“It’s time to call it a night.” Raffael’s voice sends an unwanted shiver down my spine.
I turn, finding him waiting at the bottom of the staircase, his broad frame taking up the entire entry, his shoulder propped casually against the wall, arms folded, feet bare, business shirt hanging half open over his slacks.
He looks like sin and war all at once.
I ignore the gentle burn that starts in my eyes and travels to my nose, and approach him with the level of disdain he demands.
He doesn’t budge.
“Move,” I warn.
His jaw ticks.
God,I want to break it.
“You’ll sleep in my cabin tonight,” he growls.
Nausea hits me like a two-by-four to the gut. “Excuse me?”
“It seems the only way I can ensure you don’t cause more damage.”
“You’rethe one who triggered her suspicion.” I attempt to get around him, hip and shouldering my way past.
His arm shoots out, blocking my path. “You’rethe one who sabotaged the quickest path to resolution by getting drunk.” He closes me in against the wall, his abdomen pressing into my hip. “My cabin, Isla.Now.”
I stare straight ahead at the stairs, my heart lodging in my throat.
He can’t be serious.
“And if I don’t?” I whisper, hating how my body warms to his proximity. Despising the delicious scent of him—all pine and woodsy—that infiltrates my lungs like a chemical weapon set to seduce. Hating, with every sense of my being, that my insides still tingle with the belief he’s the man I once thought he was despite the mass of contradictory evidence.
His chuckle is barely audible. “Things have changed. And this isn’t a boardroom. Your days of denying me are over.”
Chapter
Thirteen
ISLA
I stop in the doorway,my heart hammering like it’s trying to punch its way through my ribs.
His cabin sits one floor above the main deck. It’s an upgraded, expanded, over-indulgent version of the luxury cabin I’d been banished to earlier.
Floor-to-ceiling windows form a curved wall around the front half of the room, giving view to the moonlight that casts a glow over an endless sea of black.
There are no city lights. No distant skyline. Just the haunting nothingness of open water under moonlight.
To the right, there’s a sculpted lounge chair—white leather, sleek, almost architectural. To the left, a small polished office desk and chair. No clutter. Just clean lines, smooth edges, and the signature of a minimalist man whose subtlety hides the lethal power beneath.
But my eyes lock on the bed. Dead center of the cabin. Massive. Sheets crinkled and silently intimidating.
It’s funny—every stupid, misplaced fantasy I ever had about him is right here, tangible, and almost within reach. Yet now they’re poisoned. Because the man I once imagined sharing them with no longer exists.
No. He never did.
“I’m not sleeping with you,” I announce to the opulent cabin.
Raffael steps around me and strides into the room. “So you’re not getting dreamy-eyed for me again?”
