“We have mutual friends,” I say, eyeing him as closely as he’s eyeing me.

“I didn’t realize that,” JP says. “I wonder why she didn’t mention you know each other?”

“Know each other is a stretch,” I tell him with a humorless grin. “Like I said, we have mutual friends. One of my teammates is married to her cousin. We’ve met a few times before.”

“She’s here somewhere,” JP says, scanning the deck.

Considering that at the Christmas party, she basically fled the scene as soon as she realized I was there, I wouldn’t lay odds on actually getting to speak to her. She’ll probably jump overboard. Knowing she’s here, though, shouldn’t make me feel this way. I barely know the woman. Correction. I do not know the woman, and she has made it clear she doesn’t want to know me. Amanda wants to know me. Bridget claims to want me back. I could find a dozen, no, more, women tonight who want me.

And perversely, I’m drawn to the one who doesn’t.

“I’ll find her,” JP interrupts my inner monologue, “and call her over.”

“That’s not necessary.” I say it half-heartedly because I don’t plan to stop him.

“Yari,” JP calls across the deck. “Where’s Lo?”

An attractive Latina woman—maybe Puerto Rican, Dominican—turns her head from the person she’s talking to. Her eyes drift from JP to me and back again.

“Upper deck maybe?” Yari answers with a shrug.

“Be a doll,” JP says drolly, “and go get her for me?”

She says something to the person standing with her and then disappears up a set of stairs.

JP, Chase, and Amanda continue talking, moving on in the conversation. I’m tuned into the discussion with half an ear and a quarter of my attention. I’m starting to believe Lotus really did abandon ship rather than see me when her friend Yari returns.

And Lotus follows.

Somehow she looks different every time I see her, but there is something about her that never seems to change. I’ve seen her with platinum braids and hair cut so short it framed her face, but I should have known better than to think I could predict her.

The petite woman who descends the stairs is another incarnation of the one who fascinated me from the first look we shared in a hospital room two years ago. August, my teammate, her cousin Iris’s husband, had a concussion. She came to visit while I was there, and it felt like a horse kicked me in the stomach when she walked in. It knocked the air out of me, out of the room. Such a small woman completely commanded a space doing no more than stepping through the door.

She does that again now, but this time there are no braids. Her hair isn’t cropped, nor is it platinum. It’s a halo of textured curls, her natural hair, layered in shades of honey and wheat and gold, contrasting with her skin. She’s a little darker than the last time I saw her, like she caught the summer sun and trapped its warmth inside her skin until she glowed. Her wide mouth, though unsmiling, is still soft; the curves lush and tempting. There’s something feline about Lotus. The careless grace of her movements. The heart-shaped face with its pointed chin, flared cheekbones, and tipped-up eyes. She pushes her hair back, and I see a trail of gold studs dotting the fragile shell of her ear. In the other ear she wears one oversized gold hoop. A sleeveless blood orange sundress flows over her slim curves like fire and water. She looks like a sun-kissed gypsy.

She doesn’t look away. I’ve been rude as hell when we’ve met in the past, staring at her like I had no home training. Most women would clear their throats, roll their eyes, snap their fingers in my face. Something to indicate what the hell, man, but not Lotus. She’s stared back every time. Not like she was studying me as closely as I studied her, but more like she was allowing me to look my fill.

And I do.

By the time she makes it to JP’s side, I’m braced and ready to maintain my cool and not make an ass of myself . . . again. We’ve only seen each other a few times and never for very long. Up close with time to study her, I see new details I missed before. The thin straps of her sundress bare more of her than I’ve seen in the past, and several colorful, intricate tattoos decorate her burnished skin. Script kisses her collarbone, but I’m not close enough to read. Moons adorn three fingers of her right hand—a crescent on the ring finger, half on the middle finger, and full on the index.

She’s wearing flat sandals tonight instead of heels, and her head doesn’t quite reach my shoulder. God, as big as I am, I could crush her if I wasn’t careful. Not that I’ll ever get the chance to be careless with her. The look on her face says it; that long-suffering unyieldingness; that eloquent silence tells me in no uncertain terms my interest is duly noted and not reciprocated.

“You needed me, JP?” she asks, the warmth of her voice chilled to room temperature, probably for my benefit.

“You didn’t tell me you knew Kenan when I mentioned him in the meeting today,” he says with gentle accusation. It’s obvious he’s fond of Lotus.

Long lashes drop to cover her eyes before she lifts them to boldly meet mine. “We don’t really know each other,” she says with a little lift of her slim shoulders. “His teammate is married to my cousin. Good to see you again, Kenan.”

It’s the first time I’ve heard her say my name. It’s quiet for a few seconds while the various people in the tight circle slide looks between Lotus and me, no doubt trying to figure out what’s really up.

While I try to figure out what’s really up.

“Good to see you again, too,” I say, forcing a small smile.

“How were Iris and August when you left San Diego?” she asks, snagging a few of the olive hors d’oeuvres from Chase’s small plate.

“Good. Working on the nursery.”

She goes still for a moment, a natural smile curving her mouth, before she turns to her friend Yari who walked her over.

“So how do I convince you to wear my watches, Mr. Ross?” JP asks.

All the attention falls on me. “Let’s play it by ear,” I reply and sip my wine.

“Well, you do have great arms,” JP points out unnecessarily and again. “It’d be total arm porn.”

I wince, because that still just doesn’t sound right.

“You have no idea what that is, do you?” Lotus leans over to whisper. She’s in my space, and she smells fresh and sweet and spicy, like she dabbed drops of her personality at her wrists and behind her knees.

“Um . . . it sounds like some freaky shit.”

She laughs, and it’s the first time her openness, the freedom of who she really is, has been unleashed on me. I’ve seen it from a distance with Iris and her daughter Sarai, but Lotus’s dark eyes shine with humor and her lips twitch even after she’s done laughing.

We don’t have time to go deeper because Keir grabs a mic and verbally herds everyone into the yacht’s main saloon.

“Thank you all for coming tonight,” Keir says, spreading a warm smile around the room. “It wouldn’t be a party without one of our legendary games, now would it?”

He and Vale laugh when the crowd lets out a collective, exasperated groan.

“Tonight, in honor of our special guest, Mr. Kenan Ross,” Vale says, gesturing over to me, “we’ll play a new game.”

Not wanting to be the center of attention for long, I offer a brief, probably awkward smile, and hope they’ll get on with it.

“You can thank me later,” I whisper to Lotus once they’ve moved on, taking a chance that the ease which existed a few moments ago might linger.

“You’re a Drake fan?” she asks.

“Huh?” I run the conversation over in my head. Why would she ask me—

Oh, the Drake album, Thank Me Later.

“Not really,” I reply honestly. “I mean he’s aight, but he’s not like top five.”

I’m about to ask for her top five, considering this is the longest she’s ever spoken to me, when the word “kiss” arrests my attention.

“What’d they say?” I turn to ask Lotus, but she’s not there. She’s gone and is standing with Chase and nibbling off his plate. He bends to whisper something in her ear. She shakes her head, starts to walk off, but then steals his plate first before joining Billie and Yari a few feet away.

“He said we’re playing Hook Shot,” Amanda says with a look I think is meant to be sexy.

“Uh . . . that’s a game?”

“Yeah, in your honor. You know the hook shot in basketball, when you—”

“Yeah, that part I get.” I point to myself. “I’m a basketball player, so yeah. Hook shot, but what’s the game?”

Vale approaches, her Icelandic blue eyes cool and smiling when she proffers a leather bag.

“Pull,” she says with an encouraging nod.

“Pull?” I ask, still wondering what the hell is going on.

“Yes.” Her tone is patient and she shakes the little bag. “It’s a drinking game.”

Even more lost.

“So,” she continues, slowing her words, like that might help me, “you pull your icon.”

“Icon?”

Now I feel stupid. Every answer she gives me spawns another question.

“Pull,” she repeats, and at least she’s laughing. “And I’ll show you.”

I reach into the leather bag and feel several smaller silky bags. I grab one and look at her for what’s next.

“Open, but don’t show.” She offers the bag to Amanda, who does the same.

There’s a small boot in my bag.

“It’s a boot,” I say.

“Shhhh!” Vale hisses and laughs even more. “It’s a secret.”

Several people didn’t get the memo because when I glance over to Lotus’s crew, she’s comparing hers with Billie’s and Yari’s. Hers is a button she shoves quickly back into the bag.