Page 22 of Peyton's Price

A uniformed man and woman appeared at the end of the platform. The man was tall and blond, almost Nordic in appearance, but his female counterpart was smaller—and Indian. They were wearing the dress whites she’d always associated with fancy yacht staff. She snorted softly.I guess the movies have some of the details right.

But not all of them. In a movie, she’d be able to fight her way past the staff, then commandeer a speedboat to get off the yacht. The reality was depressingly different.

The uniformed staff waited until the rotors slowed enough to let them approach. The man opened the door as the guard next to the pilot climbed out. He came around to the opening, opening a small pocketknife. He cut her restraints and retreated, letting the uniformed man help her out.

She rubbed her wrists, massaging the deep indentation and small abrasions on her wrists.

The woman approached, examining the marks on her wrist. She whirled to scowl at the guard. “You were told to deliver her without a mark. My employer paid a premium to make this so,” she said in a crisp British accent.

The man shrugged. “It’s standard for all our deliveries, Ms. Priya.”

He shifted to the pilot, giving him a let’s-get-out-of-here signal, but the woman blocked his path. Her expression was glacial.

“Priya is my first name. And next time, we expect our orders to be followed to the letter.”

“Of course. The customer is always right.” The words were respectful, but the smirk that accompanied them was not.

Priya certainly didn’t think so. She put her head close to the man’s ear. Peyton couldn’t hear what she told him, but the man’s face got very red. He backpedaled with a jerk, then climbed into the helicopter as if he couldn’t wait to leave.

Priya inclined her head in Peyton’s direction, indicating she should follow her. Trying not to betray her discomfort, she trailed the woman down a flight of metal stairs to the deck with the male guard behind her. More uniformed staff moved around in the background, doing boat upkeep.

Damn it, when was she going to get a break? Not only was she trapped on a floating island, but there was also a never-ending supply of guards here, too.

But they didn’t appear to have weapons. That was something. Her opportunity to escape would be much harder, but escaping from a yacht wasn’t impossible. In fact, she knew someone who had done it all on her own once.

But Eva ended up in the hospital after almost dying in her bid for freedom. And she lived only because her captor had been in love with her, enough to give her up to save her life.

Peyton doubted her new owner would care if she were bleeding to death. Why would he? He could just buy another girl to replace her. No muss, no fuss.

Priya recaptured Peyton’s attention by opening a door and leading them down a level. They were below the main deck, but the many windows showed they were still well above the waterline.

The hallway was lined with a thick carpet. Every few dozen feet, there was something—a painting or a table topped with a priceless vase. Peyton had never had money, but she’d worked in five-star hotels for most of her adult life. She knew how to spot a real antique when she saw one. Even the door handles gleamed like polished silver.

The boat beat every Caislean hotel she’d ever visited in the luxury stakes. The opulence surrounded her was staggering. Which meant the man who now owned her body and soul was rich beyond measure.

How the hell am I going to get out of here?

Chapter 13

Peyton lost track of how many turns they’d made getting to this hallway. Priya opened a set of double doors, then led them inside a sumptuous cabin. It was spacious, with deep red Oriental carpet in front of a massive four-poster bed with bedding made of a shimmery champagne fabric.

It was a beautiful room, but the surroundings only strengthened the sick feeling nearly overwhelming her.

Priya cleared her throat. “My employer has been notified of your arrival. He’ll be here momentarily. You may want to freshen up before he arrives. The bathroom is through there,” she added, pointing at a door. Then she left.

“That’s it?” Peyton said to the empty room. No threats or warnings not to try to escape?

It’s a boat, smart ass. What would be the point?

With a pounding heart, Peyton went to the door. She tried the knob. The door swung open on soundless hinges. She poked her head into the hallway, but quickly pulled back when she heard footsteps approaching.

Hurriedly, she closed the door. She stood frozen with her hands bracing it shut, but whoever it was passed it without pausing.

Peyton let out a shaky sigh.Stop being a jackass. She had to think. She needed a plan.

Any minute, her new owner was going to walk through that door. She pictured a fat Middle Eastern man like in that Liam Neeson movie, but it could be anyone.

Her options were limited. She could make a desperate last stand…or she could let the man who walked in that door use her body. She’d cooperate long enough to lull him into a false sense of security. Once he was confident in her complacency, she’d slip away somehow. There had to be speedboats on a craft this size. It was too big for most ports. A speedboat would be necessary to ferry its passengers to land.

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