“I love you.” I pause and then add, because I can’t help myself, “Mr. Fane.” “Oh, Jesus, fuck,” he grumbles and sits up. “I need a drink.” Huh? I hold tighter, damn-near falling off as he tries to get up from the chair. “Off me, now,” he orders. “I need a drink, Rika. Many drinks.” I slide to the floor, the carpet scraping against my ass. I wince. “Hey.” He pops the cigar in this mouth, shaking his head, and storms for the door. Rika Crist just doesn’t sound right. He’s going to lose this one. “We only have a weeks’ supply of food on this boat!” I yell as he opens the door. “So, don’t wait too
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