Xander (Billionaire Racers Book 1) (8 page)

“You’re leaving?” I’m pretty sure I look stunned, because his grin just gets wider.

“I have a race,
angel
.”

“That’s it?” I’m not sure if I should be offended—or impressed with his dedication.

“You got an orgasm. I learned something about you. You are a shrieker, you sunbathe topless, and you still remember this Russian.”

And then he drops one last kiss on my mouth and heads out the door because he’s got a race to win.

XANDER

The
racecourse zigzags from Miami through the Bahamas almost to Nassau, and the fastest course finish ever is in just under nine hours. This is blue water racing at its finest, each leg a new challenge. Cover the distance faster than any of my competitors and I win. Plus the faster I win, the quicker I get to sink my dick into my wife.

Lily.

I am not sure what the fuck we are really doing together, but I for one am moving forward. She has been Lily Petrov for the past six years, but now she can be Lily Volkov. It is bad luck to rename a boat, but I hope the same does not hold true for people. Or maybe she will dislike
Volkov
. I cannot use Petrov—too much baggage there—but we could pick something new. Something just for us. I like that idea. Right now, though, I need to get my head in the game.

Out here on the ocean, the wind is the center of my universe. The crew and I will spend most of our time reading the subtle shifts because those changes can make the difference between leaving our competition dead in the water and losing our race. The currents move too, changing with the tide, the wind, the fucking whim of the ocean. I have always been happiest on the water.

The opening is always impressive as the yachts move away from the docks and out to the starting line. Initially, smaller boats pace us, filled with observers. There are watchers up on the hills as well, and it is crazy chaos as the ten racing yachts cut through the ocean headed for the starting mark. The mark is a large, orange buoy and the imaginary line connecting the buoy to the starting official’s boat. We test each other, passing close, and buzzing each other’s wake like school of circling sharks. The officials in motorboats will keep it clean enough, although the helicopters buzzing overhead with paparazzi might wish otherwise. There will be no blood in the water today.

I aim for a fast, front-row start. As an added bonus? Liam is ahead of me, his yacht barely moving forward as he waits for the start. I move in fast and hard. He has room to keep clear, but I get the leeward overlap on him, and seize his spot at the five-minute warning signal, flashing him the bird as I sail past and into the hole.

The race officer sounds the starting signal. The first five minutes of the race are critical. This is where the leaders pull away, the mid fleet forms, and the unlucky fuckers fall to the back of the pack. When the officer signals, I accelerate. I am not pinned in or blanketed by the other yachts—the
Koa
shoots forward.

Game. On.

“You sure you want her here?” My second-in-command appears at my side. He watches both the water
and
me, and I have got nothing but respect for his skills… but there is nothing that will keep me from Lily Petrov. After six long years, she is now grown up and she has come to me. While her timing is shit, I will make the best of my opportunity.

“You are volunteering to throw her overboard?” We have almost nine hours until we cross the finish line—there will be no pit stops to disembark anyone. I turn my face into the wind, letting the roar fill my ears. Wind is so goddamned essential out here. Without it there is no way to move. To leave. Everywhere I look, the wind has something to say, whether it is in the ripples forming on the surface of the sea or the whitecaps as the wind starts blowing harder.

He shrugs. “It could be arranged.”

We both know he is joking. “I’m keeping her.”

He nods. “Better keep her below deck then. Wouldn’t want her accidentally falling overboard.”

Lily Petrov deserves more. She is up to her ass in a mess she had no hand in creating, but I could pull her free. She wakes protective instincts I did not know I possessed—and I absolutely want to fuck her.

Save her.

Make her
mine
in every sense of the word.

LILY

Six hours later, I’m ready to escape my luxury prison. I’ve spent my time wisely, working on a proposal for my company and doing some customer website updates. If the space shuttle rented out office space, it would probably feel like this. The
Koa
lunges through the water at breakneck speed, slamming into troughs of deep water and then rising up to repeat the process all over again. For the first thirty minutes, I’m convinced someone must fall overboard at any moment. I can’t even stay put on the bed—how does the crew manage to
not
fly off the deck?

The cabin’s apparently soundproof, but when I prop the door open, sound washes over me. The wind, the roar of the waves, the bellowing of Xander’s team as they fight to maintain their position at the head of the pack—it all floods the galley and the cabin. There are the sounds of ropes, levers, and a dozen other sounds I can’t identify, followed by barked orders and footsteps. I can’t believe how noisy it is—somehow I’ve always thought of the ocean as peaceful.

When I come up on deck—standing cautiously in the doorway because the last thing I want is to be in the way—the yacht’s a veritable beehive of activity. When Xander sees me, he lifts a hand in greeting and then hands off the wheel to another man. Other men rush around pulling on ropes and adjusting the sails. It all looks frightfully complicated.

Xander comes over to me and wraps an arm around my waist. I’m pretty sure he drops a kiss on the top of my head too, although that seems unusually… domesticated for a member of the Russian mafia. I guess he doesn’t mind if his crew knows that I’m more than just a ride-along. He said that it wasn’t unusual to have members of the press or sponsors tag along in the galley, but I’m also guessing he doesn’t kiss them.

“Am I okay here?” While we have a bet riding on the outcome of this race and I should want him to lose, I don’t want to get in the way. Whatever happens or doesn’t happen between us, I’m not forcing it. Not this time.

“
Da
. You are good.”

He doesn’t let go, and I’m not sure if I should pull away or shift closer. There’s no rule book for renegotiating your marriage with your not-quite ex. Of course he notices.

“You do not want them to know why you are here?”

He keeps his gaze pinned on the ocean we’re cutting through and not on me. The yacht eats up the water effortlessly.

“No one knows we’re married,” I point out. “You think things will get easier if the truth gets out?”

His voice hardens. “How does it get harder? I claim you, you move in with me, and your Banda problem has a solution. Or have you decided you would rather have someone else by your side?”

“As what?” I ask.

“Your husband,” he snaps. “Why are you so damned certain that being married fixes your family’s issues?”

“Because that’s how it works,” I hiss. “Families make alliances. It’s like going shopping for a really big fucking club. If I buy the biggest club, I win, the Banda go away, and my dad and I can get on with our lives.”

“And that is all you want?” He shifts his gaze from the ocean to me, and it’s clear I’ve pissed him off. “You want everyone and everything to go away?”

“I want my dad to not worry.
I
want to not worry that I’m going to be jumped or worse if I leave the house without a bodyguard. I don’t think hoping for a normal life is wrong.”

He leans against the wall, and for a moment I think he’s not going to respond. Then he says, “I will not let the bad shit happen to you, Lily.”

As if he can promise that. He’s neither God nor a magician—he can’t make miracles or magic happen.

And then he swears and hauls me into his arms, kind of like I’m a wayward rope or sail he needs to corral before his expensive toy yacht careens off course and into the rocks. He buries his face in my hair and inhales.

“Christ. You drive me crazy,
angel
.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” I admit wryly. The rest of the crew moves around us, doing whatever it is they do to keep the boat on course, and I try to pretend that we’re alone. That we don’t have an audience or obligations or anywhere to be other than here on this ocean. I’ve got a great imagination, and for a few minutes it works.

“Fuck,” he says finally.

“Yeah.” We’ve finally found one thing we agree on. “So tell me about sailing. About the course.”

I know a good time means covering the distance between Miami and our Bahamas end zone in under nine hours, but everything else is a mystery.

“The water is fast here. We are riding the Gulf Stream current, and she will take us deep into the Bahamas. The water looks clear here.”

“But it’s not?” I know less than nothing about yachts, adventure races, or sailing. I hadn’t even gone to Girl Scout camp or rowed so much as a dinghy. I’m a sailing virgin, and this is not how I planned on popping my cherry.

He gives me that slow grin, the one that tugs the corner of his mouth upward and makes my panties wet. Again. Guess he’s over his mad.

“No,
angel
. The water here is treacherously shallow.”

“Like people.” Those two words exhaust my store of pithy comments. I don’t know what to say to Xander, and that’s a problem. Maybe we can just agree that he’s out of my league and leave it at that. He looks amused, cementing my belief that my skills as a conversationalist are lacking. And no, I know I shouldn’t care, but… he’s my husband.

Temporary
husband.

“Are we going to be okay?” The horizon looks downright threatening. Purple rainclouds mass low and dense, the dividing line between sea and sky blurring. If there’s a hurricane barreling our way, I’m getting off at the next port.

Xander follows my gaze and thinks for a moment. He doesn’t rush to judgment, just stands there taking it all in.

“You get waves and wind with darker water,” he says finally. “But the weather will hold tonight.”

XANDER

Duty calls. It is not as if I want to leave my Lily, but it is better for her if I win this race. I send her back down to the galley and my cabin and concentrate. Liam and Jack have been fucking with me. Periodically, one or the other pulls ahead, but we are approaching the last tricky bit of water, a deep channel that wraps around one of the Bahamian cays. The currents are a challenge—and, naturally, an opportunity. If I catch the water just right, if I can guide the
Koa
into the center of the channel, I can slingshot the yacht into first position.

We’re flying over the waves, the spray kicking up hard and washing back. Liam matches me knot for knot, both of us fighting to be first into the channel and first across the line. In the end, it is sheer luck. I catch the wave first and luff leeward, and he has no choice but to back off as I take the right-of-way.

I salute him as I pass. He will hate losing to my ass. Now it is just the
Koa
alone in a sea of blue. There is just one shot to win and we have it. Twenty minutes later, I hear the cheers and the air horns start up as we pull into the final stretch. Our target is two markers bobbing up-down-up in the ocean between the watch boats. We slice through the opening, a mere twenty yards ahead of Liam’s boat, and yes I raise my hand and flash him the bird. Not like he can see it, but the thought counts.

My crew congratulates each other as we head for the docks and it feels fucking awesome.

Winner
.

I rein the
Koa
in, easing off the speed. The spectators crowding the smaller boats in the harbor whoop and holler, setting off air horns and noisemakers as we pass. The prizegiving tomorrow night will be one hell of a party too. The yacht club here is classy. Tonight, though, it is not about the trophy, the champagne, or the after party. I do not want the fucking trophy.

I want my wife.