He smiles. It’s a dangerous half-smile that promises all kinds of things I really would prefer for him not to name. “You keep your mouth shut about what happened here tonight, and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”
“What happened here?” I ask innocently.
He chuckles and nods. “That’s a good girl.”
I blush. On paper, that’s demeaning as hell. But in this room, with this man and his touch and his heat and the threat he poses by simply existing…
It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.
Now, let’s hope I never hear it again.
He lets his hand fall and steps to the side. The escape path is clear and the voices in my head are screaming for me to make like The Flash and get the hell outta here.
I can still feel his cell phone lodged between my breasts. Is it smart to take it? Is it stupid?
No,I tell myself firmly. It’s the right thing to do. I have no reason to trust the man. His word is certainly not enough for me. Not anymore.
I swallow my doubts and head towards the door.
“Oh, and Jessa?”
My heart sinks for a second, but I glance back at him over my shoulder. “Yes?”
“I’ll be dropping by at some point,” he informs me. “Just to see how you’re doing.”
I’m under no allusions as to what he really means. “You don’t know where I live.”
“1301 Henning Street. Somerset Villas. Apartment Thirty-Four.”
The knot in my throat doubles in size. I suck in a desperate breath. “Got it,” I tell him as calmly as I can muster. “Can’t wait.”
“Goodnight, Jessa,” he says. “You really are a brilliant chef. Here.”
I stiffen when he reaches into his shirt pocket—it’s a gun, he’s going to kill me, this was all a sick game oh God oh God oh—
But then he pulls out a piece of paper. He unfolds it as he hands it to me, revealing my paycheck for the night.
“Oh. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he says. “You earned this.”
I take the check from his extended hand and slip it into the empty pocket of the dress. “Um… the dress—”
“Keep it,” he says. “It suits you better, anyway.”
I frown. Is he comparing me to the wife he lost? A.k.a., the one he possibly murdered? Despite what I’ve seen tonight, it surprises me that I’m still unwilling to believe that he’s capable of killing the woman he exchanged vows with.
Although, come to think of it, I could probably waterboard Dane and feel no type of guilt about it.
Heartbreak is a funny thing like that.
“Just so you know,” I tell him, “I’m not taking any more yacht jobs. For you or anyone else.”
He smirks. “I can’t see why you would.”
I turn and head out the door as fast as I can. I half-expect to be stopped when I reach the main deck, but Yulian and the other one—Lev, I think his name was—both step aside to let me pass.
There’s no sign of anyone else. Not even the staff I spent most of the night cooking alongside. They’ve probably disembarked, laughing about the idiot chef who fell in way over her head, and heading back to their homes for a night of dreamless sleep,