Authors: MJ Duncan
Veritas
Veritas
MJ Duncan
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by MJ Duncan
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means
—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author.
Cover art ©
2014 MJ Duncan
Table of Contents
It was getting late, and Lauren Murphy knew that she had to be up before dawn the next morning to begin her new job, but she was content to enjoy what was left of her first night in Saint Thomas sitting on the sweeping patio at Jack’s. The restaurant was across the street from her hotel, and it fronted the western edge of the harbor in Charlotte Amalie, which gave her breathtaking views of both the boats moored in the harbor as well as the island’s lush mountains.
The sound of plates shattering against the concrete patio behind her had her turning in her seat to inspect the damage, and she shook her head as she forced herself to turn back around.
Not my kitchen, not my problem,
she thought as she smoothed her hands over the napkin on her lap.
It was still hard for her to believe that she was
not in the kitchen at Clarke’s on the Upper West Side, her black chef’s coat buttoned primly to the neck and her sleeves rolled to her elbows. It was, after all, what she had done every night for the last ten years. She had dedicated herself to her craft, spending practically every night since she graduated from the Culinary Institute of America in one high-end kitchen and then another, steadily working her way up through the cutthroat New York restaurant scene, until, at thirty-two, she was considered amongst the best of the best—despite the fact that she still only held the title of sous chef. The recognition was nice, it certainly made the hours she put into her career worthwhile, but she had reached the point where she was too exhausted to care.
She stretched her legs out beneath the table and sighed as she ran a hand through her hair. New York was the last t
hing she wanted to think about. She had taken the job as a private chef aboard a charter yacht for a few weeks to take a break from the stress of constantly trying to be the best and just enjoy cooking again. And, as a bonus, she would get to explore a part of the world she had always been fascinated by as a girl growing up in the Midwest.
A lithe figure cutting purposefully through the tables just to her ri
ght drew her attention, and a slow smile tweaked her lips as she studied the new arrival. The woman was tall, with an athletic build and luscious sun-bronzed skin, both of which were shown off to utter perfection by her tight jeans and fitted tank top. Her hair was cut in a shaggy pixie style, the short auburn strands windblown in a most appealing way, and the smile on her face was absolutely enchanting. Lauren unabashedly ran her eyes over the woman’s body, lingering on the ample swell of her breasts and the taut curve of her ass. It had been far too long since she had taken a woman to bed.
Her ogling was interrupted by her waiter
setting the glass of wine she had ordered in front of her. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Just the check, please.
” Lauren nodded her thanks as she reached for her glass, and the moment he was gone she immediately looked for the beautiful brunette.
It did not take Lauren long to find her standing at the bar, chatting up a leggy blonde in a red spaghetti-strap
sundress. The light from the bar made it easy for her to see the way the brunette leaned in closer to the blonde, tan fingers trailing lightly over her forearm as she said something that made her laugh.
The return of her waiter with her check forced L
auren’s attention away from the women, and she cleared her throat softly as she dug in her purse for her wallet. She slid her credit card into the leather folder he was holding out for her without even bothering to glance at the tab, and dropped her wallet onto the table. “Here you go.”
He nodded and hurried off to the register beside the kitchen to run the card, and her eyes drifted back to the two women at the bar. The brunette leaned in to brush a light kiss over the blonde’s cheek before whispering something in her ear. Though
Lauren knew her staring was incredibly rude, she could not look away. The blonde nodded in response to whatever it was the brunette had suggested, and Lauren bit her lip as she watched the blonde drag a playful finger down the middle of the brunette’s chest before sliding sensuously off her barstool and sauntering toward the parking lot.
The brunette flashed a friendly wave at the bartender as she
followed the blonde, and Lauren’s eyes widened in surprise when she saw the bartender and some of the waitstaff exchanging money in the wake of her exit.
“Did they seriously bet on whether or not she could pick that girl up?”
She shook her head, leaned back in her chair, and picked up the wine glass she had been idly spinning on the tabletop as she had watched the two women at the bar. Lauren sipped at the drink and gazed softly at the spot the brunette had been standing only minutes before, wistfully thinking that she would have quite liked to trade places with the beautiful blonde.
Her waiter returned a few minutes later, smiling politely as he held up the back of her card to her. “I’m sorry, but
you wrote on here that I’m supposed to check your ID?”
“Of course.
” Lauren pulled her driver’s license from her wallet and held it out for him. “Here you go.”
“New York,” he observed, making a show of holding the front of the credit card to the ID to double-check that the names matched.
“Yep.”
He handed her both her credit card and the
receipt for her to sign. “I hope you enjoy your vacation, then.”
“Thanks, but I’m not on vacation.
I’m going to be chef on the
Veritas
for a couple of cruises.” She waved a hand at the gleaming red and white catamaran that was moored at the end of a dock near the mouth of the marina. “I start tomorrow.”
“I see,” the waiter drawled, a slow grin tweaking his lips.
Lauren frowned. His smile was entirely too knowing and amused. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I’m sure you and Grey will get along just fine.”
Lauren’s frown deepened. There was definitely something going on that she did not understand, and it apparently had something to do with the captain of the
Veritas
. “What do you mean? Do you know Grey Wells?”
The waiter laughed and nodded. “Everybody knows Grey, but just forget that I said anything. Don’t worry about whatever you’ve heard, most of it isn’t true. People like to make up stories to amuse themselves, but even Wells can’t sleep with
that
many women. Good luck on your first sail tomorrow,” he added, smirking as he knocked lightly on her table before turning on his heel and heading over to another table where the customer was waving a hand to catch his attention.
Lauren chewed her lip thoughtfully
as she slipped her credit card back into her wallet, and could not help but wonder what, exactly, she had gotten herself into by accepting the chef’s position aboard the
Veritas
.
The barest hint of sun was beginning to peek over the eastern horizon, setting fire to the cobalt sea that seemed to stretch to infinity, when Lauren made her way down an otherwise empty dock the next morning. A light onshore breeze tickled her bare legs, and she marveled at how nice it was to be wearing shorts in early November.
She slowed to a stop beside the stern of the
Veritas,
and hitched the duffel bag she was wearing like a backpack higher on her shoulders as she studied the yacht that would be her home for the next two and a half weeks. Light from the main salon poured out onto the back deck through open sliding glass doors, casting a golden hue over the two tables that framed the surprisingly roomy space. Modern classical music, full of lilting flutes, heavy beats, and energetic violins was playing over the yacht’s speakers, and Lauren knew that even if she called out to make her presence known, whoever was inside the yacht would not hear.
Nerves she had managed to subdue until that moment flared inside her, making her stomach flutter uncomfortably, and she drew a deep breath to solidify her resolve before she climbed aboard. Her arrival was effectively masked by the music playing, and she made her way slowly across the deck toward the open doors
in search of the yacht’s captain.
The salon was empty, which gave her time to just stop and take it all in for a moment. A gleaming banquette dining area with cream-colored leather cushions
was at the far left side of the room, and a matching sofa filled the right. Bookshelves were built into the wall behind the banquette and the sofa, and a colorful red and gold rug covered the floor in front of the couch. To her right was a small desk area with a computer and what she imagined had to be a satellite telephone. The galley was on her left. It was U-shaped and a much smaller space than she was used to working in, but very modern, with stainless appliances and black granite countertops. From where she was standing, she could see a decent-sized fridge, as well as a four-burner stove with a built-in grill above a single oven, and the sink anchored the peninsula that separated the galley from the rest of the room. Three barstools with leather seats that matched the banquette and the sofa were tucked under the overhanging counter, and Lauren’s mind instantly imagined using the space as both a prep-area and an eating area.
Lauren
was so lost in her examination of the galley that she failed to notice when she was no longer alone, and she jumped with someone cleared their throat behind her.
“
May I help you?”
The voice was a low, rough alto that sent pleasant shivers rolling down Lauren’s spine. “I’m sorry…” she began to apologize
as she turned around, but the remainder of her apology died on her tongue when she found herself looking at the woman from the bar the night before.
If Lauren had thought the brunette was beautiful from a distance, it was nothing compared to how she looked up-close.
She was perhaps an inch taller than her own five foot ten inch frame, and her eyes, the one feature Lauren had not been able to catalogue the night before, were a warm brown, flecked with streaks of gold that gave them a hypnotic depth that was nearly impossible to look away from. Lauren was acutely aware of the way the brunette’s eyes swept slowly over her body, and her stomach lurched at the almost horrified look that was on her face when their eyes met again. The brunette’s face seemed to pale as they stared at each other, and Lauren found herself thrown completely off-balance by the entire situation. The woman in front of her did not look upset at finding a stranger on her boat. She looked stunned. Like there was something about Lauren that absolutely terrified her.