Scandal on the Sand (The Billionaires of Barefoot Bay #3)(16)
Author: Roxanne St. Claire

“Which everyone feels when they see that yacht.” She turned back to the thirty-foot cabin cruiser. “And this is what? Your ferry boat?”

“Precisely. There’s a utility garage on the lower deck of the yacht to house this.”

His utility boat was nicer than some vessels the millionaires in Naples had. “Well, I didn’t bring a bag,” she finally said, still trying to get her head around the fact that she was going to the Keys on that yacht.

“No worries. We have everything you need on board. My sister, Beth, travels with me a lot, so her stateroom is full of anything a woman needs, and you’re about the same size. If not, we can have some clothes delivered. There are personal shoppers in Key West.”

Of course there were. She gave a smile and let it slide into a soft laugh. “Your life,” she said, shaking her head, “is not like anything I’ve ever imagined.”

“Then relax and enjoy it,” he said, guiding her toward the boat. “Let’s try to think of this as an adventure rather than a mission.”

By the time they pulled out of the harbor, Liza started to relax. The breeze picked up, just chilly enough to make her glad she wore a sweater, and the briny smells of the sea made her enjoy a deep inhale and the rumble of high-octane inboard motors behind her.

An adventure rather than a mission.

Could she get that mind-set for this excursion? She peeked out from under her lashes to watch Nate steer them toward his yacht, enjoying the view of him as much as the glorious day on the water. It certainly was…adventurous.

How did a person actually live like this?

Every minute made her more convinced that she couldn’t let Dylan be sucked into this life. There was nothing normal about it. Everything about Nate was too big, too much, too rich, too wild.

Nate angled the wheel and brought the boat around to aim right at the massive white vessel. Four stories and well over a hundred feet long, gleaming white with glossy black windows, N’Vidrio was nothing short of breathtaking.

“Wow.”

He turned from the helm as they motored up to the back end of the yacht and two men in matching navy shirts came out to greet them. “It does have a wow factor,” he conceded. “But most of the time, it’s just home for me.”

She stood and joined him, shouldering her handbag and bracing her legs for the docking. “Do you really live here?”

“When I am traveling near water, yeah. But the harbor in Mimosa Key is too small, so I keep it out here. I’m opening an office in the resort, as you know, so I’ll split my time between here and there.”

Because living at a resort was more normal than on a megayacht. One of the crewmen helped her on board, and Nate joined her, giving her a guided tour through the first deck, then the second, and by the time they reached the main living level, she’d seen so much leather and brass and marble and crystal, her head was spinning.

He took her to the bridge and introduced her to Captain Vicary, whose warmth and experience immediately put Liza at ease. After that, they moved to a private outdoor lounge with a Jacuzzi, a dining table, and a bar—staffed, of course, by another navy-shirted crew member.

“I ordered some lunch,” he said as they settled across from each other on white leather lounge chairs. “Would you like a drink?”

When in Rome, right? “I’ll have what you’re having.”

He stepped away and spoke to the bartender, leaving Liza alone for a moment. She soaked up the view, caressed the butter-soft lounge chair, and then opened her bag to see if she had any texts from Mom.

She did, a picture of Dylan and his new car.

When Nate came back with two Bloody Marys, she turned the phone for him to see. “Thank you, by the way. He was in heaven.”

“C-A-R?” he asked, smiling at the picture.

“Spelled so many times, I couldn’t wait to get in the L-I-M-O.”

He handed her the drink and sat across from her, holding his for a toast. “Here’s to Dylan, then. He’s a great kid.”

She didn’t drink right away, gauging exactly what the wistfulness in his voice could mean. “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?”

He sipped, lifting a brow. “About him being mine and what that means? Of course. That’s why we’re here, right? To find out the truth about…her.”

“You can’t even say her name.”’

“I don’t know what it was, evidently,” he shot back. “She wasn’t really my type.”

She let out a soft grunt. “But that didn’t stop you from—”

He held up his hand, palm out, silencing her. “I don’t think my bad choices are a big surprise to anyone, including you. For what it’s worth, I’m trying—and succeeding—to change my wicked ways.”

“No more casual limo hookups?” she asked. “Why?”

He picked up the glass and studied the red liquid, toying with the leaves of the crisp celery stick garnish. “Those days are over.” He slipped into a rueful smile. “They have to be.”

She sat a little straighter, not sure what he was saying. Was it because of Dylan? “Why?”

“Because of…” He shook his head. “Look, Liza, I’ve had a good time. A professional partier. A wild lifestyle. But I’ve made a promise to settle down, and I plan on keeping it.”

“A promise to who?”

“The Colonel.” He shrugged, as if she might not know who that was. “Also known as ‘Grandfather,’ but he really hates to be called that. Thinks it sounds too soft.”

She knew the famous patriarch of the Ivory clan, married to “Mimsy,” as they called his eighty-year-old wife, both as famous as the king and queen of a country. “So you promised your grandparents, not your parents?” she asked.

“My parents?” He let out a dry laugh, then took a deep drink. “My mother lives in Belgium, a virtual recluse. My father is on his…fourth wife? I lost track and can’t stand any of them. But suffice it to say he’s in no position to pass judgment on how I live my personal life. No, the only opinion that matters in our family is that of one old ex-Marine who has some very impressive purse strings.”

She couldn’t help curling her lip. “That’s kind of sad, don’t you think?”

“What’s sad is the Colonel thinking I’m a waste of the Ivory name.” A wholly different kind of wistfulness colored his tone, surprising her.