Chapter 64

• The silk sheets clung to my sweat-damp skin, cool and slick against my thighs as I lay sprawled across Hans’s massive bed. My body still thrummed, electric, from the sex—raw, urgent, better than I’d ever let myself admit. His hand rested heavy on my ass, fingers splayed, possessive yet soft, like he was anchoring me to this moment, this bed, this lie. The yacht rocked gently, the sea’s low murmur kissing the hull. His skin was warm against mine, musky with sweat and whiskey, and my thighs ached, a sweet, dull pulse that made my breath catch. I liked it—fuck, I liked it too much. The way his hands had gripped me, the way he’d groaned my name, the way I’d unraveled him. It wasn’t supposed to feel this good.
• But then it hit me, a wave crashing over the bow, heavy and cold. Adrian. The plan. The lies I’d woven so tight they were choking me. My throat tightened, my eyes burned, and before I could stop it, a sob tore free, raw and jagged. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks, soaking into the pillow as I turned my face away, hoping Hans wouldn’t see. My chest heaved, my breath hitching, and I hated it—hated how weak I felt, how exposed, like the mask I’d worn all night was cracking, letting the real me bleed out.
• “Luciana?” Hans’s voice was low, rough, edged with worry. His hand froze on my skin, his body shifting, the bed creaking under his weight as he propped himself up on one elbow. “What’s wrong, darlin’?” He turned me gently, his calloused fingers brushing my shoulder, tilting my face toward his. Those sharp eyes searched mine, crinkled at the corners under that messy beard, catching the faint glow of the room. “Hey, talk to me. You okay?”