Xander (Billionaire Racers Book 1) (6 page)

“Make a suggestion.” I roll my shoulders, trying to work out the fucking knot that has taken up residence in my shoulder blade. We always bet on our races.

“Party’s not over yet.” Liam stretches, light on the balls of his feet despite the slow dip and sway of the boat.

“I put in an appearance,” I growl. “You can give me my gold star later.”

“Someone didn’t enjoy his party despite his uninvited guest.” Jack pads barefoot across the deck, and I can read the question on his face clearly.

I do not have so many friends in my life as I do business acquaintances and family members. These two are the exception. We are not close, but we understand each other. They are as dangerous as I am, although we have tried to keep our business interests divergent. I do not need to kill or compete with them—but I also do not need to take their shit.

“You are on my yacht uninvited and flashing handguns. Was it your intention to commit two felonies tonight?”

Jack looks like he does not care. That is his usual expression, of course—and there is no reason he should care. “Did you a favor, man. You want to go for a ride, and here we are. Built-in fucking crew. You should say thank you.”

“Then if you are my crew, you are taking my orders tonight?”

Liam snorts. “Not a fucking chance. Came here to place my bet.”

We always have at least one side bet on each Billionaire Race. I know what I want from Liam, but I must phrase it correctly. I have always bet property before. This time, however, I want a personal favor.

Liam leads off. He likes to talk, while Jack and I prefer the silence. Liam is the glue that holds us together. He is the one who teases, proposes, and fills the air with words. If it was just Jack and I, we would sit in the shadows, knock back a beer or two. We understand each other because we were born in the same Moscow neighborhood. We fought many of the same fights, both there and here. Liam… is a maverick. No one knows where he came from, but he is the head of the Banda. He is therefore the man pressuring the Petrovs, and I will give him this one chance to stop.

When Liam finally shuts up, I nod. “If you beat me tomorrow, you may have my patent portfolio, my two shopping malls in Miami, and my Vegas penthouse. You cannot, however, have my presence at your charity bachelor auction.”

I have no intention of losing tomorrow, but racing is not a science. It is an art, and sometimes there is nothing a man can do to win. This is why I will hedge my bets tonight.

Liam snorts. “You’ll hand over a patent portfolio worth five hundred million, but you won’t let yourself be auctioned off for charity?”

“I cannot participate in your bachelor auction,” I correct him. “I am not a bachelor.”

There is a moment of silence. I am relieved that they are both surprised. It means my secret is still mine. It is why Lily has been safe all these years.

Naturally, Liam is the first to break. “You got married?”

“
Da
, some years ago.” He does not need all of the details. Those are between Lily and me.

Jack leans in. “And the name of the lucky lady?”

“If you lose to me,” I tell him, “You will protect her and her family. You will be her insurance, her shield. You will make sure nothing happens to her if I am not there to protect her. You will do this no matter who comes after her. And if I lose to you, you will have what Liam wants, and then he will have to negotiate with you.”

Jack nods slowly. “I can do that.”

“And?” Liam prompts. Not only does he hate silence, but he loathes waiting. It is what will cost him the race tomorrow—he will start the fastest, but then he will make a mistake because he is moving so quickly and I will be waiting.

“And you will promise me the same thing.”

“You care about your wife.” Liam’s astonishment surprises me. I am not incapable of emotions.

“She is my wife,” I feel compelled to point this truth out. “Thus she is under my protection.”

“Fair enough. Deal.” Liam sticks his hand out palm up and Jack and I add ours to the stack. We are men of honor. None of us will renege.

Liam strolls away to release the mooring line. He is apparently serious about his offer to play deckhand tonight and I will take him up on it. “Do we get the name of Mrs. Volkov now?”

“You have been hunting her for several weeks now, which makes me unhappy.”

He shrugs, untying the rope. “I make lots of people unhappy. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Lily Petrov,” I tell him.

He curses, but then he laughs. “I should have asked for more.”

Liam is a formidable opponent, both in the business world and on the water. If he wins tomorrow, I have just served noticed that the Volkov family will be coming after him. If I win, he will be honor-bound to leave Lily alone. It is the best possible outcome.

“We are out of here,” I announce because I am not ready to answer more questions. Dropping my shoes, I head for the cockpit. “The
Koa
and I want a run.”

“Sure.” Jack shrugs, shoulders flexing beneath the black cable-knit. “Sleep’s fucking overrated and who cares that we’re racing against each other in six hours?”

I do not.

The slip is crowded tonight, the yachts almost shoulder to shoulder. Twelve inches the wrong way, and I will kiss the neighbors. Getting my hand on the starboard throttle, I feed her a little juice as I watch the dock. The
Koa
has room enough now, turning smoothly out to face the open water.

The motor hits her sweet spot with a low growl as I power up. I get the yacht’s nose out and then let her ride the water. Tonight there is not too much wind, and the current is gentle. The hull cuts nice and easy through the water as we ease away from the dock and head for open water past the yachts tied up like a line of expensive toys waiting for the rich men to come on back. Chop from a passing motor yacht slaps the
Koa
’s prow, the cool spray a welcome wake-up call. The boat’s motor purrs, a sleek vibration against my bare feet.

Lily came back. If I am lucky, she will come all the way back tomorrow and I will win my bets. She will be safe. Those are tomorrow worries though. Tonight is only for sailing with the men I almost call friends.

It is still dark, but the sky already lightens on the horizon. Miami’s port is now a row of multistory cruise ships off starboard, the ships lit up like Christmas trees in a Boy Scout lot. The rest of the port is concrete yards lined with metal shipping containers and towering cranes for loading and off-loading the heavy containers. The port’s heart is this commercial center ringed by expensive condo developments, private slips, and narrow causeways. The place hums with energy even in the early hours of the morning. With the Miami River behind me now, I move out into the bay and toward the sea. Miami River is a major entry point for contraband. Drugs, people—any kind of contraband one person pays another to move. Shippers call to off-load cargo, then load up to make the run to the Bahamas and further out into the Caribbean. Until recently, the port was a Wild West.

Six hours until race time—all the time in the world. The yacht’s prow splits the surface cleanly, and there is nothing but clean air out here. Behind us, the lights of Miami fade away as I ride the waves out to sea.

XANDER

I
hit the docks early. It is race day, and I need to know who is running late, who nurses a hangover, who just looks as if it will not be his day. Those details make a difference when you fly into the final turn and the harbor is dead astern and there is room only for one yacht. Those other men will flinch and pull back, but I will be all in. Besides, who the fuck am I kidding? I like to win. I crave it like an addict does the next hit of his drug. If I crash the yacht getting to the finish line first, I will still be the winner.

I have a bet to win with Liam and Jack.

I am not the only racer with a game plan, of course. My team arrives when I do, and we move down the slips, checking out the competition. Both Liam and Jack are here, despite our late night sail. The dock bristles with yachts, most of which never sail more than twenty miles offshore. I do not confine myself to that playpen. The entire goddamned ocean is my playing field. Even before serving my time with the Miami-Dade Corrections and Rehabilitation Department, I never liked being confined, and nothing beats the changeability of the ocean—she is all wind and water, constantly changing. No two races are ever the same, which is fucking awesome. We have ten yachts starting in today’s race, and I will beat their asses.

I am below deck running through pre-check when there is a stir on the docks. My cell buzzes with an incoming call from my security chief.

“You got a guest,” he says when I answer. “Come on up and collect her, or I’m sending her home.”

Then he hangs up on me. He is the best in the business. Bullets, bombs, terrorist threats and kidnappings—he has that shit handled. Conversational small talk, however, is not his favorite thing, and he refuses to make the effort. As long as he keeps me not getting killed, however, I will deal. When I come above deck, I spot Lily right away—she is a beautiful woman in a sea of racers. She sticks out and not just because she is trying to hide behind a pair of big, white sunglasses that make her look as if she is channeling Audrey Hepburn.

Her gaze runs over the
Koa
. I want those glasses gone because they make it hard to figure out what she is thinking. Part speculation, part resignation. I can see that, but I want more. I have spent years trying not to think about her, forcing myself to stay away, but now
she
has come to me and the game is on. The small, hard-shell suitcase by her feet is a sober black with a duct-taped frowny face on the side.

Someone should tell her I love a fucking challenge. If she is unhappy about our current arrangement, I simply have to talk her into changing her mind. While I stare at her, thinking dirty thoughts, one of my bodyguards takes the case from her and looks at me. I am the man in charge. My word is law here, and it seems Lily just cottoned onto that. Now she looks at me as if I am Johnny Fucking Depp, putting the moves on her when she has pledged her undying love to Will.

“My cabin,” I tell the bodyguard. He nods, vaults over the side, and disappears past me.

She sucks in a breath. Her choice of roommates clearly does not thrill her, but she married me. She came here. And
she
is the one who wants something from me. It is not my business if she has regrets—she is an opportunity I will not pass up. Besides, I enjoy pissing her off. Her anger heats up her eyes, melting the cold reserve. My dick hardens as if she is my own personal trophy.

I practically see her take a mental step backward. She stands there, feet planted on my dock, and goes for the small talk. Since her shit now resides in my cabin, I bet I get her too. She just needs to talk herself into it, and this is how she has decided to do it.

“You run in this race every year?”

She asks. I answer. I can play this game too. I vault over the safety line and land on the deck next to her. The mountain will come to Mohammed.

“It depends.” Change and challenge. Those are my two mantras. This should come as no surprise to anyone who has spent more than two minutes in my company. Repetition is for losers, and anchoring in one place or re-running the same courses is not for me. Once I get the
Koa
out into open water, the wind and the waves fight me until I find a groove. Succeed or fail. You can dress racing up with yacht clubs, rule books, and trophies, but the fundamentals are the one constant. Haul ass, fly across that water, and the best man crosses the finish line first. I am sure it comes as no surprise to you that I rarely lose.

Lily smiles. I have no idea what is lighting her up, but she has a Mona Lisa smile that gives me ideas. Strip her down, get her bare, fuck her hard—and see if she still gives me that sidelong smirk when I have been deep inside her and she is still feeling me.
Da
. I know that it is rude and all shades of wrong, but it is also honest. Deal with it. I left her alone when she was sixteen, and I will not touch her now unless she asks me to. I cannot be fairer than that.

She slants a look at me, but her sunglasses prevent me from seeing her eyes. At sixteen, her eyes crinkled up at the corners when she smiled. It was goddamned cute, so I reach over and ease her sex kitten glasses up with my finger. Slowly. Her eyes widen, and she catches my wrist with her hand. As if she can stop me. I shove the glasses onto the top of her head.

Lily has gorgeous eyes even if they veer between wary and plenty pissed off. I am a dick because her inability to ignore me makes me happy. I am more than a convenient ride or a get-out-of-jail-free card. I am her husband, and we both know that means something. Not as much as it will mean when we finish this race, but there is still that
something
between us right now even if it is mostly sexual chemistry. I know precisely how the main mast feels when the sea air hits the mast hard, swelling the sheet with impossible tension.

So fuck it. I cup the back of her head with one hand and set the other on her waist, and then I kiss the ever-loving fuck out of her. Paparazzi fill the dock and billionaires gossip just as much as normal people. All of Miami will know about our relationship by the time this race starts.

Lily is not onboard with my kissing her. She bites me. Christ, I like that too. She could chew me up, and I suspect I would still be hers. This is a problem, but I can fix it. Either I get over her, or I convince her to be my wife for real. Since that needs more time than a handful of minutes on a dock, I back up. I give her space. Instead of kissing her again, I just grin at her.

She shakes her head. “We need to discuss personal space.”

Not a fucking chance unless she has a move-in plan she wants me to vet. I do not need to look closely to see the neon
No trespassing
sign she just posted. Our kiss is not over even if we have two feet of empty space between us. This is because I do not know how to be done with her. My Lily is a straight shooter. She would never play the kind of games that seduce a single woman onto a man’s yacht for some weekend fun. Whatever games Lily plays are altogether different. Deeper.