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"Never have I ever," Mandy giggled, already flushed with champagne and happiness, "hooked up with someone at a club party."

Half the boat drank, including several of the wives who tried to look innocent about it. I took a deliberate sip, making direct eye contact with Tyson as I did. He shifted against the railing, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jump from across the deck.

"Story time!" someone demanded.

"A lady doesn't kiss and tell," I said primly, which got laughs and protests in equal measure.

"Never have I ever," another bridesmaid said with a wicked grin, "called someone Daddy in bed."

The words hit like a lightning strike. Several women drank immediately, no shame in their game. I hesitated for half a second—just long enough to see Tyson's whole body go rigid—then took a deliberate sip.

The sweet champagne might as well have been gasoline for how it burned going down. Tyson's expression was carved from stone, but his eyes . . . his eyes promised retribution that made my thighs clench.

The game continued, but the questions blurred together. All I could focus on was the tension radiating from Tyson.

"Musical chairs!" Sarah announced, because apparently we were determined to play every party game ever invented. "Everybody up!"

Someone had arranged deck chairs in a circle, one short as tradition demanded. The music started—some terrible 90s pop that had everyone groaning—and we began the awkward shuffle-walk around the chairs.

When the music stopped, chaos erupted. I dove for the nearest chair, only to find it occupied.

By Tyson.

What the hell? Why was he here?

“Tyson?”

“Looked like fun,” he said, arching a brow.

I ended up on his lap for exactly two seconds. Two seconds that felt like hours.

His hands came up automatically to steady me, burning through the thin fabric of my dress. I felt every hard line of his body, the way his breath caught, the tension humming through him like a live wire.

People were staring.

"You're playing with fire," I whispered, the words so low only he could hear them.

"Maybe I like getting burned," he whispered back, then the music started again and I bounced off to find another chair, leaving him sitting there looking like he'd been hit by a truck.

The game devolved after that, people more interested in dancing than competing. The DJ had switched to somethingwith actual rhythm, and the deck transformed into a makeshift dance floor. I let myself be pulled into the circle of bridesmaids, moving to the music, trying to pretend my whole body wasn't hyperaware of where Tyson stood.

He'd returned to his spot at the railing, but his attention never wavered. I could feel it like a physical touch, tracking every movement, every sway of my hips. The rational part of my brain screamed that I was being too obvious, that Duke might be watching, that this was dangerous.

The champagne-soaked part of my brain suggested I make my dancing a little more . . . interesting.

I let the music take over, movements becoming more fluid, more sensual. Nothing overtly inappropriate—just enough to torture a certain VP who couldn't look away. My hands traced up my sides, through my hair, back down in a motion that was purely for his benefit.

"Damn, Lena!" Mandy laughed, spinning me around. "Where'd you learn to move like that?"

"Natural talent," I lied, catching Tyson's expression over her shoulder. He looked like he was about to either combust or commit violence. Possibly both.

Wiz actually had to elbow him to break his stare, leaning in to say something that made Tyson's expression go from hungry to murderous in seconds flat. Whatever Wiz said, it was enough to make him step back from the railing, disappearing into the crowd of bikers on the upper deck.

"You okay?" Sarah appeared at my elbow, teacher instincts apparently picking up on the undercurrents. "You look flushed."

"Just the champagne," I said, fanning myself with my hand. "And the dancing. Maybe I should get some water."

"Good idea. Can't have the bridal party passing out before the real fun starts." She winked, which was concerning. What constituted 'real fun' in Sarah's mind?