AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Ben’s yacht is more of a mini cruise ship, I decide, as I walk past the pool and through a door I thought might lead into amain living area. Instead, I only find a set of narrow stairs. Was the galley down a level?
Five minutes later, I’ve been on three different levels and peeked into more rooms than I can count. All empty. Though I do find a second living room, this one with an enormous fish tank full of what look like miniature sharks. Which—I cannot wrap my head around that right now.
I push my way out yet another door onto yet another deck, this one covered in shaded canopies. It still takes my eyes a moment to adjust. This isn’t a ghost ship, so I just need to find where the people are and?—
“Morning, sunshine!” Ben’s voice is far too cheerful for a man on my most wanted list.
Scratch that. He’s on my newly formed hit list.
Especially considering the scene in front of me. Ben is lounging on a teal deck chair, sunglasses on, shirt off, the breeze ruffling his blond hair like he’s a supermodel with a perfectly adjusted wind machine. Meanwhile, a gust of wind sends a whole hank of hair right into my wide-open mouth.
“You!” I sputter, pulling the hair from my mouth. “Why are you here? Where are we? Why can’t I see land?”
His grin widens, and he hops to his bare feet, ambling over to me. Because he’s a smart man, he stops just out of reach. He’s still close, though.
Too close.
Especially when he’s showing off a broad chest full of tanned skin stretched over muscles that look like they were hand-forged by some kind of master craftsman. Or just a lot of hours in the gym. There’s just the faintest dusting of blond hair across the center of his chest, stopping at his abs, then starting up again around his belly button and disappearing into the waistband of his bathing suit.
I jerk my eyes back upward when I realize where my eyes have wandered. But the sudden movement makes both my stomach and my head remind me how bad off I really am. Much worse than when I woke up not fifteen minutes ago.
Now that I know we’re on a moving boat, how terrible I feel makes more sense. I’ve never been good at boats. It’s most likely seasickness causing the nausea and the headache.
“I’m sorry I absconded with you,” Ben says, lifting his sunglasses to the top of his head. I’m surprised to see his blue eyes actually look concerned, at odds with his smile.
“It’s too early for SAT prep words,” I tell him. “In as few syllables as possible, tell me where we are and why we are here.”
His gaze flicks to the side, and it’s only then I notice two men I’ve never seen before. They’re tall and burly and look as though they just jumped to their feet from their own lounge chairs. They’re both wearing dark suits, at odds with Ben’s casual beachwear, though their jackets are draped over the backs of their chairs.
On a railing nearby, a massive pelican stares, watching like we’re his favorite television show. I glare, and the bird fluffs his feathers, nonplussed.
“I’ll let Agent German explain,” Ben says.
“German?” I squint at the taller of the two men, who’s now making his way over.
Of course, it’s German. The deep frown is exactly as I imagined it would be through our many phone calls. As for the rest of him …
I try to reconcile the giant in front of me with the man I've spoken to at least once a week over the past two years. His skin is the color of skim milk—so pale I’d believe it if someone told me he spent most of his life in a cave. He’s as big and broad as his deep voice would suggest, but with an oddly thin neck. Itmakes his bald head look like a volleyball balanced on top of a PVC pipe.
“Agent German,” he corrects, holding out a meaty hand.
When I take it, his fingers stay limp in mine. It’s as though he has no muscles in his hand, like I’m squeezing a dead squid. It’s oddly unnerving.
“Hello,” I say, dropping his hand and then shooting another glance at Ben. “You’re here. And we’re … at sea?”
“Yes. Ben offered his yacht and said you were already on board,” German says. “We thought you wouldn’t mind a few days at sea with your boyfriend.”
I choke. “My … boyfriend?”
Ben won’t look at me. Instead, he’s frowning at the pelican perched on the rail. I glare anyway, then press my fingers to my aching temple.
“This is actually a uniquely perfect solution while things are being handled,” German says. “It’s pretty much a vacation for you.”
I’m hardly concerned at all about the “things being handled,” aka, the powerful men I’ve ticked off, because my brain is still processing the wordboyfriend.
Ben.
Myboyfriend.Ha!
