Warming My Billionaire Boss's Bed

Chapter Five

Mia's POV

Damien suggested the yacht to clear our heads and scout locations for Faces of Elysium photos. I agreed, mostly because saying no felt impossible now. We drove to the marina in silence, the memory of his hands on me still fresh on my skin.

His yacht was sleek and powerful, all dark wood and gleaming chrome. Damien moved easily on deck, adjusting sails with the calm confidence of a man who sailed alone to escape boardrooms. "You handle the lines if I tell you," he said simply. "Watch and learn."

I nodded, camera bag secure. The wind filled the sails as we pulled away from the dock. Ocean spray cooled my face. For the first time in days, the pain of Richard and Sophia's betrayal lifted a little. I snapped photos, Damien at the helm, wind tugging his shirt, strong hands on the wheel. He caught me looking and smirked. "Documenting the enemy, Mia?"

"Old habits," I replied, lowering the Leica. "You look less like a controlling billionaire out here."

He taught me basic navigation, standing close behind me as I gripped the tiller. His chest brushed my back. "Steady. Feel the wind." His voice was low, breath warm on my neck. Tension crackled between us. The morning sky was blue, the air fresh.

We anchored in a quiet cove after an hour. The rivalry boat from Victor's circle had shadowed us earlier but finally veered off. Adrenaline from the near-miss still hummed in my veins.

Damien pulled me below deck to the master cabin, door clicking shut behind us.

"You've been driving me crazy since the rain," he said, backing me against the polished wood wall. No more dry jokes. His eyes were dark, hungry.

I grabbed his shirt, pulling him down. "Then stop talking, Blackwood."

Our mouths crashed together-fierce, years of barbed words finally collapsing into something neither of us could name. He tasted like salt and coffee.

After that, the world outside ceased to matter. The boat rocked gently beneath us. The cove stayed quiet. And for a little while, so did everything else. He walked me backward until the backs of my knees found the edge of the bed and then we were both sitting. Our lips tangled still. The kiss deepened. We weren't sitting anymore.

"Mia." My name in his mouth like that-low, unhurried, like a question he already knew the answer to.

"Don't stop," I said.

He didn't.

His hands learned their way with a patience that undid me completely-the curve of my shoulder, the line of my collarbone, the small of my back when he drew me against him and I felt the full warmth of him and stopped pretending I hadn't wanted this since the rain. Since before the rain. Since the first time he looked at me like I was a problem he couldn't solve and kept looking anyway.

I pulled his shirt over his head. He was still for a moment and let me look-broad shoulders, a body that spoke of early morning exercise and discipline, a scar along his left ribs I hadn't known about and found myself pressing my fingers to without thinking.

He laid me back against the dark linen of the master bed and looked down at me in the cabin light with that unguarded expression I had only seen twice before -once in the rain outside the gallery, once just now when I pulled him down to me. Like all the boardroom armour had been left topside with the sails.

He kissed my throat. My collarbone. The curve of my shoulder. Unhurried, like he had decided there was nowhere else to be and was committed to the decision. I exhaled his name.

What followed was nothing like the war we had been fighting for two years. It was its opposite -something careful and consuming, the specific heat of two people who have been circling something and have finally, completely stopped circling. The boat rocked gently on the water. The cove held its quiet around us. Light moved across the cabin ceiling in long, slow patterns.

Then voices drifted from the deck above. Sharp. Familiar.

"Damien? We know you're here." Richard's voice, cold with fury.

Sophia's followed, laced with triumph. "The tender boat is tied up. They're below. Caught red-handed, I bet."

My blood ran cold. We scrambled apart, reaching for clothes with clumsy, panicked hands. But it was too late. Footsteps descended the stairs. The cabin door swung open.

Richard stood there, face twisted in rage. Sophia beside him, phone already raised, smirk wide. "Well, well. Father's best friend and the family w***e. How touching."