Page 10

“Efficiency is key,” I say, guiding her toward the sun deck. “Why waste time commuting to work out when you can do it with a view of the ocean?”

She shakes her head, still taking it all in. “This is insane. I mean, I knew you were rich, but this is… next level.”

“I considered being a secret agent once,” I say casually, watching her reaction. “But the pay was rubbish. Plus, the whole ‘saving the world’ gig doesn’t come with a beach club.”

She snorts. “You’d make a terrible spy. You’re way too flashy.”

“Touché,” I admit, grinning. “But I’d argue I’m more effective this way.”

We reach the topmost deck, and her breath catches. The crew has laid out a lavish seafood platter—oysters on ice, lobster tails, crab claws—and a bottle of Dom Pérignon sits chilling in a silver bucket. The table is set for two, with crisp white linens and polished silverware that catches the fading light.

I pull out her chair, my fingers brushing the smooth skin of her shoulder as I guide her into the seat. The contact sends a jolt through me, sharp and electric. She stares eyes wide, and I can see the pulse quicken in her throat.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice soft, almost shy.

I take my seat, my gaze never leaving hers. “Anything for my guest.”

I twist the top of the champagne bottle with a practiced ease, the cork popping with a mutedthwop. The sound is soft, but Tyler still flinches, her wide blue eyes darting to me as if I’ve just set off a firework. Her hands fidget in her lap, her fingerstwisting the edge of her napkin into a tight little knot. I pour the champagne into two crystal flutes, the bubbles rising in a fizzy golden cascade. I slide one glass toward her, the other staying in my hand.

She stares at the glass like it’s a live grenade. “I don’t really drink much,” she says, her voice a little too high, a little too tight. Her cheeks flush pink, and I can’t tell if it’s embarrassment or the setting sun casting her in a warm glow.

“Why not?” I ask, leaning back in my chair, my gaze steady on her. I already know the answer, but I want to hear her say it. I want to see how far she’ll go to unravel herself in front of me.

“Drinking lowers inhibitions,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. She glances up at me through her lashes, then quickly looks away, her gaze fixing on the horizon as if it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen. “And, uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now.”

I tilt my head, a slow smile curling at the corner of my mouth. “Isn’t that the point?”

Her blush deepens, and she fidgets again, her fingers now tangling in the hem of her dress. “Right now, I’m afraid of what would happen if I let my inhibitions get any lower. They’re barely in place as it is.”

I chuckle, low and soft, and take a slow sip of my champagne. The bubbles tickle my tongue, crisp and dry. “Inhibitions are like the traction control on a Bugatti Varon,” I say, setting the glass down with deliberate precision. “Sometimes, they’re necessary. But if you really want to have fun on the curves, you’ve got to turn them off.”

Her eyes snap to mine, and for a moment, she’s frozen, her lips parted, her breath caught in her throat. Then, as if she’s made a decision, she grabs the champagne glass with both hands and tips it up, draining it in one go. I watch, my eyebrows liftingin surprise, as she sets the empty glass down with a little too much force, gasping as the bubbles hit her throat.

“Perhaps not quite so fast,” I say, my voice dry, when she’s got about half an inch left. She glares at me, her cheeks now a deep crimson, her chest rising and falling with the effort.

She exhales sharply, her hands still gripping the glass like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. “I don’t know what came over me,” she mutters, more to herself than to me. But I can see the spark in her eyes, the way her body is thrumming with energy. She’s exhilarated, even if she’s too shy to admit it.

I lean forward, my elbows resting on the table, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Welcome to the first taste of risk, Tyler. You’ll find it’s addictive.”

She swallows hard, her gaze locking with mine, and I can see the moment she decides she wants more.

I reach for the silver platter in the center of the table, the black pearls of caviar glistening under the soft glow of the yacht’s ambient lighting. I scoop a small mound onto a delicate cracker, the aroma of the sea and briny luxury filling the space between us. Tyler leans forward, her lips parting slightly, and I hold the cracker steady as she takes a careful bite. Her breath brushes against my fingertips, warm and fleeting, like a whisper from the ocean breeze.

She chews slowly, her eyes widening as the flavors hit her. I watch her closely, fascinated by the way her expression shifts from curiosity to pure delight. It’s as if she’s tasting the world for the first time, and I’m the one guiding her through it. Her lips curl into a small smile as she swallows, and she looks at me with an eagerness that makes something deep in my chest tighten.

“Good?” I ask, my voice low, almost a purr.

She nods, her cheeks tinged with pink. “It’s… it’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. Rich, but not overpowering. Salty, but sweet at the same time.”

I can’t help but smirk. “You were meant for this life, Tyler. Sampling all of life’s many pleasures. Why do you hold yourself back?”

Her gaze drops to her lap, and she starts fidgeting with her fingernails, her confidence slipping away like water through my fingers. “I’m not like my friend Cindy,” she says, her voice soft, almost brittle. “I’m not this wild, fun person. I’m the girl who goes to the party and pretends to be interested in a potted plant while wishing someone interesting would come over and talk to me?—”

I don’t wait for her to finish. I lean forward, closing the distance between us in an instant, and press my lips to hers. The kiss is firm, deliberate, but not invasive. I don’t push for more than she’s ready to give. Her lips are soft, tentative at first, but then she leans into it, her hands fluttering to rest lightly on my chest. Her breath catches, and for a moment, the world narrows to just her warmth, her taste, the way she hesitates but doesn’t pull away.

When I finally lean back, her eyes are wide, her lips parted in surprise. I can see the wheels turning in her head, the way she’s trying to process what just happened. A faint blush creeps up her neck, and she looks at me like she’s waiting for an explanation.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” I say, my voice steady, my gaze locked on hers. “You’re far more interesting than any potted plant.”