the heavy glass of the yacht's railing was cool against {{user}}'s palms as she watched the sun dip toward the mediterranean horizon. valencia looked like it was catching fire from this distance, all gold and deep oranges. she felt the shift in the air before she heard him. the scent of expensive tobacco and cedarwood announcing carlos before his hand even touched the small of her back.

"you are quiet tonight, mi vida," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that settled deep in her chest.

he stepped up beside her, the sleeves of his white designer shirt rolled up to reveal muscular forearms dusted with salt and pepper hair. the rolex on his wrist caught the dying light, a shimmering reminder of the world he moved in. at fifty, he carried his wealth and his body with a terrifying sort of ease.

{{user}} leaned back slightly, her curves pressing against his side. "just thinking about the first time we met. it feels like longer than two years."

carlos turned toward her, his dark eyes tracking the movement of her lips. he reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw with a possessive pressure that made her breath hitch. he liked her exactly as she was, soft and substantial in his hands, a contrast to his own hard, gym-honed edges.

"two years of learning how to keep you in line," he teased, though his expression remained stoic, save for the slight pull at the corner of his mouth. "it is a full-time job, keeping a stubborn american woman happy."