Page 25 of Below Deck Billionaire
9
The rest of the week followed pretty much the same pattern as the first day. Theo driving the boat around islands, stopping here and there as the whim took them. Water sports, swimming, beer drinking, tenders taken into island villages, freshly caught and cooked seafood bought straight from fisherman plying their catch from their berths in stone-walled harbours.
And in the evenings, his daily dose of torture thanks to Tiffany and that uniform.
He’d seen her during the day of course, serving drinks and meals and being friendly and chatty with the guys, usually about Australia and her family cattle station in the Top End – as it was apparently known.
They loved her, a fact they never tired of telling him.
And as far as crew went, she was exceptionally good. Efficient, friendly, no drama. Fitting in with not just his guests but the crew, who also loved her and never tired of telling him, either. But it was evening Tiffany that had him tossing and turning in his sheets every night. Sexy, bossy, in charge. Running the tables with a strict decorum but always with a sassy flash of her red lips and that wicked sense of humour.
Goading, charming, daring them to part with their chips.
Until finally the last night which, frankly, despite the good times this past week catching up with his old friends, Theo had been looking forward to, far too much. Only one more session with Tiffany in that uniform.
He might actually manage to keep his sanity intact.
Because it was their last night on the boat – and probably because Theo just wanted it over and done with – the guys were apparently indefatigable, and by the time he ordered their drunk and comically disorderly asses out of his saloon at almost two in the morning, he was unaccountably twitchy. There was an itch in his blood and a tension in his muscles and a throb in his groin that made him want to peel his skin off.
Partly because, unlike his friends, he’d barely had anything to drink. Mostly because tonight, instead of keeping eye contact with him to a minimum, Tiffany had side-eyed him so often it was a wonder she hadn’t developed a nystagmus.
Which was the tuxedo’s fault.
When Fabian had suggested a few days back that they should have some tuxedos delivered to the boat and wear them for their last casino night to surprise Tiffany, it had seemed like a fun idea and the guys had been all in.
And shehadbeen surprised.
In fact, she’d gaped as they’d sauntered into the saloon in their black pants and black jackets complete with black satin lapel, snowy-white shirts and black bowties. Then she’d laughed, inspecting each man and nodding with approval, dropping a quip about being in the presence of the Rat Pack.
But then her gaze landed on him and it seemed like the dumbest idea in the history of dumb ideas. Because there’d been no brisk approval, no quick quip. Just the parting of that red mouth and the cling of her gaze as it had lingered over the contours of his tux. From the broad cut of his shoulders down to the tips of his shiny black leather shoes.
And up again.
In that instant Theo’s entire world narrowed down to the thorough caress of her gaze. The noise and chatter of the guys helping themselves to drinks had receded as the tempo of his heartbeat, a slow thud in his ears, had taken over.
When her eyes had returned to his, Theo had seen the same hunger in her gaze he’d seen the night of the wedding. When he’d also been wearing a tux.
But she’d merely said, ‘Don’t scrub up too badly there, boss,’ as she’d pulled her gaze off him to the activity at the bar and asked, ‘Who wants to lose their money first?’
Unanimously, the guys had nominated Fabian and laughter filled the saloon, breaking Theo out of his daze, his surroundings coming back into sharp focus again, his body systems coming back online. Air had rushed in and out of his lungs, his legs had solidified beneath him and, consciously, he’d slipped his business mask on because it was going to be the only way he’d remember that TiffanyfuckingWainwright was totally off limits.
And he’d needed it every time her hazel gaze had strayed in his direction.
Unlike other nights, she hadn’t rationed her interactions with him, hadn’t kept a tight rein on how many times she looked at him. Sure, they may have only been brief lapses, but every single one of them had left sticky fingerprints all over his libido.
And now here they were. Alone again. His one-and-done rule and that fucking no-sex dare doing little to cool the fever running though his blood.
Would Ari know if he broke it? No. But Theo would know…
‘I’m sorry about keeping you up so late,’ he murmured as he headed for the bar and the whisky like he’d done that first time but not since.
Because he hadn’t wanted to put himself in the path of temptation.
Tonight, though, he wasn’t feeling rational. He owned this goddamned boat – he could sit in this bar all fucking night if he wanted. Of course, he should not do that. He should not have the drink he was pouring. He should not do anything other than get his ass to bed.
But the path to temptation was littered with should nots.
‘I don’t mind.’
