Page 4 of Stalked By the Yacht Captain

Left standing there, my heart pounding in my chest like it's trying to escape, I know one thing for sure: Sandy Whitmore is going to be mine. And I'll sail through any storm to claim her.

CHAPTER

THREE

Sandy

I jolt awake, my sheets twisted around my legs, my heart racing like I've just finished a marathon.

But it's not the remnants of a nightmare that has me panting—it's him.

Andrew Carter, and the dreams where he's anything but a gentleman.

My pussy throbs with an ache that's both unfamiliar and intoxicating, a testament to the desires he's awakened in me. Virginity be damned, because when it comes to Andrew, every inch of my body screams for an education only he can provide.

I throw off the tangled sheets and rise, determined to shake off the remnants of my heated dream.

As I dress for the day, his image lingers—a beacon of rugged handsomeness that makes my insides clench with want. I'm Sandy Whitmore, heiress and yacht enthusiast, not some lovestruck girl. Yet here I am, consumed by thoughts of a man whose life at sea is worlds away from the gilded cage I reside in.

I head to the Monaco Yacht Race, the salt-kissed air mingling with the buzz of excitement from the crowd. It's here, amidst the grandeur of sleek vessels and the adrenaline of competition, that fate decides to play its hand.

"Enjoying the view, Sandy?" The voice, warm and inviting with a hint of roughness, sends shivers down my spine before I even turn around.

"Andrew," I breathe out, my pulse quickening as I take in the sight of him—sun-kissed skin, piercing blue eyes, a body honed by the unforgiving sea. He's every bit as alluring as I remember, maybe more.

"Thought I might find you here," he says with that confident smile that could make any woman go weak at the knees. "Couldn't miss the chance to see these beauties race."

"Nor could I." Our shared interest hangs between us, an invisible thread pulling us closer. "It's...good to see you again."

"Likewise," he replies, and there's a spark in his gaze that tells me his interest goes beyond the yachts and into waters uncharted.

As we stroll along the dock, commenting on the elegant lines of classic yachts, his arm brushes against mine, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

"Let's grab a drink," he suggests, nodding towards one of the exclusive pop-up bars set up for the event. "There's a lot more I want to hear about your passion for these vessels."

"Only if you promise to share some of your sailing stories," I counter, the thrill of his attention mingling with the festive atmosphere of the race.

"Deal," he agrees, and as we weave through the throng of spectators, I can't help but feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Andrew's presence is magnetic, and as we chat and laugh over chilled champagne, I can’t stop staring at the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

Andrew is such a man. Not like the pampered beta guppy stock investors my dad hangs out but like a man’s man.

A man who’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.

A man with callouses.

A man with hands that…

I blush at my wandering thoughts and try to watch the show.

The yachts are impressive, but right now, they're merely a backdrop to the man who's managed to captivate my every sense.

The roar of the crowd swells around us, but it's Andrew's low chuckle next to me that sends my heart racing. His gaze meets mine as one sleek yacht overtakes another, and in that charged moment, I'm more aware of him than the salt-sprayed air or the glittering sea.

"Ever feel like jumping on one of those and just sailing away?" he asks, his voice a warm current over the buzz of excitement.

"Every single time," I confess, my words floating out like a secret I didn't know I was keeping.

Andrew's hand finds the small of my back, guiding me through the exclusivity of the VIP section, and every nerve ending in my body goes into overdrive.

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