Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Yes, Fenway was the sort of man who kept clothing in a closet for women in case they should need to change clothes. I never much understood the practice until this moment.
"Yeah, I'll do that," I agreed. "Excuse me," I said, turning, and making my way below deck.
I was standing in my bra and panties, reaching for the dark blue sundress that happened to be in my size and not so long that I'd be tripping on it as we walked when a voice sounded behind me.
"I will double it if that is what it will take," Christopher's smooth voice called. Even as my body jolted at the invasion, my nerves hummed in response to the way his body made a shiver move over my—now bare—skin, somehow heating and chilling me at once. Goosebumps prickled even as my stomach swam with something that I could only describe as interest.
"I'm not dressed, Mr. Adamos," I informed him, turning to face him.
His gaze had been on my ass, only half-hidden by cheeky pink lace panties, and was slowly moving back up to my face.
"I see that."
Ignoring the anticipation in my belly, I forced my chin to lift; pushed all the desire out of my voice.
"Then you can also likely see that I wouldn't dream of working for someone who doesn't respect my right to privacy. No matter the sum they are offering me."
"All your delicate parts are covered," he said, gaze dipping down to my chest where my bra was just barely doing its job. "Well, mostly."
"Funny," I said, though there wasn't a damn thing funny in that moment, "that doesn't sound at all like an apology to me."
"You'll find I don't often apologize."
"I'm shocked," I drawled. "What could possibly be worth eight million dollars, Mr. Adamos?" I asked, deciding that the only move would be to refuse to cover myself, or demand he leave again.
"My brother."
"Your brother," I repeated, feeling my brows furrow. "What about your brother?"
"It seems I have made a lot of enemies in my particular line of work."
"I would imagine so."
"And not all men have honor codes," he added, hedging at an uncomfortable truth.
"Someone took your brother," I concluded.
"Yes."
"And I'm assuming it isn't just money they want in exchange for him?"
"If it was money, they would have it already," he snapped, frustration just barely contained.
"Mr. Adamos, how old is your brother?" I asked, sensing something, some underlying panic that a man such as him so rarely possessed.
"He's fifteen."
"Oh," my breath whooshed out of me, with my finally understanding why he would pay anything, why he was willing to go to lengths like being part of a kidnapping, to get what he needed.
To find someone who could get his brother back for him.
And, admittedly, I was his best odds for a positive outcome.
I once negotiated for three weeks with a zealot terrorist who had wanted to burn down an entire goddamn city.
If there was anyone in this world who could get his brother back, it was me.
I also understood something else, something that made the desire slide away, replaced instead with a cold resignation.
Bellamy likely couldn't have known.
Fenway definitely wouldn't have.
But I did.
It didn't matter if I turned down the money.
There would be no backing out of this arrangement.
Desperate men—even honorable ones—did desperate things when loved ones were on the line.
When only one person stood between them and what they wanted, they would do anything that was necessary to get those desired results.
Bellamy had technically kidnapped me.
But from the moment I was put on this yacht with this man, there was no way I would ever get away.
Christopher Adamos, Greece's biggest organized crime leader, had just become my kidnapper.
And the only way he would ever let me free again was if I brought his brother back.
Alive.
THREE
Christopher
I didn't know what to expect.
Fenway had recommended Bellamy, who had recommended Miller.
He said that he could bypass the formalities of having to deal with her boss first. I had no idea that he meant to do that by drugging the woman and kidnapping her.
Not that being privy to that knowledge would have changed anything, of course.
This had nothing to do with my usual feelings, my ingrained—albeit unusual—moral code.
This had to do with saving my little brother before something terrible happened to him.
I never would have been able to live with myself if that came to pass.
So I was willing to do whatever it took, pay whatever sum, go to any lengths necessary to bring my brother home safely.
Which meant that even if she should turn down the money, I would have gone ahead and done the kidnapping myself.
I hadn't seen the woman when I got on the yacht. She'd been sleeping a floor below.
The time alone—after Fenway and Bellamy had retreated to their rooms—had allowed me to wonder what kind of woman went into negotiation as a profession.