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He’d been on other yachts where the crew would be held in limbo at the edges of the deck for hours, stifling yawns while the guests partied on until dawn and then slept in until midday. But he could still remember what it had felt like, waiting endless hours for his shift to end, and it was one of the promises he’d made to himself as his career took off. To treat the people at the bottom with humanity and respect.
Of course, if he needed anything all he had to do was wave his hand across the screen of his phone and one of the stewards would reappear.
He picked up his cup. He’d been pretty sure Dove would refuse coffee, had she been given the choice, but the stewards had brought it out automatically and they had moved to sit on one of the deep modular sofas. Actually, he was sitting. She was standing, feigning interest in the distant lights of another yacht.
Or perhaps she was looking at the stars. They were particularly bright tonight, and Venus was also making an appearance in the night sky.
And on deck too, he thought, his gaze locking on to where Dive was braced against the railing.
Instead of a ponytail her hair was twisted at the nape of her neck with some kind of ornamental stick, and a gentle breeze was catching the loose tendrils that had escaped. In the moonlight, the pearls around her throat gleamed like stars that had fallen to earth. She looked even more like a mythological goddess than before.
She turned to face him. ‘I read the report,’ she said.
He stared at her blankly.What report?
As if that question was written in block capitals across his face, she frowned. ‘You suggested I get acquainted with it. So I did.’ Her eyes found his reluctantly. ‘Whoever compiled it should be congratulated. They did a good job.’
He got to his feet and walked slowly towards her, taking his time. ‘That’s good to know.’ He stopped in front of her, his eyes snagging on the pulse-point hammering beneath the pearl choker. ‘I mean, what would be the point of blackmailing them into working for me if I don’t get results?’ he said softly.
There was a silence. Above them, the dark sky quivered.
A flush of pink was colouring her cheeks. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
He heard the catch in her voice.
‘I know it’s not true. I’ve met your staff, and they don’t have a bad word to say about you.’
‘You sound surprised.’
He studied her profile. From this angle, he could see the knot of hair at the nape of her neck, and suddenly he had to fight against an urge to reach out and pull it loose.
‘Can you blame me?’ Her eyes met his. ‘After all, we both know the only reason I’m here is because I’m scared of calling your bluff.’
A pulse of heat danced across his skin. Hearing his own words in her mouth felt oddly intimate—distractingly so. There was a hollow, hungry feeling in his stomach, and for a moment it was difficult to get his thoughts in order.
‘But you’re not scared of me, are you?’ he said finally.
Her eyes widened, the pupils flaring like twin stars imploding, and they stared at one another in silence for one long, shattering moment. He could feel his pulse leaping against the light cotton of his shirt and the deck felt unsteady beneath his feet, almost as if it were tilting.
She ducked away from his gaze. Glancing down, he saw that there were goose bumps on her bare arms.
‘Are you cold?’ Without waiting for a reply, he slid off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. ‘Here.’
I’m fine. I don’t need your jacket.’ Frowning, she tried to wriggle free of its weight.
His fingers bit into the lapels, pulling it tighter. ‘And yet you’re trembling.’
‘So are you,’ she said hoarsely, her hands coming up to grip his arms.
And with shock, he realised he was.
He stared down into her pale upturned face. He could feel the sea breeze through his shirt, but that wasn’t why he was shaking. It was her. And he wasn’t just shaking. His whole body was throbbing with a desire he had never experienced before.
But even as he was accepting the truth of that thought Dove leaned in and kissed him.
It was nothing like the kiss in London. That had been hard and urgent, with their anger and frustration and the pull of the past combusting with the oxygen in the room to create a sharp flare of light and heat.
This was slower, more tentative. Almost like a first kiss. That stop-start, slow-slow, quick-quick-slow foxtrot of new lovers.
