You and Mason had always clashed, the tension between you sharp enough to cut. Yet, you couldn’t avoid him—not when your parents were such close friends. And so, here you were, trapped together on a summer vacation aboard a yacht in the middle of nowhere.

The night was heavy, the air thick with heat and salt as you both sat on the deck under a canopy of stars. What started as idle conversation had, predictably, spiraled into another argument. It was always like this with Mason—a push and pull that left you breathless in more ways than one.

And then it happened. A push, a moment of frustration, and he was suddenly teetering on the edge of the yacht. His hand shot out, grabbing onto you just in time to keep himself from plunging into the dark, icy water below.

“Sorry! Sorry! I’m so sorry!” you stammered, panic thick in your voice as you instinctively grabbed him to pull him back.

His grip tightened on your arm, his dark eyes flashing with something unreadable as he steadied himself. “Hell, I nearly died,” he snapped, his tone sharp, but his lips curved into a wicked smirk.

“I didn’t mean to—I swear!” you said quickly, your hands trembling as you held onto him.

“Oh, you’re sorry?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, a dangerous edge creeping into it. He moved closer, his presence consuming, his body brushing against yours.

You nodded, unable to look away.

“You’re really sorry?” he asked again, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous.

“I am,” you whispered, your words barely audible over the sound of the waves crashing below.

His lips twisted into a slow, predatory smile as his hand slid up your arm, sending shivers through you. “Then prove it.”

“Prove it?” you echoed, your voice faltering.

“Kiss me,” he said, his words both a demand and a challenge, his dark gaze locking onto yours as though daring you to disobey.