The Wrong Gentleman

“These aren’t just details. The things I’ve found out tonight are who you are. I feel like I’ve been with a stranger all these weeks. It’s violating, Landon. Don’t you see that?”

“I’m still the same guy. Just because you don’t know—”

“No, you’re not. That’s the point. That guy knew how important honesty is to me. Apparently, you’re happy for me to think you’re some kind of drifter with no direction in life. You’re prepared to deceive me and tell me half-truths and lies. I thought you were the first real guy I’d ever met; the first man I wanted to tell anything and everything to. The first one I trusted since my dad . . . I thought you were different.”

She tried to twist away from me, but I wouldn’t let her move. Her eyes filled with tears, and I began to realize how much of a betrayal my actions must look like to Skylar. She’d trusted no one since her father betrayed her in the worst way possible. To her, he’d pretended to be a loving husband and father and turned out to be a killer and a thief of childhoods. I’d betrayed Skylar’s trust—something she clearly didn’t give out easily.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“It’s not good enough. You’ve . . . I just can’t.” She pushed out of my arms. “I was going to tell you tonight how I was planning to turn down the three-year contract because you’d inspired me to chase my dreams. I was about to confess how much you meant to me but—”

I reached for her and she pulled away.

“Skylar, I’ve been more open with you than I have with any woman.”

She scoffed. “Doesn’t mean a whole lot when you’ve never spent more than twenty-four hours with a woman.”

She had a point.

“But I’ve never wanted to spend any longer with anyone. That should mean something,” I replied.

She looked up at me, her ice-blue eyes filled with disappointment and sadness.

Now was my moment. I was at a crossroads with too many options, and all I wanted to do was turn around and go back to where I started. I wanted to confess everything to her, send her back to London with Hayden and Avery and keep her safe. But I knew it wouldn’t be that simple. If I told her, there was a real risk she wouldn’t leave. She’d want someone like Walt behind bars as much as I did. She’d stay. But it was too dangerous, and I couldn’t risk her insisting that she put herself in harm’s way.

Perhaps her hating me was a way out. Resignation trickled through my veins like summer rain—hot and suffocating. It was the perfect solution. If Skylar quit, she also left the clutches of Walt and the CIA or whoever Reynolds’ client was. She was so professional, that a simple breakup might not get her to leave the Sapphire.

I had to rely on the fact that the only thing Skylar knew how to do better than maintain a yacht interior was to run from misery and pain.

The first chance she had, she’d run from Ohio—away from the memory of her dead mother and the group home she’d hated. Now I had to get her to run from the South of France. Away from the misery and pain that I would cause her.

“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered, her shoulders slumping.

“Exactly. It doesn’t matter.” I hardened my tone. Was I really going to do this? Could I drive her away to keep her safe?

“That’s not what I mean,” she said. “I thought you were different.”

I rolled my eyes, hating myself every second, but I was going to have to do a lot worse.

“Jesus, Landon. I thought you’d changed my future, but really, you’re just a reminder of my past. And I don’t know if I can live with that.”

“Well, you’re going to have to live with that because we’re on the yacht together for weeks yet. You need to grow up, Skylar.”

She blinked as if she couldn’t focus properly or perhaps didn’t recognize the man talking to her. “Grow up?”

Tears spilled down her face, and it was like an iron fist was wrapped around my heart. It hurt so much seeing her cry.

My heart raced as I held myself back from pulling her into my arms and confessing everything t

o her. But that would be selfish. I had to make it worse.

I took a deep breath. “Yeah. Grow up. You know my track record with women. It’s not like I hid that from you. We were hardly going to grow old together. It was better-than-average sex. That’s all. Nothing I’d write home about.”

She pulled back. “Who are you?”

“I hope you’re not going to make a fuss when we’re back at work,” I said, glancing around the square we were in as if I were barely interested in the conversation, as if I didn’t know that accusing her of being unprofessional would cut her deep. I just hoped it was deep enough.

“Landon,” she said. “This isn’t you. What’s the matter? Did something happen? You know you can tell me. You can trust me.”