Why now?
When the car finally slowed, the answer didn’t come.
The marina stretched before me, black water smooth as polished stone, the December air sharp with salt and cold.And there—moored apart from the others, lights low and deliberate—was his yacht.Not ostentatious but intentional.Every line clean.Controlled.
But I barely registered it.
Because Creed was already waiting.
He stood at the edge of the gangplank, coat buttoned, collar turned against the wind, hands tucked into his pockets like he was holding something in place.Still.Watchful.The city framed him in light, but he didn’t belong to it.He never had.
My breath caught despite myself.
He looked like command distilled—no hurry, no excess.Just presence.The kind that bent a room without touching it.
His gray eyes found mine instantly.And in that moment, I knew this wasn’t dinner.This was a reckoning.
The hush of the James River wrapped around us as my heels tapped softly against the deck.I didn’t rush.I didn’t hesitate.I refused to give him either.
He didn’t move when I reached him.Didn’t offer his hand.Didn’t close the distance.
“Peyton.”
My name, low and even.No apology.No softness.Just acknowledgment.
“Sir.”
It slipped out before I could temper it—too intimate for how far apart we still were.
Something flickered in his gaze.Recognition.Not satisfaction.He stepped aside, gesturing toward the open cabin doors.
“Come inside.It’s warmer.”
Inside, the yacht was hushed and immaculate—mahogany and cream, light cast low and deliberate.Luxury without excess.But what made my chest tighten wasn’t the space.It was how contained it felt.
One table.One window.One line of sight.
I swallowed.“This is beautiful.”
“It’s peaceful,” Creed said, his voice measured, his expression unreadable as he removed his coat and draped it neatly over the back of a chair.
The sight of him—broad shoulders, sharp lines of his charcoal-gray shirt molding to his body, the dark slacks that moved with lethal precision—sent a pulse of heat through me.I hated that he still did this to me.
“I don’t bring many people here,” he said.
“I believe that,” I replied.
His mouth twitched.It was almost a smile.Almost.
He helped me out of my coat, his fingers brushing my shoulder just long enough to register, not linger.The restraint was louder than any touch.
“You look...”He paused, eyes tracking me carefully.“...beautiful.”
I inclined my head.“Thank you.”
No flirtation.No deflection.Just acceptance.
“Please sit,” he said, gesturing toward the table.
