Cinderella: Hired by the Prince / The Sheikh's Destiny: Cinderella: Hired by the Prince / The Sheikh's Destiny

Had he seen? The moonlight wasn’t that strong. She swiped her fist angrily across her cheeks, ridding herself of the evidence of her distress, and made her way slowly aft. She had a lifeline clipped to her and she had to clip it and unclip it along the way. She was as sure-footed as a cat at sea, but it didn’t hurt to show him she was safety conscious—and, besides, it gave her time to get her face in order.

‘I’m fine,’ she told him as she reached him.

‘Take over the wheel, then,’ he told her. ‘I need to cook dinner.’

Was this a test, too? she wondered. Did she really have sea legs? Cooking below deck on a heavy swell was something no one with a weak stomach could do.

‘I’ll do it.’ She could.

‘You really don’t get seasick?’

‘I really don’t get seasick.’

‘A woman in a million,’ he murmured and then he grinned. ‘But no, it’s not fair to ask you to cook. This is your night at sea and, after the day you’ve had, you deserve it. Take the wheel. Have you eaten?’

‘Hours ago.’

‘There’s steak to spare.’ He smiled at her and wham, there it was again, his smile that had her heart saying, Beware, Beware, Beware.

‘I really am fine,’ she said and sat and reached for the wheel and when her hand brushed his—she could swear it was accidental—the Beware grew so loud it was a positive roar.

But, seemingly unaware of any roaring on deck, he left her and dropped down into the galley. In minutes the smell of steak wafted up. Nothing else. Just steak.

Not my choice for a lovely night at sea, she thought, but she wasn’t complaining. The rolling swell was coming in from the east. She nosed the boat into the swell and the boat steadied on course.

She was the most beautiful boat.

Could she really be crew? She was starting to feel as if, when Ramón had made the offer, she should have signed a contract on the spot. Then, as he emerged from the galley bearing two plates and smiling, she knew why she hadn’t. That smile gave her so many misgivings.

‘I cooked some for you, too,’ he said, looking dubiously down at his plates. ‘If you really aren’t seasick…’

‘I have to eat something to prove it?’

‘It’s a true test of grit,’ he said. ‘You eat my cooking, then I know you have a cast iron stomach.’ He sat down beside her and handed her a plate.

She looked down at it. Supermarket steak, she thought, and not a good cut.

She poked it with a fork and it didn’t give.

‘You have to be polite,’ he said. ‘Otherwise my feelings will be hurt.’

‘Get ready for your feelings to be hurt.’

‘Taste it at least.’

She released the wheel, fought the steak for a bit and then said, ‘Can we put her on automatic pilot? This is going to take some work.’

‘Hey, I’m your host,’ he said, sounding offended.

‘And I’m a cook. How long did you fry this?’

‘I don’t know. Twenty minutes, maybe? I needed to check the charts to remind myself of the lights for harbour re-entry.’

‘So your steak cooked away on its own while you concentrated on other things.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘I’d tell you,’ she said darkly, stabbing at her steak and finally managing to saw off a piece. Manfully chewing and then swallowing. ‘Only you’re right; you’re my host.’

‘I’d like to be your employer. Will you be cook on the Marquita?’

Whoa. So much for concentrating on steak. This, then, was when she had to commit. To craziness or not.

To life—or not.

‘You mean…you really were serious with your offer?’

‘I’m always serious. It was a serious offer. It is a serious offer.’

‘You’d only have to pay me a year’s salary. I could maybe organise something…’ But she knew she couldn’t, and he knew it, too. His response was immediate.

‘The offer is to settle your debts and sail away with you, debt free. That or nothing.’

‘That sounds like something out of a romance novel. Hero on white charger, rescuing heroine from villain. I’m no wimpy heroine.’

He grinned. ‘You sound just like my Aunt Sofía. She reads them, too. But no, I never said you were wimpy. I never thought you were wimpy.’

‘I’d repay…’

‘No,’ he said strongly and took her plate away from her and set it down. He took her hands then, strong hands gripping hers so she felt the strength of him, the sureness and the authority. Authority? This was a man used to getting his own way, she thought, suddenly breathless, and once more came the fleeting thought, I should run.

There was nowhere to run. If she said yes there’d be nowhere to run for a year.

‘You will not repay,’ he growled. ‘A deal’s a deal, Jenny. You will be my crew. You will be my cook. I’ll ask nothing more.’

This was serious. Too serious. She didn’t want to think about the implications behind those words.

And maybe she didn’t want that promise. I’ll ask nothing more…

He’d said her debt was insignificant. Maybe it was to him. To her it was an insurmountable burden. She had her pride, but maybe it was time to swallow it, stand aside and let him play hero.

‘Thank you,’ she said, trying to sound meek.

‘Jenny?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m captain,’ he said. ‘But I will not tolerate subordination.’