Modern Romance January 2025 #5-8

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

W ILLOW C HATTERTON REACHED for her coffee cup, projecting calm she didn’t feel and composure that was fast dwindling. Any second now she expected the staid woman sitting opposite her to look up from her tablet, spear her with suspicious eyes and call her out for the less than straightforward means she’d used to land herself this interview.

This exercise had been a Hail Mary at best, one last-ditch effort to get the answers she needed before, if necessary, she took the final undesired but decisive step of cutting her losses with her father.

The squeeze in her chest returned stronger, but she pushed it aside.

Maybe it didn’t have to come to that. Maybe there was something worth salvaging. But with the strain between them now at a breaking point with deepening indifference, and he having lost all interest in providing the vital information needed to save his own company and the many people who depended on them, she’d had no choice but to take this route.

Deep down, though, she hadn’t imagined she’d need to push things this far. That her ultimatums to dig out the truth for herself would pierce through his inertia.

It hadn’t. So here she was.

Asking her hacker buddy to get her on a shortlist of a job agency catering to billionaires had been tricky at best. Actually landing an interview had been an unbelievable probability until she got the call that had made her drive through the night across the border from California into Mexico.

She couldn’t blow this.

Not when it directly affected the other important decision she needed to make about her future. Whether it was worth setting aside her seemingly unattainable desire for family and connection with the secret dream she’d kept close. The dream that had seen her through the previous fractured relationships—

No, she wasn’t going to dwell on her mother. Or her ex, David. Her emotional bandwidth could only accommodate what remained of her relationship with her father. And if that ran out...

She held her breath as Rebecca Devlin, chief purser on the biggest yacht in the Los Cabos marina, looked up.

‘It all looks great, and it helps that you know your way around boats.’ The smallest smile cracked her no-nonsense demeanour, entirely unaware of the shocked relief pouring through Willow. ‘Not that this particular one is your run-of-the-mill vessel.’

Compelled, Willow’s gaze swung to the super-yacht, her ultimate destination.

La Venganza.

Its name was as spine tingling and ominous as the vessel was eerily beautiful.

Easily the most eye-catching with its unique matte grey-and-black hull, it was so large it had been given a special berth within the Marina Puerto Los Cabos.

A born-and-raised Southern Californian, she was used to ostentation on a decadent, eye-watering level that beggared belief sometimes. But the La Venganza was on a whole new stratosphere.

There were seven decks—that she could count. A sleek, top-of-the-line helicopter in the same matte grey-and-black theme sat on one of the higher decks. Since her arrival, she’d seen batches of the crew dressed in sharp, pristinely tailored uniforms, transporting deliveries from vendors that made her eyes goggle—Ossetra caviar, Norwegian salmon, boxes upon boxes of vintage champagne, lobster by the crate load. Hell, she’d overheard that there were ten barrels of water transported from a special mountain lake in the Himalayas.

That was before the steady stream of beautiful people—mostly women—arriving in sports cars, limos and luxury SUVs, tittering with barely suppressed excitement, were escorted by sleek tenders to the yacht.

The volume of activity and number of deliveries pointed to an extended trip. She couldn’t let the yacht sail away without achieving her goal.

Which was to confront Jario Tagarro, famed recluse and owner of La Venganza .

The rumour that the thirty-two-year-old billionaire hadn’t set foot on land in years had held up under her research, but Willow accepted that, even with the abundance of information on the internet, there was so much more she didn’t know about the half-American, half-Colombian financial genius.

Chiefly, she remained in the dark as to why her father visibly quailed at the mention of Tagarro’s name but kept an alarming amount of newspaper clippings and magazine articles of the younger man with the face of a fallen angel and the piercing blue eyes of a ruthless predator.

Her suspicions that her father was lying at worst, or severely underplaying Jario’s role, had deepened when he’d insisted the billionaire had nothing to do with the troubles of Chatterton Financial after she’d brought his name up, then watched him dive straight into his favourite bourbon bottle for the better part of a week.

Knowing it wasn’t the first or the last time her father would lie through his teeth hadn’t been a palatable pill to swallow then or any of the times before.

It’d taken weeks of contemplation and heartache before accepting that she was at a crossroads with only one final choice to make—to seek out the billionaire and find out the truth for herself.

Plus, her emotional baggage with her father aside, there were several families who depended on Chatterton Financial who didn’t deserve her father’s apathy and obfuscation.

She felt another stab of guilt for connecting the dots far too late. As her father’s assistant, she should’ve acted sooner. It’d taken repeatedly seeing Tagarro’s name among her father’s things in the past few months to remember that the sea change in her parent had arrived after his return from Colombia over a decade and a half ago.

The Paul Chatterton who’d left for that trip had merely been prone to exaggerating his status among his country club peers, and ambitious to a fault. The one who’d returned had become near-obsessed with promoting a lofty image that didn’t exist, drafting his wife and bewildered pre-teenage daughter into his schemes, commencing a fracturing that had only widened over the years, leading to a shattering of their family.

Rebelling against the forced subterfuge had driven a wedge between her and her parents. But it was their actual fall from wealth and prestige, and her mother’s walking out and marrying a far wealthier man within months of Willow’s sixteenth birthday and cutting both her and her father off, that had caused the seismic shock waves that changed the landscape of her family.

Willow pushed away those disturbing thoughts now and concentrated on her present goal. Despite the improvisations in her hastily cobbled-together résumé, her work ethic would remain unquestionable no matter her true reason for boarding the super-yacht.

All she needed was one audience with the billionaire.

And as she’d discovered via her research, there was always someone eager to fill her shoes once she got the answers she needed and left—

‘So you’ll be assisting Ripley, Mr Tagarro’s personal valet until a permanent replacement is found,’ Rebecca said, and Willow’s heart jumped into her throat.

She hadn’t deluded herself that it would be easy, but bluffing her way onto the billionaire’s vessel was one thing. Being thrown into such close proximity was quite another. She nodded nevertheless, knowing to do anything else would raise suspicions she couldn’t afford.

And surely once she got over the nerves eating her alive, she’d see the positive side to this. Like that proximity aiding her in getting her answers quicker so she could deal with this emotional purgatory.

Straightening her posture, she offered a cool smile. ‘So I’ve got the job?’

Rebecca nodded, then glanced at the small travel case at Willow’s feet. ‘If you can start right away, barring final checks and your agreement to a little...sprucing up, yes.’

About to perform an internal fist pump, Willow paused. ‘Sprucing up?’

Rebecca eyed the simple vest top and jeans Willow wore. ‘Mr Tagarro expects a high level of professional decorum from his employees.’

Her five-mile daily running routine kept her in decent shape. But she hadn’t worn make-up besides lip gloss or been to a hairdresser for the better part of a year while juggling her assistant job to a failing company and the gruelling violin practice that had become the one shining, soul-sustaining balm in a desolate landscape.

It was almost surreal that it’d landed her on a shortlist for a job on her dream symphony.

‘We have a professional stylist on board. I hope you won’t be offended if I ask you to swing by for an hour or two to get you properly outfitted?’

Willow shook her head, relieved that the purser didn’t expect her to stump up precious cash to make herself over before hiring her. ‘Not at all.’

‘In that case, welcome aboard. There’ll be the usual probationary period, et cetera.’ She handed a document over, then rose. ‘Read the contract and report to the vessel at two p.m. and I’ll have someone show you the ropes.’

Willow was still in the café, after reading and signing the very detailed contract, when another group of the yacht’s crew trailed in.

‘I can’t wait to get going tomorrow,’ a young, too-tanned crew member, who looked barely out of his teens, gushed. ‘I love Cabo, but I’ve been here, done this, you know? Bali, on the other hand, is going to be epic!’

Trepidation whistled through Willow as the information sank in.

Jario Tagarro was leaving for Indonesia tomorrow. While it’d hopefully be enough time to find out what she needed, did she really want to be stuck on his super-yacht on the open ocean? What if...?

No. There was no room for doubt. Not when her father’s cold indifference to her trip had only convinced her she was on the right track.

Waste your time if you wish. Don’t come crying to me when you find nothing there.

Those words had reverberated all the way from Orange County to Mexico, but so, too, had the naked dread overlaying his tone.

That dread had knotted fear in her gut. Hinted that she was potentially on her way to discovering something that would irretrievably shatter her relationship with her father.

Still. She needed to know.

So at five to two, she presented herself at the gangway leading to the super-yacht and the man who held possibly unpalatable answers.

The two guards on duty eyed her, the shorter one raising an eyebrow. ‘You’re the new hire?’

Her fingers tightened on her case, glancing over his shoulder at the large vessel that looked even more awe-inspiring and completely intimidating, its bold, commanding and utterly magnificent presence dwarfing everything in sight.

With every bone in her body she wanted to say no, my mistake . Turn and walk away. But she held fast.

And nodded.

Ten minutes later she was ensconced in a leather chair in a posh little salon, an immaculately dressed woman who introduced herself as Greta, the head stylist, reeling off a list of the staff’s dress code requirements. Willow had barely nodded her agreement to have her hair washed and trimmed before a hairdresser was snipping away.

A little stunned at the brusque efficiency but secretly thankful she would at least look the part, she was released ninety minutes later, armed with a small silver case of make-up and a hanger holding two new uniforms complete with name tag and sensible heels.

‘Ah, here’s Ripley now. See you around, Willow.’

Greta walked away and Willow turned to see a tall, thin man in a three-piece suit. His expression wasn’t unkind but Willow was thankful for the mini-makeover at his piercing, assessing gaze. Scrutiny over, he nodded, satisfied. She stifled the urge to roll her eyes as he stepped forward.

‘Welcome to La Venganza . Come with me. I’ll show you to your quarters. Get you settled in.’

The realisation that she wouldn’t be meeting Jario Tagarro immediately struck a discordant note within her.

As if reading her mind, he added, ‘Mr Tagarro is entertaining his guests on the upper deck. You’ll meet him later.’

She nodded, then asked the question that had loomed in her mind since she’d overheard the conversation in the café. ‘I understand we’re sailing for Bali tomorrow. How long will the journey take?’

‘Without unscheduled stops, about a week. Nine days to be flexible.’

A maximum of nine days to find the answers she desperately needed. Of course, there was the stark unknown of how Jario Tagarro would react when she revealed her purpose on board his yacht, but she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

Alone in the room she was to share with another female crew member, currently on duty on one of the decks, Willow stood stock-still, heart thumping. She was no stranger to the wild turns of fate.

She’d watched her mother pack her bags and leave with head-spinning efficiency ten years ago, leaving a shocked, distraught daughter and a husband deeply mired in a depressed fog.

She vividly recalled her mother’s pitying gaze skidding over a trembling Willow, sobbing in the doorway of their home as her mother walked to the limo holding the new, richer man she was leaving her husband for. ‘Don’t cry, sweetheart. You can come visit me soon. I promise.’

More lies. More promises broken.

Bitterness surged like bile as she recalled the number of times she’d called her mother. The transition from broken promises to frosty rebukes to stop being so needy, and then to total estrangement.

Yes, Willow knew how quickly one’s life could turn. Knew the damage lies and indifference could cause.

And as she swallowed the building dread, she could only hope that whatever secrets her father had kept from her didn’t completely destroy her.

Some nights Jario Tagarro wondered why he even bothered going to bed at all when the effort was so laughably futile.

He was averaging forty-five minutes at best. Fifteen minutes of tossing and turning, despairing or staring at the ceiling, quietly fuming when the demons were being especially prolific.

Tonight he was thoroughly bored with both. He’d dive face first into a liquor bottle if he didn’t despise not having complete clarity at all times. Yes, he drank the odd cognac or glass of vintage champagne when the urge took him, but drinking to drown out the hell that unfolded in his sleep was a thing of the past. These days, he preferred to face his demons head-on.

Rising, he planted his feet on the hardwood floors in his stateroom. He’d forbidden the interior decorator from putting carpet in his rooms, preferring to feel the very subtle motions of his vessel beneath his bare feet.

He curled his toes now as the vibrations travelled up through his ankles, calves and thighs. Quivered through his midsection and into his chest, where it danced with his heartbeat, searching for an elusive rhythm. Attempting to ground him.

It wasn’t enough. No matter what he tried, it was never enough.

He always remained in arrhythmia. Out of sync. Abnormal .

Those weeks in that South American jungle had changed him forever. He’d long accepted that. The only problem was while his brain coped during daylight hours, functioning echelons above most ordinary men, the nights always got to him.

The demons always came within a hairsbreadth of winning.

Elbows propped on knees, he absorbed the deeper vibrations as he bunched his fists, squeezing satisfaction and joy out of that minuscule hairsbreadth. As long as he kept winning, he was content, he told himself.

Because he had work to do, a way to go in this journey of exacting the sweetest of retribution. Until he was done, he would hang on.

And then...what?

He snarled under his breath, the taunting whisper firing up his fury.

And then ...he would live the life he’d been destined to live before traitors had thrown vicious roadblocks in his way. Revenge wasn’t a destination but a pit stop on the road to his greater self, he assured himself. And while the former may consume him for now, the latter would honour his father’s memory.

His sole reason for all this.

Promise reaffirmed, Jario rose, glad he slept naked because it shortened the time needed to throw on the joggers and leave his suite.

Five minutes later he pushed open the door to the extensive gym and entertainment area that took up most of the lower deck. He bypassed the compact basketball court, virtual golf and bowling alley, and stepped into the enclosed area of his favourite stress reliever. Sucking in a breath, he wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the first axe and lifted it.

Reassuringly heavy, the black steel with the deadly blood-red blade glinted in the low lights.

Jario ran his finger along the side of the blade, a roar filling his ears. Three steps brought him to the centre of the mat, the ten-foot-high slab of wood twenty feet away. First, he tightened his grip on the wooden hilt, then deliberately slackened it.

With a bloodthirsty snarl dragged from his soul, Jario hurled the axe, watched it arc through the air before embedding itself with a satisfying thunk into the thick wood. He revelled in the slight burn in his arms and shoulders, the hum still vibrating through him as he approached the slab and yanked the axe free.

All sense of time and space faded as he threw axe after axe, sweat slicking his hair and skin, dripping into his waistband. He ignored the forming blisters, the sweat stinging his eyes, the weariness sapping at his muscles.

All he cared about was that the voices had stopped, the demons conceding this fight. He knew they would return in full force tomorrow night. And the night after.

For tonight, he’d won.

Arms raised for the next throw, a triumphant grin curved his lips, only to freeze at the shocked gasp behind him.

Whipping his head around, he was confronted with a pair of wide eyes, housed in the body of a tall, statuesque woman wearing a sleep shirt and shorts that ended midthigh and left the remaining mile-long legs on display. The shirt was buttoned up primly but still gave a punchy hint at the luscious breasts it covered. Low lights and protective netting made it difficult to ascertain the true colour of her hair, but the long tresses almost touched her waist, sparking a curious need to sink his fingers into them.

She wasn’t one of his guests.

He’d dispatched them all back in Cabo yesterday. After a week of endless business meetings couched as entertainment with distant acquaintances and hangers-on, he’d been more than ready for solitude.

Which meant she was crew. Which also meant she knew better than to disturb him.

Infierno , he didn’t have a stowaway, did he? Annoyed and acutely aware that she was damned stunning—breathtaking, in fact—he faced her fully.

Watched her eyes widen as her gaze dropped to his perspiring chest and torso. Her breaths quickened as she lingered on the V at his waist, then over his joggers before her eyes flicked upward.

The keen stirring of his manhood once their eyes reconnected was a surprising detail. While he thoroughly enjoyed sex and was enthusiastic in his liaisons, Jario hadn’t reacted this strongly to a woman in a long time. He suspected it had something to do with the diminished thrill of the chase but he hadn’t even bothered to test that theory. Why would he, when every woman he desired happily presented herself on a platter at the merest flicker of interest?

Her eyes lowered, veiling her expression, and he stifled a growl of disappointment. He only growled at his demons and his enemies. Never a beautiful woman. Unless during sexual games.

But he undeniably wanted her complete focus on him, so he could absorb her every reaction. Which was absurd. Impatience bristling his skin, he exhaled.

‘Are you—’

‘I’m sorry—’

His brows rose as they both stopped speaking.

Lowering his arms, he kept a loose grasp on the axe. ‘Go on. I hope that’s the start of an apology for disturbing me?’

He caught the smallest spark of irritation before she glanced at the axe. Interesting.

‘I’m still getting used to being on a boat.’ She shrugged. ‘The constant humming, the motion and other noises makes it hard for me to sleep.’

‘The yacht is fitted with stupidly expensive stabilising equipment to ensure it doesn’t rock noticeably. As for the humming, some find it...reassuring.’

A small nod. ‘I probably will, too, once I get used to being on board.’ She glanced around, giving him a brief glimpse of her breathtaking profile. ‘I was going for a walk... I didn’t think anyone would be up at this time.’

His gaze travelled over her once more, a compulsion he couldn’t quite curb. ‘You’re new to the crew?’

Did she just stiffen? After an infinitesimal hesitation, she nodded.

Irritation mixed with peculiar arousal stirred through him. His personal rules forbade him from interacting in any way but professionally with her, but...wasn’t forbidden fruit the sweetest? ‘Then you would’ve been told that wandering at night was strictly prohibited. So either you’re flouting the rules or someone dropped the ball.’

Apprehension flashed through her eyes but although she’d just confirmed she was his employee, she didn’t fall over herself to make excuses like most would.

His intrigued thoughts scattered as she stepped closer, dragging his gaze once more to her spectacular legs. Dios mio , they should be taboo they were so sexy.

Jario had learned early that he was a legs man. Watching her draw closer, noting her half-foot shorter but still impressive height, his fingers curled tighter around the axe as he entertained the idea that he was a face man as well.

Truly breathtaking, she possessed the kind of unadorned beauty that revealed itself gradually, like a veiled lover shedding her layers.

For instance, at first glance, her upper lip looked a little too thin, until they parted, showing it was perfectly proportioned to the lower, fuller one.

Cheeks that appeared plump but highlighted exquisite cheekbones when she stepped beneath the light. Limpid brown eyes once she was close enough showed flecks hiding subtle colours. Colours he itched to discover but cautioned himself against.

Because he wanted to stretch out the unveiling...?

As for her jaw and the elegant line of her neck...that pulse throbbing at her throat...they didn’t need a second look.

‘I didn’t mean to disturb you.’ Her voice was low, husky, hiding mysteries Jario wanted to discover. He wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t recognise that this might be his psyche’s way of distracting him from his demons. That he was snatching this unexpected interruption to delay returning to his bed.

He was also aware that she hadn’t owned up to her transgressions. Something he was inclined to let pass. Just this once.

Because... ‘You want to try?’ He held out the axe, hilt first, before he’d fully clocked his words.

Alarm gut-punched him.

What was he doing? He didn’t fraternise with his crew. They were a bunch of skilled, carefully vetted individuals he paid handsomely to keep his home—and yes, La Venganza was his home—running smoothly. People who ensured his vital need to remain mobile was achieved without question or deviation.

Yet, even as fine tremors moved down his arm and into the fist clutching the deadly tool, he didn’t withdraw his invitation.

She started to shake her head, triggering both relief and pique he didn’t understand, then at the last moment, it turned into a wary nod. Other opaque sentiments flitted over her face. Sentiments he couldn’t immediately decipher because his attention was shifting, confounded by the way she moved... glided ...towards him like a siren straight from the ocean beneath him.

His gaze dropped to her bare feet, and the stirring notched up a thousandfold.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been in a hurry to leave Mexico...should’ve allowed one of the many women eager to share his bed to remain behind. Because the way his libido was revving...

Her gaze left his long enough to examine the protective netting that separated them. Reaching out, Jario detached the fastening and held it open in silent invitation.

She stepped inside, her nostrils fluttering delicately as she scented him. He bit back a growl, the very experience of her inhaling his sweat-coated skin driving astonishingly primal need through his body.

He wanted to attribute these insane sensations to the activity, the time of night or, hell, the movements of the planetary systems. But he knew they made little to no impact on the situation. His visitor possessed her own brand of mystery he was weirdly enraptured by.

Jario watched her examine the collection of axes, then the slab of wood, before glancing at him. ‘I’ve never done this before.’

He wondered if she always sounded this raspy, whether it was from sleep...or the lack of it. Feeling his body heat rising higher, he stifled a curse. He should end this interaction now. Send her packing below deck where she belonged. Return to his suite now he was worn out and try for another forty-five minutes of sleep.

Instead, he stepped closer, extending his axe, satisfaction swelling when she took it. He didn’t release it immediately. ‘Careful. It’s heavy. Hold it away from you so if you drop it, it doesn’t injure you.’

Her eyes met his briefly and she nodded. ‘What do I do next?’

Jario stepped behind her, attempting to ignore how perfectly her frame complemented his. ‘Widen your stance so your feet are just beyond shoulder width. Now wrap both hands one inch from the bottom. Hold it firmly. Good girl,’ he murmured, then inhaled sharply as a little shiver went through her.

Gritting his jaw against sensations he shouldn’t feel, he stepped to the side. ‘First, you visualise where you want it to land and aim towards it. Then raise it above your head, swing hard and release when your arms are just above eye level. Understood?’

Her nod was confident, her eyes glinting with excitement.

Her arms rose above her head, displaying hard nipples pressing against her shirt and a delectable few inches of light golden skin above her sleep shorts that slashed his breathing.

Santo cielo , he was moments away from getting an erection in the presence of an intruder he should’ve sent away.

The absurdity of the situation wasn’t lost on him. And yet...

‘Take a breath and throw,’ he said, a hoarseness to his voice revealing everything he was feeling.

She threw.

The axe arced through the air, silent and deadly, and imbedded itself at the lower centre of the slab.

She gasped, eyes wide as she swivelled to face him. ‘Wow. That was exhilarating!’

‘Indeed. Again?’ He ignored the warning in his head.

A smile curved her luscious pink lips and Jario’s insides twisted with lust. ‘May I?’

In answer, he strolled to the board, yanked the axe free. Turning, he caught her gaze trailing his bare skin. The air, already charged with sensations, grew thicker. It would’ve been no difficult task to toss the tool aside, invite her to participate in a more... involved activity to quiet his demons. Thankfully, sense prevailed.

He held out the hilt. ‘One more, then you’ll have to leave.’

The flare in her eyes said his impending dismissal had surprised her. Good. Much better for her to know he wasn’t to be trifled with, even if she was the most stunning woman he’d seen in a long time.

Taking the axe from him, she positioned herself and raised her arms.

‘Higher. Right there.’

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. His fists clenched, stemming the fevered need to touch her. To wrestle that bottom lip free with his own teeth, then bite it. ‘Throw.’

It flew out of her hand, landing with a satisfying thunk just a little off centre, next to the cluster of his own truer aims.

Slowly, she lowered her arms, her eyes shining with pleasure and accomplishment. Then burgeoning awareness, probably at the heavy reaction he couldn’t hide. Those maddening lips parted once more, her breaths shallow with muted pants as her gaze stayed glued to his face.

Right then, Jario could’ve sworn he’d never been more attracted to a woman. And it was that forceful reaction that made him turn his back on her, stride to the board to retrieve his axe, then remain there as he grappled with his self-control.

‘Leave. Now,’ he said without turning around.

Several seconds passed while she rebelled, inciting further excitement in his blood. It was almost a shame to hear her receding footsteps.

A full minute passed before his fingers wrapped around the axe and he returned to his task.

This time, however, the urgent need to hurl the sharp axe at the unyielding wood was more to drive away the fiery lust blazing through his needy body than the urge to silence his demons.

The moment he was showered and dressed the next morning, Jario activated the yacht’s surveillance system via his tablet. He sipped his espresso while commending himself for waiting until the less ungodly hour of 6 a.m. to give in to temptation that hadn’t abated one iota since she walked away from him last night.

A few swipes through the frames and he found her in the galley with Ripley.

Her long hair was tied back in a neat ponytail that made his fingers twitch with the need to see it wrapped around his wrist. She was dressed in the crew-assigned all-white uniform, with his yacht’s logo displayed discreetly on her attire. But not even the modest buttoned-up shirt or the pleated skirt and apron could disguise her striking, coltish beauty.

Eyes followed her when she moved. Lingered when she smiled or laughed.

And when his assistant snagged her attention, Jario found himself in the startling position of experiencing stomach-churning irritation bordering on... jealousy ?

Ridiculous.

But Ripley’s appearance had reminded him of a failing that needed fixing. Setting the tablet down, he accessed the Bluetooth intercom that connected him to his assistant.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Come to my office right away.’

‘Of course, sir.’

Jario’s fingers drummed impatiently on his desk, counting down the interminable three minutes till the knock on his door.

With one last look at the screen, he shut off the surveillance. ‘Come.’

Ripley approached his desk, his easy stride broadcasting his self-assurance in his efficiency at his chosen profession. Usually, Jario appreciated his assistant’s demeanour. He’d never had much patience for wallflowers or lazy scroungers, choosing to surround himself with hard workers like Ripley. But this morning he found himself chafed by the other man.

Because of the breach last night. Nothing more.

‘How may I help you, sir?’

Not even the courteous respect twinned with his eagerness to serve mollified Jario. He’d slept like crap. Fighting demons and sexual frustration wreaked havoc on a man’s disposition. He needed to ensure at least one of those didn’t happen again.

‘It’s your job to ensure that all crew obey my code of conduct while on board my yacht, is it not?’ he enquired evenly.

Ripley’s laissez-faire evaporated. ‘Of course, sir. And you have my assurance that they all know to follow your rules.’

‘Do I? Then why did I find your newest recruit wandering the decks in the middle of the night?’

The flicker of surprise preceded the tiniest flash of quickly disguised ire that made Jario curb a smile. More than most, Ripley hated being called out for a flaw, and to his credit they rarely happened. It was why he was as close to being his right-hand man as Jario would permit.

‘My apologies, sir. Clearly, Willow needs reminding of the rules. She was hired to assist me so she’s directly under my supervision. Leave it with me. I’ll make sure...’

Ripley’s words receded as her name echoed seductively in Jario’s head.

Willow.

Dios mio , it suited her down to a delectable T.

He shifted in his seat as fresh heat pounded through his bloodstream. Beyond Ripley’s shoulder was the screen counting down the time until their next destination. Seven days till Bali. Till he could do something about this savage need in his groin.

Until then, he had deals to close. One nemesis to take down another satisfying notch. And yet, he refocused on Ripley as he rose and poured another espresso before returning to his desk, the words leaving his lips as surprising as they were unsettling. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to witness it, make sure we’re all on the same page?’

If he was surprised by the request, Ripley disguised it with a brisk nod. ‘Of course. I’ll get Miss Chatterton right away.’

Jario’s vision hazed red, his pulse leaping from ten to a million in a nanosecond. For a ridiculous moment, he thought he would pass out from the shock filling his veins. He barely heard the espresso cup clatter onto the saucer, barely felt the hot liquid singe his skin.

‘ Perdoname? What did you say her name was?’ The savage whisper blistered his throat.

Ripley’s eyes widened as he lost several shades of colour. ‘Willow Cha-Chatterton, sir. Is there something...?’

His hand slamming his desk made the other man jump. ‘Bring her to me. Now .’

Ripley looked poleaxed for another half second, then he was nodding and striding from the room.

Alone, Jario surged from his desk, his hands tingling as disbelief filled him at her audacity.

She’d known who he was all along. Played him like a fiddle.

The wide-eyed expression. Those pseudo-innocent nightclothes hinting at false modesty. Her feigned breathlessness designed to trigger the right response in a red-blooded male. All an elaborate ruse he’d fallen for like a chump.

She’d wagered on his potent reaction to her beauty. And she’d almost succeeded.

Only Willow Chatterton had no idea what she’d awakened.

Mildly unnerving anticipation rushed through him like hot lava prior to a volcanic explosion.

They returned in double quick time. From their exerted breathing he knew Ripley had instilled the need for haste.

Jario’s gaze fixed on her the second she stepped into the room, hating himself for noting everything about her. The light sheen of sweat dotting her upper lip, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she tried to catch her breath.

Wide, duplicitous liquid brown eyes, blinking at him.

Ripley hovered in the doorway, his own gaze repeatedly sliding to her. Jario’s blood boiled faster. ‘I’ll deal with you later. Leave us. Now.’

His assistant hurried away, shutting the door behind him.

In the thick silence that followed, he watched her dance between outright defiance and wariness, her mouth pursing twice before she exhaled whatever emotions were eating her alive. ‘I can explain.’

‘Can you? I’m dying to hear how you believe anything you say would mitigate your true intention for boarding my yacht.’

A flash of fire. ‘I’ve been trying to get in touch with you. I had no choice,’ she stated firmly.

There went the haze again. For a wild second, he couldn’t quite catch his breath. ‘Choice?’ His ravaged voice grated his own ears, the word triggering a deep-seated repulsion that seared acid into his throat. Made his fists bunch at his sides as he battled to regain control.

Choice was the reason he was riddled with demons.

Choice was why he was without a father.

Choice was what had driven him from his home, the need to sail the seas, the need to keep moving, always moving , his only option.

‘You have no idea what you’ve just walked yourself into, Miss Chatterton. But believe me, I’ll take great pleasure in showing you.’