I pause at the door, looking back at her—gloriously disheveled, wearing nothing but moonlight and confusion."Without question."
"So why are you doing this?"
Because one taste won't be enough.
Because this wasn't just physical after all.
Because I'm falling for you, and I don't know how to stop.
"Because I'm Scottish," I say instead."We're notoriously stubborn."
Her laugh follows me out the door and down the narrow corridor to the second, smaller cabin.
I close the door behind me, leaning against it in the darkness.
One night, we'd agreed.One time to get her out of my system.
I stare at the ceiling, achingly hard and thoroughly screwed—in all ways except the one I'd planned.
Because now I know the truth…
One taste of Karina Peters will never be enough.
17
A PROPER SCOTTISH BREAKFAST
CALLUM
I wake to July sunlight streaming through the yacht's porthole, bathing the cabin in golden morning light.
For a moment, I forget where I am—and more importantly, who's sleeping in the master suite down the hall.
Then the events of last night come flooding back in a rush of sense memory that makes me groan.
I'm forty-five years old, for Christ's sake.
Too old to be getting hard just thinking about a woman.Too experienced to be hiding in the guest cabin of my own yacht like a teenager afraid of his own impulses.
Too smart to pursue something that can only end badly.
And yet…
I check my phone: 6:17 AM.
We docked at my private slip near Queen Anne sometime after midnight.
I should wake Karina, arrange for a car to take her home, return to my hotel, and pretend last night never happened.
That would be the sensible thing to do.
Instead, I find myself in the galley, brewing coffee and assembling ingredients for a proper Scottish breakfast.
I'm halfway through slicing mushrooms when I hear a throat clear behind me.
"Good morning," Karina says, her voice husky with sleep.She's wearing one of my oxford shirts, the hem hitting mid-thigh.
Her dark curls are tousled in a way that makes my fingers itch to touch them again.
