I’m taking her to the marina; to my home. I considered a more public outing, but I’ve decided against it, not wanting to take the chance of her father finding out before I’m ready.
I’d like him to know exactly who I am before I pull the rug out from under him.
Luckily, Ru didn’t ask questions, most likely assuming she was something quick for me to enjoy. If he thought about it long enough, he’d realize I’ve never had a random girl in the office, only Moira, and only when I need the release. But people see the world through a personal lens, and sometimes it’s easier to believe what you think is true instead of having to figure out others. Generally, this works in my favor.
Our meeting with Peter is tomorrow, and I’m practically giddy at the thought of meeting him face to face and watching the look in his eyes as we tell him no. He can be a dirty businessman all he wants—in fact, I’m quite sure he’s excelled at the role for many years—but he won’t come into this territory and stake ownership. He’s taken enough from me, I won’t allow him to have this too.
A whiff of vanilla spirals through my nose.
Wendy.
I force a grin, refocusing my attention on her, not wanting to show the violent thoughts running through my head. Surprisingly, I feel no resentment, despite the fact she’s the child of my enemy. In fact, if I think on it long enough, there’s a tendril of something sickly and sweet that winds through my insides, regretful she has to be used this way—as a pawn in a goal much larger than she’ll ever be.
But I’m never one to pass up a golden opportunity, and that’s exactly what she is. A way for me to play with my prey before I end him.
Peter Michaels doesn’t deserve a quick death, he deserves a reckoning.
A realization that he has no friends. No family. No pride. That everything was taken from him; his choices stripped away, and his reality molded into nightmares.
And then I’ll kill him.
We pull into the marina, and before I even have the key out of the ignition, Wendy is reaching for the door. My hand shoots out, wrapping around her wrist. “What’s the rush? Stay still.”
Her eyes widen as she pauses. “Oh, I—”
Releasing her, I slide from the car, walking around to open the passenger door. A spike of arousal flares through me as I gaze down, her chocolate eyes sparkling as she grins up at me, her face level with my groin. Such a pretty position we’re in. I reach my hand out, and she places her palm in mine, my fingers squeezing slightly as I pull her from her spot. As soon as she’s standing, I jerk her forward, her breath whooshing as she stumbles into my frame. “Allow a man to be chivalrous, won’t you?”
Her head dips slightly to rest against my chest before she clears her throat and backs away. She glances around. “Are we going on a boat?”
I smile. “Is that alright?”
Nodding, her fingers twist in front of her. “It’s fine, I just… I don’t do the best on water.”
My hand rests on her lower back as I guide her toward the walkway, past the other boats, where at the last slip my forty-three-meter sailing yacht sits. The Tiger Lily.
“We aren’t taking it anywhere, I just thought we could have dinner somewhere private.”
Sliding my palm around her waist, I help her step from the walkway onto the side deck. I don’t normally bring people to where I live, and definitely never a woman, but I want her to feel special. Different.
“This is yours?” she asks.
Nodding, I follow behind her, the feel of her black dress soft underneath my hand. “It is.”
Sailing yachts are wonderful for a majority of reasons. Luxurious, comfortable, and most importantly, they’re extremely mobile, allowing me to escape to one of my many slips owned around the world if needed.
She looks around the living room, the cream furniture setting nicely against the cherrywood floors. “Do you live here?”
My stomach tightens as I watch her take it in. “I do.”
“It’s beautiful.”
Warmth trickles through my chest. I walk up behind her. “You’re beautiful.”
She spins and I step closer, enjoying the way her body flushes crimson every time I do. “Would you like a tour now or later?”
“Hmm.” She tilts her head to one side, and I resist the urge to lean down and skim my lips across her skin. “I think dinner first, and then a tour.”
Nodding, I lead her to the sun deck where I had my live-in crew member, Smee, set up dinner. I smile, pleased with the result of his work. Patio lights are strung, casting a romantic glow, and white linen and plates are set on the round table surrounded by the U-shaped cushioned benches; champagne cooling in the center.
“Wow, this is gorgeous up here,” she breathes. “Is that a hot tub?”
I pull out her chair as she sits before walking to my side of the table. “Yes. We can get in it if you like.”
Sitting across from her, I uncork the champagne and pour us both a glass, ignoring the way my chest pulls at the sight of her surrounded by the pinks and purples of the sunset. I wasn’t lying when I told her she was beautiful. She is.
Achingly so.
“I hope salmon is alright?” I ask.
Glancing at the food, she nods, picking up her fork. “It’s perfect.”
She’s quiet while she eats, and I take her in, my cock growing with every small bite she slips into her mouth, her eyes closing as she moans at the taste. We both clear our plates, small talk and the breeze off the water the only things to keep us company.
Smee comes by silently to clear our plates, making Wendy jump in her chair. “Oh my god, I didn’t know anyone else was here.”
I smirk. “That’s Smee. My first mate, if you will.”
He smiles, his brown hair bouncing under his ridiculous red beanie as he inclines his head. “Pleasure, miss.”
“First mate.” She giggles. “Like a pirate? Does that make you the captain?”
Amusement trickles through my chest and I sit forward. “Why yes, actually. I commandeer every vessel I’m in. I’d be more than happy to show you.”
Her mouth drops, her cheeks splotching with pink.
The sun has long since set, the moon casting a haunting glow off the water, and I wait until Smee clears our plates and walks inside before I speak. “You look wonderful in the moonlight, darling.”
Taking a sip of her drink, she laughs. “You’re really something else, you know that?”
I lift the champagne flute to my lips, letting a bit of the bubbly liquid fizz on my tongue before I swallow. “Compared to what?”
She tilts her head. “Well… I’m not sure. To all other men, I guess.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“No, not at all.” She grins.
It’s a gorgeous smile, but it doesn’t light up her face, and irritation smarts at my insides knowing that she’s suddenly putting on an act. I may be using her as a prop—a temporary toy—but I don’t enjoy when things I consider mine aren’t taken care of in my presence. And that’s what she is until I decide otherwise; mine.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Put on a show. Not here. Not with me.”
She shakes her head, placing her fork down on the plate. “Then can I be honest?”
“I hope you’d never be anything less.”
“I don’t really know how to act around you. I can’t tell if you’re really trying to get to know me, or… if you’re trying to impress me, or what.”
My brows lift. “And what if I am trying to impress you?”
Her lip twitches. “Then it isn’t working.”
“Oh?” My brows lift and I set down the champagne flute, leaning in. “Well then, what would impress you?”
She smirks. “If I have to tell you, then it’s not very impressive, is it?”
A laugh bubbles in my chest, but I bite it back, my hand coming up to rub at the scruff on my chin.
“I want to know about you,” she says.
My stomach turns at her words. I open my arms and glance around. “Sorry to disappoint, but this is me, darling.”
She shakes her head, placing her napkin on the table before standing and coming around in front of me. And then she plops down right in my lap. My hands shoot immediately to rest on her thighs, surprise flickering through me at her boldness. This I did not expect.
“No,” she whispers, her face inches from mine. My abdomen tightens, noticing for the first time how amber flecks scatter within the dark brown of her eyes. “This is what you have,” she continues. “I want to know what’s in here.” Her hand presses against my chest.
My heart thumps against its cage, hoping she can’t feel it through my skin—not wanting to admit, even to myself, that what she’s doing is affecting me.
But it is.
Moving my hand to cup her cheek, my thumb presses into her bottom lip. Her breaths are heavy, her chest brushing against mine with every exhale. Our eyes are locked, and there’s this unsettling feeling brewing in my gut. It’s new and unwelcome, and I don’t know how to control it, so I do the only thing I can think of to drown it out.
I lean in and I kiss her.
