Chapter 18 #3
“I understand that Richard Francis is a manipulative ass who tried to use your trauma against you. I understand that your brother betrayed you in the worst possible way. And I understand that you walked away from both of them tonight.” I reach for his hand, my fingers closing around his. “That takes courage.”
“It takes stupidity,” he mutters. “I just—” He drags his free hand through his hair, visibly unraveling. “The acquisition. The board. Everything I’ve been working toward—”
“Is secondary to your mental health and self-respect.”
“That’s not how business works.”
“Then maybe business is broken.”
That startles a laugh out of me internally, because wow, Harper, very bold of you to take on late-stage capitalism on a yacht while emotionally shirtless.
But I mean it.
Victor stares at me, and I can see it happening in real time: the glacial prince of a CEO who never loses control, battling with the man underneath who feels everything so hard he’s built an empire around not showing it.
“I’m sorry,” he says finally, voice roughening. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess. I’m sorry—”
I kiss him.
I don’t think. I don’t plan.
My body fully bypasses my brain, and instinctively, my arms go around his neck. For a second I worry that Victor won’t respond, until the tall, imposing wall of man hauls me against him with enough force to steal my breath.
This isn’t like the kiss in the boutique. Or the ones I’ve been having in my head like a hormonal lunatic. Or anything else I’ve ever experienced.
Because Victor isn’t like any other man.
Strong, steady, and sensitive in ways I never knew could exist in one infuriatingly well-dressed package, he kisses like a man who has spent his whole life holding everything in and has finally run out of places to put it.
His hand slides straight into my hair, angling my head back as he takes over the kiss with a kind of ruthless focus that makes my knees soften.
His mouth is demanding and possessive, tasting of scotch and sea salt and every sharp, jagged thing he’s tried to survive alone, and I open for him instantly.
When my tongue brushes his, he makes a low, wrecked sound that nearly melts me on the spot, because apparently I have the structural integrity of warm butter.
He backs me against the railing, the cool metal pressing into my spine while the rest of me goes molten. The ocean wind whips around us, cold and sharp and loud with California coastal waves, but I’m burning everywhere he touches me.
His mouth leaves mine and trails over my jaw, then lower, to the hollow of my throat, and I gasp as my nails scrape down his back through his shirt.
“Harper.” My name comes out of him ragged and ruined. “Christ, Harper—”
I drag his mouth back to mine before he can finish whatever dangerous thing he was going to say.
Because this isn’t about words anymore.
No. This is about everything we can’t say, everything I’m terrified to name, everything he’s too hurt to believe.
This is about the horrifying, exhilarating fact that I am falling in love with Viktor Ivan Ashford Kade.
And when his hand slides from my hip to my thigh, hitching my leg around his waist, I know it with stunning certainty.
I want him.
I want all of it.
The hard length of him presses against my stomach through expensive fabric, and I make a sound that belongs in a much less public setting, as his mouth curves against mine.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice all gravelly velvet and command. “You keep making sounds like that and I’m going to forget every remaining decent instinct I’ve got.”
Heat flashes through me so hard I have to exhale.
His fingertips slide higher beneath my dress, skimming over bare skin, and I am seconds away from forgetting how to speak English when—
“Sir?” James’s voice drifts politely from somewhere near the wheelhouse. “I’ve contacted the captain. The yacht guest cabins are prepared, sir, if you’d like to stay the night.”
Barely able to separate, we both look up.
Victor’s forehead stays pressed to mine, his hands still warm against my body, and he grins down at me with a smile so bright and boyish and devastating that it nearly knocks the breath out of me all over again.
“What do you think?” he asks, voice gritty and salt-soaked. “Stay?”
If there was ever a moment to say no, this would be it.
The smart moment. The self-preserving moment. The moment where I retreat to the safety of separate rooms and intact life choices.
"I think—" I pause, looking around at the catamaran, at the stars, at the man in front of me who just walked away from everything for his own dignity. "I think staying sounds perfect."
"You're sure? It's not exactly the Bellagio."
"It's better. It's quiet. It's just us." I smile slightly. "Well, us and James."
"James doesn't count."
"I heard that, sir," James calls from the wheelhouse.
Victor almost smiles. "Tell the captain we'll stay. And James?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Give us some privacy."
"Already done, sir."
James disappears below deck, and suddenly it's just Victor and me and the ocean and the stars.
"So," I say. "We're staying on a boat."
"Apparently."
"This is very spontaneous of you."
"I'm feeling spontaneous." He pulls me closer, his hands settling on my waist. "Or possibly insane. It's hard to tell the difference right now."
"I vote spontaneous."
"You would."
We stand there for a moment, swaying slightly with the gentle movement of the boat.
"Harper," Victor says quietly. "I need to ask you something."
"Okay."
"And I need you to take me seriously, even though I'm about to sound ridiculous."
"You have my attention."
He takes a breath, and I can see him the wheels turning in that handsome head of his. "I want you to be my girlfriend."
I blink. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I want you to be my girlfriend. Officially. Not fake. Not for the cameras. Not for Rachel's strategic look-good-to-the-press plan." His hands tighten on my waist. “I mean, for real."
I stare at him. Then I start laughing.
"What?" His dark brows pull together. "What's funny?"
"Victor—" I'm trying to catch my breath. "We're married. You're asking your wife to be your girlfriend."
He pauses. "When you put it like that, it does sound absurd."
"It sounds completely backwards."
"I know. But, hell, we got married as a drunken mistake. I'm asking if you want to try dating. Intentionally. With feelings."
"You want to date your wife."
"Yes."
"Most people do it the other way around."
"We're not most people."
"That's becoming abundantly clear."
He's smiling now, one that makes bubbles of giddiness rise to the surface of my skin. "Is that a yes?"
"I need clarification. If I become your girlfriend, what does that entail?"
"Dating. Real dating. Dinner that's not for board members. Conversations that don’t have to be booked on a calendar. Time together that's just because we want to be together."
"So basically what we've been doing for the past several weeks."
"But with the explicit understanding that it's real and we both want it."
I pretend to consider. "And what do I get out of this arrangement?"
"Me. Trying. Actually trying to let someone in for the first time in three years."
"That's a pretty compelling offer."
"I thought so."
"But there's a problem."
His expression shifts. "What problem?"
"I'm already sleeping in your penthouse. I already have access to your helicopter and private jet. What's the incentive to upgrade to girlfriend status?"
"The incentive—" He leans down, his full mouth hovering just above mine. "—is that as my girlfriend, you get to do this whenever you want."
He kisses me, sensual and slow and so goddamned hot that I nearly fold in half at the knees. When he pulls back, I'm practically panting—my body doing its best impression of a golden retriever begging for a treat.
"Okay," I squeak out. "That's a good incentive."
"Is that a yes?"
"That's a 'I'm considering it.'"
"Harper."
"Yes?"
"Stop being difficult and say yes."
"You're very bossy for someone who's trying to woo me."
"I'm not trying to woo you. I'm trying to get you to admit what we both already know.”
“Which is?”
His arms tighten around me. “That I’m crazy about you, Beaumont. That you’re the most genuine thing to crash into my world in way too long, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you go.”
The words seep into my skin, his confession burrowing bone-deep. And suddenly, we’re staring at each other, and I can feel the weight of what he's offering, what he's risking.
Real. He wants this to be real.
And to be honest, so do I.
Even though I'm lying to him. Even though I'm going to break his heart. Even though I know how this ends.
"Okay," I whisper.
"Okay?"
"Yes. I'll be your girlfriend."
His smile is devastating. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. But I have conditions."
"Of course you do."
"One: You tell your doorman to stop and James to stop calling me Mrs. Kade.”
"Absolutely not. That's non-negotiable."
"Victor—"
"What else?"
"Two: You have to actually talk to me. About real things. Not just business strategy and acquisition timelines."
"I can do that."
"And three—" I pause. "You have to promise that when I tell you the truth about something—about everything—you'll at least hear me out before you hate me."
Something flickers across his face. “You’ve got a flair for the dramatic, Beaumont.”
“I wish this were only that.” I look away. "But not tonight. Tonight can we just—"
"Be here?" He tilts my chin back up. "Yes. We can do that."
He kisses me again, and I let myself fall into it, let myself pretend that this moment can last forever.
That tomorrow won't come.
That the truth won't destroy us.
"So," I say when we finally break apart. "Where's this guest cabin?"
His eyes darken. "Below deck. Why?"
"Because I'm tired. And I'm in heels. And I'd like to get out of this dress."
He opens his mouth, and I stop him.
“Ah, ah, Kade,” I warn. “Don't get excited. I meant separately. You on one side of the boat. Me on the other."
"That seems unnecessarily complicated."
"You literally just asked me to be your girlfriend. We're taking this slow."
"We've already been married for a month."
"Which is why we're taking the dating part slow. To balance it out."
He's laughing now—heartily laughing—and the sound is everything.
Just as I start to join in, James reappears from below deck, tactfully not mentioning how long he gave us alone. "The guest cabins are ready, sir. Two rooms, as requested."
"Thank you, James."
Victor offers me his arm, and I take it, letting him lead me below deck.
The guest cabins are small but beautiful—teak wood, soft lighting, beds that look like clouds.
"This one's yours," Victor says, stopping at the first door. "I'm across the hall if you need anything."
"Very gentlemanly of you."
"I have my moments."
I turn to go inside, then stop. "Victor?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For tonight. For being honest. For—" I gesture vaguely. "—for choosing to punch your brother instead of sitting through dinner."
"You're welcome. Though I'm not sure that's something to thank me for."
"It is. It means you have limits. It means you're human."
"I'm not sure that's a compliment."
"It's the highest compliment I can give."
He kisses me one more time, soft and sweet, his gray eyes practically shining now.
"Goodnight, Harper."
"Goodnight, Victor."
I close the door behind me and lean against it, my heart racing.
Because I just agreed to be Victor Kade's girlfriend.
After marrying him in Vegas. After lying to him for weeks. After betraying him for money I desperately need.
It’s the simultaneously the worst and best time of my entire life.
Until my phone buzzes in my clutch.
I pull it out with shaking hands.
VANESSA (FoodFirst): Time's up, Harper. I need those acquisition terms by tomorrow morning or the offer is off the table.
I stare at the message until my vision blurs.
Then I delete it.
And I make a decision.
Tomorrow, I'm telling Victor everything. Tomorrow, I'm confessing, giving him the run-down about my deal with FoodFirst from top to bottom.
Feeling resolute, I climb into bed still wearing my dress and stare at the ceiling of the guest cabin. And listening to the gentle sound of waves against the hull, I finally let myself cry.
Because tomorrow I might lose everything. My job. My career. Victor.
But tonight? Tonight he's mine.
And that's going to have to be enough.