Page 24 of The Cruiser
“That wasn’t meant to be a personal question.”
“I’m not married,” he says, “if that’s what you’re wondering.”
The flush on my cheeks deepens. “What’s the name of your yacht?”
A smile curls up one side of his mouth. “Liberté. Freedom,” he translates. “We can take her for a spin on Wednesday, if your husband won’t mind you being on another man’s boat.”
Very sneaky. Or clever, depending on how you look at it. It’s also an odd comment, given that I’m not wearing my wedding ring. Whatever the case, I’m not steering back into that conversational dead end. No way I’m letting Derek, in absentia, black cloud my trip. It’s hard enough not thinking about us; how we were supposed to be here together. “I’d like that,” I say. “Seems fitting to have my inaugural yacht voyage in Monaco.”
The traffic light turns green and he wastes no time roaring fast and hard into fourth. We whiz past grand apartment towers and cute storefronts, well-dressed citizens out for the day. Through every crack between buildings, blue snippets of the Mediterranean peek through. It’s addictive, those slivers of ocean and…
Oh my.
My gaze travels back from the view outside his window and makes a quick pit stop. Morgan’s dress pants are so fitted, they qualify as body-con. Between his legs, the fabric stretches tight over a sizeable mound.
Wish I could whip out my phone and take a photo.
TQ’s just gonna have to take my word for it.
Monaco is one of those places with no shortage of beautiful sights.
