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“Believe it,” he drawled sarcastically. “Does it bother you, to go from his arms to mine?”
She pulled a face. “That’s disgusting.”
“It should be,” he agreed, spinning away from her then and bracing his hands on his hips, staring straight ahead. His back moved as he sucked in several breaths, and all she could do was stare at him, glad for that moment, when he was distracted and she could indulge her hunger without being seen.
“Come on,” he barked, without looking back. “Let’s go.”
She was tempted to stay where she was, but having come this far, found her feet falling into step behind his, one, then the other, until they were down on a wide, paved platform, level with the splendid boats. Until he paused at the gangplank of one particularly large superyacht, it hadn’t occurred to her that he was expecting her to board one, and a little tremor of excitement spiralled through her.
“After you.”
“So chivalrous,” she muttered sarcastically, eyeing the boat for a moment longer, taking in the details of the glossy white sides, darkly tinted glass, and the sheer size of the thing. There looked to be four distinct levels to the yacht, and sparkling water was reflected on the ceiling of one balcony, suggesting a swimming pool or spa. At the back of the boat, there was a sleek, black helicopter, with the same ‘X’ emblazoned on its side as she’d seen on the plane.
“I’m a perfect gentleman.”
“Yeah, right,” she rolled her eyes, stomping past him onto the gangplank, doing her best to hide the awe she felt at boarding such a luxurious craft.
At the top of the gangplank, he held out a hand to her, which she willfully ignored. Touching him was dangerous, there was no denying that.
“How long do you expect to keep me here?” She asked, flicking a glance around the yacht. To her relief, she saw a woman in a crisp white uniform walking efficiently along the decks, so knew that at least there’d be staff to keep her occupied.
“I don’t know.” A frown flickered across his face. “As long as it takes to kill the story.”
“There is no—,”
He lifted a finger, pressing it to her lips. “Someone at your restaurant thinks there is.”
Her eyes flared wide, partly because of the way his touch seared her lips, and partly because of his revelation. “Someone at the restaurant?”
“That’s who sold the story. And apparently, they’ve volunteered you to share your side, for the right price.”
She gasped. “I can’t believe it.”
“Can’t you?” He asked with sarcasm. “Come. I’ll show you to your room.”
She formed her hands into fists, contemplating how ridiculous this was. Everything was spinning so completely out of control, but didn’t she owe it to Konstantinos to do everything she could to make sure this falsehood didn’t end up in the newspapers? It wasn’t just the newspapers, either. A day or two of publicity was okay, but stories that went online had a way of living forever. Anytime someone googled Konstantinos in the future, his sordid ‘fling’ with her would come up.
They’d been friends—good friends. The last thing she wanted was to be a part of his memory being sullied, particularly when he wasn’t around to redeem himself.
It was for that reason, and that reason only, that she followed Anastasios, past two shiny black jet-skis then up a wide set of stairs, through glass doors that led to a sitting area with white leather and beige accents, and enormous windows that showed views on either side of the lines of yachts bobbing alongside them and the glistening Mediterranean.
A casual lounge room gave way to a formal dining room, large enough to accommodate at least twenty people, then a bar that wouldn’t have looked out of place in any luxury hotel, past a circular staircase on one side and another sitting room with a grand piano and then, finally, to a wide, timber door.
“Your room.” He gestured through the door. “There’s a bathroom, and some clothes in the wardrobe.”
She arched a brow. “How thoughtful. No one can fault your kidnapping etiquette.”
“Good to know. I trust you’ll leave a five-star review for me?”
She blinked. A joke? From Anastasios? He looked as surprised as she was.
“My room is next door. Try not to get lost.”
That sobered her. “You mean you’re staying too?”
“Did you think I’d leave you to jump ship at the first available opportunity? Yes, I’m staying. It occurs to me you’re someone who needs supervision.”
“Believe it or not, I’m as eager to avoid this story being printed as you are.”
