Elena had been hired on as deck crew only three days ago, and desperate for adventure after quitting her dead-end waitressing job back in Miami. At twenty-four, with long dark hair usually tied in a braid, she thought she knew what she was getting into. Luxury yacht. Rich guests. Hard work under the Caribbean sun.
She had no idea the real storm would be Captain Marcus Kane.
He was forty-two, broad-shouldered and eyes the color of deep ocean. He ran the 180-foot superyacht with an iron fist. The guests barely saw him; he preferred the bridge or the shadows. But Elena felt his gaze on her constantly. Every time she bent to coil a rope, every time her white crew tank top clung to her sweat-damp breasts after a long watch, his stare lingered like a physical touch.
Tonight the sea was calm,
