Page 65 of The Billionaires' Gamble

To say my eyes are glued to the monitor is an understatement. You’d need a putty knife and adhesive remover to peel me away.

“He’s got her,” Gabe murmurs as Alex reaches Katherine and her mother.

My grip tightens on Gabe’s shoulder, ready to go. Past ready, to be honest.

I’ve been hovering between the team of hackers he assembled and Alex’s men. The ease, no, the speed with which they called upon friends and colleagues and put this whole plan into action was extraordinary.

Now we watch the events as they unfold miles away. I swear everything happens in slow motion.

“Can we go?” I ask, frustrated with all the waiting around.

Gabe’s got his computer skills, and Alex led the team that boarded the yacht, but I’ve got nothing to offer. I’ve basically been standing around for hours with my dick in my hand. That’s exactly how useful I’ve been, and it’s eating me alive.

At least I’ve moved on from asking ‘What’s taking so long?’Gold star for Kingston.

They’ve also stopped answering me at this point.

I glance out at the blue water under a fading sky. Fuck it. I’ll swim the distance to the yacht.

As if detecting my train of thought, Gabe reaches up and pats my hand, then presses my fingers tight to his trap. The muscle is taut, ready. I feel the same urgency through every cell of my body.

Fine. But if I have a heart attack because of the stress, they’d better not try to take me to the hospital until I know Katherine’s safe.

“Let’s move,” a tough, terse voice bites out.

I dissolve into the flurry of movement, getting out of the way, eyes trained on the horizon. No boat on Earth could get me there fast enough for my liking. But as we hurtle our way across the Atlantic, I move outside into the salt spray, ready to disembark.

And I do, the instant we pull up behind the yacht. Before our boat’s even stopped moving, I’m leaping across the two or three-foot gap.

My feet hit the lower terrace level, and I take the stairs up three at a time. Breezing by several dudes in handcuffs, I race up another flight of stairs.

“Katherine!” I shout because I have no chill.

Thank goodness I haven’t lost my sea legs these last few weeks.

Zipping past a long bank of windows, I skid to a halt, gaze skipping over all the expensive outdoor furniture to Katherine and Alex.

“Wildfire…” Her name is an exhale.

Alex has her in his arms, staring down like he’s trying to make sure she’s okay. My heart trips in my chest at the tenderness on his face. The man is crazy in love.

Relief floods through my veins like a tsunami, washing away the fear. I stumble forward a step, feeling weak-kneed. His headcomes up, his big body tensing, and I see the split second when he gears up for a fight and then settles at the sight of me.

Katherine glances over her shoulder, gaze locking with mine.

“King!”

I gulp in a deep breath. She stretches out a hand toward me, and that’s all the invitation I need. Bolting forward, I leap the outdoor sofa like a hurdle and sweep her into my arms.

“I love you,” I say into her cloud of glorious hair. I crush her against me, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and something much more industrial. It hits me that it’s grease or maybe even engine oil.

Pushing back the anger at that reminder, I lift her gently and spin her around until she laughs. People talk about how laughter is music, and hers is. Soft and husky and so happy. Maybe it’s because we’re pressed so tight that I can feel her giggles, but my whole body seems to absorb the sound as I close my eyes. Gratitude fills me from the toes up.

She’s in my arms again, laughing, seemingly unharmed. I’m overwhelmed. Overcome.

A shrill voice cuts through the air. “Kaaaaatherine!”

We sober, and I glance around, noticing for the first time that her mom is nowhere to be seen. The screeching doesn’t stop. If anything, the sound intensifies like an animal caught in a trap.