"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.

"Well, that's embarrassing."

"Why?" he asks, looking genuinely curious.

I frown. "I've never... um... lost control like that. I've never done anything so impulsive or reckless in my life."

One corner of his mouth goes up in a sexy smile. "Sounds like you haven't been living at all."

"I wouldn't say that."

"What would you say?"

I think about it for a moment. "I've been... responsible."

"I rest my case."

I snort with laughter and then instantly color with embarrassment at the less-than-ladylike sound. "I'm guessing you do that kind of thing often?"

"Fuck women on the bow of my yacht?" I nod.

His answer doesn't come as fast as I assumed it would. In fact, there's a moment where his expression ripples. Is that anger I see? Or resentment?

Whatever it is, the emotion is negative. That much I'm certain of. It makes me doubly regretful for asking.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "It's none of my business."

He shrugs. "I know it's easy to assume things about me, but not every assumption is true."

I nod and drop the subject. When the silence stretches on, I start to feel like somehow I'm intruding on his space. Like the invitation he extended to me has now been rescinded.

"Should I go?"

"I don't see why you would."

I'm surprised by how relieved I feel when he says that. I lean back against my lounge chair and stare up at the stars. The wind off the water is biting, and I want to go retrieve my uniform. But I don't want to disturb the fragile sense of comfort that sits between us now.

"They'll be wondering where I am," I blurt out. "Everyone at the wedding, I mean."

"Probably," Anton says with a nod.

"I don't know how to deal with... everything."

"Then don't."

I turn to him. "What do you mean?"

"Why do you owe them anything?" he asks. "You're the hurt party in this. You don't owe anyone any explanations."

"Maybe not Dane and Salma. But what about everyone else?"

"Fuck everyone else."

I nod like that's something I could believe in, but in all honesty, it feels impossible. I try to imagine what my life would look like if I could think that way. If I could worry about myself and no one else. More and more, it seems like the right way to move through the world.

"Can I tell you something I've never told anyone before?"

He nods solemnly.

"My father cheated on my mother," I say. "When I was fifteen. She stayed with him."

He just looks at me, not judging, simply observing.

"I don't know why I just told you that."

"Maybe you're trying to tell me that you didn't want to be like your mother," he suggests.

"I don't," I agree. "I just... I don't want to make the same mistakes she did."

"You didn't make the mistake, Jessa," he says confidently. "He did."

"What about you?" I ask. "Do you make mistakes?"

Anton laughs. "Do I look like I ever do anything I don't intend to do, Jessa?"

I blush. "No," I say. "I guess not."

There's something about him that I can't quite put my finger on. He's confident and brash, though I can see the broodiness Molly mentioned, too. But up close, it's clear that it goes deeper than that.

Anton isn't just broody in, like, a James Dean or Adam Driver kind of way. It's more. There's a darkness inside him, vast and untouchable.

That terrifies me.

"Everyone in the kitchen will be wondering where I am," I mention.

"Let them wonder."

That seems to be his response to everything. Anton doesn't owe anyone anything. It must be nice to feel so un-indebted.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead."

"Why did you stop to talk to me at the beach?" I ask.

He shrugs. "You intrigued me. It's not every day you see a beautiful woman in a wedding dress sitting by the beach looking completely miserable."

All of that, and my mind catches on the word "beautiful." "Pitiful" is more like it. For all I know, he's reading off a script he's used to scoop heartbroken brides off the beach again and again.

"Why did you offer me a job, then?" I ask. "You didn't have to do that. You didn't know anything about me."

"I trust my instincts. They're good. Usually."

I stop short, taking note of the dry voice and dark expression with which he adds the last word.

"Usually?"

He gives me a belated smile. "Sometimes, recklessness has consequences."

I feel a little shiver run down my spine. This time, it has nothing to do with the cold. His words make me wonder.

Is he offering a lesson... or a warning?

5

ANTON

I can tell by the way Jessa is watching me that, this time, I'm the one who has intrigued her.

But she is so far from the world I occupy that it feels cruel to drag her into it. Bringing her on board tonight will have to be the extent of my self-indulgence.

"Have you ever been engaged?" she asks, fishing for more information. "Or married?"

"Once," I say without specifying which. "She's gone now."

"Gone?"

"She died. A few months ago."

"Oh," Jessa gasps. "I'm so sorry. How, uh... how did she pass?"

It's almost amusing how delicately she's trying to tiptoe around the subject. As if I'm not intimately familiar with death.

"She took her own life."

She pales. Her plump lips part. It's enough to make me hard all over again. "Oh God," she breathes.

"I'm so sorry."

I wipe my face of any and all expression. "It is what it is."

"That must have been devastating."

I glance at her. "Do I look devastated?"

The question takes her back. Or maybe it's the coldness in my face when I say it. For a moment, I think I've succeeded in frightening her.

Then she surprises me.

"You seem like the kind of man who doesn't express your emotions no matter how deeply you feel them."

I chuckle. "Interesting analysis."

"Am I right?" she asks. Her golden eyes catch the moonlight as they turn to me.

"Trying to figure me out, are you?"

She nods. "I just want to know if you're as scary as you seem."

I smile. "Scarier."

She considers that for a minute and then grins. She thinks I'm kidding.

If only she fucking knew.