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So I choose to fuck logic in the ass.

I call up Seven’s app and get Keely’s exact location. Keely probably won’t be happy to learn I’ve known her exact location at every moment since she entered my house last Saturday, but I’ve never claimed sainthood.

I swap my T-shirt for a dress shirt and tug on my leather jacket. When I leave my suite, my set jaw and lack of eye contact with other guests ensures I’m left alone. Even though only a handful of the crew know I’m still on board, word has a way of getting around, and I don’t intend for anyone to get in my way of reaching Keely asap. Head down, I text as I walk.

Subject: Reconsider.

I haven’t spent nearly enough time taking care of your pussy.

Come be greedy all over my cock.

—M

I smile when she answers almost immediately.

Subject: Reconsider

For someone who claims to have lived under a rock for years, you’re quite adept at sexting. The answer is still no, btw. And please stop contacting me. I have work to do.

—K

Subject: Reconsider

My big brain makes me a quick study. I also have a very big cock that wants very much to get to know you better. Re: Work. We’re sailing. You work when we dock. Sailing time can be fucking time.

The advantage of having been the previous owner of the super yacht is that I know the quickest way to get from A to B. In this case, I need to reach the Pleasure Deck Bar three floors up without being forced into conversation by anyone I know. And from the guest list I’ve seen, at least half a dozen people on here will recognize me if they spot me.

I walk past the adult entertainment lounges, absently satisfied when I notice that all the rooms are in full use. Zach is certainly earning his money.

Keeping an eye on the little red dot that’s my destination, I avoid the plush guest hallways and head past the crew quarters to the private elevator I installed when I first bought the yacht.

Back in the day, it’d been a good escape route for when I needed to board my chopper and leave before anyone knew I was gone. Now I use it as the quickest way to get to Keely and try not to be ticked off that she hasn’t responded to my text in five and a half minutes. Or that it’s coming up to midnight and she’s still in the bar.

Exiting the elevator, I immediately find her. She’s leaning against the far corner of the bar, staring down at her phone. The dark blue sheath dress she’s wearing molds her ass and thighs before stopping a touch too short at mid-thigh level.

Her hair is tied in an elaborate up-do. The slender line of her neck and the way she arches her body as she balances on her heels sends the blood roaring straight to my cock.

I watch her catch her lower lip between her teeth. She brings her phone closer to her face and that’s when I catch her expression.

I’m close enough to see she’s not in the text application, but reading an email. And whatever she’s reading grips her enough that it’s fully ensnared her attention from what’s happening in the room.

Which is a good thing, because two couples are pile-fucking on the loungers nearest to her, and almost every other guest is in a state of near or complete nudity.

I catalogue my deeply disturbing reaction to her being in this room—hell, on this yacht—and compartmentalize it to be dealt with later. My more immediate focus is the mixture of anger and dread on her face as she stares down at her phone. As I watch, her expression crumples with abject terror, and she shakes her head and swallows hard.

What the fuck?

“Keely?”

I realize I didn’t speak loud enough for her to hear and wonder if that’s my subconscious handing me another chance to get the fuck out of Dodge.

I double-fuck both logic and my subconscious, pocket my phone, and take another step toward her.

And every single impulse I’ve tried to push away comes revving back. When I’m a handful of steps from her, it dawns on me that this is the second time in my life I’ve willfully abandoned self-preservation.

Iwillpay dearly for this course of action. And I’ll most likely take her down with me. But the twinge of guilt isn’t enough to keep me from her. Neither is that look of utter desolation on her face.

In fact, I’m sure my last steps are propelled by that look alone. I relish the chance to focus on something else. This I can control.