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Every filthy insult I’ve picked up since I was ten years old trips on my tongue as I watch him sit there, smug in his Neanderthal charisma and mouth-watering body.

I’ve never detested anything as much as I detest him right now. I also know I can’t be in the same room as him.

So I snatch my clutch off the chair and stalk to the door, determined to put tonight and Mason Sinclair very quickly and very firmly out of my mind.

11

KEELY

I’m not going. I’m not going. Hell, I amsonot going.

My eyes dart to the clock for what feels like the hundredth time, and I congratulate myself when the clock hand moves from 12.59 to 1p.m.

Fuck yeah.

I’ve not only flipped the bird at Mason’s insane never-gonna-happen noon deadline, I’ve managed to stay put in my suite for another hour.

Extremely pleased with myself, and sure he’s finally got the message through his brilliant, butobviouslythick, skull that I don’t intend to participate in, or be, any form of a sexual puppet to his skewed proclivities, I grab my purse containing my tablet and work stuff and head for the door.

I’m a little irritated that I’ve had to shift my morning appointments to interview two Michelin-star chefs, but there was no way I was going to board theIL Indulgencebefore noon and give Mason Sinclair the impression that I was there for him. One of the chefs expressed a touch of diva annoyance, but not enough to cancel.

Making a mental note to keep an eye out for further drama from that particular chef, I cross the gold inlaid, marble-floored atrium of the hotel and emerge into brilliant sunshine.

I breathe deep and let the warmth wash over me. I’m ready for a new day.

The sleepless night, which I’ve just spent kicking myself for losing control and allowing Mason to spank me—spank me, for fuck’s sake!—in full view of the hostess, is something I’m not going to dwell on.

I’ve never been into kinky in the bedroom. I don’t even possess a vibrator or dildo. I’ve never seen the point of artificial gadgets when a cock and a man who knows how to use it well is all I’ve needed. As the previous owner of a sex yacht and hardcore inventor of gadgets, Mason is clearly into myriad forms of sex, including BDSM. His masterful demeanor and the way he soothed me after the spanking make me suspect he’ll be extremely good at it. If that were my thing.

Which it’s not.

Another flush of humiliation crawls up my spine at how utterly I let him control me, and I push the feeling away. He caught me with my guard down, and I was foolish enough to underestimate the power of the insane attraction between usbeforehe spanked me. Since I don’t intend to place myself in a position where either of those things will affect me, I’m good.

Last night is behind me.

From here on in, my job is the center of my focus.

I quicken my stride down the hill toward the marina. In the resplendent sunlight, the yacht looks even more stunning, but now that I know who it belonged to in its previous life, my enjoyment is a little soured. My heartbeat quickens as I step into the launch and greet the pilot. All too soon, we’re at the yacht. I make sure my sunglasses are in place as I step onto the deck and return the greeting of one of the many bodyguards employed to keep nosy intruders and paparazzi away. Reading the signs so I don’t get lost, I make my way along the various hallways. I arrive at the restaurant on the second-floor deck where I’m to meet the two chefs. I tell myself I’m relieved when I don’t run into anyone resembling Mason.

The time passes quickly as I sample the dozens of dishes we’ll be providing the guests. As suspected, the chef who threw a mini tantrum at my revised schedule turns into a diva and even before he sets down his first course in front of me, I’ve decided to go with the other chef. But I’m a professional, so I sit through his presentation and smile my thanks when he’s done.

“Great, I’ll let you know my decision by tomorrow evening.”

Arnaud Delacroix huffs. “I fly back to the States tomorrow morning. I only came because Monsieur Sinclair requested me personally as a favor. If I’d known I was to participate in this… thisamateurcompetition, I would’ve declined his request.”

Irritation pulses through me, and I surge from the dining table where the tasting took place. “Let me get this straight.Masonasked you to come?”

His eyes slide over me, and I catch his leer as he answers, “Yes, as I said. I run one of the best restaurants in Paris and New York. I do not audition for little schoolgirls.”

“Excuse me?”

A second slide of his gaze lingers at my breasts this time and my skin crawls.Sexist pig. “Mademoiselle, I have nothing against you personally?—”

“From where I’m standing, I seriously doubt that, but go on,” I quip, and I don’t give a shit when his lips purse at the interruption.

“Butmy time is precious,” he continues. “I arrived at six this morning to prepare for the tasting. You moved the time at the last minute. I have accommodated you. But I don’t intend to hang around while you twiddle your thumbs about a decision that shouldn’t even be yours to make.”

I swallow the ball of anger rising into my throat. “First of all, I’m glad you rose to the occasion of the time change. If you’re going to be a chef on this boat—and that is looking mighty precarious at the moment—you need to know that you’ll be called to cater for clients’ needs at all hours. For the two weeks you’ll be on this yacht, your time won’t be your own. So if that’s an issue for you, then by all means, feel free to leave. Secondly, and listen up because this is important. I’m no fucking schoolgirl. I’ve earned my right to be here, just as you’ve earned the right to call yourself a chef. And lastly, Mason Sinclair isn’t in charge of hiring staff for this project. I am. I don’t give a damn what he promised you. If you want the gig, I’ll consider you and you’ll hear from metomorrow. If you don’t, I’m sure one of the bodyguards can make sure you find your way back to the airport.”