If I didn’t know and understand Jethro’s condition, I would eye him with suspicion for such a comment. Only thing was, I’d categorically, scientifically proven that what Jethro sensed wasn’t bullshit but some heightened sense of instinct that not all humans had tapped into.

In his case, he couldn’t switch it off.

“How did I feel back then?” I finished my drink, looking over my shoulder to where music drifted from the ballroom. Was Eleanor safe? I knew Radcliffe would follow her and keep her protected while away from me but I had to admit, I fucking hated being apart from her.

“You were...cold.” Jethro paced by the fireplace. “Analytical. No hint of feeling just...calculations. A brain that overruled any emotion and left you unexcited about anything and pissed off at everything.”

“Sounds about right.”

“But now, you—” He cocked his head, staring at me. “You’re anxious right now because you’re away from her, but when she was beside you—” He chuckled. “You were a horny bastard as well as possessive and protective. You were happy.”

“Having a wife will do that to a man.”

“No, having the perfect wife will do that.” Jethro cleared his throat. “Nila saved me as surely as you saved me in my younger years. You helped deaden me to things I couldn’t control, and she helped me rise above it.” He cleared his throat. “I want to get to know Eleanor, Sullivan. You’ll stay for breakfast tomorrow? Just the four of us?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

“And perhaps she can answer my question.”

“What question?”

“The one I asked earlier. How you conned her into falling in love with you.” He laughed as I scowled.

“You really want to know?” I smirked, testing the truth on my tongue. No one outside of Cal and Jess and my loyal staff knew about my purchase of Eleanor. Apart from that Q bastard who’d threatened me the week or so before our wedding, of course.

Something like that should remain a secret, but Jethro had his own, and...I trusted him.

“I bought her.” I kept a careful eye on him. “I bought her, trapped her, and knew instantly that she was mine. Luckily for me, she felt the same way.”

“How quickly did you free her?”

“When my brother came to kill her.”

Jethro’s jaw stiffened, his mask hiding the rest of his expression. “I’m assuming, because Eleanor is still alive, that he failed in that quest?”

“He did.”

He studied me for an unnerving second before nodding. In that one stare, I was almost sure he knew that Drake was dead and that I was glad of it.

“We have lots to catch up on, it seems.” He guided me from the room. “At breakfast, we will have privacy. For now, let me introduce you to a man who I think can deliver some extra toys for your guests on Rapture.”

“Toys?”

“Yachts. A Mr Elder Prest comes highly recommended.”

“You getting into the sailing business yourself, Hawk?” I followed him, past the ballroom and down the corridor.

“Perhaps.”

A tuxedoed gentleman swept from a morning room, almost colliding with us. Jethro went to introduce us, but I guessed this was the man he’d mentioned. He had the impatience of someone wanting to be elsewhere, rather than conversing with potential clients.

Like me.

“Mr Prest, I presume.”

He eyed me, his mask hiding his nationality and features. “You presume correctly. And you are?” His accent was faint but reminded me of a Eurasian girl I’d bought once who lived half her life with her father in Japan and half with her mother in the States—before I’d imprisoned her, of course.

I swallowed back the memory. That wasn’t who I was anymore. I hadn’t been that man for a very long time. Jethro shifted beside me, hinting that perhaps the flush of memory from my past had done more than just infected my mind but my outward appearance too.

I had a habit of smiling sharper and acting crueller whenever I remembered what I was capable of when I’d used empathy in ways it shouldn’t be used.

“Sully Sinclair,” I said. “Hawk told me you’re in the business of creating custom yachts?”

“Are you in the market?”

I glanced at Jethro who stayed to the side, allowing me to direct this conversation even though, up till now, I hadn’t really considered making a high-end order for nautical equipment. Eleanor and I had discussed many ways to deliver unforgettable experiences for our troubled husbands and wives who stayed on Rapture, but I hadn’t gone much further with the idea.

Ah well, I supposed now could work. The sooner I spoke to him, the sooner I could claim my wife from Nila Hawk and return to our quarters for privacy. “As a matter of fact, yes. I own a few islands in the Pacific, and my clients are used to a certain level of luxury.” I smiled curtly. “Let’s just say...I like to keep them happy.”

In legal ways this time, instead of illegal.

“So you’re after smaller vessels?”

“I’m after quite a few. Large and small. If you have time to discuss.”

Eleanor should be here.

Rapture was her business venture, not mine. She’d been the one to turn a leased atoll into a highly profitable operation. I didn’t want to step on her toes by ordering ‘toys’ as Jethro called them without her approval.

Jethro touched my shoulder. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to discuss business. I’ll come find you later, Sullivan.”

I nodded as he vanished amongst a group of masked women.

Once I made eye contact with Mr Prest, he sighed and held out his hand. “I can spare ten minutes.”

Chapter Seven

THERE WERE MANY THINGS I loved in life.

Sully’s gravelly voice in the morning as we rolled out of bed and into Nirvana, usually ending our early swim with a quickie before breakfast. Skittle’s gentle feathers as she fluffed up in the crook of my shoulder. The juice of a lychee as I bit into the sweet fruit. The sunrises and sunsets that never failed to splash the horizon with every colour humans could name and many more that we couldn’t.

I also loved the sounds of so many different animals. From the squeaks of otters, to the snuffles of pigs, and the click of fish grazing on coral beneath the sea.

But there was a special kind of love for the velveteen softness of a horse’s nostrils.

Hot air cascaded over my fingers as the dapple grey huffed, scenting me and hopefully accepting me as a friend instead of foe. “She’s gorgeous.” I grinned, glancing at Nila as she undid her mask and dangled it from a fingertip.

“Her name is Warriors Don’t Cry. Moth is her stable name.” She drifted forward, grabbing a handful of oats from a large bin by the tack room. “She was a gift from my brother-in-law, Kestrel.”

“That’s an interesting name.” I laughed as Moth gobbled up the oats from Nila’s palm and blinked innocently for more. Her huge wise eyes framed in the thickest, blackest eyelashes.

“It’s the family tradition of Hawk sons. A bird of prey is given as their nickname. Kes preferred his nickname to his real name.” She threw me a grin. “I guess I can understand why.”