“Oh, yes.” Kyril’s grin gleamed in the fresh morning sun. “And there’s a helicopter pad on the top level. Just in case.”
“In case of what?” Hannah whispered u
nder her breath. This was something straight out of the travel magazines she’d read obsessively while she was planning the trip. The cost, she knew, was staggering—she’d once gone so far as to fill out a form online to rent one during Helen’s yearlong battle with the SATs. The number on the checkout page had snapped her back into reality. A yacht like this would cost more than she made in a month to rent for a few hours, and Kyril had rented it for days.
How could she complain about a lavish cruise all through the Greek islands with Kyril? She couldn’t.
Well, except for one thing—the hostel reservations. Irritation prickled low in her belly, an obnoxious featherweight thing, as Kyril gave her a tour of the yacht. They took in the private pool, the pristine hot tub, and not one but three flawlessly appointed living areas. A separate dining room was graced with floor-to-ceiling windows, which gave a breathtaking view out onto the ocean.
She shouldn’t dwell on it, but when the captain came to confirm with Kyril that they could pull away from the dock, Hannah allowed herself a small moment of mourning for her reservations. Helen would die when she heard about the luxurious yacht, and Hannah couldn’t wait to tell her about it—but the hostel in Athens had been something special. It was a remodeled historic mansion that boasted unforgettable views of the city, and the people! The theoretical people, she supposed. It was going to be the epitome of fun and freedom, rubbing elbows with fellow travelers and exchanging stories for a night or two.
“—on call all through the day and night. Anything your heart desires.”
Kyril’s smooth voice pulled her out of her farewell to the hostel reservations. The captain stood just off his right shoulder, smiling widely, and tipped his hat to her. “I’m sorry, I was”—silently whining about spending a week on a luxury yacht?—“lost in thought. What was that, Kyril?”
“Captain Stavros wanted to be sure you knew about the chef. Anything you need will be available to you with a simple call down to the galley. We only need to ask.”
Hannah extended her hand and shook with Stavros, who greeted her with an air of professionalism that reminded her of a travel agent. Her stomach growled at the thought of an on-call chef. Some nights, she woke up hungry in the wee hours, when it was simply too early to cook.
Well. She could sacrifice the hostel for this. As long as they were in Greece in five days for the dinner reservations she’d made at Hytra, a Michelin-starred restaurant on Santorini. She wouldn’t miss those reservations for all the yachts in the world. It was going to be one of her big splurges on the world tour.
But if Kyril kept changing her plans, it was going to become a problem.
The crew called to each other from the upper and lower decks of the yacht while Kyril led her to the master suite, the last stop on their own tour.
“Wow. I didn’t think—wow,” Hannah said, standing a foot inside the doorway. Kyril was already across the room, stopping at a wide, low dresser of polished hardwood. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a pair of aquamarine swim trunks that would look delicious against his skin.
“Are they too much?” he asked playfully, holding the trunks against his slacks. “I have another pair, if you’d prefer. No—three pairs.” He glanced into the dresser and laughed.
“I didn’t think you could top the rest of the yacht. But this suite is incredible.”
Kyril drew something else from the dresser—a delicate bikini in teal. He crossed back to Hannah, blocking her view of the king-size bed swathed in elegant sheets and a gossamer blanket, the sitting area with its overstuffed furniture, and the narrow hall to what she assumed was an enormous bathroom.
Luckily, the view of Kyril himself made up for it.
“It’s all for you,” he said simply, and heat rose to Hannah’s cheeks.
“What about that?” She nodded at the bikini.
“For you. I assumed you’d want it for the sun deck. It’s just through those doors.” Kyril cocked his head toward a pair of sliding glass doors on one end of the suite.
“A second pool? And a hot tub?”
“All for you,” he repeated. “And let me know if you like the swimsuit. There are four others waiting, if you don’t.”
Kyril turned away from the dresser, giving himself ample space to strip the shirt over his head, revealing a set of abs so perfect that Hannah forgot about the bathing suits.
* * *
“Hannah.”
Hannah was having the dream again, and the low, languid voice blended right in. This time, she was lying on a beach, fine white sand underneath her fingertips. Her entire body was suffused with a tropical warmth.
“Hannah, darling, wake up.”
She stretched, her back arching against the soft surface of the poolside lounger, and blinked her eyes open. Kyril gazed down at her, his face lit in the golden light of the sunset. “Oh, man. How long was I asleep? And where’s your bathing suit?” She missed his bathing suit. His body had looked so good, all lean and muscled…
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “What does matter is that dinner is about to be served.” He’d changed his clothes, back into slacks and a dress shirt.