stairs.
The view from the top was amazing; you could see for miles.
We walked the length of the dock towards the restaurant, and I noticed several couples and singles sitting and watching the waves from nearby benches.
The restaurant was built like a surf shack: a whitewashed cottage with loads of windows. A basket of thongs (flip-flops as they’re called in Miami) were set out near the entrance with a sign above it: “Slip on a pair and relax. You’re welcome.”
I laughed out loud as both George and I traded our shoes for bright neon thongs and headed inside. Pink painted walls greeted us, and on the ceiling, surf boards were displayed like artwork. Lovely smells of garlic and spices filled the air, and I just knew our meal was going to be epic.
“G’day folks, welcome to Landers’ Point. Do you have a reservation?” A young host greeted us with a smile.
“Yes, a table for two, under Bernard.”
The host tapped on their tablet and nodded. “Right this way.”
The place was smaller than I’d realized, about fifteen or so tables. But the best part was the view. The resto had picture windows that ran the entire length of the eastern wall and provided stunning views of the ocean. The host guided us to the last table at the end.
George pulled out a chair for me and once I got settled, sat beside me.
“This way I’m not obstructing your view of the water.”
“The water’s nice, but I’d rather look at you,” I responded and leaned into him.
George pulled on the collar of his shirt. “Would you like a drink to start? I know I need something to cool off.”
“White wine would be nice.”
Our server arrived and George ordered wine for me, and sparkling water for himself. The prix fixe three-course menu featured local seafood, caught daily. Tonight they offered shrimp ceviche, grilled tuna, and a tropical pavlova for dessert.
“I’ve never asked before, but how did you come to work for my brother?” I asked as we dug into the fresh and spicy ceviche.
“He never told you?”
“No.”
“We met three years ago when I was the captain of a private yacht in the Mediterranean. I did the summer runs at that time. Rowan was a guest on board for the weekend. It was only my second day on the job when I overheard homophobic slurs from the owner and his crew. When I confronted the owner, he told me to put up with it or get off the boat. So, I packed up my bag and was leaving the ship when I noticed Rowan in an argument with the same arsehole about the same behavior. Rowan left the ship with me, told me about his purchase of Now, Voyager , and offered me the job.”
“Wow. That’s quite the meeting. I hope that twat’s megayacht sunk.”
“No. But he got arrested for drug smuggling a year later,” George replied.
“Sounds like something from one of Dylan’s movie scripts.”
George nodded. “The yachting world has its share of drama.”
“You said it was a summer job. What did you do in the winter months?”
“I chartered my own boat in the British Virgin Islands.”
“Like two- or three-day excursions, or day trips?” I asked, intrigued.
“Day trips only. I don’t have the patience to host multiday trips solo. But I love fishing, so hosting a few people for a couple of hours every day hardly felt like work.”
“I’ve never been.”
“Deep sea fishing?”
“Nope.”
“We’ll have to rectify that. We have time while we’re sailing up the coast, and there are lots of great spots.”
“I’ll need hands-on lessons,” I replied as I turned to him.
“I told you before, I’m always at your service.”
His green eyes swirled with heat.
“Do I get to hold a big pole?” I asked, trying to keep a serious face.
George laughed out loud. “You can certainly hold on to mine. But remember to grip it firmly.”
“Like you need to ask. And I thought I was supposed to be flirting with you .”
“I’ve picked up a bit watching you over the past two years.”
“Watching?” I asked, curious to know more about this surprise revelation.
“Observing,” George replied as a flush crept up his cheeks. “It’s part of my job.”
“I’ve been watching you too. I kept wondering why I annoyed you so much. What had I done or said that offended you? I was intensely curious about who you were and why you hated me.”
He placed his arm around the back of my chair.
“Never hate. Never. Confused is more like it. I was intrigued by you, but I was tongue-tied. I didn’t know how to start a proper conversation.
You’re fourteen years younger than me, stunningly gorgeous, charming, outgoing, quick-witted.
I figured you wouldn’t want to be bothered talking to a quiet old git with grey hair. ” He pointed to his head.
“You were wrong. I thought you were hot as fuck from the moment I met you.”
“What?!” George’s voice bellowed in the small space and heads from every table turned our way.
“So much for being quiet,” I teased with a smile as I leaned my head towards him. I placed my hand under the table and gripped his knee. His answering jolt was very satisfying. “And yes, I was attracted to you from the start. Remember Christmas?”
“How could I ever forget our first row? I’ve never heard the term ‘cock cage’ used in lunchtime conversation before,” he chuckled.
“It was after that, when everyone went swimming. I was up on deck with Rowan, trying to calm him down. He was freaking out about his feelings for Andrew. Anyways, I spotted you coming out of the water, and I nearly had a heart attack. The water was dripping down your chest. I love your hairy chest, have I mentioned that?” I ran my hand up over his firm thigh, higher and higher. “Is this all right? Me touching you?”
George nodded.
“You came out of that water, and I wanted to lick off every drop. Then I noticed your black swim shorts and the way the wet material clung to your enormous c?—”
“Check, please!” George yelled out.