Page 18 of High Sea Seduction

“Enjoy your stay, mademoiselle,” he says before he reaches into his pocket and extracts a card. “And if you need anything to make your stay more pleasant, please do not hesitate to call me.”

I take the black card. There’s only a phone number printed in gold on the embossed surface. I hide a smile and thank him, not in the least bit insulted that my pilot also moonlights as a gigolo and is interested in me.

Different strokes for different folks. Plus, he’s cute enough, should I get desperate during my stay or thoughts of Mason Sinclair’s mouth and fingers drive me to the edge of distraction.

“Where’s a good place for cocktails around here in case a girl gets lonely?” I ask, even though I’ve done my homework thoroughly and know which places are up to Indigo Lounge standards and which aren’t.

His smile widens. “Jimmy’z is a good place, but also La Rascasse.”

“Which one do you prefer?”

“Jimmy’z. I’m there most nights.”

I nod. “Great, I might see you there then.” It’s one of the places I planned to check out.

His eager nod makes me feel a touch better.

Whatever is headed my way, I’ll deal with it.

Two weeks ago when I stood on the beach in Montauk, I was a little shaky about my options, but then it was to be expected. This time of year always gets to me. The memories become too overpowering, and sometimes I buckle under.

Did I want to die when I threw myself into the icy waves after having drunk almost a full bottle of champagne? Possibly.

If Bethany didn’t call me when I was about to get in the bathtub, would I have gone through with taking the bottle of pills the day before? Probably.

But I’m used to it, the push and pull of these suicidal thoughts, especially around my birthday. If I put a little more effort into it, I don’t doubt that one day I might succeed.

The idea doesn’t fill me with dread. Or fear. Because the end result is I’ll either be alive. Or I’ll be dead.

“You’re welcome,mademoiselle.”

I jerk a little and realize I’ve spaced out again.

Seriously. Time to get yourself under control, Benson. I look beyond Henri and see a member of the hotel staff heading my way.

I send Henri another smile, making a mental note to look him up if I get bored while in Monaco, and head toward the concierge.

I’m whisked to my penthouse suite in minutes and offered a welcoming glass of champagne, which I decline. Kicking off my shoes, I’m drawn to the sweeping floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the marina. Once again, a thrill ignites upon seeing the yacht.

For the next few days, I’ll be interviewing chefs, wait staff and personal valets, while working with the specially contracted designer to provide specific amenities for the guests.

Since the sex lounge specifications are Zach Savage’s remit, I haven’t been made privy as to whom is responsible for that aspect of things or what will be required of me in that department. All I know is that I have to report to the yacht at four this afternoon to meet the guy in charge.

Which gives me about an hour and a half to get ready.

The moment my luggage arrives and is unpacked by the penthouse butler, I undress and take a shower. The concierge informed me that a car will be available to take me to the marina when I’m ready, and as I dress for the high-fifties sunshine in a cream fitted linen dress and dark brown heeled boots, I try to ground myself, but my mind slides to my phone and the contents of the email again.

Why now after all this time? Why sit on the secret for six years before making threats? And is it even a threat?

Dammit!

I shut off the endless loop of questions and finish dressing with a long, camel-colored cashmere sweater and a Hermes scarf. I leave my blonde hair loose, insert small gold loops into my ears, and finish applying a light makeup before I grab my Gucci clutch and head out the door.

The ride from the hotel down Rue Grimaldi to the marina is embarrassingly brief, and I decide to make the return journey on foot. Dismissing the driver, I turn to where the launch boat is moored.

My phone rings as we approach the breathtaking super yacht aptly namedIL Indulgence,and I can’t suppress my awe as I stare at the vessel. The indigo theme runs throughout everything owned by Zachary Savage, and this yacht is no different. I reach for my phone and grin when I see Bethany’s smiling face.

“Tell your husband for me that I’m seriously tempted to accept his offer to work for him full-time. I haven’t been on the boat yet, but I love it already.”

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