“You know what I mean, English,” he chided.

Kara’s grip tightened around her coffee mug. She knew what he meant.

“You really want to know?” she asked, not sure that she really wanted to tell him.

He nodded, his perceptive eyes searching.

“I was with the same guy for five years. He asked me to marry him and then forgot to turn up.”

“No fucking way,” Dylan said. He was genuinely astonished. Kara, jilted? He couldn’t imagine anyone daring.

“Yes fucking way. Turned out he forgot quite a lot of things. Like to tell me about his other women, or the fact that one of them had threatened to gatecrash the wedding if he went through with it.”

“He sounds like a piece of work.”

Kara shook her head. “You don’t know the half of it. He lied, and he lied, and he lied. I hate liars.” She didn’t look up to see Dylan’s expression. Now that she’d started to talk the words were tumbling out, unchecked. “And the best of it is that you’d think I’d have been able to spot a liar, because my dad was the king of them all.”

An unexpected lump rose in her throat. Why the fuck was she telling him all of this? But his hand was still warm and comforting on her leg. She wanted to get it out now. She wanted him to know all about her. To understand.

“He lied about pretty much everything, to all of us. To me, to my brothers, and to my mum. I haven’t seen him since I was twelve years old.”

Dylan sighed, and Kara looked up with a small smile. “So there you have it. I’m single because I’m the idiot who was stood up at the altar.”

“You were definitely not the idiot in that story,” Dylan said, drawing her against him and kissing her hair.

“It doesn’t bother me any more. It did, but now it doesn’t. It seems that you’ve cured me.”

Dylan’s mouth moved over her face, kissing her damp lashes.

“Promise me you’ll never lie to me?” she said when he finally reached her lips.

“Kara…” he murmured, and then he kissed her until she had forgotten she’d even asked a question, let alone noticed that he hadn’t answered.

The boat rocked in gentle motion to the slow beat of the music as Dylan’s tongue slid between Kara’s lips, exploring the sweetness of her mouth, trying to forget the things she’d said. Her father was a liar. Her ex was a liar. He was a liar.

Her fingers picked open the buttons of his shirt and smoothed it from his shoulders.

“You know, it’s a crime to have that thing in here and not dance,” she whispered, standing up, still holding his hand. He flicked his eyes to where she was looking, at the outlandish glitter ball slowly rotating above the lounge, and then shrugged with a half smile and stood up.

They smooched slowly, two late night lovers moving to lovers’ music on a dance floor made just for them, arms wrapped around each other, their mouths grazing each other’s shoulders. Dylan unpicked the laces of Kara’s corset, making his fingers work patiently but so badly wanting her skin against his, her heat to warm him, her body to hold him.

Her dress slid off in his hands, leaving her beautiful in lacy lingerie and stockings. She was tired in his arms, pliant, yet still her nipples beaded against the lace and her hips undulated into his when he held her close. Her skin was silk against his, warm and vital, and the need to stay there in her arms blindsided him.

“The most perfect girl in the world,” he said, his mouth against her ear, only half aware that the words had come out loud.

She pulled him closer until they pressed against each other from shoulder to hip, and a sigh of pleasure left her lips when he stroked her back. Dylan buried his face in her hair, loving her some, despising himself more. He understood her so much better after what she’d told him tonight, and he hated the knowledge that he was the next liar in her life.

Over at the villa, Lucien finally got to unfasten the laces on the back of a similar dress and make love to the woman he adored. He needed Sophie as he needed oxygen. She was the reason he could sleep at night and the reason he got up in the morning. He buried his cock deep inside her in the centre of their big bed, and he knew with complete certainty that he wanted to screw only this woman for the rest of his life. Married. He felt the passion in the idea growing, captivating him.

My Sophie. Soon to be my wife.

Dylan woke to the sounds of Kara moving around overhead. His watch told him that he’d slept in late: he could hear the whistle of the kettle and the sound of Kara singing along to the radio. Stumbling as he pulled on his jeans, he made his way up the ladder.

“Morning sleepyhead,” she smiled, a vision in his shirt as she poured water into the coffee cups. “I made breakfast.”

She held up a brown paper bag and he caught a waft of cinnamon. An image of her going to the bakery dressed in his shirt filled his head, pleasingly.

“You really should think about bringing a few things down here. Clothes… that kind of stuff…” he trailed off, aware of the significance of the suggestion.

She laughed, making the most of the moment.

“You asking me to move in with you, Sailor?”

He rolled his eyes, carrying their coffee up onto the roof terrace as Kara followed him with the pastries. They sat at the small rickety table, the sun already hot on their exposed skin. Kara dropped her sunglasses down over her eyes, messy-haired and looking deliciously like a woman who’d spent the night not sleeping a whole lot in a lover’s bed. Which she had, of course. His bed. An unexpected wave of possessiveness swept over him from nowhere. He wanted to be the only man who got to spend the night with her.

She opened the bag and handed him a pastry.

“You’re a fabulous cook,” he said, biting into it.

“You did say cook?” she said, raising her eyebrows suggestively as she smoothed the bag out over her knees to serve as a plate. The double whammy of sugar and strong coffee seeped into their bloodstreams and worked its magic, revving them up for the new long day and night that lay ahead.

“I’ll bring some clothes by later,” she said, and, as simple as that, they agreed to spend the next couple of months together on the Love Tug.

“And about what I said last night…” she said conversationally, ripping the warm pastry apart with her fingers. “ I meant every word of it, Dylan Day. Lie to me and I’ll cut your cock off and pickle it.”

Chapter Twenty

The club went from strength to strength over the following few weeks, as did Dylan and Kara’s love-in on the Love Tug. Every day she fell a little deeper for the laidback American’s charm, and he fell a little harder for her English sense of humour and disarming honesty. They worked hard, and they played hard, from sunny afternoons around the pool with Lucien, Sophie and Tilly to long steamy interludes that made the Love Tug rock despite the serene seas.