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I cry.
Something inside of me shatters. Like an internal dam ruptured, emotions I’ve kept tightly restrained for years pour out of me, my salty tears mixing with the shower spray. Reality sucker punches me. The reality that I killed a man yesterday. He deserved it, but that doesn’t make it any less horrifying that I took someone’s life. The reality that someone dangerous is after me. The reality that I’m stuck on this boat, pretending to be engaged to someone who once upon a time told me he did not love me back.
The gods have a shitty sense of humor.
And try as I might to fight him, to act the tough chick, I’m scared. Something I’ll never admit to Leo, but here, alone, with the water pounding down on my back and sobs heaving my chest, my fear is real.
Emerging from the shower with a towel draped around me, I survey the stateroom. Sure, it’s impressive with its rich mahogany panels and floor-to-ceiling windows, but luxury feels like a cage when you’re not there by choice.
Sitting on the bed, I slide open the bedside table drawer where Leo put my personal effects.
Shit.
He didn’t.
A vein in my head throbs.Jesus, this man is on thin ice.
Reaching into the drawer, I find my daily multivitamin, various over-the-counter meds, an e-reader, and, ugh, my birth control pills. Fine, I can live with that. It’s what comes next that turns my cheeks ten shades of red—my hand wraps around something silicone and unyielding and no. Just no.
He packed Bob… my Battery-Operated Boyfriend. Actually, if we’re going to get technical, it’s a bright-purple rabbit vibe for extra clit stimulation. Because that’s what I need to get off, and Leo of all people, knows that. I bring Bob fully out of the drawer. And hot damn, there’s a sticky note attached to it.
I approve ?
A hot wave of humiliation washes over me, making my cheeks flush further and my fists clench. This may be his idea of a joke, but that man will pay! I don’t know how, and I don’t know when but I will find a way to get my revenge.
I storm into the stateroom’s walk-in closet and stop in my tracks. There are rows upon rows of designer clothes, accessories, and shoes arranged neatly in their own little cubbies. This is clearly someone’s stuff, a very wealthy woman, judging by the racks full of Chanel and Prada, displayed like trophies.
I work for a luxury clothing brand, and I even find this collection impressive if a little risqué for my tastes. But I can’t just wear someone else’s clothes! It’s entirely possible that Leo stole this yacht. I’m about to put my pajamas back on when a shimmering golden bikini, hanging from one of the swimwear racks, catches my eye. It’s Dolce & Gabbana. I’d noticed it in last month’sVogue, and damn, it’s even more stunning up close. The fabric glimmers and shines, catching the light in a way that calls my name.
Finally, at twenty-four, my body has grown a little more generous. A few graceful curves have emerged. Mama always told me that one day I’d fill out and be a head turner. A bitter laugh leaves my lips. It didn’t quite happen that way, but I’ve definitely left the gangly girl with a nothing-to-speak-of chest and braces far behind. That girl that was hopelessly in love with her older brother’s best friend.
For reasons I don’t want to examine too closely, I want Leo to see how much I’ve changed. How much of a woman I am now. Which means, the gold bikini it is. I say a silent thank you to whoever’s wardrobe I’m raiding.
Once I’ve changed, I stand in front of the full-length mirror and admire my reflection. The string bikini top is made from a soft, buttery fabric that feels amazing on my skin. The cups give my small breasts a subtle lift while the bottoms have ties on either side with a cut that shows off the flare of my hips.
Satisfied with my choice, I scan the shelves for footwear.Well, hello. I settle on a pair of strappy, metallic sandals with towering heels and a pair of oversized sunglasses perched on my head.
I take one last look at myself in the mirror. The bikini is flashier and sexier than my typical wardrobe, which tends to be all black and conservative, but screw it. I look smokin’ hot, and I’m damn well going to make sure Leo knows it. He might’ve forced me into close quarters with him, but that doesn’t mean I have to make it easy on him. This is my sweet revenge, served on a shimmering gold platter. I’ll show him exactly what he threw away.
Eat your heart out, asshole.
CHAPTERSIX
ALYONA
I findLeo exactly where I left him, basking in the sunlit top deck dining area. He’s on the phone, but when he spots me approaching, his gaze sticks to me like a magnet, lingering on the sway of my hips. Can’t deny that I may be sauntering a little more than usual.
He promptly ends his call as I reach the table. I catch the way his eyes trail down the length of my body and then back up again. The vein in his temple ticks like he’s annoyed. And if that’s the case, then well done, me.
“I see you were able to find something that met with your stamp of approval,” he says, jaw tight.
“Oh, this old thing.” I make a sweeping motion in front of my body. “As you suggested, I made myself at home. I’m curious though,” I say, leaning casually against the deck railing. “Be honest. Who did you steal this yacht from?”
His chuckle is rugged and masculine, evoking a familiar shiver down my spine. His deep voice was always a turn-on. “I didn’t steal it, like I said, it’s a rental. When you’re willing to pay top dollar, people become very accommodating.”
“If you say so,” I say, lips twitching. “But I don’t think the owner will be very happy after he realizes I’ve raided his wife’s—no, make that mistress’s—closet.”
Leo waves a hand in the air like it doesn’t matter. “Wear what you want. I’ll replace it when this is all said and done.”
