FLYNN HAD OFFICIALLY STRUCK OUT.

He’d rejected the most incredible, gorgeous woman—twice. Now she hated him.

He’d wanted her like hell—with a pull stronger than a hurricane. But he was completely out of his element and his mind still focused on getting her out of Manila. Planning their route to the marina, and crafting their cover story if needed.

But more than anything, he didn’t want her to regret him. It would crush him if he were nothing more than a passing infatuation to the one person he couldn’t let go of. Bottom line, he was afraid. For the first time ever.

He’d spent the night watching the door, hoping they wouldn’t be found. He’d counted the steps to the door and down the hallway to the fire exit. The escape route fully mapped in his mind. By four in the morning, he was fighting the heavy weight on his eyelids. The only times he’d laid down were when Alanna had woken from a nightmare. He’d held her to coax her to sleep. She’d shoved him away the first few times, but eventually gave in and let him comfort her.

First thing in the morning, she was an icy mountain of injured pride and vicious silence. The first time ever he hated the cold shoulder.

The good news was the captain of the Penny Saved let them on board. The moment they crossed the gangplank, Alanna was a perfect blend of hospitality and infectious smile, just not with Flynn. Captain Chen took to her immediately. Everyone did.

But there was no time for socializing. The uniforms were shoved into their arms, followed by a rushed tour and list of specific duties before the billionaire’s daughter and her college cronies arrived for their three-week trek around the South Pacific.

Alanna was whisked off to the kitchen without a word, while Flynn checked the engines for push off. The official re-entrance into the world of professional yachting.

With his hands on his hips, Flynn stared at the equipment, shaking his head.

The Penny Saved was a floating marvel, as far as accommodations and luxuries. But the owner clearly cut every corner not visible to guests. Rust bled through the lazy paintjob on the porthole covers, clearly not sanded or sealed before painted. Older valves leaked, and the refurbished pumps were on their last legs. The ship was full of half measures and borrowed parts. A gilded rust-bucket.

But this was a temporary escape for them. He’d keep his mouth shut and coast until they found a safe port to make it to a U.S. Consulate the princess could trust.

Less than an hour later, Flynn climbed the stairs to find Alanna in the kitchen with the chef. Both were busy preparing appetizers for the clients.

Alanna was a little small for the vanilla steward uniform they handed her, but she still embodied angelic grace and natural appeal better than anyone else. Her hair was braided to the side, dangling over her breast. Clearly her favorite style. The sky-blue accents on the collar and sleeves, with Penny Saved embroidered on the chest, were typical crew fatigues, although Flynn knew this was the first time Alanna wore anything like it.

She took to the work a little too well. Under the chef’s direction, preparing a plate of canapés on a serving tray never appeared so intense with the level of attention Alanna gave it. Perhaps only because she wanted to emphasize ignoring her companion.

But the food looked almost as delicious as her.

The window behind her showed a decent view of the Port of Manila, slowly floating by. In a matter of minutes, they cleared the port’s concrete barriers and entered the busy Bay of Manila. Flynn let out a silent sigh.

Good riddance, fuckers.

His eyes briefly met Alanna’s, and he nodded to the window. She watched the last buoy pass the yacht, Manila growing smaller with every second. She tossed him a slight smile and returned to arranging the canapés.

Flynn moved to the side deck to ensure they weren’t being followed. When the sliding door opened, the fresh heat swarmed him. The humidity was already sweltering at ten in the morning. It would be another scorcher today, but at least they’d be safe. More importantly, it didn’t look like any customs officials were following them, or cartel hit men with a hard-on.

Girlish laughter drew his attention to the front deck, where the four clients sunbathed, wearing oversized sunglasses and bikinis no bigger than eye patches. Their clothes were scattered throughout the patio furniture, on the verge of being collected by the wind to decorate the yacht’s wake.

He should just let the clothes float away. Teach the clients a lesson to better watch their things. The stiletto sandals made him cringe. Despite their complete lack of purpose, those suckers would scratch the deck. Which I’ll have to polish later.

“Can we get some drinks over here?” A high-pitched, snotty voice scraped against his ears like an anchor chain on metal. The platinum blonde with an orange tan and a glittery purple bikini waved her hand at him. Probably the owner’s precious little angel.

Flynn ground his teeth. “Yes?”

She shaded her eyes from the sun because her glasses were more for fashion than function. “A piña colada for me and…hey, you’re one steamin’ cup of white chocolate, aren’t you?”

Flynn’s brows drew together. Great. One of these clients. I so don’t miss this job.

“Do you speak English?” she laughed. “Parlez-vous…”

“Yes, I do,” he replied, irritation crawling up his neck. “Anything else?” he directed to the other twenty-year-old brats stretched out on their stomachs, watching the interlude from the patio chairs.

“Piñas all around,” the Asian girl replied with a flirty smile. She wore a white bikini fringed with sequins or gems that hardly looked comfortable. The other two girls giggled, a natural blonde with a real tan, the other a brunette with pale skin.

“With some real coconut slices,” the first girl added. “Unless you’d like to be my stir stick.” She licked her fingers, slow and blatantly suggestive.

Flynn wanted to throw up.

“I’ll let the steward know.” He turned to walk away. Escape these pathetic adolescents to the refuge of the engine room.

“Wait,” the rude one stopped him. She was the client, so he had to comply.

“What?”

“You’re not the steward?”

“I’m the engineer.”

“Oh,” she accentuated. Either genuinely impressed or not, Flynn didn’t care. “So, we won’t be seeing you around the deck very much?”

“Nope.” Thank God.

“Then I’ll just have to search for you below if I need you.” She traced her wet finger down her chest into her cleavage.

Flynn hid a glower. “If you need anything, the stews can get them for you.”

When he turned around again, Alanna stood there holding the tray of appetizers as well as four glasses of what smelled like lemonade. She glanced between Flynn and the girls, particularly the rude one immediately behind him. A scowl flashed on her face, but she erased it with her diplomatic smile like a pro.

I have to watch this.

“Here you are, ladies,” she sang. “The chef thought you’d like these refreshing drinks and fruits to start off your morning. Very high in electrolytes to combat dehydration.” She served the other ladies first, the brunette and Asian both smiling. The brunette actually said “thank you.” Alanna served the rude one last, not that it mattered.

The girl scoffed. “I said piña colada. Are you deaf? Or are you the one who can’t speak English?” The instant viciousness was as equally impressive as disgusting.

Alanna blanched, clearly not used to being harassed by ungrateful clients. Flynn had had his fair share in this line of work, only making it a year in that business. It revolted him how rude many yacht clients were just because they could be, feeling superior to those in a servant role. He knew the blindsided feeling well, and didn’t miss it.

He was ready for Alanna’s fiery attitude to lay into the blonde with full force.

“Relax, Stacia,” the Asian chimed in—probably a Filipina. “It’s only the first hour. Anyone want to cool off in the hot tub?”

“No, I want my damn piña colada!”

“I’ll go help the chef make your drinks,” Alanna countered with a smile. “Until they’re ready, these will keep you cool. He made the canapés to start off your vacation with style.”

Flynn stared at Alanna, as did the clients. The rude one still scowled, but at least took a glass of lemonade and a plate off the tray.

Wow. Girls really do have their own language.

She set the tray on the buffet table off to the side, and Flynn followed her inside. When he was sure they were out of earshot, he chuckled.

“Well done. I wasn’t sure how you’d handle her. My first inclination is to walk away from them.”

Alanna’s diplomatic smile was gone. “Shameful. Just shameful.” She shook her head.

The chef turned around, a bald, big-boned man with an elfin face and gentle blue eyes. “Get used to it, darling,” he interjected, his British accent distinctive. “Many clients are like that. Yet that one isn’t the client’s daughter.” He set four chilled glasses on the counter. “The one in the white, fringed bikini, Rebecca, is Daddy’s little girl. I’ve been serving them for two years, along with Captain Chen. She’s not quite as spoiled as that other one, but when those four are together, it’s not a pleasant trip.”

“My father would’ve reamed me out for ever behaving like that to our staff.”

The chef raised a brow at her, but Alanna waved a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Stacia wanted a piña—”

“I heard loud and clear,” he chuckled. He poured the white, iced liquid into the glasses like a seasoned bartender, and then looked to Flynn. “You the new engineer?”

Flynn nodded.

“Welcome aboard. I hope your mechanic experience is up to snuff. Had problems with that engine a time or two.”

“I can tell.”

“Alfred Cleaver. Spare me the chef jokes.”

“Flynn.”

Alfred finished garnishing the drinks. “Here you go, Lanna.” He spun the tray toward her. “Just keep those pearly whites in place, no matter what they say. You’ll be fine.”

She gave him a genuine smile, and grabbed the drink tray. She was unsteady at first, but managed her way out the door.

Amazing that these women were the same age as Alanna. The princess—who had a more luxurious, wealthy lifestyle than any of these snotty brats—held more maturity, grace, and genuine humility. True beauty.

“Psst,” Alfred whispered. “How did you two get this job at the last minute?”

“Long story.”

“Word of warning. Keep your cabin door locked when you’re not in it. With that Miss Stacia on board, might as well lock it when you’re in it, too. She’s a bit of a…”

Flynn frowned. “Klepto?”

Alfred frowned. “Among other things.”

Flynn scowled. Good thing he’d bought Alanna a little pack to keep around her waist this morning. It seemed a better idea to keep the necklace on her at all times than to risk someone finding it in a cabin…or worse, around her neck.

“Where do you lock up your valuables?” Flynn asked.

“In my pants,” Alfred laughed. “Not that it would stop her.”

“Has she tried before?”

The chef cringed. “Bloody hell, no. I’d sooner screw the devil—would be safer. That, and my sister would slice my throat with my own paring knife.”

“Your sister?”

“Marie.”

“The Chief Stew?”

“Right. While you’re at it, don’t cross her bad side either.” He pointed a spoon at Flynn. “Just keep your hands to yourself if you don’t want to lose your shirt.” He tossed mushrooms into a sizzling sauté pan.

“Thanks for the warning, but it’s not me I’m concerned about.” Flynn glanced out the window, and watched through the tinted glass as Alanna handed each girl a drink. Stacia shoved Alanna backward on her way to the hot tub, causing the tray to teeter and a piña colada to spill down the orange-skinned girl’s spine. Everyone on the deck froze, until the Filipina giggled and Stacia’s face morphed into a vicious glare.

“I’m so sorry,” Alanna said, breathless with wide eyes.

Stacia turned and slapped the tray up into Alanna’s chest, splashing the remnants all over her shirt. The Filipino friend laughed outright this time, while the other girls grimaced.

Stacia spun on a heel and stormed off.

“It was an accident,” the brunette called after her, and then gave an apologetic look towards Alanna. The princess rubbed her forehead where the tray had smacked her, then knelt to pick up the broken glass. Her shirt was soaked with the cream liquor.

“That’s going to need bleach,” Flynn remarked from inside.

Alfred glanced at the sizzling pan of mushrooms, and scowled. “Bleach?”

Flynn didn’t bother explaining. He walked out to help her clean up.

By the look on her face, he should’ve approached with a white flag and bulletproof vest.