Page 31 of Lair

“Yes.” My voice, to my horror, comes out a little shaky.

I suddenly feel ridiculous, standing here in a tight black dress in the belly of a yacht at night.

And then Voper turns to look at me.

He goes very still, his face imperceptibly slackening. His eyes, so very blue in this light, trail down me head to toe, taking their time. Then they go back up, lingering on my legs, the hem of my dress, my face, my lips. His throat constricts in a swallow, and I realize this is the first time I have seen Adrian Voper, billionaire, at a loss for words.

My ankle wobbles.

He steps up to me, both hands in his pockets now, as if to restrain himself. His eyes drop to my blood-red lips. He seems lost in some private sensation, nostrils flared. And then he comes back to himself. His own full lips purse in a smirk. “You look”—he draws it out—“as if you’ve recovered.”

I snort. Well-played. “I am. I have.” Humiliating memories rush back to me and I put a hand to my brow. “Oh, God. I can’t believe you saw all that...”

His mouth quirks. “It never happened, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“Yes, please,” I beg, laughing. “I very much prefer.”

He waves a hand. “Forgotten, then.”

We stare into each other’s eyes, smiling. How can I not melt into a puddle in the presence of that smile? “Thank you, Mr. Voper.”

“Adrian,” he says. “Please.”

“Adrian.” It sounds so strange on my tongue. So normal. And at the same time an invitation to an exclusive, faraway place. A gift.

But the gifts, apparently, have just begun.

“I come here to think,” he says, turning back to the window to watch a school of silvery fish flow past. “The quiet, you see. The stillness. The dark.” He regards me. “What do you think of it?”

“It’s beautiful,” is my simple reply, because it’s true.

He nods, pleased. “Come, then,” he says, and holds out his arm in a courtly gesture. “I have something to show you.”

SEVENTEEN

My mind races as he leads me through the quiet bowels of the Lair. I have no idea what he has in mind, even less so when we come out on the main deck and I see the limo tender bobbing against the swim platform with its fenders over the side, held in place by deckhands manning stern and bow lines, Jason at attention like a toy soldier. I scan the nighttime horizon—we’re miles out at sea.

“Where on earth are we going?” I whisper.

But the reclusive billionaire beside me plays sphinx. “You’ll see.” He calls out expansively to Jason. “All set, Mr. Young?”

Jason nods, eyes widening at the sight of my dress before carefully avoiding me. “Double and triple-checked. Ready to go.”

“Excellent.” Voper (Adrian) offers me a hand to help me aboard, smoothly cutting Jason out of this step of yachting courtesy, and the first mate follows us aboard in silence. My cheeks grow warm at this show of territorial protectiveness. As Adrian guides me to the leather seat in back, I’m keenly aware of how my body looks in this dress. How I could barely board without showing my underwear. How all the men here are sneaking glances at me. As I cross my legs, the tights on my thighs rubbing softly together, I can’t help but notice the red sniper-dot of Adrian’s eyes on them. When I glance at him, he looks away and covers by glaring at Jason, who quickly breaks off a curiously serious appraisal of me. The lines are cast off, the deckhand behind the wheel carves an easy arc around to the side of the Lair, and I idly wonder if there will be a fight before we get to where we’re going.

“Well?” I whisper to Adrian as spray mists my skin. “This boat can’t take us anywhere out here.”

“No,” he concurs, and points. “But that can.”

I lift my eyes, and my jaw drops.

A gull wing door is open near the bow of the Lair, and out of this foredeck locker a single-arm launching crane has swung out. Hanging from it is a canary-yellow, bubble-glassed submarine, revolving slowly as it’s lowered into the ocean.

I splutter. “That’s...”

“Yes,” Adrian confirms.

“But... that’s a submarine. You have a submarine.”

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