Page 3 of Lost At Sea With A Billionaire (Billionaire Row #5)

Janet

F ive days into our voyage, I’d settled into a comfortable rhythm.

The kitchen had become my sanctuary of order and creativity, far removed from the chaos of my former restaurant’s closing.

Each meal served to Jonathan earned appreciative nods, sometimes even rare smiles that transformed his serious face and sent my heart into an annoying flutter.

“The halibut tonight was exceptional,” Jonathan said, entering the kitchen as I finished cleaning. His sudden presence still startled me, but I was getting better at hiding it.

I wiped my hands with a towel, pleased by the compliment. “Lemon, capers, white wine, and a touch of dill.”

He moved beside me, close enough that our arms almost touched. His distinctly masculine cologne mingled with the lingering scent of dinner. “The crew says you’re the best chef they’ve ever had onboard.”

“The crew talks about me?” I stacked the last plate in the cabinet, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Among other things.” Jonathan leaned against the counter, his impressive frame casting a shadow across the gleaming surfaces. “They’re also talking about the weather.”

I glanced through the porthole. The sky had darkened since afternoon, and ominous clouds gathered on the horizon. The vibrant sunset from earlier had given way to an angry purple bruise spreading across the sky.

“Looks like rain,” I said.

“The captain mentioned a storm system developing.”

His tone remained casual, unconcerned.

The ship’s first mate appeared in the doorway, his expression tense enough to set off alarm bells in my head. “Mr. Black, may I have a word? The weather report just came in.”

Jonathan straightened, his relaxed demeanor instantly replaced with the commanding presence I’d first encountered. “Can it wait until morning, Elliot? We’re three days from Saint Barthélemy, and I need to prepare for those meetings.”

“Sir, the system’s intensified significantly. The captain strongly recommends changing course to avoid the worst of it.”

“And delay our arrival?” Jonathan’s jaw tightened visibly. “The meteorologist I spoke with yesterday said it would pass well north of us.”

“That was yesterday,” Elliot pressed, his voice tighter. “Things have changed.”

I watched Jonathan’s profile harden, the muscle in his jaw twitching slightly. “Tell the captain to maintain course but keep monitoring. If conditions worsen significantly, we’ll reevaluate.”

The first mate hesitated, clearly wanting to say more, then nodded. “Yes, sir.”

After he left, I raised an eyebrow at Jonathan. “Shouldn’t you listen to your captain about things like this?”

“We have the most sophisticated weather monitoring equipment available.” He dismissed my concern with a wave of his large hand. “These systems often look worse on radar than they actually are.”

I wasn’t convinced, but this was his yacht and his call. “If you say so.”

He checked his watch. “I should review those contracts before bed. Goodnight, Janet.”

“Goodnight, Jonathan.”

I finished in the kitchen before heading to my quarters, pausing at a porthole to study the gathering darkness.

The yacht’s gentle rocking had developed a more pronounced sway that made my stomach tense.

Rain began to patter against the glass, soft at first, then with increasing intensity that matched my growing concern.

Sleep came fitfully that night, punctuated by the rising sounds of wind and rain battering the yacht. I dozed off sometime after midnight, exhaustion finally overcoming my anxiety.

But somewhere between dreamless sleep, a violent jolt threw me from my bunk. My head smacked against the wall as the yacht pitched sharply sideways.

“What the hell?” Another lurch sent me rolling across the floor, with pain shooting through my shoulder.

An alarm blared throughout the vessel, its piercing wail more alarming than the howling wind outside. The overhead lights flickered once, then twice, before plunging my cabin into darkness.

I scrambled to my feet, bracing myself against the wall as the yacht heaved beneath me. The emergency lights kicked on, bathing everything in an eerie red glow. I grabbed my jeans and yanked them over my sleep shorts, not bothering to change my tank top. There wasn’t time.

The yacht pitched again, and I crashed into my door. Another round of pain shot through my shoulder, but I managed to wrench the handle and stumble into the corridor. The hallway tilted at a sickening angle.

“Ms. Banks!” A crew member—I thought it was the engineer—shouted over the alarms. “Life vests! Port side storage!”

He pointed frantically before losing his balance and slamming into the opposite wall.

I fought my way toward the storage locker, each step a struggle against the violently rocking vessel. The sound of breaking glass and shattering dishes echoed from the kitchen above. All my carefully arranged ingredients and equipment were being destroyed in seconds.

My fingers fumbled with the latch on the storage locker. Inside, orange life vests hung in neat rows. I grabbed one and strapped it on, then seized another.

“Janet!” Jonathan’s voice boomed over the chaos.

I turned to see him barreling down the corridor, ducking to avoid hitting his head on a hanging light fixture. Even in crisis, his powerful frame was commanding.

“What’s happening?” I shouted, tossing him the extra life vest.

He caught it with one hand, muscles flexing as he strapped it on with quick, efficient movements. “The storm hit us faster than predicted. We’re taking on water.” His voice was tight. “The captain’s trying to steer us clear, but navigation is compromised.”

“Compromised how?”

His response disappeared under a deafening crack as lightning struck nearby. The yacht lurched violently, sending us both crashing into the wall.

Jonathan’s arm shot out, steadying me against him. “You okay?”

“Not really! I’m scared to death!”

“We need to get to the upper deck.”

He nodded, locking his jaw. “Stay close.”

We struggled toward the stairs, the yacht’s movements becoming increasingly erratic. Water splashed at our ankles—seawater seeping in from somewhere below.

“Oh my God!”

The force of the waves nearly knocked me backward when we emerged onto the deck. Rain pelted sideways, stinging my skin through my thin tank top. I squinted against the deluge, trying to make sense of the chaos around us.

Crew members scrambled across the deck, securing loose equipment and preparing the life raft. Waves crashed over the rails, sweeping across the polished teak. The sky was barely visible through the downpour, and lightning flashed in jagged streaks across the darkness.

“The captain said to prepare for evacuation!” The first mate shouted, his words nearly lost in the storm’s roar.

Jonathan gripped my arm. “Everyone over here!” His commanding voice cut through the howling storm, drawing the scattered crew toward him.

The yacht lurched again, more violently than before. I lost my footing on the slick deck, sliding toward the rail. My hands grasped wildly, finding nothing but rain and air.

Strong fingers clamped around my wrist at the last second. Jonathan yanked me back from the edge, pulling me against his chest with crushing force.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice right against my ear, and his body a solid wall against my rapid heartbeat.

Before I could thank him, a horrific grinding noise tore through the air. The yacht shuddered violently, and a harsh, ear-splitting sound of tearing metal filled the air as the hull collided with something unyielding. We weren’t in open water anymore.

“Rocks!” The captain bellowed from the bridge. “Brace for impact!”

The world tilted sharply. My stomach lurched as gravity shifted. Jonathan’s arms wrapped around me as we tumbled across the deck, crashing against the cabin wall.

Pain exploded through my body. Something hard struck my temple. The world blurred as darkness crept into my vision.

The last thing I heard was Jonathan shouting my name.

Cold water lapped at my legs, dragging me back to consciousness. My eyelids felt impossibly heavy, and each breath sent shards of pain through my ribs.

“Janet, wake up.”

A large hand patted my cheek with gentleness. I forced my eyes open, squinting against the brightness.

Jonathan’s face hovered above mine, his dark eyes wide with concern. A cut ran along his left cheekbone, and dried blood tracked down to his jawline.

“There you are...” Relief washed over his features. “Don’t move too quickly. You took a nasty hit.”

I ignored his advice and tried to sit up. The world spun violently, forcing me back down with a groan. “Where are we?”

“An island. We washed ashore after the yacht hit the rocks.”

Memory flooded back—the storm, the alarm, the horrible grinding sound as the hull connected with stone. I tried again to sit up, more slowly this time as my hand pressed into the warm sand.

“Where are the others?” I asked, wincing as my fingers probed a tender spot on my forehead.

Jonathan’s expression tightened. “I don’t know. We got separated when the yacht capsized.” He helped me to a sitting position. “I saw the life raft deploy, but in that storm...”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

I took stock of our surroundings. We sat on a small beach, curved like a crescent moon between rocky outcroppings.

Behind us, dense tropical vegetation created a wall of green.

And in the water, perhaps fifty yards offshore, the yacht lay partially submerged, its bow thrust upward at an unnatural angle.

“How long was I out?”

“A few hours. The sun’s been up about three hours.”

I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the protests from my battered body. “We need to search for the others.”

“I did. I walked the beach in both directions. There’s no sign of anyone.” Jonathan stood, towering beside me. “But the yacht’s accessible at low tide. We should salvage what we can.”

“You went out there already?”