Chapter 15 #3
"You okay?" Tyson's voice came from directly behind me, making me jump. So much for keeping distance. “Everything good?”
I turned to face him, a mischievous glint in my eyes. "I'm fine. Just needed a break from the dance floor."
His gaze lingered on me, intense and unreadable. "You were dancing like you had something to prove."
"Maybe I do," I teased, taking a step closer.
The air crackled with tension, his proximity sending shivers down my spine. Tyson's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he struggled to maintain his composure.
"You like playing with fire, don't you?"
"It keeps things interesting," I replied with a coy smile, enjoying the way he was watching me so intently.
Before he could respond, I excused myself casually, turning on my heel and sauntering off towards the bathroom.
Each step was deliberate, swinging my hips just a touch more than necessary, knowing his eyes were on me.
As I disappeared into the crowd, a thrill coursed through me.
The tiny yacht bathroom was my refuge—a closet-sized space that smelled like expensive hand soap and bad decisions.
My hands shook slightly as I touched up my lipstick in the gilt-edged mirror. The deep berry color had mostly survived the champagne and party games. I felt a deep ache for Tyson from somewhere deep inside. I wished I could find a way to be alone with him somewhere secret.
The door opened without warning.
"Occupied—" I started, but then Tyson was there, filling the doorway like a storm about to break. He stepped inside, flipped the lock with decisive finality, and suddenly the tiny space got a whole lot smaller.
"What are you doing?" I gasped, lipstick clattering into the sink. "Someone could—"
"What does it look like?" His voice was rough, dangerous in that way that made my insides liquid. He crowded me back against the marble counter, caging me with his body. "You've been testing me all night."
"I've been perfectly—" The lie died as he pressed closer, erasing any space between us. The hard lines of his body trapped me against the sink, and every breath I took was full of him—leather and beer and that cologne that made me stupid.
"Perfectly what?" His hands found my waist, gripping hard enough to leave marks through the thin fabric. "Behaved? That little show on the dance floor was behaved?"
Heat flooded through me that had nothing to do with the champagne. "I didn’t know you were watching."
"Bullshit." His thumb stroked along my ribs, the touch burning even through the dress. "You did everything but send up signal flares. Duke noticed. Wiz noticed. Hell, half the club noticed."
"Maybe I wanted them to notice," I said, three drinks making me bold and reckless. "Maybe I'm tired of pretending you don't exist."
Something shifted in his expression—control fracturing, revealing the hunger underneath. "That kind of talk deserves discipline."
"Promise?" I breathed, and that did it.
He kissed me like a drowning man finding air, desperate and demanding. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. The counter dug into my back but I didn't care, too lost in the taste of him, the way his hands mapped my curves like he was memorizing me through touch alone.
I nipped at his bottom lip, a sharp tease that made him growl low in his throat.
"Brat," he muttered against my mouth, but his hands tightened on my waist, lifting me onto the counter in one smooth motion. The new angle was better, perfect, letting me wrap my legs around him and—
"Your brat," I corrected, pulling him back down, swallowing his groan as I shifted against him.
We were lost in each other, the rest of the world fading to white noise.
His mouth traced down my throat, finding that spot that made me gasp, and I forgot about the party, about Duke, about the dozens of people just outside the door.
There was only this—Tyson's hands tangled in my hair, my dress riding up as I pulled him closer, the desperate need that had been building all night finally finding release.
His teeth scraped against my pulse point and I made a sound that was frankly embarrassing, fingernails digging into his shoulders through the leather cut. He lifted his head to look at me, eyes dark with possession and promise.
"When we get home," he said roughly, each word deliberate, "we're going to have a long conversation about your behavior tonight."
"Looking forward to it," I managed, though my voice came out breathless and needy.
He kissed me again, slower this time but no less intense. His hands framed my face like I was something precious, thumbs stroking along my cheekbones with devastating gentleness. The contrast—fierce desire tempered with infinite care—made my chest tight with emotion.
"Love you," I whispered against his lips, the words slipping out without permission. "Even when you're being all growly and overprotective."
"Love you too," he murmured back, pressing his forehead to mine. "Especially when you're being a complete pain in my—"
BANG BANG BANG.
We froze like teenagers caught by parents, the aggressive knocking shattering our stolen moment.
"Occupado!" Tyson called out in possibly the worst Spanish accent I'd ever heard. It was so unexpected, so ridiculous, that a giggle bubbled up despite the situation.
"That you, Tyson?" Duke's voice through the door made my blood turn to ice. Of course. Of fucking course it would be Duke. "Kitchen emergency. Be right out."
"Kitchen emergency," Duke repeated, his tone flat as old beer. "In the bathroom. Sure."
We held perfectly still, barely breathing, waiting for the sound of his footsteps to fade. When they finally did, I collapsed against Tyson's chest, giggles overtaking me.
"Occupado?" I gasped between laughs. "That's your cover? What kitchen emergency could you possibly have in a bathroom?"
"Shut up," he muttered, but I could feel him fighting a smile. "Panic Spanish is a thing."
"Kitchen emergency," I repeated, mimicking Duke's skeptical tone. "We're so busted."
"This isn't funny." But his lips twitched, betraying him. "You're going to get us both killed. Or worse—lectured by Duke about operational security."
"Worth it," I declared, stealing another quick kiss because apparently I had no self-preservation instincts left. The champagne made everything feel floaty and reckless, like consequences were something that happened to other people.
He groaned, setting me back on my feet with visible reluctance. "You head out first, I’ll follow in a couple minutes."
"Sir, yes sir," I gave him a mock salute that made him narrow his eyes.
"Keep it up, little girl. See what happens when we get home."
The promise in his voice made me shiver, already anticipating later. But first, we had to survive Duke's scrutiny and whatever other disasters the night had in store.
Tyson cracked the door, checking the hallway like we were executing a military operation. "Clear. Go."
I slipped past him, pausing just long enough to whisper, "Occupado," in his ear, delighting in his frustrated growl.
To my surprise and delight, I felt a short, sharp smack to my bottom.
“Ouch, Daddy.”
“Don’t ‘ouch’ me, young lady.”
I grinned, winked, and headed back out on deck.
I 'd successfully avoided Tyson since our bathroom encounter, though every nerve in my body stayed tuned to his frequency.
He'd reclaimed his spot on the upper deck, surrounded by brothers but somehow still apart, that careful distance he maintained when thinking too hard about something.
Probably about how Duke had absolutely made us in that bathroom.
"Truth or dare!" Mandy's voice cut through my brooding. She'd reached the perfect level of drunk—coordinated enough to stand but uninhibited enough to think party games were profound. "Bride edition! Everyone in a circle!"
The bridesmaids gathered on the main deck, a giggling mass of satin and champagne bubbles. Someone had produced a bottle to spin, because apparently we were thirteen years old again. I folded myself into the circle, careful to keep the purple dress from riding up too far.
"First question!" Mandy spun the bottle with drunken ceremony. It landed on Mia, who also looked liked she was pretty merry. "How well do you know Duke? What's his biggest fear?"
"Commitment," Mia shouted without hesitation, making everyone burst into laughter. Duke's offended "Hey!" from the upper deck only made us laugh harder.
"What's Thor's biggest fear?" Mandy countered.
"Feelings," the whole boat answered in unison, including some of the brothers. Thor's middle finger appeared over the railing, which just encouraged us.
The game eventually dissolved as someone convinced the DJ to play slow songs.
Couples paired off across the deck—Thor and Mandy swaying together, her crown crooked and his hands gentle on her waist, other Kings with their partners, even some of the prospects had found dance partners among the guests.
I stood alone near the railing, watching the water reflect the lights, pretending I wasn't achingly aware of being single in a sea of couples.
The champagne had made everything soft around the edges, including my judgment.
When I swayed slightly to the music, I told myself it was the boat's gentle rocking, not an invitation.
"Fuck it."
Tyson's voice came from directly behind me, rough with decision. Before I could turn, his hand caught mine, pulling me away from the crowd toward the shadows by the upper deck stairs. A narrow alcove, barely visible from the main deck, just big enough for two people who didn't mind being close.
"One dance," he said, the words somewhere between command and plea.
"Tyson, we can't—"
"One dance," he insisted, pulling me against him. His hands settled on my waist, warm through the thin fabric. "Just one."
I should have argued. Should have pointed out Duke's suspicion, the danger, the dozen people who might see us. Instead, I melted into him, letting him guide us in a slow sway that had nothing to do with the music and everything to do with need.
My head found his chest like it belonged there, his heartbeat steady under my ear. His arms came around me, holding me like something precious, and for a moment the rest of the world disappeared. No threats, no secrets, no complications. Just us, moving together in our stolen shadow.
"Love you," I whispered into his shirt, the words muffled but clear.
His arms tightened. "Say it again."
"Love you," I repeated, tilting my head back to look at him. "Even when you're being all growly and dominant."
"Especially then," he corrected, that half-smile that made my knees weak. "Love you too, baby girl. Even when you're being a complete—"
I stretched up on my toes to kiss him, swallowing whatever teasing insult he'd been about to deliver.
It was supposed to be quick, just a taste to hold us over until later.
But his hand came up to cup my face, thumb stroking my cheek, and the kiss deepened into something sweet and desperate and perfect.
The world narrowed to this moment—the fairy lights painting patterns on his skin, the distant music mixing with the water's lapping, the way he held me like I might disappear if he let go. I pressed closer, fingers curling into his cut, completely lost in him.
"What the fuck?"
Duke's voice shattered our bubble like a hammer through glass. We sprang apart, but it was too late. Way too late. Duke stood at the entrance to our alcove, Mandy beside him with her mouth hanging open, crown tilted at a drunken angle.
The silence stretched between us, heavy with implications and consequences. Duke's expression was carved from stone, only his eyes showing the depth of his anger—not at the relationship itself, but at the deception. At being lied to by his VP.
Tyson shifted, putting himself partially between me and Duke, that protective instinct overriding everything else. "Duke—"
The night exploded.
Gunfire erupted across the water, sharp cracks that sent everyone diving for cover. Spotlights blazed from speedboats that materialized from the darkness like sharks, engines roaring as they closed in fast.
"DOWN! EVERYONE DOWN!" Tyson's command voice cut through the chaos as he shoved me behind the stairs. His body covered mine as more gunfire rattled across the yacht's hull, the fairy lights exploding in showers of sparks.
Screams mixed with shouts as the Kings scrambled for weapons, prospects herding civilians below deck. I caught glimpses of chaos—Thor shielding Mandy with his body, Duke already armed and returning fire, Wiz directing people to safety with calm efficiency despite the pandemonium.
"Stay down," Tyson growled in my ear, his weight pressing me into the deck. "Don't move until I tell you."
Another volley of gunfire, closer now. Someone was screaming. The smell of gunpowder mixed with fear and spilled champagne. The pretty party lights swung crazily, casting wild shadows as the yacht rocked from the speedboats' wake.
The party was definitely over.
The real danger had just begun.