The Wrong Gentleman

“I’ll take him his tequila and see if I can get any more information,” I said, pulling a lowball glass from the cupboard.

“See if he wants anything to eat now, and then what time he wants dinner served.”

“Will do,” I said, setting out the tequila bottle and glass of ice on the tray and heading out of the kitchen.

As I passed through the saloon, I spotted Landon’s back as he pulled up the fenders now that we’d moved off the dock. Walt seemed engrossed in the Wall Street Journal, ignoring the activity that went on around him.

“Skylar,” he said as the sliding doors swished open. “How absolutely wonderful to see you. And you’ve brought my favorite tequila. Clever girl.”

I glanced across at Landon, but he still had his back to us.

“Yes, I managed to track it down.”

“Well, you must taste it at some point. Perhaps tonight. Would you keep me company at dinner, since my guests don’t arrive until tomorrow?” he asked as I passed him his tequila.

Dinner?

“You want to have dinner off the yacht tonight?” I asked, wondering if Landon could hear us.

“No, we can have it just here.” He patted the table he was sitting at. “The chef the captain brought aboard is just superb. But then again, I’m sure you know that.”

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t think of anything more awkward than eating on the yacht, my own team waiting on me. And could I have dinner with another man when Landon and I were . . . spending the summer together? I just didn’t know how to say no to a guest.

My head was spinning, as if I’d forgotten how to be a good yacht stewardess, taking everything in my stride, refusing to let any request be too much. I was flustered and confused and needed to organize things in my brain.

“That’s such a kind invitation.” Was it my imagination or was Landon taking his time winding the rope up? Was he interested in my response? Would it matter to him if I went to dinner with Walt? “Obviously, I’ll have to check with the captain.” I needed to buy myself some time to figure out what to do. I didn’t want to upset Walt. He was the client, after all.

“Of course, darlin’.” His Texan accent seemed a little more pronounced since he’d been back aboard. “You follow protocol and come back to me.”

“What time would you like to eat?” I asked, glancing up as Landon finished what he was doing and made his way up the starboard side of the boat.

“Eight is fine. Wear something pretty.”

I smiled, flipped my tray under my arm, and headed back into the saloon.

Dinner was just dinner, right?

But then why did I have this dark feeling clawing at my insides? Instinctively, I wanted to run to Landon. He was logical and clear thinking. He would know what to do. But it scared me how more and more I’d begun to rely on him. I couldn’t pretend that every moment I spent with Landon didn’t make me yearn for more of him. But I knew I had to resist him. I understood that whatever it was we were in the middle of was temporary. We’d known it from the start, and nothing had changed.

It was just . . . I knew I’d miss him more than I should when the season was over.

The thought made my heart ache and my eyes sting.

As I reached the kitchen, I dropped the tray on the counter and made my way through the galley.

“You okay?” Anton asked.

I nodded, scared if I said anything, every mixed-up thought in my brain would tumble out. After plodding down the stairs, I knocked on Landon’s cabin door.

No answer. But why would there be? We’d only just come on duty. But I wanted to feel close to him, feel him, smell him, so I opened the door, hoping to just lie on his bed for a few minutes.

I stepped back as I caught him coming out of the bathroom.

“I knocked,” I said.

He pushed his hands through his hair. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I said, closing the door. “Did you hear Walt invite me to dinner? On the yacht.” I rolled my eyes.