Ed looked at Jazz, his smile fading, then back at Michael. “What kind of clothes?”

“She’ll make a list. With sizes and designers.”

“You knock again, hand the list to Jazz.”

“When?”

“Tonight. And don’t get any ideas about doing something while we’re docked. I’ve already decided that whenever this boat stops, you’re going to be inconvenienced. Or, if you don’t stay where I put you, dead.”

“Got it.”

“Do the list.”

Michael turned, then stopped. “I’m going to ask for a couple of things for myself.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I don’t want to make her regret her feelings about me. So I need to look nice. Smell nice.”

“Fine.”

“We’d both appreciate some more to eat. And to drink.”

Ed sighed. “Want a fucking massage while we’re at it?”

Michael turned. “You need her. You need me. We’re not asking for anything outrageous.”

“Get the hell out of here,” Ed said, his cheeks red, his eyebrows lowered.

Jazz shoved him in the back with the barrel of his gun, then made him stand at the doorway to the cabin while he undid the ropes. A second shove, and the door clicked shut.

Michael rubbed his wrists as he moved toward Tate, who was standing at the porthole, staring out at the dark night.

“Can you see anything?”

“No, not really. But it beats staring at the wallpaper,” she said, “or the vanity or the dresser or the bathroom.”

He touched the small of her back. “I need you to make a list of clothes and whatever. Don’t skimp and be very specific. If you want a certain brand, ask for it. Clothes you’d wear on holiday, knowing you’d be going to your bank.”

She leaned back into his hand. “Makeup and hair, too?”

“I’m pretty sure we’re going to dock in Miami or the Keys, so the shopping won’t be an issue. Say what you need. He doesn’t care if he spends twenty grand of the ransom if it means he gets the big prize.”

She didn’t say anything, but when she turned, she kissed him. Not too long, not too deep. A hint of things to come.

FORTY MINUTES AFTER Jazz came for her very complete and somewhat embarrassing list, there was another knock. Michael sent her to the far side of the room before he opened the door. It was Jazz again, with a tray. Michael took it; Jazz locked up behind him.

Michael put the tray on the bed, and when she registered what Jazz had brought, she looked at Michael with new respect. “Lobster tails and wine?”

“It helps to be the squeaky wheel,” he said.

“A tip to file for future use.”

“Want to talk or eat?”

She smiled as they crawled up on the bed together. It was odd to eat here, to sit next to Michael, to be a prisoner with such good wine. Everything felt off, but not in the way she’d expected.

Her fear remained, pulsing in her bloodstream, but somehow she still could function. Was this what Dr. Bay had wanted for her? Not the real kidnapping but this functional panic, this total awareness that she could die any moment, which made every nondeath moment something extraordinary?

“Hey,” he said.

She realized she’d been looking his way-staring, really-but not seeing him. Quickly she averted her gaze. “Sorry.”

“No need. I was just wondering what was going on in there.”

“Random thoughts. I really like this wine.”

“Those weren’t food-review thoughts,” he said, then shook his head. “It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me. None of my business.”

“It’s okay. I was thinking about my ability to talk. To eat, to smile, to sleep. I’d never have guessed.”

“We’re pretty adaptable creatures.”

“Maybe it wasn’t such a horrible idea to be kidnapped. Well, not by these louts but by someone safe.”

His expression darkened. “No, it wasn’t a good idea. None of this was. There was no way you should have been exposed to the possibility of danger.”

“No? The only way to avoid it was to trade my life for safety. You think it was worth it?”

He looked at the dresser. “There had to be another way.”

“Michael…” She put her glass down on the tray. “I wanted to ask you out-well, in-for five and a half months. I’m not talking about wanting to seduce you, I’m talking about dinner. A drink. I was frozen. My fear had leached into every single area of my life. From work to friends to dating. I was as much a prisoner in my apartment and that damn limo as I am here.”

His gaze had come back to her face, to her eyes. She was glad there were no sunglasses. Just his vivid, open stare. Finally, after a long while, he blinked. Frowned. “You didn’t want to seduce me?”

She laughed as she felt her face heat with a blush. He didn’t shift his gaze, not even a bit, and every instinct told her to look away. But she was through being scared. At least of Michael.

HER FACE CAME ALIVE with her blush. It made her look young, innocent. She was, in fact, both of those things, but in her day-to-day life where she was the administrator of millions of dollars, where she was William Baxter’s only daughter-where she was terrified from morning till night-she looked and acted much older, and her innocence hid behind a mask of tension.

She kept wanting to look away, but every time her gaze skittered, she forced herself to stay with him. The moments ticked on, marked by the sounds of their breaths, the motion of the boat. He waited as patiently as possible for Tate to relax, and finally she did.

It was eventually okay to do what he’d wanted to for a long time. He leaned in, slowly so she’d have time to adjust or, if she chose, to stop him. Her eyes stayed open until her breath, fruity with wine, brushed his mouth.

Only then did he close his own eyes as he touched his lips to hers. Again he had to wait, to let her adjust, which wasn’t easy. His body urged him to take her, to toss the trays on the floor and do every kind of wicked thing to her. But his body wasn’t in control. Not this time.

Tate needed a patient, gentle hand. Not something he was accustomed to offering, but he’d do his best. He didn’t want to spook her. That would be a crying shame for both of them.

It felt odd, this closed-mouth kiss, as if he was standing just outside the candy store. When he couldn’t stand it another second, he parted his lips just a bit, then slipped his tongue out for a taste of her.

Mistake.

The rest of him really, really wanted to play. First thing, though-the trays.

As if diving into an icy stream, he pulled away quickly before he could change his mind. Her soft, disappointed moan made his dick, which was already paying attention, strain for more.

He put his tray to the side of the bed, then he practically sprinted out himself. Both trays ended up on the dresser, but then he was faced with another dilemma. Undress? Stay clothed? Undress her?

She was watching him, her blush back, and damn if she didn’t lick her lips. Maybe if he took off his shirt. Her gaze shifted up, to the lights above them.

He shook his head at his own stupidity. Of course she’d want the lights out. It was Tate. The moment the room darkened he heard her sigh. A good sign. The sound of clothes shifting, a better one.

IT MADE ED NAUSEOUS to even look at Charlie. He gave Jazz a questioning glance, but Jazz, he was on the phone, making arrangements. Jazz was itching for a promotion, and Ed was running out of excuses to let him go. Jazz and him, they’d been together a long time. The boy was nuts, but he could control himself for Ed.

Jazz had recommended Ricky from his Brooklyn off-track parlor to take his place, but Ricky smelled like pickles all the damn time.

His gaze went back to Charlie. What a fucking loser. He had a shower that worked in his cabin, there were clothes that were clean in that room. So why was he still stinking up the saloon? His hair was stringy and he had gunk on the side of his mouth. It was enough to make a man lose his lunch.