To punctuate the end of my tirade, there’s a long whistle followed by a colossal BOOM that makes me jump. Another BOOM swiftly follows as a fireworks show begins. I’m sure Victor’s planned the whole thing to a T, gathering everyone to a special spot up on deck. I feel bad that we’re missing it. Hopefully it’s not obvious we’re not there.

There’s another long whistle and the sound of sparks crackling outside. We don’t speak. We stare at one another, both of us doing a lazy perusal as if we not only grant permission for the intrusion but welcome it. From this close, I can spy the subtle details in his eyes, the slightly lighter brown that rings his pupils before it turns to an almost inky black. I study his mouth, the delectable curve of his upper lip and the taunting fullness of his bottom lip. I take in his closely shaven jaw and the way the muscle ticks there as he swallows. I’m an artist studying her living subject, trying to determine how it’s possible for a person to make me feel as much as he does.

He doesn’t look happy as he takes me in. He’s troubled by something. Maybe it’s the wrongness of the situation. The fun has seeped out of us, and now we’re just two exposed souls. Outside, the fireworks continue, a cascade of explosions.

Having had enough, Emmett lets go of my legs and starts to extricate himself from the tub. He reaches for my hand, but I’ve already taken ahold of the side to lift myself out. Not wanting to be rude, I shift my weight to take his offered hand instead. It all happens so fast then: I accidentally lose my footing before I have his hand, gripping anything I can find, which happens to be the faucet knob. It twists easily, as it’s meant to, and suddenly cold water splashes out onto my lower back and legs.

I squeal and hurry to turn it off, but it’s too late. The damage is done, the back of my dress completely soaked. That’s what I get for playing in a bathtub.

Emmett curses under his breath and impatiently grabs for me, swiftly lifting me up and out like I’m filled with feathers instead of bones. On the marble floor, I drip water, too stunned to be much of any help. He’s the one who finds a towel to dry me off. He’s the one to turn me around to assess the damage. He sighs heavily and shrugs out of his jacket.

“No—”

The protest isn’t even fully formed before his warning gaze meets mine.

“It’s cold out and I won’t allow you to stand on deck shivering.”

His commanding tone is so unlike anything I’m used to. This is the man who was just tickling the backs of my knees in the bathtub…

“People will wonder.”

“And you’ll tell them nothing. It’s no one’s business. You’re hardly the first person in history to borrow a jacket.”