The sun begins its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in different shades of gold. Roger adjusts our course, positioning the catamaran perfectly to capture the spectacle. The water transforms into a mirror of fire, reflecting the changing sky.
"What did you think?" Alexander asks, his voice low enough that only I can hear.
"Incredible," I answer, looking not at the sunset but at him—at the way the light softens his features, turning his usual sharpness into something almost tender.
His hand finds mine, hidden from Roger's view by our bodies and the champagne bucket. His thumb moves along my palm, sending ripples of sensation up my arm.
When Roger moves to the far side of the boat to adjust something, Alexander leans in and kisses me—a soft, lingeringpress of lips that feels different from our previous kisses. Less urgent, less about possession and more about... connection.
"Research going well, sir?" Roger calls out as he returns, and Alexander pulls away with a reluctance I can feel.
"Exceeding expectations," Alexander replies smoothly, his eyes never leaving mine.
As the sun sinks lower, casting long shadows across the deck, Alexander's hand finds my knee beneath the small table. His touch is light but deliberate, and makes it difficult to focus on Roger's stories about island legends and local customs.
When Roger turns to point out a passing sailboat, Alexander steals another kiss—this one deeper, his hand sliding higher on my thigh, stopping just short of impropriety. I suppress a small gasp against his lips.
"Later," he promises, his voice rough with desire.
The sunset reaches its climax, the sun a molten gold orb melting into the sea. The sky blazes in impossible hues—coral and crimson and violet streaking across clouds that seem painted for our private viewing.
As the sun sets fully, I glance at Alexander and notice the way his guard has lowered just enough to reveal glimpses of a man who experiences beauty, who appreciates more than balance sheets and bottom lines. A man who might, despite his warnings about his nature, be capable of feeling something beyond physical desire.
As darkness falls and Roger switches on the boat's subtle lighting, Alexander leans close to my ear. "Come to my suite ASAP."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yes."
And in that simple word, I acknowledge that whatever line I thought I was maintaining—whatever protection I thought I had against falling for this man—has already been crossed.
Chapter 9
Camille
Alexander's suite feels different tonight—or maybe I'm the one who's different. The romantic sail has left me feeling both euphoric and vulnerable, like some protective layer has been stripped away.
I watch him move through the space with his usual confidence, shedding his linen shirt. My body already hums with anticipation, conditioned now to respond to his proximity, to the knowledge of what those hands can do to me.
"Would you like a drink?" he asks, moving toward the bar cart in the corner of the living area.
"No," I say simply. Whatever comes next, I want to feel every second of it with complete clarity.
He turns, studying me with those penetrating green eyes. Something about my tone must betray my thoughts, because his lips curve into that knowing half-smile that makes my pulse skip.
"Come here," he says, his voice dropping to that commanding register that leaves me feeling weak.
I cross to him without hesitation, my sandals silent against the polished floor. When I reach him, he doesn't touch meimmediately. Instead, he looks down at me, his gaze traveling from my eyes to my lips, then lower.
"I've been thinking about getting you out of that dress since the moment I saw you walking to the marina," he says.
"What's stopping you?" I ask, surprising myself with my boldness.
His eyebrow arches slightly. "Patience is a virtue, Camille." His hand finally rises to trace the neckline of my dress, just barely skimming the skin above it. "And anticipation can be... delicious."
My breath catches at his touch. After everything we've done together, it shouldn't still affect me this way—a simple brush of his fingers setting fire to my skin.
"I thought we might try something different tonight," he says, his finger continuing its maddening path along my collarbone. "My suite has a private hot tub on the terrace. There are things that I want to do with you there."
I feel myself clench internally at the idea. "I didn't bring a swimsuit."
