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  “Threaten away.” He pressed his lips to my head. “I love you.”

  The crowd surged to the front of the boat, something spotted, but I didn’t move, lifting my chin up to him for a kiss. He lowered his mouth to mine, and in the background, I heard the cry of a whale’s song.

  * * *

  The restaurant took up the north end of the boat, our view all stars and blue ocean. Dario swirled the bubbly liquid around in the flute, then set it down, meeting my eyes. “Do you know when I first knew?”

  “Knew what?” I licked the last bit of chocolate off the fork, then set it down.

  “That I was in love with you.”

  I leaned forward, my forearms digging into the tablecloth. “When?”

  “Outside your work. Right after you interrupted my conference call by wrapping your hand around my cock.”

  “Oh god.” I rolled my eyes. “Really? That’s when you fell for me?”

  “Not then.” He lifted his glass and took a sip. “It was when you walked away from me. You told me that you didn’t need me and you walked away, without looking back.” He set down the glass and leaned forward. “And it fucking broke me. I was left in that car, my dick half hard, my life—which had seemed pretty fucking great three weeks earlier—a pile of bullshit, and I wanted you back. And I knew, right then, that you were different. I knew that if I continued chasing you, continued hunting down a relationship with you … that it wouldn’t be one that I could recover from. I had to decide, right then, if you were going to be just another fling or if you were going to be my future.”

  I propped my chin in one hand and thought back on that night, on how conflicted I’d felt when I’d walked away from him. I remember the rest of that night, how I had been so torn over what to do. I remember thinking that we had something special, but that we were also once-in-a-lifetime levels of fucked up. Now, we felt anything but fucked-up.

  I grabbed his hand. “I’m glad you didn’t give up on me. I’m glad we didn’t turn into just a fling.”

  It still felt almost wrong to say that. With all that had happened, I still struggled to feel as if we deserved a happy ending. It was something I discussed with my psychiatrist, something both of us were working to forget. But this trip, this moment … we were moving in the right direction. He kissed my hand and smiled at me.

  “There was never a chance of that. Not with us.”

  I lifted my glass in a toast. “To flings becoming more.”

  He smirked. “To flings becoming love.”

  Our flutes gently clinked together.

  Beside us, a glacier slowly came into view, the white mountain dwarfing the boat. I nodded to it. “It makes me feel so small.”

  “Yeah.” He watched it go by, and a moment of silence fell.

  I toyed with my napkin, folding it in half before looking up. “I think you should go back to work.”

  He tilted his head at me as if confused. “I am—”

  “No.” I shook my head. “You’re not. You’re working a little but you’re not running everything.” I met his eyes. “And I think it’s driving you crazy.”

  He sighed. “I told you I’d work less. Delegate more. The new CEO is doing fine. He—”

  “He’s not you.” I’d seen the dark shadow that passed over Dario when he read the CEO’s weekly report. It would put him in a funk the entire afternoon. I’d listened in as he’d go behind the man’s back, get updates from middle managers, and quietly put out fires he couldn’t help but get involved in. I’d felt the restlessness in him in the evenings, his workout regime become almost fanatical in its energy-burning attempts.

  “I told you I would protect you. Support you. Actually be in a relationship with you.” He lifted one shoulder. “How much of a relationship can we be in if I work all the time?”

  “You worked all the time when we met. You worked all the time and had Gwen.” I hated to say her name, hated to bring her up, but we couldn’t pretend like she never existed. Not when her foundation was rebuilding schools in Vegas, her name popping up on libraries, her grants helping small businesses everywhere. She deserved to have a place in our history and our presence. Still, his face tightened at her name, his pain still present at her absence.

  I reached across the table and picked up his hand. “I don’t need you constantly. I just need stolen moments. I need to have you next to me at some point in the night. I need you to be happy and I don’t want to be the only thing in your life that makes you that way.”

  His fingers tightened on mine. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  I smiled. “You’ll never lose me. Plus, starting next week, I’m going to be busy with school.”

  “Oh, God.” He groaned. “Just promise, once you learn all the secrets of the human brain, you won’t psychoanalyze me.”

  I made a face. “Are you kidding? You’re going to be my pin cushion. Everything up there?” I reached up and drummed my fingertips on his forehead. “It’s gold.”

  I had decided, after thrice-weekly sessions with the most expensive shrink Dario could find, that I want to be a psychiatrist. One like Dr. Anders. The woman was incredible, and if I’d had her as a teenage girl, after my rape? I may have become an entirely different woman. Not that I wasn’t happy with the way my life had turned out. But she was a master at helping me see the big picture, at understanding my feelings and motivations, and at healing the pain that I still carried from that night.

  Together, we’d been working through my guilt over Gwen, and I’d felt so much better after our first few weeks, I’d practically tied Dario to her chair and forced him to speak to her.

  He was less enthusiastic than me at the concept of therapy. But he kept seeing her. And over the last two months, I’d seen the impact of her sessions in his own gradual peace.

  I wanted to be her. I wanted to help people. Heal people. I wanted to work with abused and raped teenagers, trauma victims, and families of alcoholics. I wanted to make a difference, and the idea and possibility of that filled me with such purpose, such happiness, that I had all but somersaulted into my advisor’s office with the paperwork to change my major.

  He shifted, his gaze on the glacier, and I didn’t need six years of med school to know that he was itching to take my directive and go back to work.

  “Just do it.” I nudged him with my foot. “When we get back, demote or fire that CEO, and take the reins back. It’s what you were born to do.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I was born to love you.”

  My heart skipped at the look in his eyes, the sincere way he delivered the words. They were a promise.

  “But…” he gave me a playful grin. “I think you’re right. I’m going fucking mad with not knowing everything. With feeling as if I don’t have control of the businesses.” He studied me for a long moment. “You know, in a heartbeat, I could leave it. If you become unhappy, if I seem detached—”

  “STOP.” I grinned. “Stop.” I leaned across the table and gently stole a kiss. “I brought it up because I meant it. Now stop hemming and hawing and just tell me you’ll do it.”

  He chuckled and lifted his champagne glass in a second toast. “To doing what, and who, we were born to do.” He winked at me, and I met his toast with a laugh.

  “Cheers to that.”

  I was taking my sip when he stood, holding out a hand and nodding to the open deck of the ship, where a band played under the stars.

  “I haven’t danced since I was a teenager, drunk and idiotic at a fais-do-do. But if you aren’t too embarrassed, I’d love to have this dance.”

  I stood, taking his hand and letting him pull me onto the floor, a Frank Sinatra song floating softly from the bandstand. “What’s a fais-do-do?”

  He spun me, then pulled me close, his hand settling on my waist with the practiced ease of a bullshitter.

  “It’s a Cajun dance party. Very sophisticated affair. Lots of liquor and shouting at each other. I’ll take you back to Louisiana and let you get
me drunk, you can see it all in action.”

  I smiled, loving the idea of the chance to see Laurent and Septime. “I’d like that. You can show me all of your old stomping grounds.”

  “I could take you frogging,” he suggested, and I grimaced. He laughed, and spun me around before bringing me back in. “Okay,” he amended. “No frogging. But I do need to roughen you up a little. You can’t date a man from Louisiana and be afraid to get a little dirty.”

  I snorted. “I think we’ve established that I can be very dirty.”

  His smile widened and he pulled me in closer, cradling my face and lowering his mouth to mine for a kiss. And there, under the Alaskan sky, with a glacier the size of a skyscraper floating beside us, I fell a little deeper in love.

  * * *

  Want to read into another Alessandra Torre novel? Keep flipping the pages to see a few recommendations.

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  Looking for another book to read?

  My books vary in genre, so no matter what you are in the mood for, there is sure to be something that fits your need. Please see below for a list of some of my popular novels, organized by genre. Everything listed is a standalone, unless otherwise notated. Happy reading!

  Romantic Suspense:

  Moonshot, the New York Times Bestseller. Baseball’s hottest player has his eye on only one thing—his team’s 18-year-old ballgirl. Their forbidden relationship turns deadly when young women start dying.

  The Girl in 6E. (First in a standalone series) A sexy internet superstar hides a dark secret: she’s a reclusive psychopath.

  Non-Romantic Psychological Suspense:

  The Ghostwriter. Famous novelist Helena Roth is hiding a dark secret – her perfect life is a perfect lie. Now, as death approaches, she must confess her secrets before it’s too late. An emotional and suspense-charged novel.

  Sexy Romance:

  Hidden Seams. A billion-dollar fashion empire is surrounded by secrets, sex and lies.

  Hollywood Dirt. (Now a Full-length Movie!) When Hollywood comes to a small town, sparks fly between its biggest star and a small-town outcast.

  Blindfolded Innocence. (First in a series) A college student catches the eye of Brad DeLuca, a divorce attorney with a sexy reputation that screams trouble.

  Black Lies, the New York Times Bestseller. A love triangle with a twist that readers couldn’t stop talking about. You’ll hate this heroine until the moment you love her.

  Love, Chloe. (First created for Cosmpolitan.com) A fallen socialite works for an heiress, dodges an ex, and juggles single life in the city that never sleeps.

  About the Author

  Alessandra Torre is an award-winning New York Times bestselling author of seventeen novels. Torre has been featured in such publications as Elle and Elle UK, as well as guest blogged for the Huffington Post and RT Book Reviews. She is also the Bedroom Blogger for Cosmopolitan.com. In addition to writing, Alessandra is the creator of Alessandra Torre Ink, a website, community, and online school for aspiring authors.

  Learn more about Alessandra at alessandratorre.com or join 40,000 readers and sign up for her popular monthly newsletter at nextnovel.com.