Page 72 of The Billionaire's Demand

He stood, tilting a look at her. ‘Yes, it’s good. Stand back.’

She did as he said, taking a few paces away from the door, relieved to put some space between them.

Raul turned to her. ‘I don’t know where they are—obviously, at least one of them is on the deck, perhaps all. Perhaps they’ll hear the door opening. Be prepared for anything, got it?’

She nodded, nerves making it impossible to speak.

‘Got your paperweight?’

She pulled a face. ‘Are you making fun of me?’

‘On the contrary, it’s an excellent weapon. Keep it, in case you need to defend yourself.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Do you think—’

‘I don’t know,’ he said sharply. ‘If you would prefer to stay here and let me handle this, I would welcome that choice.’

‘No,’ she demurred, reaching for the paperweight, then returning to the middle of the room.

He frowned, turned his attention back to the door, and ran at it, kicking his leg at the last moment, with the skill and precision of a man who might have done so every day of his life.

The door splintered a little at the frame, but it gave quickly and easily. Raul moved fast, his hand catching the door even as he dropped his foot to the floor, to prevent it from slamming loudly against the wall.

Then, needlessly, he turned back to Libby, lifting a finger to his lips to remind her to be quiet.

With a pulse that was racing so hard she could hardly think straight, she fell into step behind him. At the end of the corridor, he lifted his finger to his lips again, before pulling open a door beneath the steps.

She looked around anxiously as he disappeared inside.

A moment later, he returned with some orange rope and nets.

‘Let me guess,’ she hissed. ‘You were a Boy Scout in another life.’

His smirk did something funny to her stomach. ‘Not quite. Ready?’

She nodded, though how could she be? She had no idea what was coming next.

‘Wait for my signal,’ he murmured, climbing the steps stealthily. At the top, he slowed, looked around, climbed higher, until he’d disappeared altogether, then his hand appeared, gesturing for her to follow.

She did, swallowed, stumbling on one step and wincing at the noise, waiting to make sure nothing happened because of it. But the engine was too loud, and the waves were crashing against the side of the boat; there was no way they’d be heard.

They emerged onto the back of the deck.

‘They’re together,’ he said. ‘We have the element of surprise. Plus,’ he said, glancing through the windows before crouching down, ‘they look drunk.’

She nodded. ‘You’re sure you don’t want to just wait?’

The boat turned hard right, and Libby opened her mouth to squeal because it tipped at such an angle she genuinely thought they might capsize. It was only Raul’s hand—broad and capable, warm and strong—over her mouth that silenced her.

She stared into his eyes—eyes that were loaded with warning and confidence, that told her to be quiet, all would be well—and she found herself, weirdly, believing in him.

‘We can’t wait,’ he said. ‘Believe me when I tell you: we’ll be doing them a favour too. They evidently have a death wish.’

She lifted her head the smallest amount so she could see inside the windows, and realised that Raul had been right. They were little more than teenagers. Raul and Libby had a moral imperative to save them from themselves.

She eyed the paperweight sceptically; she’d be unlikely to use it.

‘Keep it,’ he said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘Just in case.’

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