Tonight, Belle Jordan pretended she was someone else. Peter Morgan walked beside her down the dock. The salt mixed with his scent and her lips begged for a taste. He would be sweeter than ice cream.

She swallowed and glanced away from him. None of this made any sense as part of her life. Her shoulders tightened as they inched closer to the USS Destiny. The fantasy nonsense would never be her life.

Without waiting for his hand, she hopped onto his yacht, which could compete in a boat show as the most ostentatious one that existed. She then turned around to see if he took the rail or followed her. She pressed her lips together. His strong muscles against her skin would crush her, in a good way.

He jumped and landed next to her.

Her heart pounded. The rich man now in front of her was some illusion. She sniffed the air and the smell of oak struck her. The smell tickled her nose, reminding her of a home she'd never had. She massaged her neck and went toward the aft. He went toward what must be the ship's command. She crossed her arms. The waters were still and warm here.

None of this required her to figure anything out or do anything. She hugged her stomach. The motors under her feet buzzed as they flipped on.

Peter stepped outside and joined her. His massive wall of muscles made no sense for someone like him. Rich men were supposed to get fat and not make her body experience shots of electrical surges.

He pointed to the deck chairs. She ticked her head and saw no reason to disagree with him and headed toward the chairs. As he neared her, goose bumps spread again. It seemed to be her usual reaction as she ached to touch him. The moon was high in the sky now. She licked her lips as the salt air moistened her face. Her mouth quivered for a kiss as he came to stand beside her.

Neither of them said anything. She massaged her arms to stop the goose bumps. Nothing worked. The warmth she felt tonight seemed to fuel an internal fire. Something surged in the air around her.

Then a servant came and placed a tray, a bottle of champagne and two flutes on the table between the chairs.

She sighed and turned to the moon. This might be the universe laughing at her for praying earlier. She’d not be desperate and let moments where she wanted to beg for his attention play out. She’d stamped out her attraction to him. Tomorrow would be easier. This one night might stay lodged in her dreams.

She stared into Peter's brown eyes. The chocolate-colored hues were like a mask, and she had no idea what he felt inside. Her skin tingled. She'd never be this close to someone like him ever again. She traced her neckline and leaned closer to him.

"What's it like growing up as one of America's oldest dynasties? Did your dad keep you locked in your room to ensure that you knew how to keep the books?"

As if he were mimicking her, he rubbed his neck and nodded. "Yeah."

“What?” She blinked. "Sorry."

She lowered her hand to her side. She'd been rude and hadn't meant anything by it. The vision of a young boy locked in his room with a book and a pencil wafted through her.

She fixed her hair behind her ear. "I was being sarcastic. It's a bad habit."

"You hit a direct target." He shrugged and placed his hands in his pocket. "I was being honest. Dad quizzed me on how to read balance sheets and ensured I had a plan to earn a million dollars before I was ten that he executed to prove my successes or failures of mind. The daily updates as I stood next to his desk made my knees knock."

Her father had made her feel that way once when she brought a D home on her report card and then said she'd fix it with the teacher. The lecture of responsibility had hit her hard in the gut. She reached for the flute of champagne and sipped like it gave her space.

"Wow. That sucks. My lemonade stand taught me the value of a dollar, but it wasn't something held over my head."

He massaged his temples and closed his eyes. She tilted her head to ask what he thought. Then he picked up his glass and did the same.

"The lemonade stand is a way of ensuring poor people stay poor. At least that's what dear old dad said.”

“How?”

“It teaches hard work under the sun and not using your brains, at least in my father’s estimation. It keeps poor people attached to a nickel or a dime.”

He clinked his glass with hers. The vibration echoed in her heart. "I don't think I'd like him."

“Many would agree. Others still fear him, even after his death.” He sipped his drink and stared at the dark waters and the fading shoreline. "And most people say I'm just like him."

If he believed that, then she should let that echo in her heart serve as a reminder to not fantasize with Peter Morgan. Her fingers ached to reach out and hug him. She held still. Instead she sipped her drink and stared at his stiff body posture. "Are you?"

He gulped his drink. "Maybe."

Whatever it was that bothered him must be big. She sipped her drink and stepped close. Their arms briefly brushed against each other, and his masculine scent invaded the taste of champagne.

"Hmm. You don't want to answer yes or no? I can't judge as I didn't know your father."

To refill their glasses, he stepped away, for a moment, and traded with the waiter. "You call things like you see them and don't hold back."

She stilled. "Is that a statement or a question?"

He stared at her glass until she sipped. She followed his silent command. "Perhaps both. I don't know anything about you, Belle."

Her name sounded like someone else's on his lips. She flinched at the thought and squared her shoulders. "What's to know? I was in the Marines. I was once engaged to Colt, who will be your brother-in-law tomorrow, and now I'm here to cheer for their every happiness."

"Are you applying for sainthood, after all then?"

"No, and I don't deserve angel wings either, so don't get the wrong ideas."

He stared at her as she gulped her drink. He then asked, "Why are you here?"

“For me.” Her shoulders tensed. "I needed to get closure."

He stepped closer, and all she could see was his muscles. Unlike the men in the military though, Peter chose to stay in perfect shape. Instead this muscular man pressed against her slightly, and she had a tremble rush through her.

"You're holding back."

Sanity was important to keep. She ticked her head. "True, but we're not close enough to share secrets, are we?”

“We could be.”

“Hmm. I’ll think about it. And to answer your earlier question, I prefer to always tell the truth, no matter how it slices things between people."

He massaged his neck again and stared hard at her. "How were you going to marry Colt? I have known the country farm boy all my life, and I can't imagine someone as laid back and easy going as him with someone so full of depth and opinions."

"Are you calling Colt country?"

"I always did."

She shook her head. "Your sister is marrying him."

His eyes were like a microscope that peered through her. Belle stepped away from him to breathe as he said, "Vicki's a sweetheart who follows her heart. You seem to hide from yours though you share your strong opinions about life."

“Actions define a person far more than wishes.” She gulped her drink and then held out the stem. "Another glass, please. Your technique to seduce every female on the planet needs work."

“Unexpected.” He poured and then opened the tray to offer her a piece of fruit. She just took the champagne and sipped. He placed the tray on the table and gave her a half smile. "Is that what I'm to do now with you?”

“No, but you weren’t supposed to be interesting in return.” She stared at the ocean again. The waters were black at night, but something splashed in the distance. She tried to see, but couldn't make it out. "However, I think I’m right, Mr. Morgan? Aren't women just accessories in your life?"

He stepped in front of her, and his shoulders tenses. "What is that assumption based on? And don't call me Mr. Morgan again. I’m not my father."

“Okay, no worries on your name.” She pointed as she spoke. "But my assumptions are based on all of this. The yacht. The million dollar smile. The ease at which you swooped me here. I was curious how a woman gets swept off her feet so I followed."

He reached for her pointing finger and guided her arm back to her side. "Can your feet get swept, or are you always looking for a way to stay firmly planted on the ground?"

Her feet ached to move, but she held her jittery body together. "I don't know. I've never been asked."

"I find that hard to believe."

"I always get in my own way, Peter. I don't want to spend my life frivolously doing whatever pops in my head next."

His eyes widened as he stared at her. "So you are serious all the time and never venture into the unknown?"

"No. I'm here, aren't I?"

She glanced at his shiny black shoes. “So I’m the fun.”

“Let’s not go that far.” Flames grew inside her.

“You said you’d never see me again, once morning came.”

“Yeah, you’re not the type to call and check on me later type.” She tried to water that thought and told herself Valentino or whoever the latest designer was must have made them custom ordered for him.

“Guess we’ll see.”

Her face was hot as she glanced into his brown eyes. "Tonight I was supposed to blend into a crowd, wish Colt well and drink beer with friends."

"You intended to hide."

"Not exactly."

“I don’t see you as someone who hides from anything.”

“That’s probably true.”

He shook his head. "Belle Jordan, you need to experience more of life and indulge in champagne."

“Oh good. Flirting again.” She placed her hand on her hip and shrugged, "I’m game for now. Suggestions on how to indulge in this fantasy life?"

He stood in front of her again. Her heartbeat grew erratic as he then whispered in her ear, "First let the wonder of the moment into your heart."

She sucked on her bottom lip. "What?"

"You asked for a suggestion.” He stepped and sipped his drink. She did the same, but once her glass was empty, he placed both of the stems on the table.

“Do you even have a heart that you recognize Peter?”

“Most people would say no.” He returned to stand in front of her. “I'm the biggest jerk around most of the time, but even I let myself feel. You seem closed.”

“I don’t have time for frivolous men.”

“And I don't have time for every woman on the planet. Life is about moderation. My suggestion is to close your eyes, feel your heartbeat and then, when you count to ten, do something completely unexpected."

Her skin was electric as she inhaled. "I won't kiss you."

His eyes widened as she closed her eyes. "I didn't ask you to."

"Okay." Her cheeks prickled like she'd grow a blush. Her thermostat lowered fast. There was a chill in the air.

He then reached for her chin. "If we are to kiss, you'll have to tell me to do it."

Absolutely not. She pushed his hand away, though her skin ached for more of him. "Won't happen."

He shrugged but stayed so close that the breeze dissipated as her temperature climbed again. "I hope it will. Now close your eyes."

She followed orders for a moment, though her shoulders stayed tight. "This is a stupid idea."

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head.

"No comments to stop yourself. Do it, soldier."

She inhaled and oak mixed with the salt water as she closed her eyes, again. She licked her lips. "Yes, sir."

This time she swayed with the boat but didn't open her eyes. Her mind raced. This was a stupid idea, but she held together.

He whispered again, "Feel your heartbeat."

There were two heartbeats. One in her chest. The other was definitely his. Her pulse grew faster.

"I feel yours too. You're right with me and beating at the same time."

His breaths were heavy. "Should I step away?"

Her toes curled as her lips tingled for a kiss. She sighed and didn't move. "No."

"Now do something unexpected that will make you smile."

His warm breaths mixed with hers in the small space between them. Her lips quirked and puckered to beg for that kiss.

Then she stepped on his toes. She swallowed hard. With an intake of breath, she reached out for his hand and spun herself around.

She laughed and twirled again, in a dance.

A moment later, he wrapped his arms around her waist and led her in a ballroom dance.

Clearly he'd had lessons. She held onto him and followed his steps, but her head spun as she did. No other man ever tried to dance with her.