After a few minutes, Jett came out of the bedroom fully dressed and offered to help. I let him read the information over my shoulder while I spoke with our chief of operations on the phone.
Surprisingly, Jett pulled out his own laptop and began scouring the internet for any updates on the weather, emergency preparedness in Nouméa, and any on-the-ground reports on social media.
I spent hours on calls and video conferences, monitoring the situation and arranging all the support we could for the crews and vessels, in addition to communicating with the impacted clients to assuage their fears. During all of those interminable hours, Jett brought me coffee and juice from the kitchen, the night staff followed later with the sorbetto we’d missed at dinner, and Jett continued to make himself helpful by printing off and pointing to legal-and-PR-approved language I could use when speaking to everyone.
By the time I finished my last media interview, thanking the Australian Maritime Safety Authority for their quick response and continued diligence, and my captains and crew for their stellar ship-handling and relentless care of our clients’ cargo, the sky was turning pink, and I was exhausted.
I stood and stretched, grateful Jett had gone to bed a couple of hours earlier when I’d asked him to. I’d assumed he’d retreated to his own room, so I was surprised to find him sleeping in my bed, curled up in the dead center. I couldn’t hold back a huff of soft laughter.
No more riding the rail.
I undressed to my underwear and slid in behind him, moving closer until I could fold him in my arms. He shifted and made a humming noise before settling back down with his hand over mine on his chest.
It was strange not to have the full swell of a woman’s breast to hold on to as I spooned him or the soft floral scent of hair products in my nose. But the way I fit around him was somehow still strangely comforting.
He was strong and hard in places. Like I could wrestle the fuck out of him or force him into positions without taking care to be delicate with him, and that would be agoodthing. Like I could shove him down to suck my morning wood before evengreeting him in the morning, and he wouldn’t be offended. Might even be turned on by it.
With Jett, I didn’t have any worry that he’d wake in the morning and complain that I’d abandoned him tonight before we’d had a chance to fuck. Or that my job was super boring. Or that I put my work first every time.
Were these things the benefit of a professional sex partner or a man?
Or both?
I tried to steady my breathing to let go of the residual stress from the work emergency. Thankfully, everyone in the Maris Holdings family was safe. Our vessels and cargo were safe.
And for a couple of days, I could enjoy the freedom of being with Jett Davis without having to worry about what anyone else thought or what it might mean.
If only the cyclone had been the only storm on the horizon.
14
JETT
I wokein Locke’s arms, plastered half-starfish-like across his chest and one long leg. There was no telling what time he’d finally come to bed, but I knew better than to risk waking him. Hopefully, his office wouldn’t start bothering him for several more hours because of the time difference.
After sneaking out of his bed to my own bathroom, I showered and dressed. Concetta was nowhere to be found, so I followed the cooking sounds and smell of bacon until I found the kitchen.
There was music playing on an honest-to-god radio with an antenna sticking up, propped on the counter next to a stack of papers and two pencil stubs pockmarked with teeth imprints. A middle-aged man in a chef’s coat and baggy black-and-white checked pants hummed along to the music.
“Mi scusi, potrei avere una tazza di caffè?” I asked in deliberately mispronounced beginner Italian. I fully expected the resident ornery chef to curse me out of his domain.
The man turned around and grinned. “Parli italiano?”
“Molto male, lo prometto.”
He wiped his hands on a nearby towel and held one out to shake. “Mr. Davis. Please welcome. I am Roberto Sanna.”
“Please call me Jett, and thank you for the incredible dinner last night. I’ve never had sorbetto like that. It was amazing. You’d better guard the leftovers. I plan to sneak in here in search of them one night.”
He laughed. “You would be welcome anytime. Come, let’s get your caffè. How do you like it?”
“Un cappuccino, per favore.”
He gestured to a nearby attendant, a young man this time, who immediately got to work on the large silver espresso machine on the other side of the commercial kitchen.
Roberto turned back to attend to his food, asking me at the same time how I’d like my eggs.
When my coffee and food were ready, I planted myself on the other side of the large central island, where there were plenty of stools and where the other man had been peeling potatoes before stopping to make my coffee.
