The words bubbled up my throat, scratching and clawing to escape, but I bit down hard on them. I refused to voice my opinion.

  “I don’t know her,” I said. “But she seems lovely.”

  Michele scoffed, suddenly laughing at my remark. The reaction had been so unexpected that I jumped.

  He had a beautiful laugh, richer than I’d expected it to be.

  “You are a terrible liar.”

  My cheeks burned. “Yeah, well…” I mumbled to myself.

  “Our families have been in business for a long time,” he said. “I suppose I’ve become used to her behavior, but it does rub some the wrong way.”

  As much as I wanted to remind him that she’d thrown food in my face and that was far beyond rubbing people the wrong way, I didn’t. What left my mouth instead had been much worse.

  “She likes you, though.”

  He cocked a brow at the comment. I cringed. Whether they were meant to be or not, those few words had come across as jealousy, and I hated myself for it. There’d been no reason for the emotion and yet, there it was for him to hear.

  Shit.

  It would have been impossible for me to backtrack and try to act as though I’d meant nothing by it. Jealousy remained one of those things that, once entering a person’s mind, no one could convince them of anything else. The more it was denied, the more the other person believed it to be true.

  Knowing that, I remained silent. No need to dig that hole deeper.

  “You truly dislike her.”

  I didn’t speak.

  He stepped toward me, closing half the distance. My pulse quickened.

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “It might be a good idea that I don’t.”

  But that had been plenty. Michele’s eyes sparkled with a smile that soon graced his lips.

  “Interesting.”

  My embarrassment began to twist into irritation. I didn’t like being put on the spot and wanted to ignore the fact that I’d fallen into a trap of my own making. I had a habit of being rude when backed into a corner.

  “Is it your turn to be the brat?” I asked without a thought as to who I was speaking to.

  Michele perked. “Now that’s a stimulating idea. I’m not certain that would work, however. If someone punished me, I might retaliate.”

  “That a fact?”

  “Hmm.” He nodded. “Admittedly, I can lose control.” His tone deepened. “I can be quite rough in response…animalistic.”

  A shiver tore through me, a shiver that I did my best to suppress. He was baiting me, egging me on and hinting at what might happen if I did anything to him. Then again, I could have been reading too much into it, and my interpretation might have been wishful thinking. Either way, I was intrigued.

  The chirp of my walkie-talkie brought me out of the moment. I was being called to help in the galley and replied promptly.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Sacchi.”

  Michele bowed to me like he had a dozen times before and smiled. I left, replaying the conversation over and over again in my head.

  * * * *

  By one in the afternoon, The Silver Wind had become a typical party boat, and it made my skin crawl. Horrendously loud dance music blared from the outdoor speakers, women dressed in almost nothing slithered around the deck and the alcohol flowed.

  Because I was the best at mixing drinks, I’d been forced to endure the party. Kennia and Chris joined me. I couldn’t put into words how much I appreciated them being there. They were my buffer, my shield.

  The elders had left long ago, disappearing to another room on one of the many levels. They’d separated themselves from the ‘young’uns’ rather quickly, in fact. I didn’t blame them. I’d have done the same, given the chance.

  I lost count of the number of cocktails and shots I’d handed out, but it was enough to alter everyone’s attitude. It made those with an obnoxious personality even more so, something I hadn’t thought possible.

  Thing One and Thing Two clung to Dominic, sandwiching him between their breasts as they danced and giggled in one end of the eight-foot-long pool. He grabbed their asses and kissed their necks. At one point, he ordered me to bring him a bottle of vodka, which he poured on their bodies and licked off. I couldn’t imagine it tasted very good mixing with their tropical sun oil.

  The more drinks those three had, the closer I assumed they were to stripping down and having sex on the deck. Whether or not the staff was there to witness rarely mattered to clients I’d had in the past. It came down to what sort of exhibitionist streak they possessed, and given more than once during the vodka pour Dominic had shifted a bikini top out of the way to suck on their nipples, I doubted they were too self-conscious.

  Not one to judge someone for their kinks, it only annoyed me because I would’ve been the one they asked to clean up after the fact. Mopping up after drunken sex was something I’d done and didn’t much want to do again.

  Not far from them on the deck stood Yasmin and Michele. Yasmin danced and pressed her ass against him. He kept time with the beat, but she’d been far more exuberant in her movements than him…at first.

  I found it difficult to look away, transfixed by the sight for half an hour or longer. Michele eventually took notice.

  He stared at me, and I could have sworn he could read the thoughts running through my head. I hated it, hated the way he would chew on his bottom lip when Yasmin ground against him, hated the way he glided his hands along her waist at the same time and hated that I cared at all. One voice in my head barked at me, told me that I’d become jealous. Another voice contradicted the first and said that no, it was who he had dancing against him, not that it was another woman.

  I ground my teeth when Yasmin guided Michele’s hand to her breast and he complied. In fact, a little smirk pulled at his lips. He had the gall to look me in the eye while he groped her, of all people.

  This is him being a brat, isn’t it?

  Of course it is. Look how happy he is. He already told me he doesn’t really like her. He’s doing it to get under my skin.

  You should do something about it. He whipped you for being a brat.

  I can’t whip him. We’re in public.

  Maybe not, but he deserves something. Look at that smug smile.

  “Y’all right there, Bay?” Kennia’s concerned voice broke through my internal conversation.

  “Yeah, why?” Even I could hear the rage in my words.

  “’Cause you’re white-knuckling the chamois.”

  She was right. At some point during cleaning, I’d stopped wiping down the bar and begun my staring contest with the Italian. My grip on the cloth had become so tight, so intense, that my knuckles had turned white and my fingers bright pink.

  The moment I opened my hand, blood rushed back to my digits, returning feeling to them. I cleared my throat and attempted to appear more in control than I was, but Kennia and Chris saw the truth.

  “Not a fan of our guests then, eh?” Chris asked with a small laugh lacing his question.

  “She dumped food on me,” I replied. “I should…shove her into the pool.” And he’d go in with her.

  Chris and Kennia began to stifle their laughter and failed horribly.

  “That’s not right,” Kennia forced herself to say. “That’s… That’d be unprofessional.”

  “But funny,” Chris added.

  “No, stop.” Kennia slapped Chris’ arm, but her heart hadn’t been in her protest. “She can’t do that.”

  I turned to the pair. “Why not?”

  Their laughter died while they stared at me in confusion. They were stuck between taking me seriously and being sure that it’d been a joke.

  Chris was the first to realize that I might’ve been serious, and his expression brightened substantially as a result.

  “Hundred pounds,” he said with a sharp snap. “I’ll give you a hundred…dollars. Shit, I only have U.S. Still, a hundred dollars if you shove her into the pool.”

  “Stop encouragin’ her,” Kennia grumbled, but Chris clearly knew what he wanted.

  “Got a deal?” He offered me his hand.

  “Deal,” I replied as I shook it, sealing our bargain.

  “You’re gonna get fired, the pair of you,” Kennia said, pointing a stern, motherly finger at the two of us.

  “Pft.” Chris rolled his eyes. “She’s awful. You should’ve seen the havoc she caused in the galley earlier. That diva needs her makeup messed.”

  Kennia shook her head and turned her attention to me.

  “Bay, be serious,” she said, exuding a powerful maternal vibe. “She’s a client. Just because she’s on your—”

  “She’s a tag-a-long,” I interrupted. My jealousy flashed to the surface. It’d taken root. I didn’t like her. Uppity people happened in this line of work, true, but there were no words for Yasmin.

  No one had ever purposefully thrown food in my face before then berated me for it. She deserved some kind of petty revenge. All I had to do was wait for my chance for it to reveal itself.

  Ten minutes after the bargain had been struck, my ‘name’ was bellowed from the deck.

  “Bay leaf!” Her accent twisted every syllable, turning the words ugly and blunt.

  I glanced to my friends, giving them a brief and silent confirmation, then exited the salon. A fake smile spread across my face.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  She glowered at me through layers of black makeup.

  “Clean dis up.” Yasmin waved a claw at the array of glasses and empty dishes she and her friends had left sprawled across the tables and deck.

  “Of course.”

  With so much to clean up, I waved Chris over, who bounded out from behind the bar with a smile. Together, we began to clear away the mess, doing our best to avoid the drunken dancing.

  It took a few minutes, but our arms were soon full of a variety of items. Chris was somewhere behind me, ensuring that he had the last of it, while I noticed that Yasmin had once again wrapped herself around Michele. That fiery emotion swelled within me just as intensely as it had earlier, and before I could question my decision, I planted my hand in the middle of Michele’s back and shoved.

  From behind came a squeak, a gruff shout and a loud splash. Kennia’s jaw fell open, her eyes wide at the ‘carnage’ left in my wake. A vindictive smile threatened to take my lips.

  Once safely inside, I dared to glance back. Yasmin stood waist deep in the pool, her hair plastered to her head and every ounce of makeup sliding down her face. She shouted about her fake tan not having set before she got wet, unaware that streaks of black decorated her cheeks.

  Should have worn waterproof.

  I should’ve felt guilty, regretted being an asshole to a stranger, but what had I really done? I’d got her wet. I hadn’t hurt her in any way. She’d be fine in the end. I hadn’t cost her a couple hundred dollars in crockery like she had me. I mean, Christ. She’d cost me third of my paycheck away.

  Michele, on the other hand, hadn’t panicked. He stood just behind her in the waist-deep water, staring at me, his eyes stern. He knew I’d done it on purpose. There was no way to deny it, so I didn’t try. I stared back while he ran his hand down his face, wiping away some of the water and smoothing his hair back.

  He shook his head subtly, and in it, I knew I would pay for my actions.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The clock neared one in the morning when the other crew members and I were able to retire. Exhausted, I wanted nothing more than to go to sleep and get the few hours I could. The following day was the last of the charter. We would be docking in Venice by late afternoon, and our guests would disembark.

  Michele would go back to his life and so would I, as though nothing had happened.

  Yasmin and her clan had chosen to stay the night. Part of me was glad for it. By the time the sun set, they were too drunk to stand upright. By ten p.m. they’d begun to slur their words to the point that knowing drunk-speak hadn’t helped. As much as I didn’t like any of them, I would rather they stayed on the yacht than get in a small, fast-moving boat. Anything could happen in the few hundred yards between the two ships.

  I hadn’t been one of the stewards to show them to their rooms, however. I might’ve wanted them safe, but that didn’t mean I planned to go out of my way to be hospitable to the lushes. Although, judging by the sounds some of the crew had heard coming from Dominic’s room, Thing One and Thing Two were being well taken care of.

  The ship had gone silent, the throngs of individuals slinking into the shadows, including staff. The skeleton crew had taken over, and it was easy for a couple of people to disappear and make the large vessel appear abandoned.

  I rolled my neck from side to side in an attempt to relieve tension while I descended the stairs. Rounding the corner, I entered the galley and froze in place. At night, lights were dimmed, which could add a haunting aura to the space. Finding Michele sitting at the staff table, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, fingers entwined and staring at me through his lashes sent an icy spike of fear through me.

  “Ciao, cara mia.”

  “Hello, Mr. Sacchi,” I said with a level of uncertainty that I knew he heard. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  He rose to his feet and crossed the space, looming over me. The air around him vibrated with intent, but I’d been afraid to know what that intent might be.

  Without warning, he snatched me by the throat, pulling me even closer. His lips brushed mine. My pulse quickened to an unbelievable degree. My body had gone from zero to sixty in milliseconds.

  “You shoved me into the pool,” he said, his jaw tight. “Answer me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  Excitement flickered into existence. “Yes, Sir.”

  “You were defiant.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “You will be punished.”

  In little more than a whisper, I replied, “Yes, Sir.”

  Michele shifted his grip so that he could hold the back of my neck and proceeded to guide me out of the galley, and down the hall. Most people wouldn’t suspect a yacht of possessing an elevator, but The Silver Wind had one. I’d never used it until that moment.

  We reached the elevator at the end of the hall opposite the staff bunks. Michele pressed the call button and shoved me inside ahead of him when it arrived. We rode to his floor in silence.

  Less than a minute later, he brought us into his suite. I hadn’t realized that I’d expected to find Yasmin lying in his bed until I was relieved to see it empty.

  Michele released me to close the door. I stood in the center of the room staring at him, my heart in my throat waiting for what would happen next. Once we were secure, cut off from the rest of the world, he turned to me. Michele approached slowly, gliding toward me with his eyes shining black.

  “You were disobedient,” he said. “Defiant.”

  I swallowed hard, tensing my jaw and steadying myself. “And?”

  His voice had been tight when he asked, “What did you just say?”

  The brat returned, and in it, I could release some of the frustration that had weighed me down throughout the day.

  “What are you going to do, spank me again?” I asked, antagonizing him. “Is that the best you can do?”

  “No, no, no, bella,” he said. “We are beyond spankings.”

  “Then what are you going to do?”

  He let out a breath, a small laugh that held no happiness but instead a sinister joy.

  “What I’ve wanted to do since London. What do you have to say about that, hmm?”

  I hope you can keep up.

  Without a word, I lunged forward, attempting to ‘run from’ Michele, but he was fast. He planted his hand on my sternum and pushed me back. My feet left the floor seconds before I collapsed onto the bed. He’d shoved me so hard that I’d bounced on the pillow-top mattress.

  Not given the chance to settle, he appeared on top of me, guiding me up the length of the California King and to the headboard. He stared at me, his eyes blazing while a hand disappeared beneath a pillow.

  “It is time for you to pay,” he said in a voice as wicked as his glare.

  Michele retrieved a rope he’d hidden under the mass. A bolt of fear rippled down my spine when he took hold of my wrist. I jerked it away and began to fight, but Michele held strong. Within seconds, he had my wrist secured by a sturdy, quick-release knot.

  I yanked on it, but it refused to give while he dashed to the other side of the bed and repeated the action, almost too fast for me to comprehend. In seconds at most, my arms were tied down.

  “Your compatriots are quite accommodating,” he said as he casually got off me and approached the foot of the bed. “Ask for a bit of rope”—another strip appeared in his hand the moment he grabbed my ankle, dwarfing it in his grasp—“and they will do anything to help.”

  “Let go of me!”

  I kicked and fought, but he was strong. A few quick actions had one of my ankles tied as securely as my wrists.

  My breathing became short, my pulse raced and every inch of my body ignited with anticipation. I wondered what he’d do, what he’d planned in the hours since I’d seen him on deck. I wondered how similar we were.

  Michele never tied my other ankle down. Instead, he stood at the foot of the bed, staring at me.

  He dragged his gaze over my body, and I felt it as easily as tangible hands. My breasts began to tingle, desperate to be touched, and my pussy ached for the same. My only relief came when I pulled on the ropes, twisting my wrists within them. The burn gave me a slight reprieve, a chance to ignore how much I wanted him.

  He remained still as a statue, his hands once again in his pockets. Michele chewed on his bottom lip until he met my eye.

  My voice trembled with excitement when I spoke. “What are you going to do to me?”

  He drew in a long, deep breath and exhaled it when he responded. “Whatever I like.”

  I jerked at the ropes again, causing the bed’s frame to creak and groan, but they continued to hold firm.

  “And if I scream?”

  He arched a brow. With slender fingers, he loosened his tie. “Scream?”