Chapter 15
T he veranda is shaded from the morning sun, but the warmth of the day is already creeping in. A light ocean breeze ruffles the linen of my shirt as I lean against the railing, watching the waves roll in, slow and steady.
Margo chatters beside me, her easy warmth filling the space between us, but my attention shifts the second the door opens and Elena steps outside.
She looks different.
Still poised, still perfect, but something lingers beneath the surface—a flush high on her cheeks, the tension in her shoulders just a fraction too tight before she smooths it away like it was never there.
I push off the railing, straightening as she walks toward me, her smile bright, her hazel eyes catching the light like polished amber. If I hadn’t just seen the ghost of something in her expression, I wouldn’t suspect a thing.
“Are you excited for today?” I ask.
She steps closer, slipping her hands into mine, her fingers warm against my skin. “Yes,” she says, breathless with enthusiasm, rising onto her tiptoes to press a soft peck to my cheek.
The gesture is unexpected.
Elena has been careful. Deliberate. She never gives more than what’s necessary for the role.
And yet, here she is—giving more.
Margo watches us with a knowing smile, but before she can comment, a sharp blast from a boat horn sounds from below.
She turns, waving a hand toward the yacht anchored just off the shore. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I hear you! Give us a minute!” she hollers to the captain before spinning back around with a grin. “Impatient man, I swear. You two finish up and meet us at the dock.”
As soon as she’s gone, I pull Elena in, my hands firm at her waist, guiding her close until her chest brushes against mine. Her breath catches as I dip my head, my lips ghosting just below her ear, making it look as if I’m kissing her neck.
“You said no kissing,” I murmur, my voice deliberately low, rich with amusement. “Are you breaking the rules, Miss Moreau?”
She exhales sharply, her fingers tightening ever so slightly on my forearm before she schools herself back into composure.
“I would never break the rules, Mr. Wolfe.”
She steps back just enough to look at me, her expression smooth, unreadable. But something flickers there—something unspoken.
I let my gaze sweep over her, taking in the golden glow of her skin under the morning sun, the way her lips part just enough to make me wonder what it would feel like to press my mouth against hers, to taste her again.
Fucking dangerous thoughts.
“Physical affection is expected when we have an audience,” she reminds me smoothly, tilting her head.
I narrow my eyes, but before I can respond, her expression shifts—her entire face lighting up with something close to genuine joy.
I glance over my shoulder just in time to see why.
James walks up the path, holding Marcus’s hand and talking animatedly, likely about his L.A. photo shoot.
“Hey, you made it after all,” I say with a nod, letting go of Elena.
James grins, sliding his sunglasses up onto his head. “Wrapped up the shoot early. Figured I’d crash your weekend in paradise.” His smirk deepens as he turns toward Elena. “Besides, wouldn’t want to miss a beach trip with my new friend.”
She laughs, easy and warm, and for some reason, the sound settles something inside me.
“Come on, you lovebirds!” Mrs. Calloway hollers from the dock as others climb onto the smaller boat that will taxi us to the yacht.
Elena rolls her eyes at Mrs. Calloway’s enthusiasm but lets out a small laugh as I take her bag from her shoulder. She slides her hand into mine without hesitation, letting me lead her down the dock.
“Time for some fun in the sun,” I say.
The ride to the yacht is quick, and within minutes, we’re stepping onto the deck of the impressive vessel. The Calloways spared no expense—pristine white leather seating, teakwood flooring, and a fully stocked bar under a shaded canopy.
It doesn’t take long for Margo to challenge her husband to a competitive game of shuffleboard while others dive into the shimmering blue water, laughter echoing across the deck.
Elena and I settle onto a curved outdoor couch at the back of the yacht, and Marcus and James claim the spots beside us.
God, if Elena doesn’t look fucking amazing.
She’s wearing a red bikini, her toenails painted to match. Ledger red.
And I think of that fantasy when I jacked off with her dirty panties. The thoughts of that red dress. Red lipstick perfect for smearing.
Right now, I’m trying—and failing—to stop thinking about taking her to the back of the yacht. Slipping my hand into her bathing suit bottoms and feeling her smooth pussy, wet and wanting for me.
Making her gasp. Making her come.
The threat of someone catching us only makes it more exciting.
Fuck.
My thoughts shift the second I catch that walking prick, Adrian, with his eyes on Elena a little too long for my liking. Any fraction of time that shithead’s eyes are on my fiancée is too long.
My—fake—fiancée.
I remind myself.
He moves his beady eyes to me. A smirk plays on his lips that makes me want to break his nose and throw him overboard.
He makes an obnoxious show of jumping off the diving platform with a flip into the ocean below. Margo applauds him like he’s a child, which makes Marcus and me share an eye roll.
But it’s a reminder of the familial connection they share.
The day of leisure moves on. Adrian moves out of my mind.
The air is warm, the sun casting a golden glow over the scene, and about one hour and several drinks later, I feel something close to . . . relaxed.
Which, of course, means my two idiot friends won’t let me enjoy it.
“So,” James drawls, lounging back and stretching his arms out over the back of the seat, “Elena, what has our brooding friend here told you about himself?”
She smiles so warmly I can’t tell if this is really her or the Ledger Companion sitting with me. “Only what I need for our”—she stalls a moment, as if thinking of the right phrasing—“for our time together.” She emphasizes the words, knowing my friends know the truth of our contract.
“Well, since Elena is obviously not getting the juicy details from you, I think it’s only fair we tell her about your rebellious phase—on your behalf, of course.”
I take a slow sip of my drink, shooting him a look over the rim. “There was no phase.”
Marcus grins. “Oh, I beg to differ.”
“Gasp!” Elena makes a show of her shock, turning her attention to me, interest sparking in her hazel eyes. “Rebellious? You?”
James chuckles. “See, this is why we need to tell her. No one ever believes Damien was once young and stupid.”
“I was never stupid,” I say dryly.
Elena stretches her legs, and it seems natural to put them in my lap. My hands knead her calves, the high arch in her soft feet.
Her cheeks blaze red, but otherwise, she follows my lead. Her eyes lock with mine for only a second.
“Okay, fine,” Marcus follows, his eyes full of amusement at seeing my affections toward Elena. “But he was definitely reckless.”
James leans forward, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, Elena, this is a good one. Greece. Cliff diving. Our fearless Damien, proving he has more balls than brains.”
Elena’s brows lift, her gaze flicking to me with skepticism. “Cliff diving? You?”
Just before James can launch into my humiliation, a shadow falls over our small group.
Adrian.
Because of course it’s Adrian.
“Elena,” Adrian’s voice is all practiced charm, oily and forced. “Need a refill?”
I don’t even give her the chance to answer.
“She’s fine.”
Flat. Uninterested. Final.
Adrian chuckles, shaking his head. “Is the lady not able to speak for herself? Or just not allowed to?”
I’m already fucking turning, already ready to make it clear how close he is to getting thrown overboard, but Elena beats me to it.
“Clearly,” she says smoothly, lifting her very full glass with a pointed flick of her wrist, “I don’t need a refill.”
She leans in, trailing her fingers along my jaw, her nails just barely scraping my skin as she turns my gaze back to her.
“But if I did, I’m sure my handsome fiancé would gladly take care of me.”
She says it all while looking directly into my eyes, a look of admiration in her expression as her finger keeps tracing my jaw.
I smirk, taking her hand and placing a kiss on her knuckles. We thread our fingers together, our joined hands resting comfortably on her lap.
“You were saying, James?” she expertly dismisses the asswipe still blocking our sunlight.
After an awkward moment’s hesitation, Adrian leaves. But the tension in my shoulders lingers a few moments longer.
Marcus nods solemnly, like he’s about to deliver a tragic tale. “Santorini. Perfect summer. Perfect weather. And a cliff that made most people hesitate before jumping.”
James huffs a laugh. “Enter Damien Wolfe—who apparently thinks hesitation is for mere mortals.”
Elena’s brow lifts as she turns to me. “I can’t picture you jumping off a cliff without an extensive risk assessment.”
“Right?” Marcus grins. “That’s what makes it so good.”
James smirks. “So, there we were, standing on the edge, looking down at crystal-clear water, maybe sixty, seventy feet below. People kept backing out.”
Marcus shakes his head. “One guy spent ten minutes psyching himself up, then climbed back down the way he came.”
I roll my eyes. “If you two are going to exaggerate, at least make it believable.”
“Elena,” James continues, ignoring me, “Damien didn’t even look before he jumped. Just tossed his sunglasses at Marcus, ripped off his shirt, and—boom—gone.”
She turns back to me, eyes wide. “You didn’t even check the water?”
I take a slow sip of my drink, giving her a lazy shrug. “I had a pretty good idea of what was down there.”
James laughs. “The hell you did! You were already midair when I saw the jagged rocks at the base.”
Marcus grins. “You should’ve seen his face when he resurfaced.”
“Triumphant?” I smirk.
“Try shocked,” James fires back. “And probably a little grateful to be alive.”
James nudges her. “And he’ll never admit it, but he was definitely rattled when he climbed back up.”
“I wasn’t rattled,” I say flatly.
Marcus snorts. “You were absolutely rattled.”
Elena studies me like I’m an unsolvable puzzle. “So, what was it? A dare?”
James and Marcus exchange a look before James smirks. “Oh, absolutely a dare.”
I glare at them both. “Don’t.”
Elena leans in, eyes alight. “Oh no, now you have to tell me.”
James grins. “A French model named Claire made a comment about how real men don’t hesitate.”
Marcus sighs dramatically. “And our Damien, being the picture of restraint, just had to prove he was the most real man there.”
Elena’s laughter spills out, bright and warm, as she turns back to me. “So you jumped off a cliff to impress a woman?”
I drain the last of my drink, setting the glass down with an easy smirk, my free hand instantly going back to her smooth legs still resting comfortably in my lap.
“Seemed like the most efficient way to shut her up.”
James and Marcus exchange another look before bursting into laughter, falling into their own conversation.
I shake my head, but I’m still smirking.
Elena leans back, still studying me with something unreadable in her eyes. “So,” she says slowly, a hint of amusement in her voice, “do you still leap without looking?”
The way she says it makes my chest tighten, but I keep my expression relaxed. “I think you know the answer to that question.”
She smiles, and I don’t miss the way she bites her lip, like she’s thinking about something.
Something that has nothing to do with cliffs and everything to do with a particular night spent in my hotel.
“I’m not sure I do, actually.” She leans forward, setting her own drink down, and the lightness of the day captures me.
I smirk, shaking my head. “That sounds like a challenge.”
Elena barely has time to react before I scoop her up into my arms, lifting her effortlessly against my chest.
“Damien!” she yelps, but her laugh betrays her. She’s enjoying this.
With long strides, I move toward the diving platform, stepping past the railing with nothing but the vast ocean below us.
She stiffens instantly.
“Damien—” Her arms clamp around my neck, her breath hitching against my skin.
The panic in her voice is instant. “I can’t swim.”
The words, soft but sharp, cut through the moment in a second.
Every trace of playfulness vanishes as I feel the real fear in her voice. The way she’s clutching me like she’s bracing for impact.
My response is immediate. I turn around with my back to the water, setting her down and closing my arms around her, the railing behind her.
“Elena.” My voice is quiet, careful. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She exhales shakily, her body still rigid. Her arms remain looped around my neck, and we’re too close now—close enough that I can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her pulse flutters at her throat.
“Hey, look at me.” I insist, my gaze trying to call hers to me. “I’ve got you, Elena.”
She takes a deep breath.
“That’s it. It’s just you and me.”
She gives me her hazel stare, her eyes bright but filled with fear, and it guts me for putting it there.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.” I pant, wrapping my arms tighter around her waist and placing a kiss on the top of her head.
It happens without thought, but she doesn’t protest. She doesn’t step away from me.
In fact, her arms hold my neck tighter, and I run my hand up her back.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” I whisper against her ear.
Shit. I didn’t mean to say that.
But I’m not sorry I did.
The air shifts. Her breaths come out labored, but for an entirely different reason now.
The weight of something unspoken presses between us as she pulls back, looking at me, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck.
I run both hands down her back, gripping her hips. My thumbs almost toy with the thin waistband of her bikini bottoms.
Her breath hitches, my voice dipping lower, rougher.
“Do your rules still apply over the open ocean?” I murmur, unable to keep myself from looking at her full lips, pink, wet, slightly parted and begging for my kiss. “Or are there maritime exceptions?”
Her nipples pebble through the thin fabric of her bathing suit as her eyes flicker between mine. For a second—just a second—I think she might say yes.
But a moment of clarity makes her straighten, tilting her chin just slightly. “The rules are the rules.”
I grin, a slow, knowing smirk, when she quickly looks at my mouth, then back at my eyes.
She wants to kiss me as much as I want to kiss her.
But fine. If this is how she wants to play, we’ll play by her rules.
“Okay then.”
Stepping back, I let my hands fall from her waist, ignoring the way my palms itch to pull her back.
“Well, I suppose we should go show the Calloways who’s boss on the shuffleboard.”
Elena smiles, shaking her head as she adjusts the straps of her bikini.
And as we walk back toward the others, I can’t help but think?—
I’d jump a thousand cliffs for her.
Even if she never lets me.