//CLARA//
The three days at sea were a fever dream of sun and salt. The endless roll of the sea and a freedom that felt almost illegal.
Three days of Casimir in nothing but rolled-up shirtsleeves and trousers slung low on his hips, looking like a pirate.
I sunbathed on the hood of the yacht in a ridiculous silk nightshift. I would have killed for a bikini. A one-piece. Hell, even a pair of shorts and a bra. But the nightshift would have to suffice.
Casimir's eyes kept wandering.
Every time I shifted, every time the breeze caught the silk and lifted it higher on my thighs, his gaze would snap to me like a compass finding north.
He wasn't subtle. He wasn't trying to be.
"You're going to burn."
I cracked one eye open and found him standing over me, blocking the sun.
"I'm tanning."
"You're turning into a lobster."
"You like lobster."
His lips twitched, but he didn't move.
"Are you going to stand there and block my light, or are you going to join me?"
"I was fishing."
