Kept for His Appetites Read Online Free Page A

tray to the skydeck. No-one there. I went to the bar, nobody. I got to the sunlounge behind the empty foredeck, and I thought that was empty, too. As I turned to leave, I heard his low voice, coming from a chair in a dark corner.
     
    “No tasty snacks for me, then?”
     
    The evening sun was so strong from the side, and it made the shadow so deep that I could hardly see him. It was him, I knew his voice. And I felt like he’d caught me. Caught me at something I shouldn’t have been doing. It was like he’d caught me thinking about him. I felt so ridiculous. Was he trying to catch me out? What was he doing, hiding in a corner on his own boat? And why did I feel so hot, so clumsy, so gawky like this. I went to a low table, and started to put out the snacks.
     
    “They look great.” he said, and then, “It’s all been excellent.”
     
    I felt him looking at me. Like he was waiting to weigh my response. But I still couldn’t even see him. It was just my over-active imagination, that’s what I told myself. Still, the crockery rattled as I bent to lay it all out.
     
    He said, “Are you pleased?”
     
    Me? I hadn’t been making all these little finger-food treats for me. Well, I had tasted them, of course. You have to. You always need to taste food that you’re preparing. But what did it matter whether I was pleased or not? Still, there were only the two of us here, even though I couldn’t see him. With nobody else around, I didn’t have his guests to defer or demur to, or whatever it is that you’re supposed to do to the guests in silver service, and I was determined to take the opportunity to talk to him like a person, and not someone constrained in a role. Professionally, not like some kind of a servant. But still I wanted to hold myself in check. My mouth is a demon for leading me into all kinds of trouble, and I didn’t want this situation getting out of hand. I raised a hand to try and shield my eyes, to get a chance to see him. No good, I could barely make out his shape in the chair. I said,
     
    “I’ve been quite happy with the food that I served, yes. With no preparation, no warning of what I ingredients I was going to have or what I would have to work with,” how was I doing? Was I sounding professional, like I knew what I was doing? Did I sound like I was on top of the situation? I couldn’t tell. “There were plenty of tasty things in the galley, and I think I made,” OK, don’t go too far, “I think I made quite a nice variety of refreshments and repasts.” ‘Refreshments and repasts.’ Cute. That’ll do, girl, you got out of that just fine. Don’t say any more now.
     
    “Were there many complaints?” Oh, there you go. Like a little sauce with that? More spice maybe? You idiot, my inner voice growled. His voice was a quiet rumble.
     
    “Not too many, no. Although the way that you wore the dips got some attention,” he paused. My heart thumped. My mouth was dry. I waited for what felt like a long time. At last he went on,
     
    “Mostly flattering attention, you may be pleased to know.”
     
    I could hear his grin. And I knew that I wasn’t imagining it.
     
    “Well, one of your guests seemed to think that the dips would look better on me. Who am I to argue?” was what I wanted to say. But I managed to hold that one back. Instead, I said,
     
    “So, why did you ask me to do this? It looks like you have someone already, and if she had quit, or got fired or was off this weekend, I’m sure you could easily have got someone from an agency. Why me?”
     
    “I had planned to do that exactly. I was about to get someone from an agency, but then I enjoyed what you did in the diner.” He was talking about the food now, right?
     
    “I thought you’d be good to have along for the weekend.”
     
    My face flushed. While I still couldn’t see him, and it was infuriating me, I had the sense that he was watching me closely. I was something he could just pick up and ‘have along.’