Page 38 of Gabriel (Legacy of Heathens #4)

Amara

T he time of reaching Albania’s shores was quickly approaching.

Elira and the crew had been tied up with looking for the best way to enter the Albanian waters, which left me to tend to our “prisoner” most of the time.

Although, after some heartfelt begging on my part earlier, Elira did take over guard duty while he took a shower.

I didn’t trust myself not to peek through the door and venture into voyeurism.

There was only so much self-control a woman could exercise.

Gabriel haunted my every waking thought, even when we weren’t stretched out on his bed or the couch, half lost in horror films.

Somehow, without either of us naming it, we’d slipped into a predictable but intimate routine.

He showered first thing in the morning, emerging clean-shaven and freshly dressed like this wasn’t a hostage situation but a floating vacation home.

Breakfast came next with black coffee, warm arepas, and Colombian music I couldn’t translate playing softly in the background.

Then I’d retreat to the office under the pretense of doing work, staring blankly at a screen, too distracted to focus.

By lunch, I was back in his orbit, and I stayed there through lazy afternoons, dinner, and whatever movie marathon we’d land on that evening.

It shouldn’t have felt normal. It definitely shouldn’t have felt good.

But it did.

Still, it was the nights that undid me with dreams of Gabriel.

He starred in them like Fabio on the cover of every over-the-top ’90s romance novel. In those dreams, he looked at me in a way that told me I was his to ruin and worship in equal measure and then I’d wake up aching, confused, and furious with myself for wanting any of it.

It was unbearable.

It was also part of the reason I found myself at the end of the hallway leading to his cabin—once again.

Elira was busy charming the captain and half the crew into doing her bidding, her flirtatious laugh traveling on the wind.

She was probably halfway to convincing the first mate to take a fall for international smuggling just for fun. Because that was what she did in her free time: torture. She could roll people around her finger like cigarette paper, then light the whole thing on fire without breaking eye contact.

I made sure Gabriel got the best cabin on the yacht. I told myself it was my psychological warfare strategy.

I would disarm him by ensuring his comfort.

But honestly, a part of me just wanted to see how sexy he could look in the morning sprawled on the high-thread-count sheets.

It turned out, he looked obscenely good.

Hair tousled, jaw shadowed, his usual composed intensity softened. There was a moment—just a flicker—where he blinked like he wasn’t entirely sure where he was, the sheets draped low on his hips, and I swear my rational brain just… short-circuited.

I’d intended to throw him off-balance.

But now?

Now it felt like he was the one flipping the script, and I was the one sliding toward recklessness. Preferably under those sheets.

It was a dangerous fantasy. One I had no business entertaining. And yet, I couldn’t stop.

I stared at the polished door for a beat longer than I should’ve, coffee mug in one hand, the other still resting lightly on the doorframe. The hallway smelled faintly like him: sandalwood and sharp citrus, clean leather, and danger.

God, I hated how much I noticed that.

This was supposed to be simple, but when he smiled at me and opened up, I forgot everything and everyone. It made me wonder just how messed up I might actually be.

I sighed and glanced back down the hallway toward the bridge. I should go join Elira, but I knew I wouldn’t.

I was too busy staring at the door and wondering if Gabriel would smirk when he saw me again.

I hated that smirk. Liar, you love that smirk.

“Shut up,” I hissed to myself while every nerve screamed at me to turn around—to ignore the pull—but I couldn’t. Not tonight.

I adjusted my grip on the mug. Nobody sane would drink coffee in the evening, but who in the hell was sane on this yacht?

Certainly not me.

I finally knocked and cracked the door just enough to slip inside, the soft thud behind me sealing the space between us.

Gabriel was sprawled on the bed like a painting someone forgot to cover up, one eyebrow arched in lazy amusement. Almost as if he’d been expecting me.

His dark hair was still damp, strands clinging to his temples, a confirmation he’d taken a shower.

“Elira just left,” he said, confirming my thoughts.

He’d changed into fresh jeans and a plain white T-shirt—both laid out in advance, thanks to me. A fact I should probably not be proud of. And yet, here we were.

His sharp, unreadable eyes locked on mine. He looked way too handsome for someone in such a compromising position.

Yummy, my brain supplied unhelpfully.

“Is my favorite jailer back to keep me company? Unless you’re up for more…” Gabriel drawled, his eyes bright with amusement.

I leaned against the doorframe, aiming for casualness. Although the heat curling low in my belly betrayed me.

“Are you offering your body, Santos?” I joked.

He smirked and shifted slightly on the bed, cuffs glinting in the lamplight. “My body and soul are yours, Amara. Surely I’ve made that clear?”

I wanted to give in right then and there, but thankfully I still retained some of my brain cells.

“Feeling lonely?” he continued in a husk that made my thighs tremble. “Or just bored of your own chaos?”

“Maybe a little of both.” I stepped forward, eyes not dropping from his.

His laugh was warm and maddeningly genuine.

“You know we can start slow. I’m a patient man. Maybe we start with kissing.” His tongue darted out, licking those full lips. “I quite liked kissing you.”

My cheeks flared with heat. I never blushed except around him.

“Do you flirt like this with all women?” I asked.

“No.” He tilted his head with a lazy grin. “Only you. Maybe that makes me crazy.”

“Or you like the view.”

That sharpened his smile. “Definitely the view.”

I took another step, close enough now to feel the heat radiating off him. My fingers brushed the cool bite of the metal cuffs.

“Are these staying on till the end?” Gabriel murmured.

“We’re nearly there so… probably.”

He nodded, then narrowed his eyes. “Why don’t we make the rest of our time together worthwhile? We can make the best out of these bindings.”

I scoffed. “Don’t tell me you’re into that kinky shit.”

“With you, I’m up for anything. Something tells me you would be too.”

“So confident. What if I’m like a black widow and I kill my men after I fuck them?”

“Now that would be a hell of a way to go,” he said, laughing, though there was a wistful edge to it. “I could be convinced.”

“There’s something seriously wrong with you, Santos.” I rolled my eyes, but the smile broke through anyway. What was it about this man that made me feel like a sensual woman?

“Do you think you’ll know what to do with me, Amara?”

I met his gaze, steady. “Don’t worry. I’m not some clueless virgin.”

“No, you’re not,” he drawled, watching me like he was ready to eat me alive.

I knelt beside the bed, tracing my fingers lightly along the chain.

“I could teach you a thing or two about being kinky. It might be fun,” he suggested, his tone full of dark seduction. “Would you let me?”

“Since we’re talking in hypotheticals, sure, why not?” My voice was too breathless for him not to notice it.

“I like where this is going.” His controlled mask slipped just enough for something raw to flicker through. “Uncuff me and I’ll show you exactly what you’ve been missing all these years you’ve avoided me, Amara.”

I leaned close, lips brushing his ear. “I thought we were going for kinky here.”

“With free hands, I could make you scream so much faster and louder,” he purred, self-confidence rolling off him in waves.

Strangely, I was fairly certain he had every right to boast, because Gabriel was sex on legs, and I suspected one night with him would be enough to get me off for the rest of my life by just picturing him.

I attempted to rein in the wild impulse to let him have his way with me, and rasped, “I’m in charge here.”

He smirked as he whispered, “Always.”

For a moment, everything outside—the unknowns, the danger, my uncertainty about this man—faded to nothing. Just the two of us tangled in a dangerous dance, pushing boundaries neither of us were sure we wanted to cross.

It was time to accept that everything leading up to this moment had to be part of some greater plan, one that was beyond my control.