The Wrong Gentleman

“It’s a coincidence. And that’s it.” This was a

warning that even one-night stands were a bad idea. I needed to be stricter about my no-man rule. “Someone like Landon . . .” I’d only known him a night but underneath that hard body was a sea of complicated. “It’s never going to happen.”

Last night had just been a one-off. No more than that. There was no fate. Just coincidence. Just a one-night stand.

Eight

Landon

I hadn’t lingered in the crew mess, making my excuses and asking for directions to my bunk, and then I deliberately went the wrong way. I wasn’t interested in exploring the staff quarters. I wanted to know the guest areas inside out. I came across a staircase off the main saloon. The plush, plum-colored carpet told me it led to guest quarters, and I followed it down. Being early onto the yacht today should allow me to explore without anyone noticing. At the bottom of the staircase were six polished mahogany doors. I tried the brass handles and found them all locked. Crouching, I eyed up the mechanism. They would take under ten seconds to unlock. Dropping my bag on the floor beside me, I pulled out a kit from my back pocket. The black leather case looked like a wallet but was far from it. It contained everything I needed to pick a lock. With these locks, I wouldn’t need much.

Within ten seconds, I was in, and I quickly checked the back of the door to see if there were any other locks and then did a sweep of the room, checking for the safe, cameras, other security measures along with places to hide things—always easier to identify those when not under time pressure. There was nothing unexpected. I headed out and repeated the process for all six rooms.

As I closed and locked the last door, Skylar called out to August at the top of the stairs and I froze. If anyone caught me down here, I could just say I was lost, but there was no point drawing attention to myself. The voices passed and I made my way back upstairs without making a sound.

The last person I’d been expecting to see on the Sapphire was Skylar. It had been a shock, but I hoped I hadn’t worn it on my face as obviously as she had. I’d never experienced a woman so entirely uncomfortable in my presence. Maybe it was because she’d given up her criteria last night and she didn’t like being reminded of her weakness. Her being on board just brought complications. I was here to do a job. I wasn’t arrogant enough to think that Skylar wanted a round two—especially given she’d basically asked me to leave in the early hours of this morning—but I knew well enough that it meant that she’d probably notice more than usual. And I didn’t want anyone paying me unnecessary attention. I’d have to be even more cautious now.

I found my cabin, my position written in neat black handwriting on a Post-it on the door, and dumped my bag. The room was more comfortable than I’d been expecting—only as wide as the built-in bunk beds and the walkway to the bathroom. It would be difficult for two people to be changing in here at one time. Training barracks were worse. There might have been a little more space in the army, but there was a hell of a lot less privacy. Sharing with just one person was a complete luxury. Hopefully my roommate wouldn’t end up being Skylar. That could be a real problem.

I glanced around and decided to take the bottom bunk—that way I could come and go more easily without my roommate noticing, if they were in bed. My next job was to stow the weapon Reynolds had provided. The room was small, but I was sure I could find a place. But I wasn’t expecting trouble. Not if I did my job properly and no one noticed what I was doing. After searching underneath the mattress and in the few built-in cupboards, I decided to tape the gun to the ceiling of the air conditioning duct. The vent cover came out without any trouble, and I put the miniature screwdriver under the mattress after I’d screwed it back on. Hopefully I wouldn’t need to use any kind of self-defense while I was on board.

I checked my watch. Twenty minutes still until I’d been told to arrive, and I was almost done. The next job was to sketch a map of the yacht, so I could make sure I knew all the places Williams could have a private conversation. Reynolds might not be looking for me to do anything other than observe, but I wasn’t going to waste an opportunity to listen in to some conversations if I got the chance.

Outside my door, someone cleared their throat. Was it Skylar? She seemed to be everywhere I was at the moment. Would she knock before she came in? I closed the notebook I’d been making notes and drawings in and stashed it under my pillow. This morning I’d been wondering if I’d been an idiot for not getting Skylar’s number and even thinking such a thing had irritated me. It wasn’t in my character to give any woman I was with a second thought. What was it about Skylar that had gotten under my skin? Last night had been confounding and inexplicable in a number of ways that my mind was still trying to work through. I was good at reading people, but Skylar wasn’t remotely easy to read. Confident and self-assured one minute yet demure and almost shy the next. Usually, I could see past a mask but with Skylar it wasn’t so much a mask as a layer of riddles she wore. I’d considered calling Harvey to get her number. It had been a long time since I’d even thought about a woman after a night together. Perhaps now that I’d sold my business, it would be possible for me to consider a relationship. Maybe I’d have time to focus. But not yet. If something was worth doing, it was worth doing well, and I was focused on the job for Reynolds this summer. Despite Skylar being beautiful with a fantastic body and exactly my type, there was no way I’d have followed through last night if I’d known I’d see her again, let alone be working with her for the summer while I was on an operation.

My case unpacked, I pulled out my laptop and opened up the encrypted folder of material that Reynolds had given me on the target. I’d studied the information, but it never hurt to remind myself of the details. So many things that seemed like they were superfluous in a file could turn out to be vital in the field.

This might not be a job that required anything more than information gathering and reporting, but the stakes were high. Lives depended on me staying focused and no one figuring out I was there to be anything but a junior deckhand.

I scrolled down the first document. The yacht owner was forty-three-year-old Walt Williams—the target. He was three generations rich but now the family business was more than just oil. International arms trading and money laundering were now at the heart of the Williams’ family fortune, with Walt at the head.

The more I studied the file, the more obvious it was that what I was doing here could have a real impact. I was helping to bring one of the bad guys down—save innocent lives. And even though I’d willingly sold my business, being part of an operation like that, however small a part, warmed my veins and drove me on. It was why I’d accepted the consultancy job at MI6 and not just retired a rich man.

A knock at my door had me flipping down the screen on my laptop.

“Come in,” I said, and Skylar poked her head around the door, first seeing me and then scanning the rest of the room. My eyes followed hers, wondering what she was looking for, and then I realized she was just anxious.

I refocused on Skylar, who smiled but it wasn’t a familiar grin. More like a nervous reaction. “Urm. Captain wants an all-crew meeting in an hour,” she said.

No doubt the captain would simply put a call out on the radio and wouldn’t expect Skylar to round people up. She’d wanted to speak to me, and I was going to help her out. “Come in. My roommate hasn’t arrived yet.”

Skylar smiled nervously. “I’m not sure—”

Her pretty features bore no evidence of our late night. In uniform, with barely any makeup, she no longer looked like a woman who’d be right at home as a guest on one of these yachts, but she was still self-assured, elegant, and beautiful.

“Or you could show me where I can do some ironing?” I grabbed a shirt from where it hung in my half of the wardrobe and held it up.

“Yes, good idea,” she said and spun around and headed out.

“Laundry room is by the kitchen, but the interior staff will do your ironing regardless of whether it’s your uniform.”

I followed her up the spiral staircas

e, getting another view of her tight legs and generous arse. Fuck, she’d been fantastic last night. Even if she’d cut things short and thrown me out before I’d managed to catch my breath.

“I know, but with some things I’m particular.” It was true. I hadn’t had anyone do my ironing since I’d left home. I’d even cancelled the laundry service that my building used because they weren’t good enough.

“Well, don’t burn anything or leave the iron on or anything. Do you want me to show you how to use the steamer?” she asked as we entered a small room, two washing machines and two dryers on one side, the ironing set up on the other.