“Merci, Daniel,” I say as he takes the basket down to the cabin. He comes back up and silently exits the boat, disappearing as efficiently as he appeared. As he steps back on to the dock, he releases the rope without my having to ask.
“Shall we?” I ask before heading to the helm to start the engine.
Sloane smiles and lifts her glass. “Bon voyage.”
I grin and start the ignition.
Chapter Six Sloane
I’m in the passenger seat next to Magnus, sipping my wine as he slowly guides the boat through the marina. We pass the Mako, and I can’t help but turn to look at it looming above us. Up close, it’s even more impressive—and intimidating.
Once we’re past the massive cruise ship and on the open waters of the Mediterranean, he accelerates. I grip the glass in my hand as we bump across the waves, water spraying up behind us.
It’s a beautiful summer day, and there are plenty of boats on the water. Magnus expertly guides us around most of them.
“Believe it or not, that’s a prison,” he shouts, pointing to a large structure sitting on a cliffside overlooking the water, “the Maison d’Arrêt.”
As we speed past it, I can’t help but think that even prisoners in this country seem to live a slightly elevated existence from the rest of the world. The view those windows have of the Mediterranean is probably better than most hotels.
Not that it matters with regard to the illegal activity I’m getting myself entangled in. It’ll be a good old fashioned American federal prison for yours truly.
Insider trading. Securities fraud. Corporate Espionage. Take your pick. Any one of them will ruin me.
It’s still preferable to death.
I let those thoughts ease from my mind as we coast along the water. I’ve never been in a boat like this. My law firm has held a few parties on large floating vessels that specialize in upscale corporate festivities along the East River or the Hudson.
This is far more intimate. And fun, if one ignores the circumstances. My eyes slide to Magnus, who stands as he steers the boat.
Also if one ignores the company.
Still, I can see why he enjoys this. A day on the azure waters of the French Riviera, wine flowing through my veins, the midday sun casting an intense warm glow. It’s heaven.
I’m almost lulled into a sense of complacency when I feel him slow down. We’re in a small cove area, with floating buoys nearby. He stops near one of them and attaches the rope from the boat.
I look around, and my eyes stop at the small area that a few sunbathers have decided passes for a beach. It’s a tiny shore of mostly pebbles at the base of the cliffs that serve as the main boundary between the sea and land in this part of the Mediterranean. I briefly wonder how those people even got down, then notice a treacherously tiny cliffside stairway. Other than by boat, that seems to be the only way to get to this place, making it somewhat private.
Which is a good thing.
Because almost all of the people on that beach are naked.
I gape at the frankness with which they lie there, as nonchalant about their nudity as Adam and Eve probably were before swallowing a bit of knowledge.
“I don’t know what it is you’re expecting, but it’s not happening,” I say to Magnus.
He squints one eye toward the beach then turns back to me with a grin. “Welcome to the French Riviera.”
I cross my arms over my chest as if to stress my point. I knew that topless sunbathing—something I’m not entirely scandalized by—was common in parts of Europe, but these people have taken the idea to it’s most extreme.
Granted, it isn’t as though they are having some wild orgy. In fact, they seem about as hedonistic as a cluster of lazy cats, just lounging there, basking in the sun without a care in the world.
But still.
My eyes snap back to Magnus, who is taking off his shoes.
“What are we doing here?”
“Moi? I’m going swimming. I have a race to train for. I come here because there are fewer swimmers in the water and buoys for me to hitch my boat to,” he says without looking up as he removes his second shoe. When it’s off his eyes come back to me, filled with dark mischief. “Vous? The Mediterranean is nice this time of year. You can dive in with me.”
Magnus stands up and reaches his fingers down to grab the edge of his t-shirt. He drags it up his torso, pulling it off over his head.
Unless they’re completely blind, there isn’t a set of eyes in the world that would be able to resist gazing at what he’s revealed. Even perfectly straight men (or gay women) would have to admire the perfectly chiseled set of abs and sculpted pecs. Both are just as impressive as the shoulders and biceps Magnus exposes as he drags the shirt down his arms.
With a body like that, it’s no wonder he’s been a world champion in pentathlons. Twice. Frankly, with a body like that, it makes you wonder who won the other handful of times he competed.
My sinful idol-worship of his body comes to a screeching halt when I see him reach for the fly to his jeans.
“Are you swimming naked?”
His only response is to flash a wicked grin and unzip. My mouth goes dry at the thought of what he plans on revealing this time around. When he slides his pants down, leaving him in nothing but a black speedo, I manage a silent sigh of relief. Maybe a wee twinge of regret.
Then again…
Magnus in nothing but a tiny, skin-tight piece of fabric still manages to elicit a gasp of awe. I wonder how much of his success in racing is simply from distracting his competitors with that thing.
“If the prize I were after required me to be naked—” I
