Page 78 of The Contract

I narrow my eyes, but before I can respond, her expression shifts—her entire face lighting up with something close to genuine joy.

I glance over my shoulder just in time to see why.

James walks up the path, holding Marcus’s hand and talking animatedly, likely about his L.A. photo shoot.

“Hey, you made it after all,” I say with a nod, letting go of Elena.

James grins, sliding his sunglasses up onto his head. “Wrapped up the shoot early. Figured I’d crash your weekend in paradise.” His smirk deepens as he turns toward Elena. “Besides, wouldn’t want to miss a beach trip with my new friend.”

She laughs, easy and warm, and for some reason, the sound settles something inside me.

“Come on, you lovebirds!” Mrs. Calloway hollers from the dock as others climb onto the smaller boat that will taxi us to the yacht.

Elena rolls her eyes at Mrs. Calloway’s enthusiasm but lets out a small laugh as I take her bag from her shoulder. She slides her hand into mine without hesitation, letting me lead her down the dock.

“Time for some fun in the sun,” I say.

The ride to the yacht is quick, and within minutes, we’re stepping onto the deck of the impressive vessel. The Calloways spared no expense—pristine white leather seating, teakwood flooring, and a fully stocked bar under a shaded canopy.

It doesn’t take long for Margo to challenge her husband to a competitive game of shuffleboard while others dive into the shimmering blue water, laughter echoing across the deck.

Elena and I settle onto a curved outdoor couch at the back of the yacht, and Marcus and James claim the spots beside us.

God, if Elena doesn’t look fucking amazing.

She’s wearing a red bikini, her toenails painted to match. Ledger red.

And I think of that fantasy when I jacked off with her dirty panties. The thoughts of that red dress. Red lipstick perfect for smearing.

Right now, I’m trying—and failing—to stop thinking about taking her to the back of the yacht. Slipping my hand into her bathing suit bottoms and feeling her smooth pussy, wet and wanting for me.

Making her gasp. Making her come.

The threat of someone catching us only makes it more exciting.

Fuck.

My thoughts shift the second I catch that walking prick, Adrian, with his eyes on Elena a little too long for my liking. Any fraction of time that shithead’s eyes are on my fiancée is too long.

My—fake—fiancée.

I remind myself.

He moves his beady eyes to me. A smirk plays on his lips that makes me want to break his nose and throw him overboard.

He makes an obnoxious show of jumping off the diving platform with a flip into the ocean below. Margo applauds him like he’s a child, which makes Marcus and me share an eye roll.

But it’s a reminder of the familial connection they share.

The day of leisure moves on. Adrian moves out of my mind.

The air is warm, the sun casting a golden glow over the scene, and about one hour and several drinks later, I feel something close to . . . relaxed.

Which, of course, means my two idiot friends won’t let me enjoy it.

“So,” James drawls, lounging back and stretching his arms out over the back of the seat, “Elena, what has our brooding friend here told you about himself?”

She smiles so warmly I can’t tell if this is really her or the Ledger Companion sitting with me. “Only what I need for our”—she stalls a moment, as if thinking of the right phrasing—“for our time together.” She emphasizes the words, knowing my friends know the truth of our contract.

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