walked a pace away from me, breaking my touch."Why should I subject myself to being chased around the proverbial desk by my boss--or my bosses son, if you insist? You have been told we're in the 21st century, right? Between the crack about me being better looking than Angelo to the sex on the deck outside my window . . ."
"Porthole."
"Okay, porthole."
"I think it's nice to call things by their proper names."
"Well then, the proper name for what you are doing is known as 'sexual harrassment'."
"Oh come on ."
"You should count yourself lucky if all I do is abandon ship."
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry I tried to kiss you."
"You did kiss me."
"It was the attempt I regret, not the event." She looked confused. "Look, I wish I hadn't rushed you. Wish I hadn't made you uncomfortable. But I won't lie and say I'm not glad to have done it."
Lara put more space between us. Her face was unreadable. I wondered if I could have so completely misinterpreted her 'female semaphore' as she so cleverly put it. Was I just so used to women coming on to me that I figured every one of them was? If so, I was as unbelievably stuck on myself as she said I was.
"Here's my deal, take it or leave it. You back down on the whole smexy whorehound routine while we cross the pond. At least take it somewhere other than my porthole or my galley and no more naked visits in the wee small hours, okay?"
"What do I get out of it?" My question got the first real laugh I'd heard from her. It trilled like melodic bells through me. I wanted to make her laugh again and again.
"You get a damn good cook. You get the opportunity not to have your ass sued off for being such a dick."
At that point it felt like a stay of execution. It hadn't dawned on me that she could very well bolt when we reached the Bahamas. Once we were well underway for the crossing, it wouldn't be nearly as easy for her to overreact. I had way overplayed my hand. Now I was going to have to crawl back from from the rear. It was my mistake to try a tired routine with her. What worked with Phebes' friends was a big-ass red flag to a girl of Lara's ilk.
I couldn't blame her. From the moment she'd stepped on board El Lobo, I'd been alternately a snob, a sexist, and undoubtedly the kind of predator that the good Professor's Lamb tried to keep well away from their fierce little kitten.
Protesting that I was 'so much more' than what met her eye sounded hollow even when I said it in my head.
Chapter 11--Lara
The urge to run was intense. On a two hundred foot boat I was limited. I knew I sounded a lot stronger than I felt inside. Better to keep the act going than give in to the urge to hide. Maybe this was the universe's way of testing me to see if any lessons ever got through my thick head. 'Suck it up' had become my battle cry.
"So, Mr. Wolf, are we finished here? I mean . . . do we understand each other?"
"If you're asking me whether I will abide by your deal, then yes. But understand each other? Not even close." He shook his head at me and arched his eyebrows in an exaggerated expression of disappointment. "And I really would appreciate it if you'd call me Morgan. Every time you say 'Mr. Wolf, this nasty image of my father pops into my head."
I was curious about the negative references to the senior Mr. Wolf. Both Richard and Morgan had given me a clear picture that they held the man in low regard. I squashed my interest. It was a bad time to get into a conversation about anything as intimate as his family relationships.
"Okay, Morgan ." I loved the name and wished I didn't. It was different. Old-fashioned. Classy. Sexy. It was the kind of name that felt warm, round and tasty when I said it.
I headed for the elevator. To my relief he didn't stop me but I felt the sear of his eyes on my back. It made the few short steps I took seem like a mile. When I turned around to press the button he was leaning against the rail, corded arms crossed over his broad chest and a wistful trace of a smile
"Porthole."
"Okay, porthole."
"I think it's nice to call things by their proper names."
"Well then, the proper name for what you are doing is known as 'sexual harrassment'."
"Oh come on ."
"You should count yourself lucky if all I do is abandon ship."
"Okay, okay. I'm sorry I tried to kiss you."
"You did kiss me."
"It was the attempt I regret, not the event." She looked confused. "Look, I wish I hadn't rushed you. Wish I hadn't made you uncomfortable. But I won't lie and say I'm not glad to have done it."
Lara put more space between us. Her face was unreadable. I wondered if I could have so completely misinterpreted her 'female semaphore' as she so cleverly put it. Was I just so used to women coming on to me that I figured every one of them was? If so, I was as unbelievably stuck on myself as she said I was.
"Here's my deal, take it or leave it. You back down on the whole smexy whorehound routine while we cross the pond. At least take it somewhere other than my porthole or my galley and no more naked visits in the wee small hours, okay?"
"What do I get out of it?" My question got the first real laugh I'd heard from her. It trilled like melodic bells through me. I wanted to make her laugh again and again.
"You get a damn good cook. You get the opportunity not to have your ass sued off for being such a dick."
At that point it felt like a stay of execution. It hadn't dawned on me that she could very well bolt when we reached the Bahamas. Once we were well underway for the crossing, it wouldn't be nearly as easy for her to overreact. I had way overplayed my hand. Now I was going to have to crawl back from from the rear. It was my mistake to try a tired routine with her. What worked with Phebes' friends was a big-ass red flag to a girl of Lara's ilk.
I couldn't blame her. From the moment she'd stepped on board El Lobo, I'd been alternately a snob, a sexist, and undoubtedly the kind of predator that the good Professor's Lamb tried to keep well away from their fierce little kitten.
Protesting that I was 'so much more' than what met her eye sounded hollow even when I said it in my head.
Chapter 11--Lara
The urge to run was intense. On a two hundred foot boat I was limited. I knew I sounded a lot stronger than I felt inside. Better to keep the act going than give in to the urge to hide. Maybe this was the universe's way of testing me to see if any lessons ever got through my thick head. 'Suck it up' had become my battle cry.
"So, Mr. Wolf, are we finished here? I mean . . . do we understand each other?"
"If you're asking me whether I will abide by your deal, then yes. But understand each other? Not even close." He shook his head at me and arched his eyebrows in an exaggerated expression of disappointment. "And I really would appreciate it if you'd call me Morgan. Every time you say 'Mr. Wolf, this nasty image of my father pops into my head."
I was curious about the negative references to the senior Mr. Wolf. Both Richard and Morgan had given me a clear picture that they held the man in low regard. I squashed my interest. It was a bad time to get into a conversation about anything as intimate as his family relationships.
"Okay, Morgan ." I loved the name and wished I didn't. It was different. Old-fashioned. Classy. Sexy. It was the kind of name that felt warm, round and tasty when I said it.
I headed for the elevator. To my relief he didn't stop me but I felt the sear of his eyes on my back. It made the few short steps I took seem like a mile. When I turned around to press the button he was leaning against the rail, corded arms crossed over his broad chest and a wistful trace of a smile
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