I'm dumbstruck, not only with surprise at his presence but also with the realization that this is the first physical contact I've had with a human who isn't my favorite six-month-old in a very long time. The warmth of his body seeps through my business shirt, and I can feel his heartbeat all the way down to my feet.
"Of course," I reply. "I'm so glad Mabel is safe."
He pulls back, braces the tops of my arms, and pins me with those devastating eyes. "Because ofyou. That's the only reason she made it."
"You made it," I point out.
"Also because of you," he says. "Running with a baby would have slowed me down. And if we'd been caught—" He turns away, wheezing out a breath through clenched teeth. "I don't even want to think about it."
I have questions. So many questions. I've been prying a little with Leo and Rove, and they've provided a few details. Vaughn rocked up out of the blue with Mabel about four months ago, petrified and fearing for their safety. And something bad had happened to Mabel's mum. They weren't any more forthcoming than that, which I took as a sign to not stick my nose where it clearly wasn't wanted.
"I don't think I'll ever be able to repay you…" His eyes drift to my superyacht.
It's my fifth yacht and easily my favorite—and most expensive because hey, I got dumped by not one but two people I loved. Think that entitles me to a little extravagance. Three towering decks of extravagance to be exact. It looms over all the other boats, easily the largest one in the entire marina. Not that size matters.
Oh, who am I kidding? Of course it fucking does.
"You don't have to repay me. I'm just glad Mabel is safe. And so are you."
Those searing blue eyes swing back my way. He realizes he's still holding on to me, so he lets go of my arms and takes a step back, giving me a thorough once-over in my business attire, modified for the tropical climate of course. Long-sleeve shirts are out, replaced by a crisp white short-sleeve cotton shirt tucked into a pair of breathable dress trousers and loafers without socks.
"Let me make you dinner. Please," he says. "Are you free tonight?"
"I'm having dinner with Leo and Rove on my yacht tonight. You and Mabel are more than welcome to join us. It's my turn to cook"—a.k.a. order takeout—"so you don't have to worry about that."
"But I'd like to. I want to dosomething."
He's so earnest, and I can tell this is important to him.
"By all means then." I smile. "How does six sound?"
"Perfect. I'll bring everything. You won't have to lift a finger."
5
Vaughn
"It's too bad Leo and Rove aren't feeling well," Clayton says, taking a sip of wine as he leans against the white countertop, watching me make dinner in his kitchen. Hisbeautifulkitchen. If someone saw photos of it, they'd think it was in a mansion, not on a yacht. A pristine white island anchors the galley, and smooth white cabinetry blends seamlessly into the curved walls of the yacht, broken only by chrome fixtures and soft LED strips tracing every line.
Mabel is resting in a portable bassinet next to Clayton who keeps looking over at her and smiling.
"It's weird is what it is," I tell him. "They were both fine when they swung by the office this morning. Then I mentioned I'd met you and that you'd invited me to join you all for dinner, and not half an hour later, Rove starts coughing."
Clayton rests his wine glass on the counter. "What's so weird about that?"
I turn to face him. "He was so unconvincing you'd never think he used to be an actor."
He grins, warmth flickering in his amber-brown eyes. He's an attractive man. That much I remembered from our first encounter, but I was a little too preoccupied with not dying to pay much attention to the smaller details. Tousled blond hair frames a chiseled face, all sharp angles and confidence. A strong jaw, straight nose, full lips. It's all deeply masculine and almost impossible to look away from.
"What accent is that?" he asks.
I clear my throat and give the salad a good toss. "Montanaia."
A frown forms, and he tilts his head. "You're American?"
"No. The country, not the US state." With my accent, Australians commonly think I'm mispronouncing Montana.
"Oh, right."
