Sweet Seas

by Scarlett Finn

  The steaming meal did smell great. Swain wasn’t easily impressed, but if this tasted as good as it looked, he might have found a permanent replacement for Raise. Though, he’d have to have a conversation with her about how she wore her uniform before making her any offers of future employment.

  The first bite of bacon made his mouth water. He almost cursed when he tasted her scrambled eggs and there was an edge to her light, fluffy pancakes that made him crave more before he’d even cleaned his plate.

  “Now you boys remember to save space for the pie,” Sassi called out from the galley.

  With his mouth full, Swain raised his eyes to his crewmates to see that they were as shocked and enraptured as he was.

  Swallowing the delicious food he had in his mouth, he looked up when she came to the foot of the table to add fresh pancakes to the stack. “You brought pie?” he asked.

  Sassi laughed. “I’ll forgive you that slight, Captain. I made pie. From scratch, with my own bare hands,” she said. “Apple pie. And if you boys like donuts I’ll make those for after breakfast tomorrow.”

  “You can make donuts?” Jockey asked. “Like fresh?”

  Swain didn’t blame his first-mate for sounding so amazed. They’d never had such a talented cook onboard before.

  “Sure,” she said, like it was no big deal. With a shrug, she put a hand on his shoulder to lean on him as she spoke.

  His own mess had never felt more like a dockside diner. The good kind. Except, Sassi was nothing like any waitress he’d ever known. Who would make apple pie and donuts and charm this group of bastards without proper introductions? Maybe she didn’t need him looking out for her after all.

  “Marry me,” Swing said.

  Fidget laughed, but Swain wasn’t sure his deckhand had been joking. He had to admit that even he was guilty of trying to formulate ways that he might sign her onto permanent staff, and she’d only been working for him for a few hours.

  Though, he soon began to shrug off the idea. He couldn’t have a woman like her onboard too often. It would only be a matter of time before one of his crew pushed too far, and then she’d be running in fear.

  Sure, she was happy and smiling now, but what would happen during poker or on fight night when the testosterone was high and the group got rowdy?

  “You’re a sweetheart, Swing,” Sassi said. Swain almost choked, no one had ever called Swing a sweetheart before. “But, you can’t marry a girl just ‘cause she knows how to make waffles and donuts and apple pie.”

  Swing looked genuinely baffled. “Can’t think of no better reason. You sound perfect. Unless… you frigid?”

  “Hey!” Swain said before he thought to speak. “She’s crew, show respect.”

  “Are you suggesting that you boys never talk about sex, Captain?” Lifting his attention to the feisty brunette who was still leaning on him, he saw her crook a brow. “I bet you boys get really explicit around here, plenty of dirty talk turning the air blue.” When Swing whooped, she turned her smile on the deckhand. “Calm down, honey. It’s a little early to be getting that excited.”

  “I can get excited any time of day,” Swing said and her smile got wider.

  Was she flirting with his deckhand, the dirtiest, least respectful guy on his crew? Sassi hadn’t seemed like the type to like her guys simple, maybe he’d been wrong.

  “I’m more of a night time gal,” she said. “Anything goes before sunrise long as my guy asks nicely.”

  This time all the guys at the table whooped, even Jockey. Swain was too stunned by the man opposite him to even think about joining in. “Jock,” he chastised.

  His first-mate shrugged and shoveled more food into his mouth. “The girl says she can handle herself.”

  Sassi, pleased with herself, turned to disappear back into the galley, leaving the guys to their food.

  “Yeah, but will she let any of us handle her,” Foist said from the corner of his mouth.

  Seeing the intention in his engineer’s eyes that were focused behind him, obviously checking out the cook, Swain knew the time to set the boundaries had come already.

  “No,” Swain said, eyeing them all. “She’s off-limits, to everyone, hear me? No one touches another member of the crew until I see a marriage certificate.”

  He’d had female cooks before, but never like Sassi. They were usually older and more homely, so he’d had no worries about any of his men screwing around with them. He’d expected Swing to make advances and Fidget to do a lot of staring, but Foist?

  His usually reserved engineer never bothered with the ship drama. Foist kept to himself and spent his time with him and Jockey rather than the idiots subordinate to them. It wasn’t like Foist to get involved in their drooling. But, Sassi was hot and with a mouth like that, she wasn’t doing herself any favors.

  “That’s a bit extreme, Cap’n,” Jockey said.

  “Foist, wheelhouse,” Swain barked at the engineer.

  Jockey let Foist out of the booth, but before Swain could respond to what his first-mate had said, Swing began to hum in delight and a sweet scent wafted over, hitting him, hard.

  Sassi appeared beside him; Swain didn’t know if the smell was coming from her or the steaming tray in her hand.

  Sliding the tray onto the table, she opened her hands at the warm golden crust of the pie she’d just put down beside him. “Voila,” she said and held up a knife before sinking it into the pastry to cut a slice. As she moved the slice onto a small plate, she pushed the rest of the pie toward Jockey and crouched at Swain’s side, peeking up at him through her thick lashes. “Do you like hot pie, Captain, or would you prefer to build some suspense and let it cool?”

  Circling her lips, she began to blow on the hot fruit seeping from between the layers of pastry. Moist heat pricked his forearm that was laid on the table beyond the new plate. Fuck… Was that…

  He’d never hit a hard-on for any member of his crew before, but there it was in his pants beneath the table.

  Goddamnit.

  Her fingers hooked onto the edge of the table and she leaned even closer.

  He could touch her, could take that tiny wrist and guide her hand under the table, onto his thigh, up to—

  “Pass me a fork, please,” she said, and opened her hand to Jockey, who obliged.

  To Swain’s horror, she rose a fraction and used the side of the fork to cut the front triangle of pie. Taking it to her own mouth, she touched the fruit to her top lip. He’d thought she was going to eat it, but instead, she blew on the fruit and touched it to her lip again before smiling and licking off the smudge of filling.

  “What are you doing?” Swain asked, fixated on her.

  Raising the fork toward him, she smiled. “I wouldn’t want to burn the captain on my first day, would I? Will you open your mouth for me now?”

  The guys at the table were loving this, but his eyes were locked onto hers. He’d told her to cut out the cutesy babygirl act, except this was… different. She wasn’t acting innocent; that glint in her gaze betrayed that she knew exactly what she was doing.

  Grabbing her wrist, he yanked the fork away and tossed it down the table.

  Fuck this.

  He was the captain and he didn’t let anyone mock him, especially not a flake of a girl, her first day on the job. He didn’t even care that the guys started to cheer as he dragged her out of the mess and down the passageway.

  Throwing open her cabin door, he jerked her forward and hoisted her over the frame into the room to thrust her forward.

  Her shoulders went back as her chin rose. “Guess Jockey was wrong about you.”

  Now his hackles rose for a different reason ‘cause his first-mate knew him better than anyone else and she had no right to pass judgement on their friendship. “Oh yeah, wrong about what?”

  “He said you’d never disrespect a lady, and I feel disrespected right about now.”

  “You ain’t no lady, you’re crew,” he said, trying his best to keep a thick black line o
f differentiation between the two because until now the two had resided in different areas of his brain.

  “I’m both,” she said. Showing spunk in her defiance, she reached behind her to untie her apron. When it was loose, she whipped it aside, hooking it on her elbow. “Want me to prove it?”

  She actually undid the snap on her jeans and his mouth opened to say yes, but he managed to dam the word at the last moment. Driving a hand through his hair, Swain took a breath instead of saying something he’d regret.

  “Goddamnit,” he grumbled to himself.

  “Jockey said he’s responsible for discipline on this boat. If I did something wrong, shouldn’t he be the one shouting at me?”

  Shouting at her, what the fuck was he doing shouting at her? He didn’t raise his voice to his crew, he’d never had to. A growled threat or a glare was enough to put any guy in his place. And women? Women never pushed him like this, none dared.

  Bowing lower, he hissed at her. “You’re the first crewman who’s made me wish they hadn’t outlawed flogging.”

  The way her body loosened told him she’d descended her high horse and the gentle slope of her lips was almost a smile. “I didn’t think you’d be this sensitive about me standing behind you… I promise not to do it again.”

  “Standing… behind me? What?”

  She scrunched her nose like maybe she was laughing at him without actually laughing. “There would be something sort of sexy about it if you weren’t such a grouch… and if you learned how to shave.”

  Swain’s hand moved over his jaw. It had been about a week since he’d put a blade to his face, maybe more. “It’s been a crazy week,” he said and then wondered why it sounded like he was apologizing.

  Ha, she better get used to hairy men, sweaty men, men with disgusting habits and no decorum. The longer they were at sea, the less that most of the guys cared about manners and hygiene.

  She came a step closer. “Look, you’re the captain, your approval means something around here. You don’t like what I do, I get cut, right?”

  It made no sense to him that she’d be worried for her job. “We’re out on the fucking ocean, Waif, where the fuck am I gonna put you?”

  “Are you diabetic or something?”

  This woman had a way of throwing a wrench into his thoughts at every turn. “What the fuck?”

  “Do you have something against sugar, or is it something against eating what I bake? Do you think I’m trying to poison you?”

  It didn’t take her long to relax after she figured out he hadn’t brought her here to force himself on her. The distance of the small room between them was enough to give her courage, but she didn’t seem to notice that he was still blocking the door. She wasn’t going anywhere unless he gave her permission.

  “I ate the breakfast, bacon and pancakes.”

  She exhaled and folded her arms, which reminded her she was still wearing the apron, so she proceeded to unhook it from her neck to toss it on the bed. “Everyone ate those.”

  Shit, her polo shirt had sunk lower and the swell of her breast came into view along with a neat triangle at the top of her bra cup where it joined the strap. The damn woman needed to keep her shit together.

  “What the fuck is this?” he asked, his hand leaping from his side toward her chest.

  Luckily, he pulled it back before he made contact. It wasn’t until he clenched his fist that he realized he’d actually been about to grab her.

  Her eyes dropped for a second, she blinked them back to him, her expression blank. “It’s a bra,” she said. “I guess the bear-face thing doesn’t get you much action with the ladies.” Reaching to the side, she pulled open the top drawer of her dresser and pulled something out. It wasn’t until she tossed it for him to catch that he realized it was a sheer black bra. Sheer like completely transparent and for some reason that made his attention return to her chest as he considered how she’d fill it out. Shit. “Figure it out on your own time, Cap’n, can I go back to work now?”

  “You wear your fucking uniform like the rest of us,” he said, pissed off that she’d crept under his skin and got him mad again.

  “Uh,” she said, picking up the shoulders to show how broad it was. “Then you better get me some shoulder pads. You’re seriously pissed that I’m not built like a quarterback? I do what I can with what God gave me.”

  Biting his tongue hard, he squeezed his lips together so tight that they probably disappeared. But, fuck, he couldn’t argue with that. God had been generous to her, and generous to those who got to stand this close. But, she wasn’t built like any previous member of his crew.

  “You keep staring and I’ll think you want a show.”

  Snapping himself from his daze, Swain got even more pissed off when he registered her unimpressed expression. It wasn’t like he was ogling her. Swain was not one of those guys, never had been, he’d never needed to be.

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Waif,” he sneered. “I get plenty of action on shore leave, I don’t need to fuck around with my crew.”

  “Swing will be disappointed,” she said and this time succeeded in folding her arms. “I have cookies to make before lunch… is there anything else you’d like from my underwear drawer, Captain?”

  He’d never considered putting his hands on a woman in anger before, but this female managed to push his buttons. How the fuck did he become the sleaze in this when she’d been the one all over him in the mess?

  But, he had nothing; no quick quip or command to bark. Sassi must have known it too because she sashayed forward and slunk around him to slip out of the room. So much for her not going anywhere unless he moved, she was small enough to squeeze right past him.

  Crushing the fabric of her bra in both hands, Swain yanked it so hard that the two cups came apart. He pitched the scraps across the room.

  If she wanted to play, he’d let her play, but he’d take great pleasure in saying ‘I told you so’ when one of his guys asked her to prove her salt. He’d bet every boat in his fleet she’d retreat before she’d ever let one of his men claim her.

  And, damn it, he better be right because if he had to watch any other man enjoying that infuriating wench, he might bring back flogging after all.

  FOUR

  It took the better part of the day for Swain to get her out of his head.

  After lunch, he and Jockey were in the wheelhouse briefing the other guys on their course. From Miami, it would take nine or ten days to get down to the site depending on conditions.

  Swain leaned over the map to talk about the plan but noted that no one was asking questions or commenting like they usually would. Lifting his head to check out why his men weren’t engaging, he was surprised to find them all staring toward the bow. Expecting to see an obstacle in the water, he couldn’t understand why no one had warned him they’d need to take evasive action.

  But, when Swain turned to follow their line of vision, he was struck by the same spell that had seized his men and lost the power of speech for a good half minute.

  There on the forecastle of his fucking pride and joy was his dainty cook. Wearing nothing more than a white string bikini and a pair of oversized sunglasses, her hair was scooped onto her head again, but several strands had escaped their bounds and were being whipped around in the sea breeze. She had nothing on her feet and was propped on her tiptoes, teetering left and right, making her way forward.

  “She doesn’t have her sea legs yet,” Foist said. Swain had never heard a smile like that in his engineer’s voice. “If she goes over, I volunteer to go in after her.”

  The woman stopped to gaze out over the water before she spread a towel flat on the deck.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever said I love you before Captain,” Swing said, sounding kind of like he’d swallowed his own tongue when Sassi bent over to smooth out the towel before she knelt down on it. “But I do. She’s the best thing you ever bought for Eros.”

  There was that rage again. Damn it. If this woman stay
ed aboard his ship Swain was going to have a heart attack. His blood pressure had never been high, but he didn’t need a doctor to tell him that the wench was threatening his health… and his sanity.

  Jockey came around the table. “I’ll go talk to her.”

  Thank fuck someone else understood that the cook’s actions were inappropriate. As his first-mate began to pass, Swain slapped a hand to his chest, his focus locked on the beauty lounging near the bow.

  “No,” he muttered. “I’ll do it.”

  Swain had never moved from the wheelhouse to the bow so fast and he’d traversed this ship in storms surrounded by thirty foot waves that demanded he flee for his life.

  When he stomped over to Sassi, she was lying on her back, soaking up the afternoon rays with a once-white kitchen timer on the deck beside her. Stopping, he cast a shadow over her, but she didn’t acknowledge him. He couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or closed because she was wearing sunglasses, but there was no way she hadn’t heard him marching up.

  “Madam like a mojito?” he asked.

  The wench smiled. “Was that a joke, Captain?”

  Not one that was meant to make her laugh.

  Gritting his teeth, he told himself not to yell at her again. Once in a day was enough. At least, it should be enough, maybe she wanted more.

  “Get up,” he hissed.

  “I don’t see—”

  “Get on your fucking feet, Sassi.”

  Inhaling through his nose, Swain breathed out while she shifted onto her knees. Was it just him or was she spending longer than she had to kneeling in front of him?

  Bending down, he grabbed her arm to haul her onto her feet. She tried to tug away and objected with a sound of offense, but he dragged her up all the same.

  Shit, he shouldn’t be manhandling a woman. Except, she was crew, and he had the right to discipline his crew any way that he had to…

  Why did that thought immediately make him picture pinning her to the bulwark to press himself against her?