Chapter Eighteen
Phoenix
After the bathroom incident, I’d aimed directly for the galley, made an educated guess, and thrown a piece of fish into a pan. Except it was all an act.
I didn’t toy with prey.
Not that you would know it as I calmly sat at the large dining table with a plated piece of protein, one set of utensils, and a livid trespasser standing over me.
Scanning the length of her like I hadn’t already seen her dressed in far less than a towel, I let my gaze linger. Then I focused back on her expression and looked for tells—her eyes, facial features, anything that would give me insight—but I was fixated on two things.
Wet and angry.
It was a provocative combination on her.
Lowering my voice, I used a tone I only ever employed for coercion. “Sit down next to me, Isla.”
Gripping her towel as if it were a shield, she took the chair I’d kicked out for her like a good little submissive.
But then she leaned forward and made a tactical move of her own. “Do you know why your deliberate display of dominance, the uniform you used to wear, and every military-trained movement you make aren’t having the effect on me that you think they are?”
I ate the bite of swordfish I’d cut off for her.
She answered her own question. “I’m not stupid enough to fall for your shit.”
“You stepped onto my yacht.” That alone was already a one-way ticket. If she walked off the Paragon of her own accord, it’d be a miracle. It’d also be under tightly controlled circumstances that I set.
“So that gives you the right to steal from me? And how convenient you leave out the part of the narrative of how I actually got here.”
I eyed the towel around her breasts and wondered if her nipples were hard. “Whose towel is that?”
“I’m borrowing it,” she ground out.
“Like you borrowed my estate?” And my shower.
“Where’s my barrette?”
The same place her freedom was. Under my control. “Do you usually pick locks?” I’d never had a security problem on the ship before. I’d also never had a woman on board. Now I was thinking about upgrading every lock to a biometric scanner.
For a split second, I saw her anger flare. Then she tamped it down and spoke low and controlled. “It was a gift. Return it.”
For a woman who seemed to carry the entirety of her belongings on her back, I could imagine how every item would hold significance. That said, the item in my pocket wasn’t unique. “Unusual gift.” For anyone other than a drifter or prepper. “Who gave it to you?”
“None of your business.”
“Technically correct.” It hadn’t been—until she’d trespassed, taken advantage of my resources, picked my locks, and freely roamed my ship like she had the right. That made it my business.
That and her connection to the sniper.
Which was why I’d cooked the fish, sat at the dining table I never utilized, and was engaging in this conversation.
All of it was calculated.
Suspicion laced her tone. “I know what you’re doing.”
Did she? I cut another bite of the fish—the same kind I could’ve caught offshore from my property—and held it to her lips. “Still hungry?” This woman was starving. Just not for food.
“Do I look like I need to be fed?”
“Yes.” Like a freshly hatched bird.
More than a little offended, her expression saying it all, she leaned back. “I don’t.”
“You’re not independent.” She was starved for attention, and her ramped-up attitude told me her defenses were slipping faster than I could yank that towel away.
Fire ignited in her blue eyes. “Excuse me?”
“No employment history, no military service, no current address.” Minus the use of her passport a few times, her digital footprint was impressively next to nonexistent. “You rely on other people’s resources to sustain your lifestyle.”
“Lifestyle. Really. Have you fed me once? Put an actual roof over my head before you forced me to get on your ridiculous yacht that’s so huge, it’s offensive? Did you buy my clothes?” Her head tilted in defiance. “Have you bought me anything?”
“Try the swordfish.” I wondered who’d taught her to forage and pick locks. “You’ll enjoy it.” I’d used the same herbs she would’ve found on my property.
Shoving her chair back, she gripped her towel and stood. “I thought Navy SEALs had a code of honor.”
Pivoting, she walked out of the main saloon.