I stand up and move to his side so he can see my face. He lifts his head and looks at me. Crouching down beside him, I remove his sunglasses and hold his chin steady with my other hand.
“I won’t tell anyone,” I say again.
His sapphire eyes are full of uncertainty, but slowly they fill with trust. The sight makes me want to punch the air with joy. He nods and I reluctantly release his chin. I’d love to kiss him but I don’t want to take advantage. He is clearly all kinds of vulnerable right now.
Slowly, I move back to my own sunlounger and flop back down. The distance between us now feels vast. I’m already missing having my hands on him. At some point since knowing him, my questions and angst about my sexuality have withered and died. I don’t care anymore. It’s not important. The only thing that matters is how much I want him.
“At least karma is a bitch and made sure they accidentally picked a gay kid.”
My head whips to the side to look at him. He is smirking at me. His eyes sparkling in vindictive amusement. My stomach flips over. I love the poetic justice of it, even though it makes me concerned for him. His childhood sounds like a shitshow. The kind of people who replace their own child, don’t seem to be the type who would wave the Pride flag.
But those thoughts only occupy a tiny part of my mind. The thing that has utterly grabbed my attention, is that he is telling me he is gay. It means I have a chance. It’s a dazzling beacon of hope and I can’t help grinning in delight. I try telling myself that there are an awful lot of men in the world, just because he is gay, doesn’t mean I’m his type.
Okay, he drunkenly made a pass at me once, and there have been countless other moments, like just now when my touch was getting him all excited. I hadn’t dared to hope before, not really. But now all the evidence is stacking up, and the cherry on top is him telling me he is gay. Actually telling me, to my face, with words. I know that means something.
It means Mackenzie Jones likes me too.
Chapter eighteen
Kit
Wewalkintothemaster bedroom of the yacht. Mackenzie starts to prowl around it, while I stand just inside the doorway, transfixed by the giant luxurious looking bed. My gaze tracks around the lovely room. My eyes aren’t deceiving me. There is definitely only one bed.
It’s not really surprising, the yacht is stunning but it is far from the biggest. The budget is clearly only so generous, and the staff believe we really are dating. They had no reason to set up separate sleeping arrangements. I don’t know if I’m excited about the prospect of sharing a bed with Mackenzie or terrified at the thought of his reaction.
Not that it should be an immediate problem. It’s early evening, and after a day of nothing but sunbathing, followed by an exquisite candlelit dinner, I’m not exactly exhausted and I can’t imagine Mackenzie is either.
Right now he is so busy poking into every corner and lifting up every ornament, he doesn’t seem to have noticed the bed situation.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Checking for cameras.”
I blink in surprise. “Paranoid, much?”
He casts me a withering, mocking glance over his shoulder. “Oh, my sweet summer child.”
I pull a face at him and go flop down on the overstuffed sofa. It doesn’t take him too long to finish his mission. He wanders over to the drinks cabinet, pours two whiskeys before joining me on the sofa and handing me one. I take a sip and relish the burn.
“Are you seeing anyone?” I blurt. It’s been on my mind, but I hadn’t been intending to ask. Seems my mouth has other ideas.
He raises an eyebrow. “No, getting burned by a kiss-and-tell put me off for life.”
“I don’t remember hearing about that?” I say with a frown.
“Mother paid him off,” he says and downs his whiskey.
I know I should say something but my gaze has been fixed on him for too long and now I’m hypnotized by his beauty. He really is stunning. My mind keeps trying to find some imperfection, some tiny flaw, but the more I look, the more I see how perfect he is.
He gets up and refills his glass. When he sits down again, I can’t help but notice he has moved closer to me. I’m delighted by this. He takes another deep drink of whiskey, so I snatch the glass from his hand. He glares at me in outrage.
“Don’t get drunk,” I say softly.
Our gazes lock. He swallows and I watch his Adam’s apple bob. We sit, silent and motionless for a long moment. I swear our breaths synchronize.
I lick my lips. “The whole world thinks we are fucking tonight. I can’t kiss and tell.”
His eyes widen. I don’t know how much he likes me, but shamelessly right now I’m not too concerned with that. I’m pinning my hopes on him being horny or lonely or bored. Any combination will do. I’m here, I’m not bad looking, and he doesn’t hate me. It could well be enough. I may have a distinct lack of morals, but if it means I get to have him, I’ll take being a convenience fuck.
