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I slowly strode down and stepped off the boat to stand over her, looking down to that face that I wanted to kiss so badly.
“We have a skeleton crew,” I said in a low tone. “And as far as my records show, you don’t exist on board. On paper, you’re still on land for the next seven days, far away from me.”
She didn’t respond or nod. She just stared up into me, letting that storm of a gaze brew under long eyelashes. “Seven days?”
“Seven days.”
She took a breath, and finally spoke. “Okay.”
A smile spread across my face, and I took her by the hand while waving for one of the crew members nearby to grab her bag.
“Well then, Miss Hargrove,” I said, leading her onto the ship while keeping our gaze locked. “Let’s get to business.”
I had her exactly where I wanted her.
14
Jillian
This morning, when I’d first awakened I was still in a daze. My alarm went off just before dawn, and I crawled out of bed feeling like a zombie. I had opened up my suitcase and rifled through it, wondering what in the world I had packed that I could possibly wear on a seven-day impromptu cruise. A pleasure cruise, that little voice in the back of my mind whispered. A secret cruise I was not supposed to be going on.
I had stared at the contents of my luggage for a solid three minutes, taking in the neatly-folded stacks of starched white, beige, and gray button-up blouses. Black and navy-blue pencil skirts. High-heeled pumps chose
n specifically to make me look taller and less diminutive. Blazers and preppy neck-scarfs. Pantyhose. Perfume that was more “formal” than “fuck me.” Not a single tank top or pair of shorts. No bathing suits, of course. Not even a pair of sandals.
I was facing a week of God only knew what kinds of shenanigans on the open sea with the hottest, most potentially dangerous billionaire playboy I had ever met, and I had nothing to wear. I ended up just taking the whole damn suitcase, hoping that maybe my businesslike wardrobe would help keep the upcoming week on track, remind both Bruin and myself that the whole, sole reason I was there was to broker a deal for Mirabella. For Jeff. For the sweet, protective older brother who would be absolutely devastated and deeply offended to find out that his former best friend and his baby sister were… doing whatever the hell we were going to do on that godforsaken, beautiful boat.
Since I was already going to take everything with me, I decided to go ahead and check out of the hotel. Of course, I knew better than to tell Jeff that I was leaving to go on a seven-day joyride with his womanizing college buddy. That would not go over well. But I needed some kind of excuse, some reason why I wouldn’t be available for a whole damn week.
So, as I was walking out of the hotel with my luggage to meet my driver, I called Jeff’s phone. It was eight-thirty, and I knew he was likely to be on his morning run, so I was pretty sure he wouldn’t pick up. My heart raced as I listened to the line ringing. If he had picked up, I had no idea what I would have said to him. To my relief, he didn’t answer. I left a short, cheerful message explaining that I had suddenly gotten sick with food poisoning and needed to lay low, under a doctor’s orders. I told him I had checked out of the hotel and into a different one, under my own name and bank account so that I wouldn’t run up the bill on his. And then I promptly hung up and turned off my phone. I made no mention of which hotel I would supposedly be staying in. I didn’t mention Bruin’s name at all. And I did not even bring my phone charger with me. If I was really going to pull this off, this ridiculous week-long stunt to get Jeff this stupid yacht, I needed to be extra cautious. I couldn’t have Jeff calling to check in on me, only to hear the rush of the ocean waves or the boat motor in the background and get suspicious.
I knew it was a risk. A big risk. Jeff would immediately be worried about me. He would want to check on me and bring me chicken soup or something. But in the voicemail, I explained that I didn’t want any visitors, that I felt so sick I wouldn’t be any fun to visit anyway. I assured him, in my most convincing voice, that he would be better off spending the week golfing while I was holed up in my hotel room, sick as a dog and poring over the documents for acquiring Mirabella for him. I didn’t know if it would be enough. I didn’t know if my cover story would fool him even in the slightest, but it was the best I could come up with on such short notice. I certainly hadn’t planned for any of this. I had not flown all the way down to hot, humid Fort Lauderdale to play hooky for a week and lie to my big brother.
But that was just the way Bruin did things. He didn’t think twice about the consequences of his actions. He never had. Jeff had told me more than enough stories about the crazy stuff Bruin did in college to convince me of that. I was dealing with a guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer and would not worry about what the future held. He was all about living in the present, squeezing as much fun and excitement out of every day as he could. If he had something or someone caught in the crosshairs, he got it.
And this time, for some reason I couldn’t understand, I was what he wanted. It made no sense. Bruin hadn’t seen me in years. Had he really just made the snap decision to seduce me when I accidentally walked in on him in that stateroom a week ago? Was that really all it took? Just a second’s glance and suddenly I was the helpless prey in his sights?
As I followed him into the yacht, I tried to quiet the thumping of my heart. I needed to play it cool. Stay calm. Keep my head and my wits about me. If I was going to survive this week unscathed, with my stellar reputation in one piece, I would have to be one step ahead of Bruin.
Of course, that was easier said than done. Especially because he looked like a Greek god when he came to collect me from the dock. I was already on red alert, waiting for him to try another move like he pulled last night in my hotel room. I was still hanging on by a thread. After he’d left the room last night, I had gone straight to bed. I had wanted so badly to touch myself, to finish what he’d started. But I knew that was setting a bad precedent. I couldn’t give in so easily.
My competitive nature was starting to kick in.
Bruin wanted me helpless, defenseless, putty in his strong hands. But I had to fight him. I had to prove that not even the sexiest man alive could shake me. He had already tricked me once, but I wouldn’t be fooled again. No. If he wanted to spend a week with me, he would get a week. But I wouldn’t let him forget why I was there. To broker a deal.
“Come along,” he said, reaching back for my hand.
I hesitantly took it, allowing him to help me up the gangway. Miguel and a few other young men in identical white uniforms greeted us as we stepped onto the main deck.
“Welcome back, Ms. Hargrove,” said Miguel with a nod.
He was smiling, but I detected a hint of nervousness on his face, too. Surely the whole crew was aware of what was about to happen. That we were about to set sail on perhaps the most scandalous ride of my life. I couldn’t help but wonder how many times Bruin had done this. How many women he had seduced and taken on a long, one-on-one cruise out on the water. How many times had the crew sat idly by and tended to one short-lived fling after another?
What number was I? Ten? Twenty? One hundred?
As far as I could tell, Bruin rarely spent a single night alone in his bed. It was a new girl every night. And the crew were here all the time, hardly ever taking time off. I had been in the yacht business long enough to know that for most crew members, this was a lifestyle. It paid extraordinarily well, and it was exciting to travel around, almost like a free vacation except for the fact that, well, they were working. There were certainly worse jobs to have. But in this case, these crew members had to know exactly why I was here. And it wasn’t to inspect the ship or have a polite, buttoned-up business meeting. Bruin had brought me here for one reason and one reason only, and I knew they knew.
Awkward.
