“Buenas noches, Señor Costa,” the gentleman on the dock says, waving his hand toward the staircase leading up to the deck. “Todo está listo para una gran aventura.”

“What did he say?” I ask Nick as he leads me toward the steps.

“He said everything is ready for a grand adventure.”

I climb the steps toward the deck, wondering why I’m feeling creeped out by the wide smiles plastered across the faces of the boat servants in their tuxedos. But I’m not exactly used to being treated like royalty. And I don’t think I could ever get used to this.

One of the men who is possibly a waiter, leads us to the front of the boat where a table dressed in white linen and set with elegant tableware for two awaits. He takes the bottle of wine from Nick and slips a corkscrew out of his pocket to open it. After he pours us each a glass, he nods and excuses himself so Nick and I can be alone.

Nick grabs both glasses and hands me one. “To a pleasant reunion with your parents and—”

The boat begins pulling away from the dock and the inertia pulls us both backward. Nick catches me before I tumble onto the dining table, but I still manage to spill a good bit of red wine on the white tablecloth. I grab a napkin, dipping it in the glass of ice water on the table, then I attempt to remove the stain.

Nick clamps his hand around my wrist. “Leave it. They’ll wash these later. Come.”

I leave my glass of wine on the table and follow him toward the front of the boat. Grabbing the railing, I close my eyes and breathe in the fresh air. The air smells better at night, once most people have pulled their smoggy cars into their driveways and the winds have died down. The late evening is when you can fully appreciate the scents of nature as they settle and unfurl all around you. God, I miss walking the streets at night.

Nick downs his entire glass of wine and tosses the glass overboard. Then he presses his chest against my back, placing his hands on the railing on either side of me, caging me in. His lips graze the back of my ear and I suck in a sharp breath.

“Maybe we should sit down,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the roar of the water as the boat is propelled forward.

His tongue darts out, tracing the shell of my ear as his right arm curls around my waist, pulling my backside flush against the bulge beneath his slacks. His fingers curl around the bottom of my shirt as he slowly lifts it up then slides his warm hand inside the waistband of my skirt.

“What are you doing?” I whisper a bit louder this time.

“I’m going to give you a grand adventure.”

His hand slides lower until it’s inside my panties. He fumbles around a little, pressing on the wrong places until he finds my opening. He slips his thick middle finger inside me and grunts in my ear.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re not wet.”

I’m about to reach for his arm to pull his hand out of my panties when he moves his finger and finally finds my clit. “Oh, God.”

He chuckles softly. “There it is.”

I grip the railing, knuckles white as he strokes me slowly. This is so much better than doing it myself. I twist my head around, then I reach back to grab his neck and pull his mouth to mine. He kisses me hard as he caresses my clit and I forget about everything and everyone else around us. Grinding my hips in sync with the rhythm of his hand, I moan louder with each passing moment. Nick continues to chuckle every so often, amazed by my response to his touch.

“Oh, Daimon!”

Shit!

Nick freezes and my eyelids fly open. I yank his hand out of my skirt and smooth down my shirt, trying to ignore the piercing glare he’s casting in my direction.

“I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

“Who’s Daimon?”

I push past him and head for the dining table. “Just someone I knew a long time ago. He’s… dead. He died recently and he was just on my mind. It’s very… sad.”

He sits across the table from me and stares at my full glass of wine for a moment. “I’m sorry to hear that your friend died. That must be very difficult.”

Very difficult? I guess that’s one way to describe what it feels like to kill someone you love.

Love? Do I love Daimon?

Suddenly, I feel sick to my stomach. Nick pushes my glass of wine toward me and I shake my head, feeling both ashamed for screaming Daimon’s name while Nick was touching me and relieved. Relieved that I’ve at least admitted my feelings for Daimon to myself.

“Drink something. It will help you loosen up,” Nick insists, tapping his finger on the stem of the wine glass.

I don’t know if it’s the motion of the boat or the weight of this new realization, but there’s no way I’ll be able to eat or drink right now. And there’s no way I can drink wine while I’m pregnant with the child of the man I love.

I love Daimon.

My eyes well up with tears and I stare at the wine glass so I don’t have to see the expression on Nick’s face.

I love my father’s murderer. The father of my child.

My protector and my enemy.

I wipe the tears from my cheeks and look up into Nick’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I just got a little emotional. I didn’t mean for this to be awkward.”

“No, it’s okay. I understand. You lost someone very important, yes?”

I swallow the knot in my throat, then I sit up straight and draw in a long breath. “He was nobody. He… he’s the person who burned me. And I swore I’d never let it happen again, so let’s eat.”

I’m pregnant. I’m allowed a brief emotional breakdown every now and then. Whether or not I love Daimon doesn’t matter. If he is still alive, and he has the gall to show his face, I will finish him.

We get through the appetizer and soup course without any more tears or mishaps, but I’ve been guzzling so much water, I need a restroom quickly. I thought the weak bladder portion of a pregnancy came further down the road. At least, that’s what I’ve seen on TV. What kind of person gets their sex education from the television? That would be me.

Placing my napkin next to my plate, I rise from the table, feeling a bit wobbly. “I’m fine,” I say as Nick begins to rise. “I just have to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

The three men in tuxedos standing against the railing watch in confusion as I walk past them toward the back of the sailboat. One of them says something to me in Spanish as he follows me, but I just ignore him. I have to pee. I don’t have time for translations.

Once I reach the stairs leading down into the cabin of the boat, the guy grabs my arm roughly.

“Don’t touch me!” I shout, my instincts kicking in.

I twist his arm behind his back and slam him up against the wall of windows outside the staircase. His eyes widen with terror as I throw all my weight against his spine.

I sniff the air and quickly release him. “What’s that smell?”

I turn toward the cabin and both waiters grab my arms as I attempt to step inside.

“You are not allowed in there. Employees only,” says the one I just pinned a few seconds ago.

“I have to use the restroom,” I insist, though their grip continues to tighten around my arms. “Baño. I need to go.”

The other waiter shakes his head. “You wait until we get back.”

“I’ll piss my pants if I have to wait that long!”

“You wait,” he grunts.

Nick finally arrives. “Qué están haciendo? Suelta la!”

The men release me on Nick’s orders and I rub my arms, pretending to be frightened. Taking a few deep breaths, I draw in that familiar scent of soap and oak. I’m losing my mind or these guys are hiding something down there. But I’m not getting past them unless I’m in the mood to maim or kill someone tonight. They’re lucky I’m not.

“We need to go back,” I say, turning into Nick and wrapping my arms around his waist so he can protect me from the mean men. “I have to use the restroom and they won’t let me go down there.”