I walk her to one of the bedrooms. Inside is a wardrobe filled with spare clothes.

"Jesus, it's even bigger than I thought," she mumbles.

"Even the smallest spaces can be manipulated to look big," I say.

"I'm a little sick of being manipulated today, actually," she replies bitterly.

I let her words hang in the air for a moment as I peruse the options hanging in the wardrobe. "I'm assuming you're talking about the man you were supposed to marry," I say casually, pulling out a simple white dress.

It activates a sense memory the moment I touch it. The cotton between my fingers as I shove her away from me. The feeling of her pulse, warm and frantic, underneath my-

No. I ruthlessly yank myself back to the present.

"Dane," Jessa fills in, distracting me. "That's my fiancé's name. Ex-fiancé, rather."

I push the white dress aside and opt for another, less practical option. One that doesn't trigger an unwanted rush of things I've spent a long time suppressing.

The blue slip dress in my hand will do just fine for this little kotyonok.

"I walked in on him with my maid of honor."

I shake my head in disgust. "Could he get any more cliché?"

"Right? It would be laughable if it wasn't so devastating."

"Is it devastating, though?"

She seems confused by the question. "What do you mean? Of course it is. I was supposed to marry the man."

"And now, you don't have to spend the rest of your life tied to a cheater," I point out. "Or with a shitty friend."

"Yeah, but there's an alternative scenario I thought I had locked up," she says, her piercing eyes fixed on me now. "One where my fiancé isn't a cheating bastard and my best friend isn't a backstabbing bitch."

"That's not the reality you're living, though. No matter how much you try to fight it."

She sighs. "No, I suppose not."

I hand her the blue dress. She accepts it mutely, but the moment she actually studies it, her eyebrows knit together.

"This is beautiful."

Yeah. That was probably her one redeeming quality. The woman who bought this had good taste.

"It should fit. It's just something to wear underneath your chef's whites," I tell her.

She eyes the dress skeptically. "Is it really okay if I wear this?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Doesn't it belong to someone?"

I turn towards the door so that she won't see the black expression that flickers across my face. "Not anymore."

Then, without bothering to wait for an answer, I stride out of the room, leaving Jessa stranded behind me.

* * *

The moment I get above deck, Yulian is in my face, a shit-eating grin on his face. "She's pretty."

"Did you take care of Anatoly?" I ask.

Yulian smiles. "He just disembarked. He wasn't too thrilled, but when I handed him the paycheck he didn't earn, he got over it."

"Money usually has that effect."

"I've informed the kitchen staff of the change in command, too," Yulian adds.

"Good."

I walk towards the cockpit. Yulian trails behind me. "Can she even cook?"

"We'll find out, won't we?"

"Jesus, bro," he says with a laugh. "This is a lot of effort to go to for a quick lay."

"Who said anything about sex?" I ask.

He arches an eyebrow. "Why else would you offer that hot mess a job? Especially tonight when there's business to be conducted. Anatoly may not be the prettiest to look at, but the man knows how to be discreet."

"She's here to cook," I point out. "She doesn't need to know anything more about what happens onboard."

"She doesn't look stupid, sobrat."

No, she does not. I've noticed that, too.

"She'll be below deck the whole time," I say dismissively. "And at the end of the night-"

"Oh, you don't need to tell me what's going to happen at the end of the night." Yulian interrupts me with a suggestive smile. "Just for the record, I don't disapprove. It's about time you quit moping around like a kicked dog and did something for yourself."

I roll my eyes and push him aside. Laughing, he heads below deck to take care of the last minute chores before we push off. When the captain comes down to ask me if we're ready, I give him the goahead.

The engines fire up. Water churns, white and relentless at the tail of the boat. I take a seat on the bow and gaze out at the horizon.

Darkness paints the sky as the sun disappears. In a little while, a smaller vessel will bring the Meninsky clan out to meet The Medusa in international waters. But until then, I've got two hours of sky and sea.

And an erection that I can't seem to get rid of.

3

JESSA

"He's a looker, ain't he?"

I give a start of surprise and turn to the petite brunette in the kitchen with me. I've already forgotten her name, but she's looking at me with a little bit of amusement and a lot of understanding.

"I don't know what you mean," I answer lamely. It takes more willpower than I'd like to admit to keep from looking back towards the kitchen's long rectangular windows. We're below deck, but the windows open out across the floor of the yacht's upper deck, enough for me to see glimpses of what -or rather, who-I'm trying not to gawk at.

"It's okay," she laughs, not buying my lies for a second. "I've been there myself. I don't blame you for looking."

"I'm just intrigued, is all," I say as I blush hot. "He's... strange."

"That's not the word I would use to describe him," she says. She picks up a knife and starts dicing onions for the soup I'm preparing.

"What word would you use?"

"Dreamy," she says with a giggle that betrays her age.

She can't be more than twenty or twenty-one. Young enough that she can lust after Anton without stopping to consider whether that kind of thing is a good idea.

I smile. "I'm just here to cook."

"And I'm here to chop vegetables and carry dishes," she retorts. "But a little eye candy never hurt anyone."

"Which one are you talking about?" another girl chimes in. "The hot younger brother or the even hotter older brother?"

She's maybe a decade my senior. A chatty blonde with a mischievous smile and sharp eyes. I've forgotten her name, too. My brain is a little flustered right now, for more than one reason.

"You know Anton is more my type," the brunette says. "He's taller and he's lean but still muscly, you know? Also, he's got those gray eyes. To die for."

The blonde snorts. "You're a sucker for the whole 'dark and broody' thing."

"And? What's wrong with that?"

"It's the quiet ones you've got to watch out for."

I should probably remove myself from the chatter. Just find a quiet corner to put my head down and work. But the truth is that, deep down, another part of me wants to be here, soaking up every little tidbit I can about the broody older brother who seems to have every woman on land and sea alike eating out of the palm of his hand.

"Not necessarily," I hear myself saying. "My fiancé wasn't quiet at all. In fact, he was the life of the party. And he turned out to be a complete dirtbag."

Their eyes fall on me and I wonder why I spoke at all.

"Well, it's not, like, an absolute rule," the blonde mumbles awkwardly.

The brunette is more direct. "What did he do?"

"He cheated," I answer, mostly because I feel the need to say it out loud. "With my best friend. In fact, I'm pretty sure he's been cheating consistently for as long as we've been together."

"Jesus... when did you find out?"

"On my wedding day. Today."

She winces. "Fuck. I'm so sorry. That's rough."

My eyes flit back to the rectangular windows. Anton is sitting in the same spot he's been in all night. He's got one leg cocked at an angle over his other knee, arms spread out over the white cushioned sofa.

Only a certain kind of man can look quite so relaxed and on guard at the same time. Like he's fully aware that the entire world is at his fingertips for the taking.

"You deserve a medal for being here at all," the blonde says.

But what she really means is, What's wrong with you? She's looking at me as though I have some sort of terminal illness.

"Not really. Cooking always calms me down. I feel positively peaceful right now."

I notice the two women exchange a look, but their opinions barely touch me. No one can. I'm marooned on a desert island, emotionally-speaking.

Or at least, I'd like to be.

Probably why I've been ignoring my phone since the moment I set foot on The Medusa. It's resting on the corner of the spice shelf over the stove. I'm vaguely aware of the display light flashing with new notifications. But I have no interest in checking any of them.

"I'm changing the main course up a bit," I announce, taking advantage of their shock. "We're still going to use the fish, but I'm going to pan fry instead of sous vide. We don't have the time to waste."

"Whatever you want, chef."

"One more thing," I say, unable to avoid it any longer. "Can you repeat your names for me again?" "Molly," the brunette says.

"Lisa," answers the blonde.

Neither woman seems to take offense, thankfully.

I nod. "Lisa, I'm going to need you to watch the onions. Tell me when they turn golden brown. Molly, keep an eye on the sauce while I pinbone the fish."

I leave them to their tasks and move around the kitchen, checking to make sure all three courses are moving along. I was told dinner needed to be served at eight o'clock and we're already at half past seven, so I need to keep things moving.

Two of the other staff look up at me with interest-and some wariness mixed in, too-when I step over to their station.

"Can you chop those scallions a little finer, please?" I ask the skinny bald one. "Yes, chef."

"Andy, right?" I check.

"Anders."

"Right, sorry. Anders."

He points at the other man. "And this is Cory."

I nod towards the plump, older man. He seems to prefer quiet while cooking. I'm of the same mind.

"Cory," I say, "I've decided to make penne instead of ravioli. But don't worry, we're going to use the same dough."

He nods deferentially and opens his mouth to say something when we hear footsteps on the gleaming mahogany stairs that lead down to the kitchen.

Yulian stoops down and peers through the door. His eyes find me instantly. "Chef Jessa, you're wanted on the deck."

I blink in surprise. "Me?"

He nods. "You."

I want to refuse. There's too much to do and there's a lot of money on the line. But I don't want to disappoint anyone, either. Least of all Anton.

Something tells me he's not the kind of guy who likes being disappointed.

I move over to the stove and lift the lid on the stock pot. Steam pours out, followed by the delicious, brothy smell of the soup.

I turn down the fire and look at Molly. "Leave it to settle for ten minutes then ladle out two spoons into each soup bowl. Once those onions have caramelized, sprinkle one tablespoon over each of the soups. Got it?"

"Got it, chef," she says with a crisp nod. But her eyes keep drifting to Yulian.

I don't bother removing my chef's whites as I head upstairs behind Yulian. "Was there something wrong with the canapes?" I ask, feeling suddenly nervous.

I'd meant to only send up two different kinds of canapes, but I ended up making four. There was so much fresh seafood and so many choices. I have a tendency to overdo it. Maybe I bit off more than I could chew and compromised the quality.

"The canapes?" Yulian asks, throwing an amused look over his shoulder. "Hardly. Those were the best damn things I've ever put in my mouth."

"Oh. Right. Thanks."

Feeling slightly more confident after that brazen praise, I let him lead me through a darkened nook before we finally resurface.

The ocean looks eerily calm as I step up into the fresh air. A flat plane of dark glass. But it's not enough to hold my attention when I set eyes on Anton. He's leaning against the railing of the yacht now, holding a thin flute of champagne.

"Thanks, Yulian," Anton says, giving his brother a dismissive nod. "That'll be all."

"I'll be below deck if you need anything," Yulian says before immediately disappearing.

I look around, taking note of the fact that we seem to be alone. Then I remember the kitchen windows and look back.

Molly and Lisa are both openly staring at me through the slim pane of glass like we're on a reality TV show. When I turn back to Anton, he gives me a lazy smile and starts walking around to the other side of the yacht, away from the curious eyes that follow us.

"You have admirers below deck," I tell him, mostly to break the silence.

"Does that include you?"

I blink. Cat's got my tongue, apparently.

He saves me by laughing. "Your canapes were extraordinary, Jessa," he says. "The best I've ever eaten."

Warmth floods through my body instantly. "Thank you," I mumble, eyes downcast.

"Your talents are wasted doing corporate catering and one-time gigs. You should be the head chef of your own restaurant."

I rest my hand against the cool metal railing. "That's the dream. But it's not a realistic one, unfortunately."

"Money problems?"

"Isn't it always?"

"For some," he says with a shrug of his shoulders. "Less so for others." Then he offers me the flute of champagne in his hand. "Have a sip."

"Oh, it's fine, I-"

"Have a sip, Jessa." It's not a question.

Like I'm hypnotized-and hell, maybe I am-I find myself accepting the glass and placing my lips against the exact same spot his had rested only a few seconds ago.

I tilt it back. The rich liquid slides down my throat like silk.

"Whoa," I breathe, staring at the glass in my hand.

"1959 Dom Perignon. Good, isn't it?"

I nearly choke on my next breath. It takes everything I have not to bleat out, You must be fucking joking. Because if I remember my wines course from culinary school correctly, a 1959 Dom Perignon champagne runs a casual forty-something grand per bottle.

Who the hell is this guy?

Swallowing back my million and one questions, I just squeak, "Yeah. Incredible."

He nods. It seems like he blinks less than most normal humans. I find myself wishing he'd do it more, if only to give me a break from the piercing intensity of his stormy gray eyes.

"It gets claustrophobic down there sometimes," he remarks. "I thought you might need a little breather."

"Do you do that for everyone on your payroll?" I ask.

"Just the ones that interest me."

"Hate to disappoint, but I'm not that interesting," I say, trying to cover my blush with another sip of the champagne.

"I disagree," he says. "In fact, I might be almost as interested in you as you seem to be in me."

This time, I do actually choke. "What makes you say that?" I ask when I regain my composure.

"For starters, you've spent most of the night thus far staring at me through the kitchen windows."

At this point, there's no way I can stop the embarrassed blush from ravaging my cheeks. I hand the champagne back to him only because I think I might break the glass if I hold on to it any longer.

"No, that was... That was just absent daydreaming."

He smiles. "Why deny it, Jessa? Why deny yourself what you want?"

I look down and fidget. "I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable."

"You couldn't if you tried," he demurs. "But I should warn you: staring at me too long will get girls like you into trouble."

My heart thunders frantically against my chest. "What kind of trouble?"

"The kind of trouble that involves moonlight and champagne," he says with a smile that makes my insides clench. "The kind that swallows you up before you even know it's happening."

He dangles his hand over the edge of the yacht. I watch as he releases the half-empty flute. The glass falls into the ocean. A few thousand dollars' worth of champagne guzzled greedily by the black waves.

"Why did you do that?" I gasp.

He smiles. "I wanted my hands free."

"For what?" "For this."

He turns and grabs me. And before I can make sense of what is happening, I'm being kissed.

Anton's hand falls to the small of my back and he pulls me against his body. His body is rock hard underneath the thin fabric between us.

And it's not the only part of him that's rock hard.

The cautious side of my brain starts blaring with a thousand alarm bells. But I can barely hear any of it over the scream of my desires. Desires I never even knew I had.

When his tongue slashes across my lower lip, I shudder and part my mouth for him.

When his hand lands between my legs, I melt instinctively.

He pulls back just enough so that he can speak. "Do you want me to stop, kotyonok?"

"No," I say, the word wrenching itself breathlessly from my lips. "Never."

4

JESSA

At some point, I'm kissing him back. The cold wind whips around us, but I'm on fire.

"Anyone could see," I whisper, looking around the bow of the yacht in alarm.

"Let them fucking see," he growls in my ear before his lips leave a scorching trail down my neck.

He rips open the jacket of my chef's whites and circles my right nipple through the flimsy material of the blue slip he dressed me in. I press my body closer into his warmth and am rewarded with the hardness of his cock against my thigh.

He twists me around suddenly so I'm facing the ocean. I have no choice but to grip the railings as his hands rip my pants down to my knees.

"You're a work of art, do you know that?"

"I bet you say that to every woman you seduce," I say breathlessly.

I can hear his chuckle in my ear. "Never out loud."

Then I feel his cock against my ass and I lose all sense of self-consciousness or wariness. Suddenly, it doesn't matter that we're out in the open and anyone can catch us.

It doesn't matter that I've known this man for less than twelve hours.

It doesn't even matter that I lost my fiancé and my best friend in one fell swoop today.

All that matters is the distraction he offers me and the intense pleasure that comes with it.

His hand slaps my ass cheek and I double over with a gasp, the cold metal railing biting into my stomach. I grip the railing and spread my legs.

"Eager, eager," he whispers in my ear.

"Would you rather I tease you more?" I threaten with a laugh.

He nips at my neck. "Just walking around like you do is a tease."

Then he pulls down my panties and I feel his cock against my bare ass. I hold my breath, wondering if this is going to be a decision I regret later.

Then I think about how this day started. And about how this day was supposed to end. I think about Dane and Salma.

And I realize there is nothing to regret.

"Fuck me, Anton," I gasp. "Please... just fuck me."

I've never asked a man to fuck me before. But I've also never had my fiancé cheat on the day of my wedding before.

It's time for a change.

I deserve to have a man like Anton fuck the sadness right out of me. He seems inclined to agree.

He pushes into me a second later, and I gasp. It's so different than it ever was with Dane. He's so much bigger. He fills me up, knows exactly how to use the hammer between his legs.

"Fuck..." I moan.

"Breathe, kotyonok," he croons in my ear. "It takes a moment to get used to."

I bite down on the inside of my cheek as the pressure builds. He pushes deeper inside me and I scream. He wraps one arm around my waist and with his free hand, he massages my breasts.

He rocks against me gently, easing into me as he nips at my neck and ear. I wanted to be more of an active participant, but the sensations coursing through my body are too overwhelming. I'm forced to stand there, bracing myself for the onslaught I know is coming.

Because I know instinctively that Anton is not the kind of man to go slow and gentle indefinitely.

It only takes seconds more for him to prove me right.

He pinches my nipples and starts thrusting into me harder. I cry out as he fills me, pushing me to the brink and then pulling me back just before I crash.

As he fucks me, his hand slides down my stomach and cups my pussy. He starts playing with my clit as he slams into me.

I can only stare up at the star-speckled sky as a delirious tear squeezes from the corner of my eye. I can't even wipe it away because I'm holding the railing for dear life.

Pleasure builds in my center, a raging inferno I can't control. I try to stave it off, try to swallow the scream that is rising in my throat. But I'm helpless against the force of it.

The orgasm roars through me, destroying everything in its path.

I've never had an orgasm so intense before. I'm so lost to the sensation that I don't even notice Anton is coming with me.

My body is still shaking and clenching when he slips out of me. My dress falls back down over my hips, giving me some small amount of modesty. I turn around slowly, but I make sure to keep a tight grip on the railing so I don't fall. My legs are pure jelly.

Anton gives me a knowing smile as he pulls his pants up, but I look down and catch sight of the massive cock between his legs.

"Jesus," I exclaim, unable to hold it in.

He laughs. "Why do you think I took you from behind? Women tend to get nervous."

Fresh tingles run up my spine, but I manage to hold off the blush. "Oh. Uh... thanks, I guess."

Chuckling, he gestures to the reclining chairs off in the corner of the yacht. "You need to sit down." "I really should be getting back."

"Why?" he asks with a smirk. "The boss won't mind."

I bite my lower lip, realizing that for the first time in my life, I'd rather stay here than head back to the kitchens. And since it is a first, I decide to live in the moment. To savor this new feeling.

I walk over to him, embarrassed about the fact that my legs are still wobbly, and take the chair on the right. He sits down next to me, all confidence and ease.

I glance around the deck, realizing that my chef's whites are on the wooden deck, flapping around in the wind.