Page 2 of Voyage with the Reclusive Billionaire

He frowns, but nods. “Right.” He pauses and looks around, then sighs. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head? You know your name and can see how many fingers I’m holding up?” He takes a step back and lifts four fingers.

“Four,” I say. “And Eliza.”

“Your name is four and I’m holding Eliza fingers?”

I give him a look. “Funny.”

He shrugs. “At least let me walk you to your room. So I can make sure you get there okay.”

I laugh and shake my head. “No.”

This seems to surprise him. The word itself looks like it’s a shock to his system. I take in his attire, the expensive quality his clothes seem to have. The Louis Vuitton suitcase. Clearly, the man has money. He’s probably not used to being told no. “What?”

“No, I’m not going to let a strange man I just met lead me to my room when he thinks I have brain damage. How stupid do you think I am?”

“Technically, you’d be leading. And I don’t think you’re brain damaged. I just think you might have a concussion.

“That’s brain damage.”

He frowns again. “I know that. I just meant—nevermind.” He blows out a breath. “Just—are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m not a medical doctor, but I do have a PhD. I think I’m capable of determining whether or not I’m fine.”

He still seems unsure. Or maybe this is all a part of his game. Luring girls in by pretending he cares and then getting them alone.

That theory is quickly tossed out the window when he says, “Fine. I won’t follow you to your room if you promise me something.”

“You mean if I promise not to call the cops?”

“Cruise security,” he corrects. “But no. Just… promise you’ll meet me at the bar in a few hours. So I know you’re not passed out in your room with head trauma.” He gestures around the boat, bustling with people. “It’ll give you enough time to settle in and enough time for other people to start drinking exuberant amounts of alcohol. Just meet me there, prove to me you’re okay in a public place, and I’ll leave you alone.”

I stare at him for a long moment. I know I should just agree and walk away, that I should be grateful there’s someone here who cares, even a little, if I live or die, but all I can think is—

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does it matter to you?”

He stares at me for a long moment, as if he hadn’t really thought about that. As if he doesn’t even know. But then he says, “I turned around when you fell. I helped you up. You’re my responsibility now.”

“I can take care of myself,” I defend.

The man says, “The bar? Seven o’clock?”

I stare for a long moment, debating, before giving in and nodding. Fine. I’d probably wind up wanting to be drunk later tonight when the reality of my ringless finger settles in for the day. “Okay. Seven.”

“See you then,” he says. Then he grabs his luggage and walks away, not offering me a single backwards glance.

It’s only when he’s disappeared entirely into the crowd that I realize that he never gave me his name.

Chapter two

Corvan

It was shockingly hard to walk away from her earlier.

I still don’t know why. I don’t know if it’s because, for the first time in a year, I finally had the chance to talk to someone who didn’t know who I was. Someone new. Someone who didn’t look at me with suspicion. I don’t know if it’s because she was so elegantly beautiful, in a way that took me off guard and made it hard to keep a distance. I don’t know if it’s because of the instant, world-shattering connection I felt the moment her eyes met mine.

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