Page 44 of Obsession Under the Southern Stars

“In the kitchen.”

“Can you go and get it? I don’t want to eat on my own.”

He meets my eyes and his lips curve up. “All right.” He disappears, then comes back carrying his dish and two bottles of water.

“I’m not saying I want you to get in bed with me,” I add as he places the water on the bedside table.

He sighs and sits down from me, by my feet. “Foiled again.”

The two of us chuckle as we start eating.

“Is this from the restaurant?” I ask.

He nods. “Creamy Cajun chicken pasta.”

“It’s amazing.”

“It’d be nice with a glass of Sauvignon, but I didn’t think that was a good idea today. Maybe tomorrow, if you behave.”

I snort as I scoop up another forkful of pasta. “Not much chance of that.”

That makes him laugh. “Look,” he says, “I take everyone’s safety very seriously, but especially yours. You need to get a good night’s rest, and if you’re even remotely under the weather tomorrow, you’ll be confined to the boat. Understand?”

I scowl, but I nod.

“I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.” He points to where my fork is resting on the edge of the dish. “Eat.”

I’m so tired I barely have enough energy to pick the fork up, but I force myself to keep eating. It’s not an onerous task—the penne pasta is creamy and spicy, and the chicken is just right, moist and tender. I eat the lot and wash it down with several mouthfuls of cold water.

“That was really nice, thank you.” I give him the dish, and he places it on the tray with his on top.

“All right,” he says, observing the drooping of my eyelids. “Now you can sleep.”

“Thanks, boss.” I slide down the pillows, only then realizing I’m still wearing the hoodie. I lift the over-long sleeves to my face and bury my nose in them. “You smell nice,” I murmur, curling up.

His gaze drops to the hoodie, and his lips curve up. “It looks better on you.”

I smile and close my eyes.

I’m asleep before he even leaves the room.

*

I sleep all night, only waking once to visit the bathroom. When I finally wake for real, it’s close to seven a.m., and I feel refreshed and bursting with energy.

I shower, dress in my rash vest and dive shorts, pull on his hoodie over the top, and go out into the kitchen. Joel’s up and eating a bowl of muesli with fresh fruit. He spots the hoodie, but doesn’t say anything, then gestures at another bowl resting on the breakfast bar. “Morning. I ordered breakfast, hope that was okay.”

I sit opposite him and pull the bowl toward me. “Have you even been to bed?”

“Yeah, I slept well. Not as well as you, obviously, but then you are the weaker sex.”

I laugh and pour milk from the jug over the muesli. “Yeah, I’d like to see you going through childbirth.” As soon as the words are out, I stiffen, but I don’t think he notices.

“Point taken.” He grins and passes me a takeaway cup of coffee. “If it’s not hot enough, I can microwave it.”

I have a sip, trying to stay calm. “It’s fine, thanks. So, everything good for today?”

“How are you feeling?”

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