The Night in Lover's Bay (EBOOK)

A disenchanted superyacht chef and a hunk of a deckhand. Will a hot night between the sheets cure wanderlust?

I expected this job to be perfect—fancy tasting menus while schmoozing elite clientele and island hopping in the Caribbean.

Instead, we’re stuck in Antigua, with nothing but boat work.

I accidentally saw my coworker naked on my first day.

And I can’t stop thinking about him.

When the yacht gets sidelined, will the building tension crash over me, or will I escape and find the adventure I’m looking for?

The Night in Lover’s Bay is a 18k prequel with a to-be-continued ending for the Love and Wanderlust Series. These contemporary romances are full of steamy nights between two travelers, perfect to feed your wanderlust.

From the bridge deck of Odyssey, the water was crystal clear and shallow, and I could see the ridges of sea grass just meters below the surface. Odyssey’s sides were polished and glossy, reflecting the sea, and the stainless-steel handrail was cold against my skin.
The waves were a mesmerizing, bright aquamarine blue. They were more appealing to me than the luxuries onboard: an entertainment room, two hot tubs, a swim-up bar, and enough lounge areas to sleep all of SSC Napoli, Naples’s football club. But I never tired of watching the ocean.
“Marcella? We’re ready,” came an irritated voice.
On the horizon, the island of Montserrat was visible from forty miles away. I lingered, stealing one last look before swinging around with an apologetic smile to my boss, Captain Carl, and took my seat at the table for the weekly management meeting. Head chef Marcella, reporting for duty.
* * *
After the meeting, I gathered my notebook and scuttled my way down the stairs to my galley. Our weekly meeting was usually over by the time the rest of the staff finished their morning meal, so I was down in time to help Jen, my crew chef, clean up and begin prepping for lunch.
As I slid on my chef’s jacket, I surveyed the galley. The long island counter we used for a buffet for the crew meals was empty and Jen was washing dishes. She immediately perked up at seeing me.
“What’s on, Marce?”
I shook my head and pulled my long dark hair back into a bun at the nape of my neck. “Nothing but three square meals this week.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she let out a frustrated whine. “Another boring week then.”
I agreed with Jen. Our jobs were demanding, twenty-four-hour-a-day beasts when we had guests on board, but at least it was interesting then. Charter guests meant the boat was full of energy, our clients were having fun, and we got the challenge of meeting requests and giving five-star service.
As head chef on Odyssey, a sixty-meter superyacht, I had to keep morale up. “It won’t be too bad. We can make something fun this week for one of the crew meals.”
“Yeah, but you promised me that the next dinner service we do, I can shadow the meal planning,” she grumbled.
I understood her position, but it was hard to have sympathy for her. She’d come straight out of culinary school and picked up a few jobs on various yachts. But yachts weren’t the right place to get the experience she needed—a restaurant, full of bustling staff and the pressure of performing every night, would be much better for her.
Instead, she was here with me as my crew chef, a job that required her to be my sous-chef and cook meals for the staff that worked aboard Odyssey. We were a team of two.
With my Michelin-starred experiences and award-winning qualifications, I planned extensive degustations for the rich who chartered our boat or for our billionaire owners, whether it was just for their family or if they held an event for fifty people.
Jen prepared three meals every day, plus snacks, for our crew of thirteen.
“With no guests this week, perhaps we’ll be able to take a day off,” I suggested. “You could take the jet ski out again.”
“They need to drop the fucking price or something. This is bonkers.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“You know the price is high. Who the fuck is going to pay seven hundred thousand dollars for a week on a yacht like this?”
I gritted my teeth in frustration. “We’re chefs, Jen. It’s not our job to worry about pricing. Plus, the rate pays for all the toys and your salary, so quit complaining.”
She glared at me, but I ignored her. I grabbed a clipboard and my inventory sheets before pulling on a jacket. “I’ll be down doing inventory in the walk-in.”
As I left the kitchen and descended the stairs, the sound of dish washing crescendoed; Jen venting her frustration on the dinnerware.
In the freezer, it was easy to let my mind wander while I did inventory. The storage on Odyssey was luxurious, and because the past few weeks had been devoid of bookings, Jen and I had only been feeding the crew, so our walk-in fridge and freezer were depressingly empty.
I had accepted this job offer with high hopes, thinking that I’d be spending my time traveling around the Caribbean.
Instead, my entire three months of employment had been here in Antigua. It’s a lovely island, but not exactly what I had in mind. I could be cooking at a restaurant, serving gourmet meals to a thousand seats an evening. I came all the way from Italy so I could travel and see the world. If I wanted to be stuck in a kitchen on land, I would have stayed in Europe.
The yacht placement agent who got me this position, Crystal, had made it sound like my dream. “Marcella, Odyssey is perfect for you. The galley’s huge, and she’s offering charters up and down the Caribbean for the season. Antigua is the home base, which has excellent supplies. The owners, Blake and Ana, specifically asked for someone with your background and specialties.” She had leaned into the camera during our video chat. “You’ll get private quarters too. That’s unheard of.”
Crystal had been right. The galley was enormous for a superyacht, though it was nothing compared to the kitchens I had worked in before. And having my own room, as the second-highest paid person on the yacht, was also pretty sweet. Most crew cabins were cramped for one person and had to be shared with a second.
But without the travel, I wasn’t sure if those benefits were worth it anymore.
* * *
This morning’s meeting had been succinct but made me uneasy. I, too, was frustrated with the dreary future ahead of us.
“The owner is planning to visit for a few nights, soon,” Carl had said, vague and cryptic. “Something important, which is why the calendar’s wide open.”
The weekly meeting was with the management team; Captain Carl, me, and three others. Adi, our first officer, and Henri, our engineer, carried most of the conversations lately. With nothing going on, the staff was taking advantage of the extra time to do neglected maintenance work.
This left Jasmine, the chief steward of Odyssey, and me on the outskirts of the conversation. As chief stew, Jasmine was responsible for the interior crew of stews, the ones who provided the hospitality services like housekeeping, bartending, and food service. She wasn’t my boss, but we worked closely together.
Jasmine had confided in me earlier that week with her concerns about the boat. “There’s not enough for us to do. He’s already made me fire two of my stews. I’m worried that he’s going to want to cut Vik.”
Worry gnawed at me. Vik was the second steward and Jasmine’s right hand. He also was a sommelier, an even better one than me. Losing him would be a blow to our service capabilities.
I could say none of this. Carl already knew I was unhappy with our sailing schedule, and if I so much as glanced at Montserrat out in the distance during our meetings, he was sure to catch it and reprimand me. Every single time.
“Back to Antigua, please,” he’d tell me.
* * *
On the bottom deck, I jotted my final notes into the inventory as I stepped into the hallway, not paying enough attention to where I was going. With an oomph, I collided with a warm body. Powerful arms grabbed me before I could topple backward, stomach lurching. When I caught my balance, I looked into the eyes of one of our deckhands, Sebastian Álvarez. My heart raced.
Seb, who I had barely been able to look in the eye since I started working here. Seb, who walked around shirtless and drew my eyes too much. Seb, who I had accidentally seen naked on my first day of work.