Hayden

I wasn’t used to my instructions being ignored. I’d had money and power for long enough that people rarely said no to me. I’d been clear when I’d spoken to Moss that the crew should have the night off. I accepted he’d have to stay on board, but I’d told him I wouldn’t need anything from anyone. I threw my pen across my desk. My concentration was shot. I didn’t know if it was the lack of sleep, or the overnight working, or just the irritation of being ignored by Avery, but tonight, I couldn’t focus. It was Saturday night and I’d just dismissed the lawyers. At least they’d have the afternoon and evening with their families.

I knew I was working too hard. And I knew I was working my team too hard. I just wanted this deal done as soon as possible.

I leaned back in my chair and glanced out the window—just blackness with slivers of silver when the water caught the lights of the boat. It was almost nine and I was hungry. And I could do with a whiskey. If I couldn’t work, then perhaps a drink would send me to sleep.

As I entered the formal dining room, Avery appeared from the galley, her professional smile fixed to her face. “Can I get you anything?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why didn’t you go with them?”

She blinked several times, as if riffling through possible answers. “I just didn’t—”

“Did the captain say you had to stay?”

She placed her hand up to her throat. “No. Not at all. I just wasn’t feeling too well . . .”

I stepped toward her. “Then you should rest.”

She exhaled and her shoulders dropped. “That’s not true.”

I crooked my head. She’d lied? And if so why had she immediately confessed? “What about? That the captain didn’t stop you from going ashore or that you’re not feeling well?”

“I feel perfectly fine.”

“I like the truth, Avery.”

“I’m sorry.” Her shoulders drooped a little, as if her professional veneer was slipping. “The guys gave me a really hard time about staying. And I just don’t want to go through it again. Can we drop this, and can I get you something?”

“The whole point of me giving the crew the night off was so you didn’t have to fetch and carry for me.” I stepped closer, and she had to tip her head back to still look at me. Her delicious throat, temptingly exposed, trailed down to her full breasts. “And I’m not dropping anything. Tell me why you didn’t go ashore.”

“I . . . I . . . I don’t know. I just . . .” Her cheeks bloomed pink and I realized. She was embarrassed because she’d wanted to stay.

I just wasn’t sure if it was the pull of me or her job that kept her on board tonight.

“I’m hungry,” I said, half whisper, half growl. Hungry to taste her.

Her eyes widened and her eyelids fluttered in confusion before she gasped. “I’ll get you something.” She spun around, headed back to the interior.

I’d been a tenth of a second away from pulling her into my arms and exploring that polite mouth of hers. Had she not scurried away, I wouldn’t have been able to hold myself back. Maybe that’s why she’d disappeared inside. Something was holding her back.

I followed her into the galley, watching her skate around the kitchen as I leaned on the doorjamb. She worked quickly, uncovering dishes of various meats, cheeses, pickles, bread, fruit, and then carefully rearranging any that weren’t exactly perfect. Picking up two dishes, she smiled and nodded toward the door.

“Can I take those?” I reached for the dishes but she stepped back.

“Please let me. This is what I do. This is what I’m good at. You’re happy to eat outside?”

I nodded and waited for her to leave. She hesitated, presumably expecting me to go with her but I didn’t. As soon as she was out of sight, I picked up two more platters and made my way upstairs.

When she saw me, her expression was unguarded. I wasn’t sure if it was anger or hurt I could see in her eyes.

“I’m just trying to help. It’s senseless for you to make an additional trip while I follow you with nothing.” I wanted to tell her how she was good at more than carrying plates, how I imagined she could be good at anything she wanted to be.

She pressed her lips together before taking the plates from me and placing them on the table. “Can I kindly ask you to take a seat?”

I pushed down my smile. It was more than a little satisfying to see her so frustrated with me but trying to hide it. “I will take a seat if—when you’ve collected whatever other accoutrements you need—you’ll join me.”

She paused before straightening the platter. “I want you to enjoy your meal in peace.”

“And I’ve asked you to join me. Now, please do as I say, and bring a plate for yourself.” I pulled out the seat on the side of the table facing the water and made myself comfortable.

She opened her mouth to argue, and I simply raised my eyebrows and she flitted back inside without a word. For whatever reason she was uncomfortable joining me, but for me the thought of her company overrode my need to be fair.

She returned with my place setting. I enjoyed her needing to be so close—the two of us just centimeters apart so she could slide the placemat in front of me then set the cutlery down. Without saying a word, she folded the white linen napkin in a triangle and placed it in my lap.

“Can I create a plate for you?” she asked, taking a half step back.

My hand was just inches from the back of her thigh, temptingly close. I nodded and she set about placing a selection of food onto my plate and then poured my glass of wine.

She clasped her hands in front of her after she’d set the bottle down in the ice bucket. “Anything else?”

“Sit,” I said, taking a forkful of jambon and slipping it into my mouth. I nodded at the empty chair at the end of the table, next to me. I never took the head of the table—not in boardrooms, not around a dining room table. I always thought it betrayed a lack of self-confidence for anyone to have to proclaim themselves as the leader, the most important, the most dominant, by sitting at the end of the table. I preferred to prove it through my words, actions and presence.

She transferred her weight from one foot to the next, trying to decide if she was going to do what she was told, and I didn’t rush her. Tentatively, she pulled out the chair I’d indicated and took a seat, sitting forward uncomfortably.

“Have you eaten?” I asked.

“I have, actually.”

Of course she had.

“What did you eat?”

Her eyes narrowed, and I couldn’t figure out whether she didn’t want to tell me because I had no right to ask or if she was simply avoiding sharing anything, not wanting to take the next step because we both knew there was a next step.

“A cheese sandwich.”

I picked up my bread roll. “Like this?” I was basically having a ham and cheese sandwich, which worked for me.

“Grated cheddar.”

I nodded, taking another mouthful, wanting her to say more.

“Bread and cheese is . . .” She looked dreamily out over the ocean and sighed.

I chuckled. “Well there’s plenty here. And you have a plate,” I lifted my chin at the extra place setting she’d set in front of her as I’d asked. “Join me.”

Her mouth twisted as she fought the need to remain professional with her desire to do exactly what a guest wanted her to do. She didn’t take any food—for now—and I didn’t push. Our exchange on the deck below had sent her running and I wanted her right next to me. I didn’t want to frighten her off.

“What else?” I asked.

“What else?” she questioned me back. She knew I was asking for more than just a rundown of her dietary habits. I wanted more of her.

“What else do you like to do in your free time when you’re not eating bread and cheese?”

She shrugged. “During the season there’s not much free time. So dinner and dancing with the crew is about as far as it gets.” She sat back in her chair.

“And between seasons when everyone else goes exploring, what is it you do?” Did she have a boyfriend? Maybe even a husband waiting for her?

A smile curled at the edges of her mouth. “The first night, sometimes I like to check myself into a really nice hotel. I know it’s extravagant, but it’s my treat to myself—one night when my bed’s made, my dinner is served to me, and my drink is made by someone else.” She ran her fingers down the wood grain beside her fork.

“I can imagine that’s nice after running around after guests all season.”

“It is, but it’s more than that, too. It’s about being me again—Avery Walker.”

“And you’re not Avery on the boat?”

She pulled her lip into her mouth as she thought about her answer. I enjoyed these pauses she took, the thought she put into what she said. I appreciated the effort she made to think about what I’d asked her.

She glanced at me and sat back in her chair, adjusting to this arrangement between us. “Yacht crew are invisible but available on charter. We blend into the background. Generally guests aren’t rude, but they are guests, right? I mean, this is my job. I’m not here to have fun. As a crew member, we’re here to ensure the guests enjoy their vacation. So we’re part of the package, just like the fresh sheets, the good food, and the strong cocktails.”

“But you’re not a thing,” I said, uncomfortable at the idea she thought she was an object and that I may share that view.

She squinted. “Not exactly, no, but if we’re doing our job well, we’re invisible when we need to be, and helpful when it’s required.”

I regarded her while I continued to chew, wanting to hear her talk more, to know more about the Avery behind the professional gloss.

“And that night at the hotel—it’s like I come back into focus. I become Avery Walker again.”

“And then?”

“Then I go back to Sacramento.”

“California.” For some reason it was hard to picture her anywhere but on this yacht. “And you’re invisible again at home?” Why did she need that night alone? Who did she belong to that she wasn’t vibrant and authentic when she was sleeping in her own bed?

“No,” she snapped, a little too quickly. “I didn’t mean that.” She reached out to take a pickle from one of the serving plates. I grinned—she was relaxing.

“I like being home. It’s less . . .” She peered at her lap and then shrugged.

“You live alone?”

She shook her head and my pulse began to throb in my neck.

“Nope, with my dad. And brother. I’m only there a couple of months of the year so it doesn’t make sense to have a place of my own.” The way her words tumbled out, she sounded well-rehearsed. I wasn’t sure if she’d said it out loud a lot or just in her own mind. “I like spending as much time as possible with them when I’m back. So it works.”

My pulse faded back into the distance in response to her answer. No husband and no mention of a boyfriend.

People observing from the shore wouldn’t see how much Avery and I had in common professionally. She worked hard, took pride in what she did and went above and beyond what any reasonable person would expect. She didn’t deserve to be invisible. I couldn’t imagine not noticing her.

I wanted more of the woman I’d watched the sunrise with—her loose hair and warm wonder. She pulled me in despite doing her best to be invisible but available to me. I wanted to fill in the gaps, get to know the real woman, not the shadow who was always around in case I needed something. “How old’s your brother?”

“A year younger than me.”

I’d put her at twenty-five, though I bet she’d look the same for the next decade. She had a timeless beauty about her—the small waist, the high cheekbones and perfect arse.

“He’s twenty-five.”

“I had you down for twenty-five.”

She grinned. “You were close.”

“I’m thirty-two,” I said. I wanted this to be a conversation between us but I guessed she wasn’t going to feel comfortable asking me questions.

“I know,” she said, popping another pickle in her mouth. “I Googled you when I went on shore that first time.”

“You did, huh? What did Google tell you?”

She poured herself a glass of water from the bottle of San Pellegrino on the table that I’d not touched. “Not a hell of a lot, unfortunately.” She leaned back in her chair, for the first time acting as if she might stay more than a few short seconds, and smiled. It was Avery Walker’s smile, rather than the grin of the stewardess on the Athena.

“I’m quite careful about what’s out there about me,” I said.

“Shocker.” Her eyes widened teasingly. “I just like to personalize the guest’s experience, you know? I thought I might find something useful.”

“I filled out my preferences sheet. Because you asked me to.” I probably would have ignored anyone else. But she’d caught my attention—shown me that I was being a pain in the arse by not doing that. And I respected that. I didn’t expect servitude from the people around me but the more successful I got, the bigger the gap between me and those in my orbit.

“I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what got into me. I should have just accepted there was no sheet.”

“I liked that you did.”

Our eyes locked and she didn’t reply.

Eventually she looked away and over the dark waves that were lapping at the boat. “The crew was grateful. As you would say in England, it caused great consternation not having the information.”

“I’m not sure anyone says that in England, outside a Jane Austen novel.”

She laughed. “I suppose not.”

“I’m just not that fussy about things like that.”

She scrunched up her nose in the most adorable way and I couldn’t help but smile at her expression. “I think if I were rich, I’d want the things I like. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

“I agree, but I just don’t care about the water I drink or the sheets I sleep in.”

“Why?” Leaning forward, she rested her chin on both hands, and I couldn’t help but notice the way the movement pressed her full breasts together under her top.

My dick twitched and I blinked, trying to force myself back to our conversation. “Because that’s not what matters. We have to focus on the important stuff, like people. You reminded me of that.”

Her lashes swept up as she blinked, almost in slow motion as if I’d said something profound she had to give weight to and assimilate. Damn my dick needed to behave itself. But that pink in her cheeks, the wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail—I wanted more of that Avery.

I put my knife and fork together and leaned back. Talking with Avery was far more fulfilling than food. “It’s not like I’m slumming it.” I glanced around, indicating the boat.

She laughed. “I guess not.” She checked her watch. “It’s coming up to nine. There are going to be fireworks on the shore. We should be able to see them, but the view will be best from the upper deck.” The way her eyes lit up, she didn’t just want me to see the fireworks because I was a guest, but she was actually looking forward to them. “Are you finished?” She pushed her chair out and reached out to take my plate when I nodded.

I didn’t want her to wait on me. Not tonight. I wanted to encourage her to see me as a man not a guest. “Let me. You were supposed to have the evening off.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Please don’t. That would make me really uncomfortable.”

That was the last thing I wanted to do, but I didn’t want her to be invisible either.

“I’ll make you a deal,” I said.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re all about the deal.”

“It’s who I am. I’ll head to the upper deck now and leave you to this if you join me with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.”

“We don’t drink on charter,” she spluttered almost before I’d finished my sentence.

“So for an hour you won’t be on charter. You were meant to have this evening off anyway.”

She shifted her weight onto one leg. “I don’t know . . .” She scanned the horizon as if looking for something external that would resolve the conflict inside her.

I knew she could feel this pull between us. I could tell now when she was being polite and when she was being real, and I knew she wanted to say yes but her dedication and sense of duty held her back. “Isn’t it your job to fulfill a guest’s request?” I shouldn’t abuse my power, and if I hadn’t thought that Avery and her big brown eyes wanted to continue our conversation over a glass of champagne, I wouldn’t have pushed it. But she did from the way her body shuddered on the few occasions I’d touched her, to the way her cheeks pinked when I grinned at her—I could feel the attraction no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

“Not every request,” she replied.

“You’re right.” Again, she’d pulled me up and I just wanted her more because of it. “I don’t want you to join me because I’m a guest. I want you to watch the fireworks with me because the Avery Walker that exists off this boat wants to.”

Avery

It would be easier if I didn’t want to join Hayden. If another guest had asked me to watch the fireworks with them I probably wouldn’t have resisted so hard. Tipsy guests would often encourage us to join them in their revelry and we’d smile and join their conga line, sing karaoke or line up their shots. But I fought against Hayden’s invitation, albeit half-heartedly, because I knew I’d want more from our encounter than I was supposed to. There was no doubt that Hayden Wolf was attractive physically, but the more I got to know him, the more I liked and admired him. From the way he wasn’t so prideful that it stopped him from taking advice about his deal and he was prepared to admit it to the way he used a family photograph as a bookmark. My draw toward him was . . . unusual, dangerous, frightening.

I released the cloth, dropping it over the ice, and scooped up the bucket, resting it on my hip. I picked up the two champagne glasses I’d set on the counter and headed to the upper deck.

I’d resisted because the transparent but very clear divide between crew and guest, which was always in place, even when we were dancing and singing along with them, I felt crumbling when I was with Hayden. I’d want him to tell me things guests shouldn’t tell crew—personal things about his family and life. I’d want him to look at me and think that I was beautiful. I’d wanted to forget I was crew and paid to serve him.

And more than anything else, I didn’t want to join Hayden and be disappointed that that barrier between us disintegrated for me, but stayed in place for him.

But I’d lost this battle. I wanted to please him, was a little drunk on the attention of this rich, charming man who seemed to be so different to anyone else I’d met who was in his position. But even more, I wanted this for me. I’d never felt such a strong pull to someone and I wasn’t ready to let go. I never did the wrong thing. I was always caring about my family and my job but right now, I just wanted a few more minutes of feeling as special as I did when Hayden looked at me, searching and fascinated.

As I got up to the upper deck, Hayden was facing the ocean. His untucked, white linen shirt rippled in the breeze, threatening to lift to reveal his hard, tan body. He turned at the sound of me setting down the ice bucket and strode toward me.

“It’s almost nine,” he said, pulling the bottle from the ice and removing the foil and the cork. There was no point telling him I’d do it. Something had shifted. He’d asked me to join him as the Avery Walker who wasn’t a stewardess and that’s who I was in that moment.

As we stood silently in the dark, the low, orange light from the external lamps and the heat left over from the day making the outside feel like the inside, Hayden released the cork like a professional and poured two glasses.

He handed me a flute and raised his own. “To you, Avery Walker.”

He couldn’t make a toast to me—it felt wrong. I wasn’t the girl who was ever the reason for the toast. “Let’s hope the fireworks are good,” I said, raising my glass.

He shook his head and I wasn’t sure if it was because I’d ignored his toast or because of my expectations of entertainment from the shore. Outstretching his arm, he guided me to the portside, which was closest to the shore.

“It’s beautiful without the fireworks,” he said, and when I glanced at him he was looking right at me.

My heart thundered under his attention, and at the possibilities of his intentions. “And different from the South of France, right? It’s only a few miles away but you can tell it’s another country.”

He nodded. “Do you get to go ashore a lot?”

“In Italy? Not much. You end up with time off where you’re picking up your next charter—which is usually Saint Tropez or Monaco. The French Riviera, mainly. But I do volunteer for trips ashore during charters down the Italian coast. You know, if guests need anything. Do you like Italy?” I was babbling, trying to hide my desire for him. My eyes flitted across to him. I wanted to see his reaction, to study him, to know what he was thinking.

“Yeah. I’ve been to Milan for business countless times. And I’ve holidayed in villas in Tuscany.”

Boom.

The first of the fireworks exploded in the sky—an umbrella of bright pink followed by white raindrops—stark against the black backdrop. I turned to him. I loved it. He smiled back at me and I had to look away his stare was so intense.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The sky exploded into a shower of orange and blue stars as if we were in our own, alternative snow globe.

“I like this smile.”

I turned back to him and realized his eyes had been on me the whole time.

“This smile?”

“The Avery Walker smile. It’s different to the stewardess smile I normally get. They’re both beautiful, but I prefer this one.”

Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

I wasn’t sure if the noise pounding in my ears was the fireworks up above or every atom of my body thundering in unison.

I glanced down at my glass, hiding my blush.

Another burst of light pulled our attention back to the sky and we watched for a few minutes in silence.

“Michael would love this,” I said to myself, watching the colors surge and retreat. One of my first memories was Fourth of July fireworks with Mom and Dad and Michael. I’d missed that annual family outing since I’d begun yachting. Since Mom left.

“Michael?”

“My younger brother.”

“You’re close?” he asked.

Though I shouldn’t, I took my first sip of champagne. I had to be up early tomorrow, would probably have to pick up the slack from August and Skylar because of their hangovers. “Yeah. Kinda.” I didn’t see him that often and although I spoke to my dad every day, Michael and I didn’t shoot the breeze or say much at all to each other unless I was at home.

“But you want him to see the fireworks?”

I exhaled, my shoulders dropping. “He had an accident. There were spinal injuries. Head injuries. He doesn’t walk anymore. But he loves sports on TV and he would love this.” I wished I could transport him here, show him how beautiful this place was. But he was unlikely to ever leave Sacramento, let alone the United States.

“I’m sorry,” Hayden said, sweeping his knuckles over my cheek as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

I shook my head and pulled my shoulders back. “It was seven years ago. And he has excellent medical care. And he and my dad eat too much pizza and watch far too much TV.” I smiled at the thought of the two of them pretending to like my stir-fry or the vegetable casserole that I made whenever I was at home.

“Is that why you wanted to work abroad, to escape what was happening back home?”

It was such a personal question—prying and invasive—but I wanted to tell him.

I leaned against the railings, holding the stem of my glass with both hands. “Nope. I’d prefer to be with my family. But medical bills mount up, you know?”

He closed his eyes in a long blink as if what I’d said pained him. “I get it,” he said, settling next to me, like we had been when we were watching the sunrise. “I have a brother. Younger. I’d move mountains for him if he wasn’t more than capable of moving them for himself.”

Tears misted my eyes. “That’s what family does, right?” My mother hadn’t felt the same.

“Not always,” he said, as if he were reading my thoughts. He took a sip of his drink and turned so his body was facing me side on. “What would you do if the medical bills didn’t exist?”

I paused, watching the sky burst into greens and purples. “I don’t think about that. There’s no point.” At least I tried not to think about it. It wasn’t as if I had options or choices. “Michael really wants to walk again. That’s what we’re all focused on.”

Another boom echoed across the sky, bringing with it another glitter of color.

“There’s always a point in having hopes and dreams—ambitions—isn’t there?”

I kept focused on the sky. “I really want Michael to walk again.” If I could have that, if my yachting career did nothing else but make that happen, every dream of mine would have come true.

“My brother was in the special forces,” Hayden said a few minutes later and I faced him, wanting to hear every word he was saying. I’d assumed his brother would be a lawyer or a doctor. The military seemed so removed from Hayden and what he did, but it explained the crew cut in the photograph I’d seen. “SAS. I hated it when he joined up. Partly because I knew I’d miss him and partly because I wasn’t going to be able to look after him where he was going.”

I tried hard not to, but I reached across and curled my fingers around his wrist, wanting to provide some comfort. Hayden Wolf wasn’t a man anyone would assume would worry over his younger brother. But maybe we weren’t so different. “Maybe that’s part of the reason why he did. So you didn’t have to,” I replied.

He let out a breath and I released his arm. “I’d never thought of it like that, but you might be right. He came back different. Which of course he was bound to because war changes you but also he just didn’t need me as much. Maybe that was his plan.”

Hayden sounded like he wanted to be needed by his brother. Would I miss it if I didn’t have Michael relying on me?

The fireworks continued and we watched, commenting every now and then on how beautiful they were, our confessions to each other settling like foundations of a building.

“I was angry with you for not leaving the boat this evening,” Hayden said out of nowhere. “You deserved a break. When I gave the crew the night off—I meant for you to go with them.”

“It’s my job to be here. You’re meant to be on vacation. If anyone deserves a break, it’s you. You’ve not stopped since you came aboard.” I wasn’t sure he was going to make it a full eight weeks. He was barely sleeping and working through the night every night.

“But that’s my choice. I’m trying to save my business.”

“And yachting is my business. You take your career seriously and so do I. I’m not leaving my guest without a stewardess on board. What if you needed something?”

“Is that the only reason you stayed?” he asked.

I’d never been a good liar, but with Hayden I found myself revealing parts of me I’d kept completely secret. “I don’t know,” I replied. It was only half the reason. I could hardly confess the rest.

He paused. “You’re beautiful,” he said, and my heart thundered in my chest.

“Because I care about my job?” I teased, trying to lighten the moment.

“Exactly.” He narrowed his eyes and the air all around me pressed against my skin, making me aware of every part exposed to the warm breeze.

He turned his entire body toward me. “I want to kiss you.” My heartbeat got louder, mixing with the booms of the fireworks. I could make a joke and move away; it was what I would do if any other guest made a pass at me. I could excuse myself. I could run.

But I didn’t. I didn’t want to avoid anything. So I stayed, looking at him, my gaze flickering to the faded sky. “I can’t kiss a guest,” I whispered. I’d never wanted to before. Never even been tempted. I’d assumed that would always be the case, that I’d always care about my job above any fleeting moment of . . . whatever this was. But right then, it felt like a choice between my job and my soul. Like I fundamentally needed this deep down inside. Needed him. Maybe it was what my dad had said about having something for myself. Maybe it was just that I’d gone so long without a man touching me, but I didn’t think so. It was Hayden Wolf and the way he kept constantly blowing my expectations of him out of the water, his lack of entourage, his moments of humor and his dedication to his business despite the fact that he probably didn’t have to work again given his obvious wealth. It was the way he’d given the crew the night off when there was no reason to. He was a good man. A man so beautiful I caught my breath every time I saw him, and a man I wanted to kiss.

“But you want me to kiss you,” he said, plucking my glass from my tightened fingers and placing it on the table behind him alongside his.

I couldn’t argue—I wasn’t a liar.

“The blush across your cheek . . .”

He stood right in front of me, so close I could feel the heat rolling off his body. He reached behind me and pulled my hair free from the tie, slowly, deliberately as if he was savoring some kind of transformation. “The way your nipples tighten when I’m close. The way your pussy is aching right now . . . it all tells me how much you want me to kiss you.”

I pulled my bottom lip into my mouth and glanced at my feet. I couldn’t move, couldn’t contradict the dirty things he was saying. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was right, or because his words were just so damn filthy, but I couldn’t remember ever being so turned on by a man who’d barely touched me.

His thumb swept across my bottom lip, coaxing it free of my teeth, then

he tilted my head up to face him. He stared into my eyes intently as if he were communicating, telling me he’d stop if that was what I wanted.

But I didn’t.

I wanted to forget he was a guest and I was a stewardess.

I wanted to forget I was putting my job on the line at that precise moment.

I wanted him to kiss me.

He stepped forward, his thighs scraping against my hips as he cupped my face in his hands, sweeping his thumbs across my cheekbones.

I sank against his body, needing more of him, desperate for his lips on mine. He sighed and closed his eyelids lazily before pressing his lips to mine. My skin began to buzz. I wasn’t sure if it were in warning or pleasure, but either way, I didn’t care. I was right where I wanted to be, selfishly enjoying the man in front of me. He snaked his arm around me, pressing his huge palm into the small of my back, pulling me against him.

I opened my mouth with a groan and he slipped his tongue into my mouth. He tasted masculine, like heat and earth, as if he was the center of everything, and at that moment he was. He was solid. I could trust him. He’d look after me and protect me and a long-buried part of myself burst into relief. My knees buckled, but he kept me upright. His arms felt as if they were exactly where they were meant to be—around me.

I’d kissed men before—of course I had—but I wasn’t sure I’d ever been kissed, not like this, not with Hayden’s possessive, perfect way.

I slid my hands up his chest, heat against heat, his heartbeat hammering against my palm. He pulled back for a second, narrowed his eyes and dived to my neck, pressing kisses into the dip between my collarbone, then trailing up, nipping and sucking before pulling away again, looking at me as if I was some kind of prize he’d never thought he would win and didn’t think he deserved, then hungrily found my lips again.

He was right, my pussy was tight and hot. I arched my body against him, trying to give it some peace. He moaned into my mouth, grabbing my ass, sliding his hand down the back of my thigh and raising my leg as he pressed his erection against my belly.

The heat between us winched up, higher and higher, with no telling when or if it would stop or explode.

My sounds were getting louder and I knew I needed things to stop before . . . before I became incapable. I couldn’t lose control. I was so close to not caring about anything but this moment, about anyone except Hayden and me.

The breeze carried laughter from a nearby yacht, echoing into the quiet night now the fireworks had stopped. If we could hear them, could they hear us, see us?

I pushed my hand against his chest and he pulled back, looking me right in the eye. I shook my head. “We have to stop this.” I wanted him to keep kissing me. I wanted to feel the heat coursing through my body for just a few more minutes, but I had to end this now.

“But you don’t want me to stop,” he murmured, scraping his scruff-covered cheek against mine.

“You’re right. I don’t,” I whispered, need spreading across my skin, but I managed to resist him and stepped back, out of his arms. “But I need to go.” I should never have come up here. I knew it would lead to trouble, however sweet it might feel in the short term. It was too risky. There was too much at stake. My brother’s care and my career were never going take second place to any man. But the choice had never felt so difficult, had never stung quite so painfully, as it did when I turned away from Hayden Wolf.