Becoming Rain (Burying Water #2)(38)

Enough to not give him up if you’re looking at jail time? The soft look in Luke’s eyes as he talks about his uncle makes me question whether Sinclair’s right with this plan. Would our primary target break if a figurative gun were put to his head?

I’m not so sure.

“You seem to be doing well for yourself,” I agree. “I mean, your condo, your car . . .” I don’t mean to let my eyes rake over him so overtly as I add, “ . . . you.”

He smirks, his thigh nudging up against mine as he stretches his legs out. No concern for my personal space. And I don’t mind at all. Maybe that Champagne put me over the edge. Holding up the glass of golden liquid that he brought onboard, he says, “This is a twenty-thousand-dollar glass of scotch. My second, tonight.”

I know my eyebrows are jumping halfway up my forehead but I can’t help myself. More than a third of my annual salary about to go down his throat. I hate rich people. “So, what does a twenty-thousand-dollar glass of scotch taste like?”

He offers it to me and I take it, our fingers grazing, the simple touch causing ripples through my body that I wish I didn’t feel. I should say no to hard liquor, but when am I ever going to get a chance like this again? “How am I supposed to drink this?”

Shifting even closer to me, until every part of my right side from my shoulder down to my knees is pressed against that hard body of his, he ropes an arm around my shoulders. “First, you let it coat the glass. Like this.” Covering my hand with his, I watch the liquid swirl around the glass, his fingers filling the spaces between mine. “Then you inhale.” He holds the glass up to my nose.

“Smells . . . smoky?”

With his free hand, he tucks a strand of my hair back behind my ear in a slow, almost cautious movement, before lifting the glass to my mouth. “Just a tiny sip. Just enough to taste it.” His eyes drop to my mouth as I follow instruction.

And struggle not to grimace from the potent flavor.

He grins, not offended in the slightest. “Not a fan?”

“Here.” I push it forward until it’s fully within his grasp and my hand is free. Because I’m enjoying the feel of him too much. “You drink your twenty-thousand-dollar-a-shot manly scotch and I’ll stick with this girly Champagne.” I mocked it earlier, but it’s actually quite good.

He chuckles, falling back into the couch, his eyes roaming over the interior of the yacht. Another sip. Maybe two glasses of that will loosen his tongue enough for me to pry answers from him. “I think I need to start hanging out with Aref more. I could get used to this.”

So could I, under different circumstances. “He seems nice. How do you know him?”

“I just met him tonight, actually. But I already like him.” A flash of doubt crosses his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just . . .” He frowns, pausing as if to decide something. “I work for my uncle and, as much as I love him, he leaves me in the dark a lot of the time. It can get frustrating.”

His gaze wanders off over the water, seemingly deep in thought. I nudge his leg with mine. “You know, I’ve been told I’m a great listener.”

“I can believe it.” His hand falls to my back and rests there, the heat from it searing my bare flesh above my dress line. And then he heaves a sigh. “It’s nothing. Just . . . Aref wants to play a bigger role in Rust’s business and I’m trying to figure out why Rust hasn’t agreed. He’d be way better to deal with than the *s we work with right now.”

“Assholes?”

“Yeah.” He tips his head back and finishes his drink. “Russian *s.”

“Those crazy Russians,” I tease, earning Luke’s chuckle and a gentle squeeze of my shoulder.

“Hey, bite your tongue, woman. I’m half-Russian. My mom’s side.”

Come on, Luke . . . give me more. “Well, I’m sure your uncle must have his reasons.” I pause. “What kind of business is it?”

“Cars. We sell cars, all over the world.”

“Oh yeah? What kind?”

“All kinds. My uncle co-owns RTM International.”

Right . . . the legitimate business. The one I highly doubt Luke is talking about right now. But maybe he is, that little hopeful voice in the back of my mind purrs. Maybe this is all just a terrible misunderstanding. After all, why would a man like Aref, who has so much to lose, get involved with a car theft ring?

Tipping back the rest of his drink, Luke slips his hand into mine and pulls me up with him. “Come on. We should go join the party.”

I let him lead me down the path lit by flickering torches and toward the hordes of privileged guests, secretly enjoying the warmth of his hand within mine.

Telling myself this is all good for the case.

Aref meets us at the bottom of the steps up to their two-tier deck. “So Elmira tells me that you enjoyed the tour of our yacht?”

“I did. And your wife is lovely. Thank her again for me.”

“Have Luke buy you one for your birthday,” Aref jokes, winking.

“Don’t be teaching her any bad habits,” Luke answers with a laugh, just as easily.

“About that issue . . .” Aref’s dark eyes level Luke’s. “It’s all good.”