Chapter Twenty-Three
Phoenix
She was dancing. While cooking.
And the galley was a fucking mess.
Pots, pans, dishes—there was shit everywhere, including a cutting board with a freshly baked loaf of bread that’d been hacked into trapezoid shapes.
Blasting music from a cell phone I didn’t give her, chopping herbs while the sea state was moderate to rough, she was apparently ignoring the worsening conditions.
The Paragon had five gyrostabilizers and could easily handle the current two-to-four-meter waves, but now wasn’t the time to be cooking with debris-littered countertops.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, glancing at the cell.
Still in her bikini, knife in hand, she didn’t jump or flinch like most people would’ve when they were startled.
She didn’t react to the tone of my voice either.
But the abrupt halt in her seductive dance, the slight stiffening of her back, and a momentary pause before she set down the knife and picked up a spoon told me that I’d caught her off guard.
The suggestive sway of her hips resumed as she stirred something in a large pot. “What does it look like I’m doing, Captain?”
Taking note of her attempt to even the power exchange, I swiped across the burner that was pumping bluesy jazz through the galley’s speaker system and hit Pause. “Who gave you the cell?” It wasn’t one of mine, and the phone call function had been disabled, but I was still pissed.
“The hangry jerk when I told him I needed music if I was going to cook for his surly ass.”
Helios. Which meant she’d either been on the bridge again or he’d sought her out. “He asked you to cook for him?” Putting a bullet through his skull might do us both a favor.
Looking over her bare shoulder, throwing me a smile that was all lips, she winked. “Jealous?”
Livid. “Clean up.”
She laughed. “My act or your precious kitchen?”
“Galley,” I corrected. And according to my crew member turned chef, it wasn’t my kitchen. It was his. Not that I gave a damn about his territorialism. I’d hired the former SEAL assaulter for his ruthlessness. He just so happened to cook.
The little trespasser stirred whatever was in the large pot one more time, then lifted the spoon to use it to point at me. “That’s your problem.” She dripped shit all over the range and floor. “You’re too uptight.”
The woman would be lucky if I was actually uptight and that was my worst attribute. “Leave the galley as you found it,” I ordered. “You have thirty minutes. Then you’re back in your cabin.”
“Why?” she challenged, licking the tip of the spoon before putting it back in the pot. “You said I had free range.”
I made a mental note to never eat anything she cooked. I also conjured an image of that same tongue lapping at my cock as she choked on it. “I told you the bridge was off-limits. You were never granted all access.”
“All access?” she asked seemingly absently as she added some of the chopped herbs to the pot. “That sounds like you’re describing a VIP ticket to a concert.” She glanced over her shoulder again. This time her expression was practiced innocence. “Are you a rock star, Nix?”
Coming up on my six, Helios snorted behind me. “Yeah, he’s a fucking rock star, all right. Just not in the way you think.”
I threw Helios a warning glance. “You’re on watch another five hours.”
“Relax.” He stepped around me. “Ares is at the helm.”
“Not his job.” Not right now. I had him working on something else.
“It’s everyone’s job while we’re on a skeleton crew,” Helios argued.
“Not mine,” the blonde trespasser chimed in. “I’m banned from the bridge.”
“Shocker after the bullshit stunt you pulled.” Towering over Isla, Helios took the spoon from her.
“This better be fucking edible. Especially after the goddamn mess you made in here.” He went to take a bite, then paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth and glanced at me.
“Is there shit in the galley to poison us with?”
“No.” Not like in other parts of the ship, but the thought was fleeting compared to the sudden territorialism I had after spending the last two hours replaying the moment I’d picked her up from the beach club on the lower deck.
“She already put that spoon in her mouth.” It wasn’t a warning. It was a threat.
Eyeing me, Helios followed suit.
The trespasser looked at me. “Shocker. You’re a germaphobe.”
Helios attempted to throw me under the bus. “No, he’s not. He’s just got a problem with my mouth being anywhere near yours.” After taking a second bite, he dumped the spoon back in the pot. “What is that? Chili?”
“Cioppino.”
“So seafood chili.” He grabbed a ladle and four bowls, then dropped them next to her. “Dish me up some of that shit.” Moving to one of the fridges, he snagged two bottled waters and shoved them into his cargo pockets.
“It’s not shit or seafood chili. It’s stew, and you need to learn some manners.” Already ladling food into the bowls, her retort lacked all meaning or power.
“This is me with manners. Get used to it. Or don’t. I don’t give a fuck.” Helios grabbed a spoon. “But next time you wreck the galley, cook something with meat.” He took the bowl from her, then fucked with me again. “Nix hates seafood.”
About to ladle her stew into a second bowl, she paused and looked between me and Helios. “Since when?”
“Since a crazy chick breached his bridge and shut down his boat so she could fucking sing to dolphins.” Helios grabbed one of the sliced-off hunks of bread from the cutting board and held it up. “Emphasis on crazy. Who the fuck cuts bread like this?”
“I do,” she defended. “Shapes make life more interesting. You’re welcome. Now shut up and eat.”
Helios grunted in annoyance. “Not thanking you. And you shut the fuck up.”
“Helios,” I warned.
“Don’t come at me, fucker. You brought this shit on yourself.” Helios walked out of the galley, then called back. “Nav lights are already out. Tell your girlfriend to clean her shit up before I cut the rest of the lights.”
Isla looked at me with concern. “What does he mean, cut the lights?”
“We’re going dark.” Like we did every sunset when we were underway or short on crew.
Her eyes widened. “As in the whole boat?”
Ship. “Yes.” I didn’t correct her.
“Why?”
I glanced at my watch. “You have twenty-two minutes. Secure the galley and return to your cabin.” I contemplated locking her in once she fell asleep—if she slept through the weather tonight. Beyond her behavior today, I had no idea what her usual patterns were or how she’d handle rough seas.
“What if I don’t want to sit in my cabin in the dark all night?”
Ignoring the question, I cataloged the intel she’d inadvertently given. “Claustrophobic?”
“No. You?”
My cell vibrated with an incoming text.
Helios: Escalating weather. We need to reroute.
I quickly typed a reply.
Me: Stay the course.
Pocketing my cell, I glanced at her. “Nineteen minutes. Be in your cabin.” Taking the burner Helios had given her, I walked out of the galley.