“I…” The right answer is yes. The real answer is…complicated. I give Boris the most non-committal nod in the world, because I feel it’s what I should do. Who is offered freedom and replies, No, captivity and peril suit me better, thanks.

Boris leans closer and whispers, “Mr. Ravnikar has ordered me to go ashore to watch Navarro’s villa at midnight tonight. I can smuggle you off the yacht with me. Be by the speedboat a few minutes before twelve in dark clothes. I’ll make sure the lights on that part of the deck are out. Hide in the shadows and wait for me.”

Then he’s gone, walking away from me quickly as if his life depends on it. Which it does. He’s putting his life on the line for me. If the plan works, by the early hours of the morning I’ll be safely at the British embassy. Tomorrow I’ll probably be on a plane back to London.

An uneasy feeling settles in my belly as I head through to the bedroom for my intended shower. My eyes land on one of Damir’s shirts and my heart does a somersault inside my chest.

I look at my reflection above the bathroom vanity. It’s time I gave myself a stern talking to.

Listen up, idiot. He might give you orgasms and jewelry and hold you close against that banging body of his all night, but he’s a murderer who will turn on you one day as sure as he’s turned on his own brother and father. You’re drinking dumb bitch juice if you think otherwise. Get on that speedboat at midnight, and get back to London ASAP.

No, wait—London would be a terrible idea. Damir will only find me and take me prisoner again. I’ll tell Interpol everything they need to know about Damir Ravnikar and then I’ll disappear to Switzerland or Australia or wherever on that money Mikhail put in my account.

I spend the rest of the evening trying to concentrate first on my dinner, then on a book. Neither give me any pleasure or distraction, and I turn in early, saying I have a headache.

Damir is in a very good mood when he comes to bed at eleven. I can hear him whistling as he walks along the deck. I’m in bed, pretending to be asleep. My stomach is a mass of knots because if he’s still awake at midnight, what then?

“Princesa?” He runs his hand along my body as if hoping for a response. I let my breathing deepen. “Ah, sleeping beauty.” His tone is amused and indulgent, and he gets into bed and turns out the light.

I listen to his breathing slow and then deepen. After about twenty minutes, he gives a light snore. Carefully, I sit up.

“Damir?” I whisper. No response. I ease myself out of bed, purposefully not looking at him. If I look at him then I might do something life-threatening. Like cry.

I have a plan if he catches me creeping about on deck: I wanted to play our stalker-in-the-night sex game again. Hopefully if he catches me he’ll be too horny to become suspicious. I daren’t risk putting a lot of clothing on but I do grab a black hoodie I left over the back of a chair and put in on over my short nightgown, and then creep out of the cabin.

Boris kept his word. The deck is in darkness. There’s nowhere to hide on this ov

erdesigned superyacht, so I just hunker beneath the railings and wrap my arms around my body, my hearth thumping wildly. I don’t have a watch or a phone, so I have no idea what time it is when I hear footsteps coming toward me. I hold my breath, wondering if I’m going to have to bust out my oh-big-boy-you-found-me routine for Damir, and what might happen to me if he doesn’t believe me.

There’s a whisper in the darkness. “Miss Voight?”

I sag with relief. It’s Boris. “Here,” I squeak, and fumble my way to my feet.

He helps me down the rope ladder into the speedboat without a word. I try to catch a glimpse of his face in the dark. He seems tense, as if his life is on the line. I don’t doubt that it is. In the boat, I lay down in the seat and Boris covers me with a blanket, and then we’re speeding away, the engines roaring. I wait a few minutes, until I’m sure that we’re out of sight in the darkness, and then sit up.

“Why are you doing this for me?” I ask over the roar of the engine.

Boris just shakes his head in a don’t ask manner. Maybe he doesn’t know why he’s doing this. Maybe his conscience has been getting to him.

At the marina we get out and Boris takes me around to a carpark. I don’t feel safe until we get into the car and the locks snip closed around us. Then, I allow myself a tiny sigh of relief.

“I don’t know how I can thank you, Boris,” I gasp, as he starts the engine and we slip out onto the street. “Where’s the British embassy? Do you need to look it up?”

But Boris doesn’t answer. He keeps driving and turns down a side street.

All the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. “Boris?”

When he speaks his voice is flat and he doesn’t look at me. “Navarro will protect you from Damir. He’s the only one who can.”

I stare at him in shock. “What? But I need to go to the embassy.” Why didn’t it occur to me to iron out how my rescue was going to go? I assumed that Boris would take me where I wanted to go. It’s my goddamn rescue. “I don’t want anything to do with Damir’s crazy enemies. I’m not getting mixed up in the old squabbles. Take me to the British embassy.”

Boris just ignores me, his face stony. I try the doors, but of course they’re locked. “This is insane! Why would Navarro protect me? He hates Damir.”

“Navarro will protect you,” Boris repeats.

I do some quick thinking. Everything about Lucan Navarro gives me the goddamn creeps. If that’s where I’m being taken, I’m safer with Damir on the yacht than in the villa of a man who has a big fat grudge against my so-called fiancé, even if Damir punishes me.

“I’ve changed my mind. Take me back to the yacht. Or let me out here. I’ll go back down to the marina, dunk myself in the water, and you can pretend I swam for it and you captured me in the speedboat. Damir will be so grateful to you that he’ll probably give you a big bonus. You’ll be a hero. I’ll take all the heat, I swear.”

Tags: Brianna Hale Erotic
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