This guy couldn’t be for real. His comment might be one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to me. “Careful, I might start having expectations of you.” I prodded him in the abs, trying to ignore the flip my stomach did when my finger connected to the hard muscle.
He grinned. “I’ll do my best to live up to them.”
For a fleeting moment, I wondered why this guy didn’t have a serious girlfriend or a wife. “Maybe you would. I won’t count on it.”
He frowned but didn’t say anything. “Let’s get to bed,” he replied, finally.
My heart began to thud through my chest and heat swept from my throat up my face. Did he mean . . . ?
Landon chuckled and rested his hand on my shoulder, guiding me out of the galley. “Not together. Wow, you really don’t have very high expectations of people, do you? You thought I was polishing glasses to get a blow job?”
Thank God. For a moment there, I’d thought he was suggesting that we repeat our one-night stand. Because that would be a gigantic mistake, I had to keep reminding myself. “People have done a lot worse for a lot less.” I took the stairs down to the crew quarters.
“How did you get so cynical, Skylar?” Landon asked as he followed me. “One of these days, I’ll get you drunk and you can tell me what happened.”
I swallowed. He just assumed I had a story. He somehow knew something had made me the way I was, and maybe at some point I would tell him. Landon had a way of making me feel I could trust him, that I could talk to him and that he’d listen and maybe even somehow make it better. I’d never felt that about any man. Even my girlfriends didn’t know the whole story.
When we got to the bottom of the stairs, I turned. “Thanks again, Landon. I appreciate it.”
He stepped toward me, so close that the fabric of his shirt pressed against mine. He looked at me silently before he said. “No thanks needed.”
For a second, I thought he would cup my face and kiss me, and I decided in that moment to let him—perhaps it was his kindness or maybe it was just fatigue. Instead, he dipped his head and pressed his lips to the top of my head.
“Let me take your nightmares. Have only sweet dreams,” he whispered before turning and disappearing into his cabin.
Landon couldn’t take my nightmares away. I’d lived them. And I had no intention of going back. Keeping my expectations low and men off my agenda was the best way I knew of keeping my dreams as sweet as possible.
Thirteen
Landon
The squawk of the seagulls overhead was louder onshore than back on the yacht, and without the breeze the temperature had notched up a couple of degrees. Twenty-four-hour shore leave pulled me back to the beginning of my army career. We’d rock up at the local bar, drink until we were sick, and take home the nearest warm, female body. That was what had passed for fun back in those days. My nights out now were slightly more sophisticated, the booze more expensive, and the women . . .
My thoughts flashed back to Skylar as I made my way up the hill to make my call. It was clear that she was good at her job from the outset but the news about the additional guest had seen her switch into a different gear—organizing the interior, discussing options with Chef, and even directing Peter about what his team should expect without him realizing it. She was hard working, good at what she did, and charming with it. After helping her clear up the other night, I’d wanted to kiss her. I’d stopped myself—I knew better than that. But I found myself gravitating toward Skylar in a way that was unexpected.
I found a café, went inside, and found a table in the corner. Reynolds had been happy for me to send what info I had over the Wi-Fi on the yacht, but it wasn’t my style. This might just be an information-gathering job but that was still no excuse to leave such an obvious trail of breadcrumbs. Walt might come across as a harmless, charming businessman but he was anything but, or I wouldn’t be on the job. He hadn’t gotten rich by being stupid. Who knew what kind of security and surveillance he had in place, so I was going to take precautions. I’d agreed to call Reynolds with time-critical information like the new guest who had arrived, but photographs and more detail would have to be transferred ashore.
I sat, ordered a plain black coffee, and pulled out the burner phone Reynolds had given me, took out the sim, and began downloading the photographs I’d taken. I’d gotten good images of everyone on board, including the business associate who’d arrived last night.
I swapped the sim in the phone. I’d brought a couple of dozen with me, storing them in the lining of my toiletry bag.
I typed out an email detailing the few comings and goings there had been, the snippets of conversation I’d overheard, and attached the photographs then quickly logged off and dialed Reynolds’ number as my coffee arrived.
“Just got your email,” he answered.
“How did you know it was me calling?”
“Because I didn’t recognize the number, and you’re a thorough, paranoid fucker, hence the change in number.”
“Maybe I better change up my game,” I said.
“How’s life on the ocean waves?”
“Different to the army. These guys sure know how to spend some money.”
“Where are you?”
“Some café.”