Jack Rogan: The Ocean Dark

With a click, the signal died, followed by static.

“Jesus,” Miguel said. “What the hell was that?”

Gabe stared out at the ocean.

“Radio silence.”

“Another triumph for you, sir,” Tori said, in a fake English accent.

Josh stood in front of the stove in the galley kitchen, stirring a huge pot with a ladle. “Damn well better be. It took me since lunch to make that dinner.”

“I know. A labor of love, you said. Which is why I’m definitely not going to tell you how many of them are already asking what’s for breakfast tomorrow.”

“What’s for—?” He turned to look at her, then rolled his eyes. “My art is lost on these savages.”

“Okay, diva,” Tori said.

Josh laughed, though she knew he was only half-joking about his “art.” This morning he’d woken up before five o’clock, taken a shower, and hit the galley. And other than a few hours after breakfast, he had been there ever since. Lunch had been quick and simple, though as tasty as ever, but today’s dinner had been something he called Louisiana Chicken and Dumplings — a spicy stew that had taken hours to prepare. The crew had come to dinner in two shifts — the second was still out in the mess eating — but nearly everyone had commented on the dish. The only ones who hadn’t mentioned how delicious it tasted were those too busy enjoying it to speak.

“They’ll be having cereal for breakfast if they don’t show a little more appreciation,” Josh said.

Tori knew better. Josh loved his work, and he had told her a dozen times over the past few weeks, since they shipped out from Miami, that the empty plates and bowls that came back from the mess were all the appreciation he needed. His diva-chef performance was meant to amuse her, and it worked.

And yet, easygoing as he seemed, he had a rough-around-the-edges quality and his mischievous eyes sometimes took on a hard glint. A rough man, but not a bad man. Maybe even a good man — though, much as she’d been trying to change her ways, that might be too much to hope for.

Still, whatever might happen with Josh, galley duty had turned out to be much more interesting than she’d thought.

“You know, all joking aside, you really should give yourself a break,” she said. “Isn’t there something you could give them tomorrow morning that would be fast and easy? Tater tots or something? For that matter, what’s wrong with making them eat cereal for once?”

Josh stirred the pot again, then set the ladle aside. Now that everyone else had eaten, it was their turn, and he had put the remainder of the stew back on the burner. Tori had tasted a spoonful earlier and couldn’t wait to eat. Her stomach had been growling for hours, ever since the smells of the stew had started to fill the galley.

“Well,” he said, turning to face her again. “Remember those breakfast burritos I made, when was it, Sunday? I made a double batch that day and froze the rest. I could thaw them out for tomorrow.”

“Great. You deserve it.”

He gave her a small shrug. “Yeah. Though there was this one recipe I’ve been meaning to try.”

Tori laughed. “My God, you’re a cookaholic.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he replied, one corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided grin, his blue eyes gleaming with their usual mischief. “By the way, that was the worst English accent I’ve ever heard.”

Tori grabbed a dishcloth, twisted it up, and snapped it at him. Josh tried to dodge, backed up, and promptly swore, hissing through his teeth, as he burned his arm on the edge of the stewpot.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry,” Tori said, rushing up to him.

Holding up his arm to inspect the burn, Josh gave her a rueful look which broke into a smile. “You’re a dangerous woman.”

She reached for his arm, wanting a better look, and he winced a little but did not pull away. Just the feel of his skin under her fingers sent an electric ripple through her. This close, she could smell the aromas of the kitchen and the spices he’d used today, combined with his shampoo and just a hint of his own, almost earthy scent, and it quickened her pulse. Why some men stank and others smelled so damn good to her, she’d never know, but Tori liked Josh’s scent, as weird as that sounded.

“Do you want me to get some ice for that?” she heard herself say.

He gazed at her with those sky blue eyes, and when he smiled again it was as though snapping himself from a trance. “It wouldn’t hurt my feelings.”

Tori’s throat went dry. She didn’t want to move away from him, but she forced herself to back up a step.

“Don’t let the stew burn,” she said. “We’ve earned it.”

He nodded and turned to stir it again, holding his burnt arm against his body, letting the cotton of his shirt soothe it. She had burned herself twice in the time she had been helping in the galley, so she knew he had a tub of salve somewhere that would take the sting out, but first he would want to ice the bright red scorch mark, to numb the skin.

You could find other ways to distract him from the pain , she thought, and felt herself flush slightly. Maybe it was time for her to get out of the galley for a while.

When she had first met him, she had been convinced that Josh wasn’t her type. Oh, he pushed her buttons, all right. Quietly confident, mischievous grin, amazing cook, bedroom eyes, scruffy in all the right ways. The man was sex on a stick. But that first day, he had seemed almost too nice, too safe, without the rough edges that she always seemed to find so attractive.

Then they’d started cooking together, and she’d seen his passion for the work, watched his temper flare, and begun this ongoing, breathless flirtation that seemed to exist in every word they spoke to each other, even though it hardly ever became overt.

When he argued with Captain Rio about the supplies he wanted to get when they made port, she loved to watch his eyes flare. They had fallen into a pattern of teasing each other, but for Tori it had built to a point where it had gone past teasing. Now, as he grabbed a couple of bowls and ladled stew for the two of them, she watched him, studied the way his muscles moved under his shirt and the little sheen of sweat on his neck from the steamy kitchen, and desire drained all the strength from her body.

Jesus, shake it off, girl .

She smiled, laughing at herself, as she got a bunch of ice and wrapped it in a dishcloth. It wasn’t the first time she had felt this way. The trip from Miami to Fortaleza, Brazil — with stops along the way — had taken nineteen days. The sexual attraction had been immediate, but at first nothing more than she had felt toward many men before. As the weeks went by, though, and they spent so much time together in the galley, her interest had turned into a desire so strong it sometimes made her feel shaky. Embarrassed by the strength of her reaction to him, she had worked to keep things cool, but the undercurrent remained.

She found it hard to believe Josh didn’t feel it, too, but he hadn’t acted on it, and so she had to wonder. Maybe she was the only one thinking about sex pretty much every time they were together.

“Thanks,” he said as she handed him the ice.

Tori picked up the bowl of stew he’d prepared for her and raised it as though in a toast.

“No, thank you.” She spooned a bite up to her mouth and her eyelids fluttered with pleasure at the flavor. “This is so good.”

But Josh was watching her eat, that familiar mischief in his eyes, and since it didn’t seem likely he would break the tension between them with a kiss, she needed to do something herself.

“You know what? I’m going to get this all over my shirt if I don’t sit down. I’m gonna head out into the mess, grab a table. Are you coming?”