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Raphael stands on the swim platform, a contrast of crisp black lines and gold accents glinting under the winter sun. He’s broad and tall and, even with fifty feet and a strong current between us, his presence touches my soul like a Zippo flame dancing too close to an oil spill.
The boat bumps against a fender, the suit-clad skipper secures the mooring line, and Raphael takes a smooth step forward. Dice cufflinks wink and a gold poker chip disappears into the pocket of his slacks.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” he says smoothly, a satin smile carved into his dimples.
A giggly chorus floats around me. I turn my back and sigh into the wind, wishing it’d carry me back to shore. Maybe even over the border to Canada.
“Allow me.”
A silky tone and my own curiosity turn my head just enough to see Raphael hitch up his slacks and extend a large hand to Katie. He pulls her up onto deck with ease and chuckles when she falls against his chest.
“I’m sure there’s something in the staff handbook about drinking before a shift, Katie,” he jokes. “I’ll let it slide this time, all right?”
He winks, she blushes, and I wonder if drowning really is as bad as everyone makes out.
Claudia elbows her way to the front and extends her hand. “My goodness, who’s the lucky man?” Raphael drawls, swiping a thumb over her diamond ring.
“That’s not my ring finger, Mr. Visconti.” She giggles and waves her other hand in the air. “This is my ring finger. And as you can see, it’s very much bare.”
Raphael pins her with a lazy smile. “Phew. I thought you were about to break my heart there, Claudia.”
With an itch in my blood, I glare out to sea and try my best to tune out plastic pleasantries and shameful attempts at flirting. Laurie aside—she’d simply patted him on the shoulder and fled for the nearest bathroom—these girls must have three brain cells between them if they are gullible enough to fall for Raphael Visconti’s act.
His charm is like his aftershave—intoxicating. But when you get too close to the source, like I did last night, you can see it for what it really is: a thick satin veil hiding the danger that lies beneath.
“Penelope.”
His voice is colder when it touches my nape, making my lids flutter shut. A nervous energy hums under the surface of my skin now. I’d thought it was a genius idea to slip his watch on when I passed my suitcase this morning, but now, with its former owner just a few feet behind me, I’m a little less brave.
I galvanize my spine and turn around. Unfortunately, I’m the only girl left on the boat, and unless I fancy swimming back to shore, there’s only one way off it.
Raphael glances over his shoulder at the sound of the door behind him clicking shut. When his gaze comes back to mine, it’s five Pantone shades darker.
“I don’t have all day.”
“And I don’t have a broken leg. Don’t need your help, thanks.”
He glares at me for a beat too long, then shifts his attention to something above my head and extends his hand. He can feign apathy all he fucking wants, but the tick in his jaw suggests he’d rather get his teeth pulled than have me grab hold of it.
“Wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me not to help you,” he says dryly.
Like he suddenly remembered something else he’s forgotten to be pissed off about, he runs an eye down the side of my thigh, lets out a hot hiss, and returns to glaring above my head. “And it wouldn’t be very ladylike of you to get off the boat with your ass hanging out.”
“Not like you haven’t seen it already,” I snap back. My heart flutters at the memory of his staring at me in the locker room.
“Yes, but my men haven’t,” he says icily. “And we’re going to keep it that way.”
Only now do I realize he’s not staring into the distance merely to avoid looking at me, but rather, he’s staring at something. Someone. I turn around and catch the skipper looking at the backs of my thighs, as if lost in thought. Feeling the weight of two pairs of eyes, he looks up, flinches, and quickly turns away.
I sigh. Men.
“Up. Now.”
Jeez. I look down at the large hand under my nose. Blue rivulets under olive skin and neat, blunt nails. A shuddering breath escapes me as my mind floats to two scenarios:
That hand sliding over the dip of my hip.
It tightening around my throat.
