Chapter 5
Vaughn
"It's too bad Leo and Rove aren't feeling well," Clayton says, taking a sip of wine as he leans against the white countertop, watching me make dinner in his kitchen.
His beautiful kitchen. If someone saw photos of it, they'd think it was in a mansion, not on a yacht.
A pristine white island anchors the galley, and smooth white cabinetry blends seamlessly into the curved walls of the yacht, broken only by chrome fixtures and soft LED strips tracing every line.
Mabel is resting in a portable bassinet next to Clayton who keeps looking over at her and smiling.
"It's weird is what it is," I tell him. "They were both fine when they swung by the office this morning. Then I mentioned I'd met you and that you'd invited me to join you all for dinner, and not half an hour later, Rove starts coughing."
Clayton rests his wine glass on the counter. "What's so weird about that?"
I turn to face him. "He was so unconvincing you'd never think he used to be an actor."
He grins, warmth flickering in his amber-brown eyes.
He's an attractive man. That much I remembered from our first encounter, but I was a little too preoccupied with not dying to pay much attention to the smaller details.
Tousled blond hair frames a chiseled face, all sharp angles and confidence.
A strong jaw, straight nose, full lips. It's all deeply masculine and almost impossible to look away from.
"What accent is that?" he asks.
I clear my throat and give the salad a good toss. "Montanaia."
A frown forms, and he tilts his head. "You're American?"
"No. The country, not the US state." With my accent, Australians commonly think I'm mispronouncing Montana.
"Oh, right."
His face remains blank, so I decide to have a little fun with him. "You have no idea where that is, do you?"
He straightens. "Of course I do."
"Okay, tell me."
He deflates, circles his fingers along the base of his wine glass, and looks out the window. "It's, you know, near the, uh… A little left of that other country in Eastern, no, wait, Western… Fine. I have no clue."
I grin. "Thought so."
"You were enjoying that, weren't you?"
"I was." I pick up the salad bowl and take it over to the dining table because yes, this yacht has a separate dining room. As I brush past him, I look into his eyes. "Best show I've seen in a while. A little disappointed you didn't go on with it. But perhaps Australian men don't have stamina?"
His brow lifts. "And Montanaian men do?"
I move closer until there's only a salad bowl's distance between our chests. "We do… Among other things."
I hold his gaze a moment longer, then I slip into the dining room.