Brie
I’ve decided I don’t enjoy being on the yacht by myself. Normally, everyone is here. Maeve and I would spend mornings lounging in the sun while Mom and Dad sat nearby, talking about the books they were reading. Aris would be off doing something dangerous and naughty, of course, like threatening to jump from the roof of the cockpit into the hottub.
We’d play board games, and my parents would tell us the family lore and secrets we weren’t privy to as children. Taking the yacht to Maatua for Solstice has become a beloved family tradition that I look forward to every year… but being aboard is different this time.
I stretch my legs on the lounge chair, letting the sun fan over my skin. I tan easily. A few days of this kind of weather and my skin will be a perfect, golden bronze. I even squeezed lemon juice in my hair and brushed it out like Maeve does in the summer to give myself some natural highlights.
It’s too quiet now. Even with music humming through a speaker nearby, I can hear all of my thoughts through the gentle rush of water against the sides of the boat. I lie down flat, closing my eyes and soaking in the sun, letting my mind wander back home to the castle, curious about what everyone’s up to today.
It’s been three days since we left the port. Yesterday, Logan spent most of the morning in my company, but I didn’t see him otherwise until dinner, where we repeated his little ritual of deciding what I’d eat based on nutritional needs I didn’t know I had.
But it had been the slice of chocolate cake waiting for me in my room later that night, after spending a solo hour in the hottub reading the silly romance novel now resting at my side, that made me feel a sudden jolt of… regret.
Logan is actually a very caring, albeit sarcastic, man. I have no plans to give him credit for that, however. We rejected each other mutually, and that’s something I need to live with, even if being in his presence makes me feel things I didn’t think possible.
And seeing him walk out onto the upper deck in nothing but swim trunks that could be considered a bit too snug around his thick, muscular thighs makes those feelings tangle and thrum into something dangerous.
I remind myself I am not attracted to him. I remind myself a second, and a third time, while I watch under the camouflage of my massive sunglasses as he adjusts the other lounge chair, fumbling with the controls that lower the seat so he can lie down like I am.
His muscles flex and ripple with every move he makes. He’s tan and tall and just… gorgeous. It’s unfair, really, that someone could be so effortlessly perfect but also annoying and repeatedly in my way.
“I can feel you looking at me,” he chuckles, and I blush so deep it could be mistaken for a horrendous sunburn.
“You’re practically naked,” I argue. “The sun is glaring off your back and blinding me, Logan.”
“I’m not naked. Don’t get too excited,” he teases, and I find it best to bite my tongue instead of trying to come up with some kind of retort to that.
When he fails to flatten the lounge chair, he begins to lift it, shaking it repeatedly while grunting under his breath, being loud on purpose, I assume, just to annoy me.
I drag my sunglasses down the bridge of my nose, giving him a poignant frown. “Aren’t you like, a super smart, strong, and capable warrior?”
Panting, he turns to me, squinting against the sun. “I don’t get vacations, Brie. At all.”
“You’re being bested by a lounge chair.”
“Would you like to offer your help or continue gawking at me?”
I push my glasses back up my nose and lie down with a dramatic sigh.
He groans, giving the chair one more kick of emphasis, and with a crack, it folds down. He chuckles to himself before settling with another dramatic groan, and then I’m just… getting a suntan… with Logan less than three feet away from me.
“Why are you out here?” I ask. “Don’t you have better things to do than lie around?”
“I don’t. This is my mission.”
“What?”
“You are my mission,” he amends, smiling wryly as he flips a pair of sunglasses open and slides them on. “I thought we’d accepted that by now.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to be where I am all of the time.”
“There’s not much else to do on this boat, and I’m technically not part of the crew, so I figured getting some sun and enjoying a moment where I don’t have orders, and I don’t need to give anyone else orders, would be a great use of my time.”
I consider his words, suddenly curious about what his job entails outside of constantly hovering nearby. “What’s it like being in the Ghost army?”
“I’m shocked you don’t know everything about the Ghosts, given that your father commands us.”
“You know my dad,” I reply, running my fingers through my hair. The sun beats down on the two-piece bathing suit I picked out thinking I’d be alone today. It’s far more revealing than I’d thought when I bought it online a few weeks ago on a whim, but if Logan’s looking at me right now, I can’t tell behind his sunglasses. “There’s actually this unspoken rule my parents have. Dad doesn’t talk about what he does for work in front of us kids.”
“I don’t blame them for enacting that,” he says softly.
I turn my head to look at him. “So, what’s it like?”
He shrugs, turning his head to look at me, too. I could reach out and touch him without issue from this impossibly narrow distance. I wouldn’t even need to strain my arm to run my fingers over the scar on his right cheekbone, or the kink in his nose from what must have been a gnarly break at some point in time. It only adds to how interesting his face is, honestly.
He rests his hands behind his head, lifting a knee to stretch out completely, every fine muscle on display. I refuse to look down past his belly button, though. I won’t. I can’t.
“It’s… policing, mostly. We step in when all other efforts to quell whatever strife is happening have been exhausted.”
“But you’re a spy, too, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been in the field undercover, yeah,” he admits, still looking at me. “I like that part of it, actually. I’d be happy doing just that, but King Ryatt and your father saw something in me, leadership skills or whatever and gave me a promotion a year ago. I left the Tarsian Navy for them. Now I send my own warriors undercover if needed. I sit behind a desk most days and strategize. Investigate. Boss people around.”
“You must love the latter.”
His bright white smile sinks into my bones, igniting heat that radiates like wildfire. Or maybe that’s the unforgiving sunlight.
“I don’t mind it.”
“Are you going to miss it when you leave?” I ask in all seriousness.
That wry, cocky smile fades immediately.
I sit up a bit as a single cloud darts across the sky, casting a welcome shadow over the upper deck. I push my sunglasses to the top of my head and look at him. “You will miss it, I think, because you’re really enjoying bossing me around, aren’t you?”
He takes off his sunglasses as well, the corner of his mouth lifting into a half-grin. “I honestly am. It’s almost too easy to rile you up, Brie. You need to work on that.”
I try to frown but the way he’s looking at me right now has my insides in a tangle. “You’re annoying,” I tell him.
“I’m going to take that as a compliment, Princess.” He smirks, putting his sunglasses back on, and leans back with his face toward the sun.
I’m not surprised when an hour later, my skin prickling with the beginnings of a deep tan or sunburn, whichever comes first, Logan follows me through the yacht to my suite.
We’ve been making casual conversation just to pass the time, and I think after our conversation yesterday in my room, the so-called ice has been broken between us. I don’t necessarily mind his company. I don’t like to admit that the way he looks at me… especially when I’m wearing nothing more than a rather skimpy bikini and swim cover that rides low on my waist, hitting me mid-thigh… is tantalizing. Yeah. No one has ever looked at me like that before, and the idea that I can get under his skin in some way… it’s… fun.
I like arguing with him, which sounds insane. I like his sharp comebacks and inability to see me as a princess, someone with higher rank than him. Nothing is formal when it comes to Logan.
It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
But so is finding a man I don’t recognize in my room.
Logan’s hand flies out, dragging me back into the hallway with his arm wrapped around my bare waist. He shoves me behind him just as the man turns to us, a toolbox in his hand.
He’s… an odd looking man. He’s older, maybe Logan’s age plus a few hard years, but his hair is a gray-brown and thin, flying out in little wisps around his narrow face.
Dark eyes scan Logan as he goes totally, completely rigid in front of me. His arm is still twisted back, gripping my waist hard enough to leave imprints.
“What are you doing here?” Logan snarls at the man. It’s a deckhand, I realize. I’ve seen him around at least twice doing maintenance on the upper and lower deck during my daily walks around the boat.
The man licks his lips, craning his neck to get a look at me. I feel myself pressing closer to Logan to get out of his line of sight, my breasts brushing up against his mid back.
“Just checkin’ the window seams,” the man says in cracking, gravelly voice. “Big storm comin’, I’m sure you heard.”
“The windows are fine. Get out.” Logan is so serious right now. Each syllable drips with malice. I’ve never heard him use this tone before.
“Logan, it’s fine. He was just–”
The man starts to walk toward us, and Logan takes a step back, guiding me with him to give the man room to exit.
“How did you get a key to this room?” Logan asks sternly, his eyes nearly black with what I only describe as fury.
“We’ve all got a master key.” The deckhand shrugs, but his beady little eyes move to my face, and the crooked, uneasy smile he gives me sends a lick of unease shooting up my spine. “Better tuck in soon. It’s going to get rocky once the sun goes down.”
The man hikes his toolkit up to his hip and saunters off, whistling. Logan doesn’t move, he doesn’t let go of me, either. He watches the man until he cuts around a corner and disappears.
“Logan, you didn’t have to use that tone with him. He’s just doing his job–” I yelp in surprise when Logan snatches me out of the hallway and practically picks me up, depositing me in my suite. He shuts the door behind him, locking it. The gentle click ripples through the ringing in my ears. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Go over there,” he says, pointing to the corner of the room farthest from the door.
“Why?”
“Now.”
I bristle at his tone, throwing him a glare as I grumble and pad to the corner, turning to face him with my arms crossed as he starts to move around the room, checking the windows, the corners, tipping over the couches and chairs.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, scoffing as he throws open the closet door.
He moves on to the cabinets arranged around the bed, and that’s when my heart begins to slow and sink.
I take a single step forward when I notice the clothes I’d finally unpacked and folded neatly in the cabinet are all in disarray. A jewelry box sits in an open position, my favorite stacking rings and dainty necklaces shining in the sunlight.
“I didn’t–I didn’t leave it like that,” I stammer, meeting Logan’s eyes as he looks over his shoulder at me.
“I figured,” he grunts, taking the jewelry box out and setting it on the bed. “Make sure everything’s accounted for.”
“Do you think he was stealing?”
“I don’t know. I know he doesn’t have a master key, though.” He closes the cabinet and moves to the others, finding them just as unorganized.
I look around in shock, unsure what to say, or feel.
It makes me feel even worse when I realize none of my jewelry has been taken. “What did he want, if not this?” I hold up the necklaces.
Logan stares at me for a long, long time, saying nothing. His expression is intense and dark as he scans my face. “Stay here.”
“But–no,” I rush out, shaking my head. “Stay with me, okay? I’m giving–I’m giving you an invitation this time–”
“Brie,” he says slowly, darkly, “Do not leave this room. Do not open the door for anyone other than me, do you understand?”
“What are you going to do?” I ask, my voice trembling.
“Do you understand?” he repeats, looking and sounding every ounce the warrior he is.
“I do,” I whisper, swallowing hard. “I’ll stay.”