“You’re welcome.”
She looks back at me, her sunglasses throwing back my reflection. “You look concerned.”
“I am.”
“You looked up Brett.”
I nod. I can only imagine what life with him was like in the four years leading up to when he was charged with domestic violence. His trying to attack her with a knife had obviously been the catalyst for her to file a restraining order.
I believe in justice. And paying debts owed. But abuse is one I can’t justify or excuse. Brett’s lucky he got such a long sentence. When he does get released, I’ll be keeping tabs on him, monitoring. If he violates the restraining order by so much as an inch, I’ll take personal pleasure in beating the hell out of him before turning him back over to the police.
“Would you be up for an outing?”
She tilts her head to one side. “An outing?”
“A little excursion. Introduce you to France, take your mind off things for a bit.”
I can practically hear the gears turning in her head as she contemplates my offer.
“Okay. Do I need anything?”
“A swimsuit. Meet me downstairs in the grand hall.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re walking out of the back entrance onto a terrace that overlooks the small cove down below. A catamaran bobs on the small waves.
“A boat?” Excitement in her voice eases a huge weight off my shoulders. She glances up at me. “You know how to sail?”
“No, but I know how to turn the key and make it go.”
Her husky chuckle elicits a surge of protectiveness. On the flight over, I felt…helpless. Utterly helpless for the first time in nearly two decades. Every time I glanced at her, I cursed myself for following her that night, for dragging her into this. If taking her out on a boat makes her happy, then we’ll go out every day.
We start down the dock, the warm Mediterranean sun beating down on our backs. She accepts the hand I offer as we board the boat. My jaw tightens at what’s becoming the familiar sensation of her palm rubbing against mine. That skin-on-skin contact—thinking back to the photo shoot, how good it felt to hold her. The weight of her breasts on my arm as I’d wrapped my hands around her waist and stared out over the park. The way her eyes had dropped to my lips just before we moved closer on the chaise longue.
I let go of her hand as soon as she’s on board. I can’t think about the kiss. Cannot relive the moment when she came to life in my arms with such fire I wanted to tell theGildedteam to come back another time while I carried her upstairs and finally made my dreams a reality.
The aftermath of Dylan Greene’s despicable behavior cooled my desire. Cooled, but didn’t snuff it out. Not by a long shot.
I head to the bridge. I turn just in time to see Seraphina easing herself onto the mesh net between the two hulls. She lies down, stretches out, a slight smile on her face. The most relaxed I’ve seen her since Saturday night.
I steer the boat away from the dock. The Mediterranean stretches out to our right, pale blue turning to navy where it meets the sky. To our left, limestone cliffs plunge down into the sea, shades of turquoise broken up here and there by the occasional boulder. Pine trees dot the cliffs. The wind is starting to pick up, creating small, white-capped waves as we sail east.
After twenty minutes, I spy an inlet. I turn the boat and guide it inside the long, narrow passage. The hills slope down to the water, covered in pines and scrub. At the far end is a crescent-shaped beach with golden sand.
Seraphina sits up as I cut the engine and toss the anchor overboard.
“Hungry?” I call down.
When she nods, I head down to the galley. I open the fridge and note the covered plates I requested be brought on board while Seraphina was getting ready. I pull out a plate and a bottle of Dom Pérignon. As I turn around, I nearly run into her. Her sunglasses are off, her eyes soft and her body relaxed as she brushes a strand of golden hair out of her face.
Stunning. And too close in tight quarters.
“Do you need any help?”
“No.” Hearing my curt tone, I add, “Thank you. Relax.”
I nod toward the terrace on the stern. She heads out and I join a moment later. It takes a couple trips, but at last the food is laid out and the rosé champagne is chilling in an ice bucket.
“We have Brillat-Savarin, a soft cheese infused with truffles. Beluga caviar and oysters.” I pull the bottle out of the ice and make quick work of popping the cork. “Duck prosciutto, sliced baguette and fig jam. Wagyu roast beef sliders with arugula and truffle aioli. There’s mini lemon tarts and macarons for dessert.”
