Page 28 of Make Me Yours

But I didn’t have options—Gramps needed me here—so there’s no point thinking about that.

“I like being part of a legacy,” I continue. “Sullivans have been out on this water for over two hundred years. That feels pretty special.”

He cocks his head. “You feel pride in your family.”

“Yeah, don’t you? The Tripps have been around just as long. And you’ve made a lot more money.” I sweep my arm out to one side, encompassing the yacht bearing us smoothly northward.

This thing had to cost at least a million dollars, if not more, and according to Mark, his father has another one just like it down in South Carolina, docked at their vacation home.

“Maybe I should,” Weaver says, rising from his seat and crossing to stand beside me at the wheel. He gazes out over the choppy water, churning beneath the clear blue sky. The hurricane passed by far enough out to sea that we didn’t getmuch rain, but the ocean still shows signs of the recent storm. “Where are we headed?”

“I thought Saint Mary, right before you reach Canadian water,” I say. “They’ll have room to dock a larger boat and it’s big enough we can disappear into the city and not be spotted by anyone we know.”

“Perfect.” He pulls his cell from his pocket. “I’ll make a reservation for two. Any preferences on the restaurant? I was thinking French but I can look for something else if you’d like.”

“French is good,” I say, not wanting to tell him that I’ve never had French food before. I mean, I’ve had French onion soup down at the Moose Club—they always serve that and a side salad with the prime rib on Friday nights—but I’m pretty sure that’s not the kind of French he’s talking about.

Even more than the difference in our ages, the difference in our backgrounds and social status is something that makes this feel…a little strange. If we were actually dating, I’d be nervous all the time, afraid I was going to make a fool of myself by not knowing all the rich person rules.

I’m rough around the edges for a girl, even by Sea Breeze standards, let alone to a swanky New York investment banker. (And yes, I did an internet search on Weaver. I couldn’t help myself. I also couldn’t find much on the man. He’s as private and reserved online as he is in person.)

“But we don’t have to get lunch,” I say, wanting to give him an out if he’d rather head for home now that we’ve had our talk. “That’s all I really wanted to know.”

He turns to me, the clean, fresh scent of his cologne stronger now that he’s so close. It makes me want to lean into his neck and inhale. I love the way he smells, like a fancy hotel lobby and something masculine and raw that makes my mouth water a little. “You wanted to know if I’d slept with your mother?”

I force a tight smile. “Yep, that’s about it. I was just wondering how grossed out about the other night I should actually be.”

“Is that all?” He angles even closer, bracing his hand on the console behind me, until he’s looming over me in a way that makes me feel unusually small.

I’m tall and broad through the shoulders for a woman. I’m strong and tough and can count the times I’ve felt “dainty” on one hand. Hell, on one finger. The first and only time was the other night, when Weaver pulled me up the mattress, showing off the unusually large muscles he keeps concealed under his well-fitted suits and dress shirts.

I tip my head back, bringing my face just inches from his, forcing myself to ignore the electricity flowing across my skin. “What other reason would I have?”

His mouth moves closer, sending my already speeding pulse into overdrive. “I don’t know. Maybe you wanted to see if it would be okay to do it again.”

“We shouldn’t do it again,” I say, my voice breathier, weaker than I would like. “Our families hate each other.”

“They do,” he agrees, close enough now that I can feel his heat on my lips.

“And I made out with your nephew. And you made out with my mother.”

He smiles, what I sense is his real smile. There’s no tightness around his mouth this time, just an easy swoop of his gorgeous lips and a mischievous flicker in his eyes as he whispers, “It’s scandalous, I’ll give you that. Are you afraid of scandal?”

“No,” I say, dying to kiss him, to feel his strong arms around me showing me how much he wants my body close to his. “But if anyone in my family found out, it would kill them. They might never forgive me. I was worried about them finding out about Mark, but you…”

“I’m so much worse,” he supplies, his hand settling on my hip for a beat before smoothing around to the small of my back with a confidence that makes me ache.

“So much worse,” I whisper. My hands mold to his chest, but I don’t push him away. My fingers curl around the lapels of his suit coat, holding him close.

“Well, then,” he murmurs, the tip of his nose brushing against mine.

I lift my chin in anticipation of a kiss, but it doesn’t come. Instead, his warmth abruptly vanishes as his coat slides from my fingers. My eyes fly open with a soft breath of surprise to find him already descending the stairs leading into the cabin below.

“Well, then, what?” I demand, propping a hand on my hip.

He grins up at me, his wicked eyes dancing. “Well, then, that’s something you should think about before I do any of the things I’d like to do to you.”

“You’d like to do things to me?” I ask, hating the slight hint of insecurity in my tone.

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