by Leslie North
She stood next to her bedside table, frantically pushing at buttons on the clock. He ran to her side and gathered her into his arms, eyes scanning every corner of the room. What was happening?
“Kyril, don’t—” Hannah twisted in his grasp, fumbling at the clock. “I’m—it’s fine. I’m late.”
He blinked, his eyes still bleary, and caught a glimpse of the clock in her hands. Four in the morning. The alarm still shrieked, the most hideous sound, and worse, it was linked with the other clocks in the suite. No doubt it was meant to prevent people sleeping in separate rooms from missing flights, or some other “convenience,” but Hannah had turned the volume up all the way and was still struggling to shut it off.
“Late?” He released her, though every cell in his body resisted letting her go, and took the clock from her hands. The shutoff switch was a little one in the corner of the unit, and he flicked it off. “Late for what?”
“My boat.”
“What boat?” He set the clock on the bedside table as Hannah’s hands rose to her hair. “What are you talking about? Have you booked a tour?”
“My boat to Greece.” She turned to face him and sucked in a breath, her face going scarlet. He could tell she was fighting to keep her eyes on his face. He couldn’t help but relish it.
He raised both hands in the air. Hannah was already dressed and showered, the lavender scent of her shampoo dancing over every breath. “Why are you going to Greece?” He laughed in the midst of his confusion. “You don’t have to flee the country because you didn’t agree with my proposal.”
She cracked a smile, one corner of her mouth flitting upward. “I’m not fleeing the country. I planned this a long time ago.”
“You never told me. And I don’t see—” He ran one hand through his hair, standing tall. “You only planned one day in Venice? And then an interminable boat ride?”
“It’s not interminable. It’s thirty hours.”
“That’s almost longer than you’ve spent here. Why?”
Hannah took a deep breath, glancing again at the clock. “I didn’t—I don’t—have unlimited time for this trip. One of the sites I used to plan for my travels said that Venice could be done in a day.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I did it.”
“But a thirty-hour transit to Greece by ship?” He shook his head. “Have you only allotted one day for all of Greece, too?”
Hannah smirked at his little joke. “I don’t fly, remember? I told you that before. And I thought a cruise across the Adriatic would be better than a cramped train car all the way around.”
“Sir?” Abir leaned his head in the doorway, two other bodyguards at his shoulder. They didn’t look at all rumpled. A slower man than Kyril wouldn’t have beaten them, even from inside the suite. “Everything all right?”
He waved them off. Everything was not all right. For one thing, Hannah was trying to sneak out of the suite for an ill-advised boat trip to Greece. For another, he felt his nakedness more with every passing moment. “Everything’s fine.”
They disappeared from the doorway as quickly as they had appeared.
He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Come with me.”
“Kyril, I’m going to miss the—”
His tone broached no argument. “Come with me.”
Hannah followed him back to his room, where he pulled on a clean pair of boxers and lounge pants that slung low across his hips. Kyril caught her staring just once. The bed was so close that it hurt him not to tip her backward into the tangle of blankets and tug off the pretty black dress she was planning to wear on the boat that would carry her away from him. He sucked in a sharp breath and took her hand, leading her back out to the sofa and guiding her to the seat.
They looked out at the inky darkness of the Grand Canal, and Kyril gathered his thoughts.
One thing at a time.
“If you don’t fly…” Hannah shifted in the seat beside him, one moment pressing closer, the next straightening her back. “How did you get to the Middle East?”
Hannah chewed at the inside of her cheek. “It’s not that I’ve never flown. The first time I traveled, when we met…” Her voice trailed off, and Kyril found himself plunged into a vivid memory of his lips on her collarbone. “I took a strong sleeping pill. I only fly if I’m pretty…disconnected from the whole scene?”
“Are you afraid of heights?” She’d stood next to him on an ancient outpost overlooking the capital city and hadn’t seemed to flinch.
“No, my—” A sad smile flickered across her features. “My parents were killed in a plane crash when I was eighteen.”
Kyril took her hand, his heart aching for her. “God, Hannah, I’m sorry. I had no idea.” He could hardly imagine his own father departing the planet, much less in such a tragic accident.
“It’s—well, it’ll never be all right, but I’ve come to terms with it.” She turned to face him, leaning in a fraction of an inch. “It does make flying difficult. And with the baby, I couldn’t rely on sedatives, so to get to Europe, I took my first cruise.” Her teeth flashed white in the dim light of the suite. “That was an experience. It was almost worth the extra time it took.”
He squeezed her hand, wishing he could hold her close the rest of the night. “I understand.”
Hannah looked back out at the Canal. “Anyway. I’ll miss my boat if I don’t—”
“Don’t worry about that,” Kyril said, a fiery conviction uncurling in his chest. “Don’t worry about any of it. You shouldn’t spend a single moment worrying about your safety or the baby’s. I will handle it. You won’t have to be alone.” He stood up. Where had he left his phone? In his bedroom. He pulled Hannah up by the hand. “Go back to bed. I’ll make other arrangements.” His mind spun into overdrive, sorting out the task at hand.
“No.” Hannah put a hand to his chest. “You don’t have to do this, Kyril. I can continue my tour and come to Al-Dashalid when it’s all over. We can talk about this—this baby thing then.”
He took her hand from his chest and raised it to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles. “I won’t hear of it. Do you understand? I won’t hear of it.” He led her back to her bedroom. “Rest until morning. I’ll make it right for all of us.”
Hannah hesitated, and he braced himself for resistance.
Then she yawned, shaking her head. “If I weren’t so tired—”
“Rest.”
He herded her into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. Then he hovered for a moment. He heard two twin thumps, one after the other—her shoes hitting the carpet. Kyril held his breath, listening. The smooth compression of her weight on the mattress. He allowed himself to exhale.
Then he was in motion, heading for his bedroom, heading for his phone. He stopped only to put on a T-shirt, then snatched it up from the table. He rubbed the rest of the sleep from his eyes and dialed.
Abir picked up on the first ring.
“Sir?”
“Still awake?”
Abir chuckled. “I’d say so.”
“Bring your computer and come over. I have plans to make.”
7
“Unbelievable,” Hannah breathed as she stepped from the gangplank to the smooth hardwood floor of the largest private vessel she’d ever set foot on. It seemed nearly as large as the cruise ship she’d traveled to Europe on, though she knew it couldn’t be. “Or is it totally believable?”
Kyril turned from a hushed conversation with Abir. “Beg your pardon?”
Hannah tightened her grip on his elbow. “I was just commenting on how you this yacht is and—” Something large and white caught her attention from the corner of her eye. “Is that a speedboat?” It was on its own private rig on the back of the yacht, ready at any moment to be dipped into the sparkling waters of the Adriatic.
“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.
“Oh.” She shot up in her chair. Hannah still wore the teal bikini underneath a cover-up of a delicate, sheer cloth. “Then I need to get dressed. You should have woken me,” she said, trying to sound stern and failing.
“Not to worry.” Kyril put out his hand and helped her up. “You’re dressed to perfection. This is our yacht, after all.”
* * *
“I was surprised,” Kyril admitted forty-five minutes later as they made their way slowly through the third course of the evening—beef medallions so tender Hannah let every bite dissolve on her tongue. They’d made it to dinner in ten minutes—she’d insisted on changing into an evening dress that swung around her knees—and at first it felt like a blind date. She’d finally been able to relax after the salad course, when Kyril began to feel more like a man than a force of nature. She’d asked him how he felt, back in the train station. “It was shocking news, but what’s more—” He sipped at his glass of sparkling water. “I didn’t expect to feel so protective of our child in that initial moment.”
Hannah laughed. “That’s not so surprising. You’re always protecting everyone.”
Kyril laughed with her, and the conversation veered to one of his brothers in Al-Dashalid. Before she knew it, the plates were empty, being cleared away, and dinner was over. How had the time flown so fast?
Hannah stood and for the first time in her pregnancy, noticed a dull ache in her lower back. She pressed a hand to it, her brow wrinkling.
Kyril was at her side in an instant. “What is it?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” She waved him off. “My back. It’s a little sore. I’m sure it’ll pass.”
“I know what will help.” Kyril put a gentle palm around her waist and drew her toward the outer deck. “Another dip in the pool. It’s heated—it’ll feel like bathwater on your back.”
“That sounds like heaven on Earth.”
Kyril didn’t hesitate—he reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head, exposing the matching bra and panty set she wore underneath. His hands on her skin ignited something at the base of Hannah’s belly. She shivered against his palms.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured. “The water’s warm.” He grinned. “But you won’t want those things to get wet.”
Why did she suddenly feel so shy? It was Kyril, after all, and he was the father of her child. She pretended bravery and stripped off her underthings, dropping them in turn to a poolside chair. When she looked up again, Kyril was naked. She got a flash of him in all his glory, and then he leapt into the pool with an enormous splash.
Hannah sputtered as the water made contact. He was right—it was warm.
Kyril surfaced and laughed, his voice ringing out over the waves. “Are you afraid of a bit of warm water? Come in.”
“Never afraid,” Hannah called, and she leapt in after him.
He had backed her up to the side of the pool by the time she managed to break way. “Kyril, we're out in the open, maybe we shouldn't," but her hands automatically gripped his shoulders instead of pushing him away. Why couldn't she resist this man?
“We will,” he commanded, and Hannah couldn’t help it—she let her legs rise around him, hugging him to her.
Kyril pressed his mouth to her collarbone, and she tilted her head to the side, her hair trailing in the warm water, letting him trail kisses up to the side of her neck. The pull for him ratcheted her arousal up with an answering flush, and she felt him smirk against her heated skin. She wanted to deny him for his arrogance but then moaned as he stroked her spine, bringing her desire to a fevered intensity. Kyril’s thick cock teased at her entrance under the water, sending jolts of desire between her legs. Hannah rocked her hips, more insistent by the second, but Kyril held back. The next kiss they shared was a desperate, searching duel of tongues and lips.
Hannah broke away and looked him in the eye. “Please, Kyril. This is torture.”
“What is?” he asked playfully, leaning forward to tease her bottom lip between his teeth.
“You—making me wait like this, it’s—” She bucked her hips against the heat of him. His crown thrust in an inch.
“A delicious kind of torture?” he murmured wickedly in her ear. “But you look so beautiful when you…”
“When I what?” Her own voice sounded far away. Hannah wriggled her hips, moving them slowly through the water—anything to get more of him inside.
