Cairns in December. The air was as thick as freshly stirred honey, heavy with the scent of salt spray and the unique musty musk of the rainforest.
Sugar Valentine clutched her heavy, battered camera bag, weaving through the swarming crowds at the Marlin Marina. Her pale yellow sundress clung to the curves of her legs in the wind, making her look like a lost tropical tourist. However, behind her dark oversized glasses, her fox-like eyes were coldly scanning the perimeter.
"Three of them. Ten o'clock, rear left," she whispered into the micro-mic hidden in her collar. "The target is secured, but these flies are biting hard."
"Sugar, don't play hero. You're two kilometers from the extraction point," her partner's anxious voice crackled in her earpiece.
Sugar scanned the docks. Her gaze locked onto a yacht—all sleek black lines and sharp edges, looking like a deep-sea shark. The Midnight Azure.
That was the forbidden zone of Cairns Marina. Everyone knew it belonged to the "Living Yama" of the Thorne family, back in Australia for a summer retreat—Silas Thorne.
"Extraction is too far. I'm hitching a 'ride'."
Sugar grit her teeth. Using a thick mooring rope as cover, she waited for the engine's roar as the yacht began to pull away. Like an agile cat, she leaped, clearing the second-deck railing in one fluid motion.
Thump. She landed steadily.
Before she could catch her breath, a dangerous, chilling aura enveloped her.
"Isn't this 'climbing into bed' method a bit too unrefined?"
A voice—deep, magnetic, and devoid of emotion—echoed from the shadows.
Sugar's body froze. She looked up slowly.
Silas Thorne was reclined on a leather sofa on the deck. He wore only a bespoke white shirt, the top three buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to reveal corded, powerful forearms. Under the sun, his pale skin radiated an aura of high-class abstinence. His long fingers swirled a glass of whiskey, the ice cubes clinking like sharp warnings.
Sugar's mind raced. This man's eyes were too deep—as if he could see right through her bag to the hard drive capable of triggering a global financial meltdown.
"Sir... help me." Sugar flipped her persona instantly. Her eyes turned red and misty on cue, and she collapsed toward Silas's legs like a frightened kitten.
Silas watched her coldly. This woman was "flamboyant"—her skin was pale and luminous, and her exquisite face was now inches from his. He could smell a faint scent of lychee on her, far different from the suffocating perfumes of socialites.
"Help you?" Silas set down his glass and leaned forward. He hooked a finger under her chin, forcing her to look up. His voice dripped with mockery. "In Cairns, no one dares ask for help on Silas Thorne's ship. Miss Valentine, your acting is a bit much."
Sugar's heart skipped a beat. He knew her surname?
"I'm... I'm just a tourist. There are bad men chasing me." She decided to go all in. As the yacht hit a swell, she let out a cry and tumbled directly into Silas's lap.
Her cheek pressed against his hard chest. Through the thin fabric, she could feel his steady, powerful heartbeat—even if his face remained as cold as a statue.
Silas's breathing stalled for a fraction of a second.
The body in his arms was impossibly soft, like a cloud of marshmallow. He should have thrown her overboard to the sharks, but looking into those tearful, fox-like eyes, an unprecedented urge for control and destruction rose in his gut.
"Bad men?" Silas leaned down, his thin lips nearly brushing her ear. His voice was low and gravelly. "Since you've boarded my ship, you should know... I'm the biggest 'bad man' here."
On the shore, the mercenaries were shouting curses as the yacht surged into the sapphire sea.
Sugar breathed a secret sigh of relief and tried to pull away, but the large hand on her waist tightened.
"Leaving so soon after the hug?" Silas's fingertips grazed the soft skin of her waist. The electric spark made her knees weak.
He casually picked up her heavy camera bag with his other hand, a dangerous smirk playing on his lips. "Miss Valentine, coming to seduce me with such a heavy 'camera'... don't you think you owe me an explanation?"
Damn, Sugar cursed internally. This man's intuition is demonic.
She rolled her eyes playfully and suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him like a vine. She tilted her head back, staring directly into his dark pupils with a sultry gaze.
"If Mr. Thorne wants an explanation... is one night enough?"
Silas's gaze darkened instantly, turning into a void that threatened to swallow her whole. He cupped the back of her head, closing the distance until their breaths mingled.
"Sugar Valentine, you walked into this yourself."
The yacht sliced through the waves, leaving a white scar on the turquoise sea of Cairns.