Page 16 of From West, With Regret (NYC Billionaires #2)

“No,” Holt says, continuing as if he’s still playing our game of poker, but none of us have taken a turn. “Are you kidding me, Julianna? You nearly chopped my head off the last time I invited him somewhere. Do you honestly think I’m that stupid to do it again?”

Julianna’s shoulders drop with relief. “Wow. Okay.” A small smile plays on her lips as she turns around and joins Selene by the table. “That’s a relief. You know, I wish luck to whatever woman you end up with.”

“I don’t plan on getting married any time soon. Leave that to these two horny teenagers,” he mutters, nodding toward Charleigh and Asher.

I’m watching the whole scenario unfold when I hear London giggle while watching Charleigh and Asher.

Asher lifts his hand and tucks Charleigh’s hair behind her ear. He whispers something that causes her grin to widen.

London is watching them with a tiny smile playing on her lips.

Selene and Julianna aren’t even paying attention to them, instead heading down to the lower deck.

The bottom deck of the yacht stretches out to a large rope net to lay out on.

Selene and Julianna slip out of their sandals and take off their bathing suit cover ups to stretch out in the sun.

Holt slams his hand down on the table. “Fuck this game.” He stands and swallows down the rest of his beer, eyes trained on the two women below. He flicks his gaze to me. “I’m going to talk to the captain to get this ship sailed.”

I laugh. “This isn’t a ship, but all right.”

Holt cracks a smile, finding humor in my joke.

He disappears to the upper deck, and I turn my attention to London.

The midday sun shines down on her from where she’s sitting on the bench.

Its rays reflect off her golden bikini top.

I chew on the inside of my cheek, wondering how I’m going to spend the rest of this day looking at her with restraint. She’s different today.

She’s watching her two best friends below, with her forearm resting on the metal railing.

Asher is showing something to Charleigh on his phone. They both seem to be in their own bubble, so I leave them and join London.

I sit beside her as the yacht pulls away from the pier, leaving the city behind, close enough to where my knee touches her thigh. Although the bench faces the opposite direction, we’re both twisted to look out at the water.

London glances at me with a satisfied grin before turning her attention back to the water. The increasing breeze catches her black hair. She has it twisted into a high, messy bun piled on the top of her head, but I find myself jealous of the stray hairs dancing across the skin of her cheeks.

She leans forward and rests her chin on her forearm.

With stolen breath and a burning chest, I force myself not to stare too long. We’re definitely crossing into territory outside of work. None of this is normal for the type of relationship we should be having, but that’s all we’ve done these past weeks: pretend as though that’s what we are. Normal.

Instead, I focus on the water as we continue to head toward the ocean.

We sit in silence until I finally decide to break it.

“Still think you might need that bucket?” I ask her, laughing under my breath. “I don’t know if there’s one on the boat, but I can search for one if you need it.”

She doesn’t look nauseous, just happy. She giggles and rolls her head to the side, never lifting her chin. The sun reflects off her gray eyes.

“No. I think we’re safe. At least for now.”

“Good.” I grin so large, my cheeks hurt. Fuck, I don’t think this woman has any clue how much she owns me.

One look. One laugh from her beautiful mouth. That’s all it takes for me to fall to my knees. I love seeing her happy. Unlike the day of the funeral or the day she’d shown up at The Veiled Door with her torn portfolio.

“You know,” she says, with her chin still pressed to her arm. “Seeing the ocean like this reminds me of my favorite artist.”

I look out at the rippling water. The warm sun beats down on my back.

“Who is that?”

“Emily Rapture.” Three lines crease the corners of her eyes. “She mostly paints landscapes, and almost all of them are of the forest. The detail she puts in to the dirt and the trees has always captivated me.” She sighs. “But she has this one painting of the ocean. It’s stunning.”

She rolls her head back to me again, and I swallow the bile coming up from my throat. Not because I have any clue who Emily Rapture is—I don’t—but the idea that London is drawn to an artist known for painting forests.

I wonder if London’s inadvertent pull to those paintings has to do with our beginning. The one she doesn’t remember.

The sickness subsides when she elaborates on the single ocean painting.

“I always marveled at how she used watercolor to capture the glistening water.” She picks up her phone and opens the search engine before typing Emily Rapture’s name into the bar.

When she finds the image she’s searching for, she passes me her phone.

“This is the one. Isn’t it incredible?”

I study the painting, focusing in on the water and the highlights London is talking about. In the upper right, there is a large, red-brick lighthouse.

“Beautiful,” I say, handing her phone back to her. Our fingers brush, and I’m taken a back when she doesn’t immediately pull away.

She lifts her eyes from our joined hands holding her phone. Inhaling a shaky breath, she blinks then pulls away, clearing her throat. “Anyway, Emily has this new gallery opening soon in upstate New York. I’m dying to see it.”

“Upstate New York?” I ask, and fuck me, the bile comes back like a torrential storm.

I ignore the prickling sensation creeping along the back of my neck. What are the fucking odds London’s favorite artist is from the same fucking state as her and me?

“Yeah,” she says, but when she looks back at me, her eyebrows dip in concern, and her hand is on my arm. “Are you okay? Looks like you might be the one who needs the bucket.”

“Um.” My mind is overcome with reality, silencing me.

“On the bright side,” London adds. “If you throw up over the railing, you won’t have hair for me to hold back. But I would if you had. Then there’s the matter of your beard, but I’ll leave that one up to you.” She laughs under her breath, but when I don’t laugh back, her smile falls.

“I’m fine,” I force out, chalking all of this up to coincidence. I don’t know a fucking thing about amnesia. At least I didn’t until it all made sense to me. My mother telling me Heath’s new wife had amnesia. Then finding out that wife was London at Julianna’s birthday party.

It took a few days for the shock to wear off and reality to set in. I did some research, and nothing I found put me at ease. Every case is different. Some have only short-term memory loss. Some only remember certain aspects. Some never regain their memories.

It’s been fourteen years since London’s accident, and she has yet to regain hers, only receiving snapshots she can’t make sense of.

Nodding, she accepts my answer and turns her attention back to the water.

Watching her now, staring out at the ocean, I’m not certain she ever will, and that reality tears me in two. I place my hand to my chest, willing the pain to disappear.

The wind picks up, and her hair flies from her face, revealing the shape of her cheekbones and the curl of her black lashes framing her gorgeous gray eyes.

“I’m almost done working on another piece,” she confesses.

“That’s great.” I clear my throat and focus on the spot where my knee meets her thigh. London hasn’t moved. If anything, she’s leaned farther into me, and I’ve done the same.

“I should be finishing it up in a few days, so I can show you.” She sits up, straightening her back as she twists on the bench to turn her back on the ocean. “Only if you planned on being at The Veiled Door, of course. I know you have other bars to run.”

I crack a smile. “I think I can make the time.”

“Okay.” She sighs, gently slapping her bare thighs. Her black cover up has fallen to either side of her, revealing her smooth skin and the bottom of her bikini. My cock twitches, waking from a deep fucking sleep. I curl my fingers into a tight fist.

London falls back against the bench, and my eyes travel up her body, over her bare stomach and the small diamond piercing in her belly button, to the swell of her breasts peeking out from the top of the thin, gold top. Breasts I could easily sink my teeth into.

Fuuuuuck.

My dick jumps at the thought.

I should feel guilty, but I don’t. If Heath was alive to know the fantasies I’ve played in my mind about London, he’d have soon discovered that, technically , she was mine first. And knowing how London felt about Heath, technically , they never shared a real marriage. Not the one she deserved.

If she were mine, I’d make sure she knew it every single fucking day.

London nods toward Charleigh and Asher, who are now standing by the table filled with champagne and orange juice. He’s pouring her a glass, never taking his eyes off her.

“It should be sickening, but it’s kind of sweet, isn’t it?” she says. She grins as if she’s envious of her friend’s happiness.

“It is.” But I’m not looking at them. I’m only looking at her.

“We deserve a love like that, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” I’m quick to answer.

She turns her head my way, finding my eyes. We stare at each other for several beats, our silent thoughts filtering into the void.

“I’m going to join the girls and get some sun myself.

” She stands and adjusts her black skirt before opening the gate at the top of the stairs that leads to the lower deck…

but I don’t miss how she stops with the gate open, hesitating as she glances over her shoulder in my direction before she continues down the stairs, turning her back to me.

I force myself to focus on the water, thinking about anything but London.

A location in Miami I’ve been scouting for a new bar.

Renovations to my bar on Long Island .

Increasing my donation to the foster homes in New York State.

But all thoughts lead back to the woman I can’t tear my gaze away from. She’s now removing her thin black skirt. I press my fingers to my mouth, stifling the groan clawing up my throat.

London’s full, round ass cheeks jiggle as she kicks off her sandals.

Her full tits are perfect and her gold bikini shimmers in the sunlight, a stark contrast to her raven hair.

Tucking her fingers under the hem of her bikini bottom, she runs her hands from her waist to her cheeks.

Her nails grate against her fragile skin.

The elastic fabric snaps back, hugging her curves.

She glances down, adjusting the bottom of her bikini top, ensuring all the important parts are covered.

Her hands are all… over… her… body.

“Fuck.” I groan.

London quickly looks in my direction, and her eyes find me. My face erupts into flames, and I dart my gaze back out at the water. I’m still shielding my mouth with my hand, forcing my dick to calm the fuck down. It’s begging to be set free, practically screaming under my swim shorts.

I’m still catching glimpses of London from the corner of my eye, even as I adjust myself the best I can.

“Are you all right, man?” Asher’s question drags me out of the trance London has caught me in.

I look to my right, finding him staring at me. “I’m fine.”

I glance back over my shoulder to see London slipping her sunglasses down to rest on the bridge of her nose. There’s no mistaking the curl in the corner of her insatiable mouth.

I imagine it sucking the crown of my dick before she sticks her tongue out, dragging that silver ball along my length. Fuck.

Finally, she lays down beside Selene on the net and rests her hands on her stomach, trailing her fingers absentmindedly along the skin there.

I lied to Asher when I said I was fine. I’m not fine.

The biggest lie I’ve ever told.