Page 8 of Enslaved

3

THE CREW WAS FLIRTY and friendly. I spent my first day onboard Oasis with my mouth hanging open. The yacht was more opulent than the rumors. I heard it was owned by a mysterious, Greek billionaire who rarely spends time onboard, unless he’s entertaining for business orpleasure.

But I wasn’t concerned with any of that. Being part of the deck crew, I would get to spend my days outside under the Mediterranean sky.

“What’s your story?”

Ignoring my cute-coworker, I lifted the squeegee in my hand. The jolt of ice-cold water spraying my back had me shrieking as I turned around, picked up the bucket I was dipping my squeegee in and sloshed him.

“Truce?” He asked in a thickly accented voice. I got him good. His shirt was just as soaked as mine.

We both grinned at the same time. “I’m Jessie.” I offered my hand to shake, but he lifted it to his lips instead.

“Andre. It’s very nice to meet you, beautiful Jessie.”

“Yeah, right,” I answered looking down at my average sized chest, muscular legs, and chipped toenail polish.

“Where are you from Andre?”

“A small island off the coast of Greece. How about you, beauty?”

“San Diego.”

“I always wanted a California girl.” He leaned in closer, the smell of his cologne overpowering, even in the sea breeze.

“Did you shower in aftershave this morning?” I asked, cocking out my hip.

“It’s sexy, eh?”

“Not really.”

“See my big muscles?” He lifted an arm, flexing his bicep. I raised my eyebrow, hardly impressed.

“Huh? What do American girls like, eh?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “I’m not most girls.”

“No, you aren’t.”

My reply was interrupted by a gruff accent behind me. “The two of you were hired to clean the deck not make a mess of it. Clean this shit up and be dressed in your whites by six. I expect a top-notch crew this season. If you aren’t up to the task, get off my ship. Now.”

I hung my head, ashamed I let myself flirt and have fun when I should’ve been proving myself to be professional. Especially since female deckhands earn such little respect as it is.

I turned around, grabbed a stack of towels and started cleaning up. Not even looking at the dark head bent next to mine as he helped. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I should’ve known better.”

“I’m Greek. It’s my nature to flirt,” he shrugged. My eyes caught his mischievous ones as a lock of hair hung over his brow. He was cute, but not my type. I’m not sure what my type is exactly. I’ve been in love, I think, but never the heart-stopping—I-can’t live-without-you kind.

“Who was that anyway?”

“Stavros. The captain.”

“Crap,” I mumbled.

“Don’t worry, California. Greeks love blondes, especially American ones.”

“You are a flirt.”

---