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Bethany laughs, but I hear a note in her voice that makes a tiny prickle of apprehension wash across my senses. “I’ll tell him. But that’ll make him even smugger than he already is at the moment. Despite it being my idea, he’s taking all the credit for snapping up the boat when it became available.”

That surprises me. “I thought it was built from scratch just for the Indigo Lounge?”

“He was thinking of building a boat, but this one came on the market through a private sale and he snapped it up.”

“Wow, who would build a boat like this just for themselves?” I ask with an incredulous laugh.

Bethany hesitates and I frown. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“I don’t know. That depends.”

“On what?” I ask as the launch slows alongside the yacht. This close, the vessel looks huge, like a floating palace of pure decadence. If my hands weren’t full, I’d reach out and stroke the sleek indigo lines running alongside the silvery metallic paintwork—my lady wood for the stunning vessel is that hard.

But Bethany hasn’t responded, and my frown deepens. “B, what’s going on?” I spot the driver waiting to help me out. “Hold on, let me get off this launch.”

I tuck my clutch under my arm and step onto what I know from the vessel plans is the second floor. It’s where I’ll be welcoming the guests in a little over a week’s time, and I’m struck dumb as I walk into the silver and indigo-trimmed reception room.

Holding the phone to my ear, I start to turn in a wide circle. “Wow, Bethany, this ship is incredible.”

“Keely, there’s something you should know. It may not affect how you feel about the project, but…” I stop listening as I catch a shadow from the corner of my eye. And even before I turn fully, Iknow.

My senses jump to alert as my eyes widen. The phone slips from my useless hand and clatters to the hardwood floor as I recognize the man entering the room.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Mason Sinclair?”

7

KEELY

“Hello, Keely.”

I thought I exaggerated the brooding growl of his voice. But as it washes over me, I realize I’ve underestimated its feral power.

A shiver ripples down my spine as he stalks slowly toward me, his eyes conducting a leisurely survey over me, which does nothing to reassure me that this man isn’t anything but a menace to my wellbeing. And he hasn’t answered my question.

“I said what?—”

“I heard you,” he cuts across me without raising his voice. When he stops in front of me, I force myself not to take a step back from the raw energy vibrating from him. Perhaps it’s the shock of seeing him here, or it’s the setting sun behind him, bathing him in a larger-than-life aura, but an inner voice mocks my attempts to put him in a safe, comfortable box.

There’s nothing safe or comfortable about Mason Sinclair. Despite the stylish black roll-neck sweater and faded jeans he’s wearing, I’m not fooled into thinking there’s anything civilized about him. His full beard is gone, but it’s been replaced by a day-old stubble that somehow intensifies the dark, unrelenting allure I find myself getting dangerously drawn to again.

I forcefully snap my gaze from his, bending to retrieve my phone. The blank screen announces my lost connection to Bethany, and the sensation of being even more untethered irritates me.

“If you heard me, then perhaps you care to answer me?”

“I will if you attempt to ask the question again without the foul language.”

A smirk plays on my lips as I tilt my head. “My dirty mouth really bothers you, doesn’t it?” I tease.

“There’s a time and place for it.”

“Don’t tell me. You’re the I-like-a-lady-on-my-arm-and-a-whore-in-the-bedroom type?”

Deep hazel eyes gleam at me, and I get the feeling he’s secretly amused by my question. “Doesn’t every man?”

Before I can answer, he looks past my shoulder and nods. I turn to see a waiter heading our way with a tray of drinks. Mason hands a champagne-filled one to me and takes the other—soda with a wedge of lime—before dismissing the waiter.

“Shall we start this conversation again?” he asks with a sexily quirked eyebrow.