46. Meg
46
MEG
W e tore down the road, the Range Rover purring beneath us like a jungle cat.
Byron was at the wheel, eyes locked on the road, and there was a certain finesse in the way his hands gripped the wheel. Every inch of him in tune with the motion, aware of me as much as I was aware of him.
“Just so you know,” I said. “The closest I’ve come to being on a boat before was a blow-up dinghy in a swimming pool.”
He cast me an amused glance. “Not much of a difference, really. Depends entirely on your perspective.”
“Look at you, playing the wise guru of the common man.”
“You mean reading Khalil Gibran is finally paying off?”
“Who?”
“He wrote The Prophet, It’s a book that’s been making me rethink a few things.”
“Like?”
“And I quote, You give but little when you give of your possessions. It is when you give of yourself that you truly give. ”
I blinked, stunned. Byron, the man who could charm a rock, was quoting life lessons like he’d been living in Tibet for seven years.
“That’s pretty profound.”
“I read that book while I was in the hospital. It shifted some gears in my head.”
“The bad news for you is I’m probably not the one to exchange deep thoughts with on the meaning of life. My belief is it’s there to live the best way you can.”
He smiled. “Well, I have to learn everything from scratch, and it’s not as easy as it sounds.”
“You make it sound like you’ve been stuck in a cave for thirty years.”
“In a way, I have been. I learned nothing from my previous life. It was a carousel of shallow indulgence, night after day, after night.”
I couldn’t help but smirk. “Poor baby, all that champagne and caviar weighing you down.”
Even if I said it lightly, Byron didn’t crack a smile. He was sharing something so intensely private, and here I was making jokes. I sighed. “I didn’t mean to make fun. I think I get what you’re saying.”
This time, he smiled, and it wasn’t just any smile. It slipped right past my defenses, curling its way effortlessly into my chest.
I stared at the view outside, passing us by. Tonight was surreal, all of it. Like I’d stumbled into someone else’s daydream. I wanted to hit pause and untangle these feelings, but clearly, this wasn’t the moment for a deep dive into my messy soul.
Besides, negotiating with my conscience could only lead to me finding a reason to slam on the brakes. My sexual frustration had reached its peak between Byron and BB, and something had to give.
You had to hand it to lust…it was like a backstage pass to oblivion. Suddenly, the little details that normally screamed problematic just faded away, leaving nothing but hormones and a vacant brain in charge.
“We should pick up a bottle of wine or something,” I suggested. “We never had that drink.”
He glanced at me with a grin. “The yacht is fully stocked. There will be food as well.”
I laughed. “Okay, so there’s a boat in the harbor, just waiting for our grand entrance, filled with booze and food. You live in a completely different world than I do, don’t you?”
“And yet, it’s your world that holds all the intrigue.”
“Byron, you have everything. What can my world give you?”
“A family like yours. Your joy for life... And you. I love how you put everyone else first. That kind of selflessness is priceless. No amount of money can buy that.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” I teased, a flush heating my face.
“It’s not flattery,” he said. “You asked a question, I gave an honest answer.”
Then it struck me. I was nervous. This was a first for me. Being nervous around a man. It was all supposed to be just fun, and suddenly I felt like a Victorian bride on her wedding night.
And now I wanted to text BB and let him talk me off the ledge. He was always so good with that. I also wanted to let him know I was staying out late. Please don’t ask why I felt obligated to do that, because I didn’t know myself.
Imagine that awkward conversation. Remember the guy I was supposed to hate? Well, turns out he’s quite the beginner philosopher, and by the way, I’m about to have hot sex with him, I hope you don’t mind, and no, I haven’t thought about what happens when I have to face him again at work.
Just as quickly, I dismissed the thought. The less BB knew about my night, the better.
Before I could sink into a spiral of doom, Byron took my hand and pressed a tender kiss to my palm, sending a field of goosebumps up my arm.
“I’m nervous too, Meg,” he said softly, as if he could read my mind. “No idea why. Probably for different reasons. But tell you what, why don’t we just have some drinks and food and talk about the big plan. What do you say?”
And just like that, my nerves eased into something resembling calm. Not that it helped one bit since my mind went into overdrive, scrambling to figure out what it was about Byron that made me feel like I’d accidentally stumbled into the place where I belonged.