Page 43 of Forbidden Fruit

We sail far enough from shore that the villa becomes a tiny white speck on the coastline. The water stretches endlessly around us, impossibly blue and clear.

"Let's drop anchor here," Clive suggests, showing me how to secure the boat. It's a perfect spot for a swim."

He pulls his shirt off completely, and I try not to stare at his chest—tanned and muscular, with just the right amount of salt-and-pepper hair. Before I can overthink it, I remove my cover-up, feeling his eyes on me.

"You're beautiful, Becca," he says simply, with no hint of the leering appraisal I'm used to from Jack.

I blush, unsure how to respond to his directness. "Thank you," I manage, my voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of waves against the hull.

Clive steps to the edge of the yacht and dives in with a clean, powerful movement. The water accepts him like an old friend. I watch him surface, droplets glistening on his shoulders as he shakes his head, sending little rainbows of water into the morning light.

"Coming in?" he calls, floating effortlessly.

I take a deep breath and jump, the cool water enveloping me in a refreshing embrace. When I come up for air, Clive is closer than I expected, those blue eyes even more vivid against the backdrop of the sea.

"This is paradise," I say, treading water.

"It is now," he replies, and I know he's not talking about Mexico.

We swim around the yacht, occasionally diving to look at colorful fish darting between patches of coral. There's something freeing about being here with him, away from Jack and expectations.

"You're a natural in the water," Clive observes as I surface from a dive.

"I was on the swim team in college. Nothing serious, but I've always loved being in the water." It's a detail Jack never bothered to learn about me despite three years together.

After swimming, we climb back aboard. Clive hands me a fluffy towel, and I wrap it around myself, suddenly shy. He's pulled a small cooler from somewhere, producing two bottles of water and fresh fruit.

"I thought we might get hungry," he explains, cutting a mango with practiced ease.

We sit on the deck, the sun warming our skin as we eat. The silence between us isn't awkward––it's comfortable.

"Becca," Clive finally says, his voice serious. "About last night..."

My heart skips. "Yes?"

"I meant what I said. I won't push you. Whatever this is between us—" Clive gestures to the space between our bodies, "—it's your call. You set the pace."

I look at him, this powerful man who runs a global empire, deferring to me completely. It's so different from how Jack bulldozes over my feelings and choices.

"What if I don't know what I want when this is over?" I ask honestly.

He smiles, but a touch of sadness lingers. "Then we figure it out together. No rush."

Impulsively, I reach for his hand. His fingers intertwine with mine, strong and steady.

"I do know I want this moment," I say. "Right now, on this boat, with you."

His thumb traces circles on my palm. "Then that's enough for now."

We stay like that, holding hands and watching the horizon until the sun climbs higher. The moment feels perfect, untouchable. Then his eyes meet, and I’m moved by something I can't explain and don't want to resist anymore.

I glide closer, feeling the silky water flow between us.

"Rebecca," he murmurs, my name sounding different on his lips.

I reach for him, my arms sliding around his neck. His hands find my waist underwater, strong and steady, keeping us both afloat. I can feel his heartbeat against mine as I press closer.

"Why do I feel so good when you’re near? I ask him, watching his pupils dilate.

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