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I scoured my brain for alternate ideas and came up empty.

“Which one is he?” Because if this involved shagging some bald, married dude with a beer gut, I was going to need a lot more alcohol than I’d managed to drink so far.

“Young Daniel Craig,” Elijah said with relish.

I wracked my brain, my memory of the afternoon hazy. Then an image popped up. Blond, thirties, posture like someone had shoved a ramrod up his spinal column.

“Oh. He came aboard just before my uncle and c-cousin did, right?”

“Yup,” Elijah agreed. “I was just about to point him out to you when you freaked and ran off.”

I winced. “Sorry about that.”

Elijah sighed. “It’s looking more and more like you had good reason to worry.”

I licked my lips, considering the options. There weren’t many, so it didn’t take long. “Okay. I can get behind a few days of Young Daniel Craig. What’s his name again?”

“Gabriel Rosencranz.” Elijah pushed himself to his feet. “Come on. Get dressed before anyone else decides to show up at the door, and let’s go find him.”

Reluctantly, I climbed the stairs to the top deck with Elijah. We’d managed to miss the breakup of dinner. The guests and models had split into pairs and small groups. The sound of laughter andconversation filled the air, the scene illuminated by hundreds of small lights strung around the lounge area.

Elijah pointed out Ted Casick, the organizer, and steered us well clear of him. From the sound of it, both of us would be on his shit list now. But Casick was the least of my problems, and Elijah had no interest in theSecret Boudoirgig anyway.

After a circuit most of the way around the deck, Elijah stopped me with a hand on my arm. “There,” he said, jerking his chin toward a quiet corner under the main awning.

I followed the gesture and saw Uncle Tommy and Cade deep in conversation with a blond man who must have been Rosencranz.

My misgivings swelled. “Why is he talking to them?” I whispered.

The sight had given Elijah pause, as well. “I mean... he did say he’d keep them away from you? I guess this is one way to do that.” He straightened his shoulders. “Maybe you’d better stay here. Let me handle the sales pitch.”

This did nothing to lighten my misgivings, but the hell was I walking up to Tommy Huntwell and propositioning an alpha I didn’t know from Adam right under his nose.

“If you’re sure.”

Elijah looked less sure than someone about to march into a lion’s den, but after a short hesitation, he nodded. “One alpha seduction coming up.”

I watched as he donned insouciance like an old coat and crossed the distance to the three men lounging in the corner.

“Evening,” he said, when all three looked up.

Cade and Tommy looked irritated. I couldn’t see Rosencranz’s expression; his back was to me.

“Ah. Mr. Bardot,” Rosencranz said. His accent was practiced RP, not too different from mine. “Good evening. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Elijah smiled his catalogue model smile—the one that convinced people they wanted to buy whatever he was selling. “I just wanted to let you know that my friend is feeling better. I was hoping the three of us might get to know each other.”

The blond alpha’s response was lost beneath the pounding of blood in my ears, because at Elijah’s mention of his ‘friend,’ Tommy Huntwell’s small gray eyes narrowed. He immediately began scanning his surroundings—and I was poorly hidden, standing almost directly in front of him. I saw the moment he noticed me. His icy gaze latched onto me, pressing down on me like a crushing weight.

The message behind that gaze was crystal clear.

Revenge.