“Do you hear me?” Her voice rises. “You don’t get to put hands on me.”
I give her a moment. A beat to vent. To let the fire burn itself out.
Then I move—slow, deliberate. My hand settles over her collarbone, her skin warm beneath my palm. I drag my touch upward until I’m mirroring her grip, my fingers curling around her throat.
The only difference? My hold isn’t tight. Or painful. It’s merely a warning.
She stiffens. Perfectly motionless. Exquisitely statuesque.
I take it as understanding. Yet, I tighten slightly, enough to make sure.
Her hand loosens.
Her glare flickers. And then I see it—fear.
I don’t want her to feel like this. Ineedit.
“I’ll do as I see fit,” I murmur, the words barely more than a breath. “And you’ll fall in line, my little dividend.”
Her alcohol-glazed eyes narrow, her glare molten as her hand falls to her side. “I fucking hate you.”
I gently rub my thumb along her throat, indulging in her riotous pulse. “I’d be concerned if you didn’t.”
Chapter
Eleven
RAFFAEL
The corridor echoeswith every thunderous step as I descend to the crew quarters.
It’s quiet. Deserted.
Except for one of the deckhands at the galley bench, hunched over a plate of something greasy and drowned in ketchup. He looks up, mid-chew, and startles.
“Are you the only one awake?” I demand.
He swallows, hard, and nods through a choked cough. “We’re on skeleton crew until sunrise, sir. But they’re on standby if required.”
“I need the tender dispatched back to the marina immediately. A woman—Quinn—will be arriving with a bag that has to be delivered to our guest.”
He scrambles to his feet, wiping his hands on his pants. “Yes, sir. I’ll wake Mitch and make sure it’s handled right away.”
I incline my head and start to leave, only to stop short and turn back. “Also, I want our guest’s cabin manned until morning.”
He hesitates. “Manned, sir?”
“She’s drunk enough to be a danger to herself. I don’t want her deciding it’s a good night for a swim.” Hell, given Isla’smood, I wouldn’t put it past her to sneak into the bridge and try to take the yacht for a joyride. “She’snotto leave her room. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll see to it personally.”
Satisfied, I turn on my heel and head back to my cabin, tension snaking through every muscle. I want to slam the door. Splinter the wood. Let the sound tear throughRequiemlike a warning shot.
But I don’t.
Isla doesn’t get the satisfaction of draining the last drop of my control.
Instead, I strip off my clothes and head straight into the bathroom, the polished marble tile cold beneath my feet. I enter the oversized rainfall shower, crank the water to cold, and step beneath the cascade. The temperature punches through me. My muscles lock tight. I stare down the cream tile and let the glacial spray do what my discipline can’t—freeze her from my system.