by Leslie North
The moment she broke the surface, Kyril’s arms went around her, and for the first time since those heady nights in Al-Dashalid, his mouth conquered hers, answering that fire in her belly.
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.
“When you beg for more.” He chuckled, his lips pressed against her ear, and she shuddered against him.
"At this rate, the baby will be born before I ever get my orgasm."
With an answering growl, he gave it to her then, all at once, a thrust that filled her so deeply her moan echoed over the lapping waves of the pool.
Kyril found his rhythm, and Hannah held on for dear life, her fingers digging into his shoulders. God, it was good—the pleasure rising, rising with every movement of his hips. Hannah found herself on the verge of release and squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out everything but the sensation of being utterly taken, utterly treasured.
She came with a cry that made Kyril grip her tighter as he flexed his hips and thrust faster. Her body shook with the pounding. She could feel his legs shaking as he rammed into her over and over, his face a mask of intensity. Moments later, he followed her to his own climax.
Hannah laughed as they came down from the high, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “You were right,” she gasped, catching her breath.
“Was I?” Kyril said, sounding satisfied.
“Another swim was just what I needed.”
8
Kyril never wanted to leave the yacht.
It had been a blissful near-week, and with every hour they spent together, he could see the tension slipping away from Hannah’s shoulders. She stopped holding herself away from him. In fact, she could hardly keep her hands off him, insisting on pushing their pool loungers close together. Kyril eventually had the crew put a wide double lounger by each of the pools. More than once, he’d caught her looking at him with moonstruck eyes.
Only when she thought he wouldn’t see, naturally.
But it gave him a glowing satisfaction to think that she was falling for him again.
Kyril, for his part, only felt his affection—and his protectiveness—expanding. It seemed to grow out over the yacht, over the ocean, and he could tell that one day it would encompass the entire planet.
And all of it centered on one woman.
As Captain Stavros guided the yacht to dock at the island of Santorini, Hannah lounged on the king-sized bed in the master suite, her eyes closed.
“Are you tired?” Kyril took her hand in his. “We don’t have to go yet, if you’re tired. But I wouldn’t want you to miss your reservation.” She’d been talking about the reservation on Santorini all morning.
“No, no. Let’s go. I’ve been looking forward to this for months.” Hannah pushed herself up on one elbow, then seemed to shake off her tiredness. The marina bustled outside the window and an excited light came to her eyes. “Have you been here before?”
A spark of joy ignited at the center of his chest. “Many times. And I have something to show you.”
“Something better than a Michelin-starred restaurant?”
He laughed. “You’re going to show me this restaurant. I’ve never heard of a place like that on Santorini. My surprise does have a chef, but it’s not a restaurant.”
“So cryptic,” Hannah said, and she put her hand at the crook of his elbow.
A private car awaited them at the dock, and Hannah rode through the city with her nose practically pressed against the window. “Look at this,” she breathed. “Oh, look—”
Kyril found himself fascinated by the way she drank everything in as if she’d never see it again.
That wouldn’t be the case, if only she’d become his wife.
It wasn’t long before they arrived at his private villa. It was a whitewashed masterpiece, four stories in all, and perched on the caldera overlooking the sea.
Hannah shook her head, a smile running wild over her lips. “I’m in serious danger of repeating myself. This place is amazing.”
And to think she’d been seriously considering sharing a room with strangers. The thought made him shudder and twist at the ring on his finger.
“I hope it’ll do,” teased Kyril, keeping his tone light. “How about a bath?” He folded her in his arms. “The tub in the master suite is large enough for two.”
They had more than enough time before dinner, even if they did end up making a mess in the bathroom when much of the water splashed out. He couldn't help himself around her. This woman had become as important to him as breathing, and he simply couldn't get enough of her.
“This can’t be right,” Hannah said, for the third time. She stood on the balcony, peering down at the wrinkled papers in her hands. It was her itinerary, something apparently as precious to her as gold.
Kyril was busy admiring her dress. It was simple and black and showcased every one of her curves, including the curve of her bump. But he didn’t like the look of concern on her face.
“What is it?” He wrapped one arm around her and looked down at the itinerary.
“There’s no—there’s no reservation here.” Hannah looked at the list again and bit her lip. She shuffled the papers, eyes tearing through another one. “Oh, no.”
“Is the reservation for another time? It’s all right—we’re in no rush. In fact, I can have a new one made right now.”
Hannah sighed. “It’s for another place. Oh, I can’t believe it. I was making reservations for Athens and Santorini together, and I must have—” She folded the sheaf of papers and put a hand to her forehead. “I must have confused the two. That’s why I couldn’t find this restaurant on the map.”
Kyril took the sheets from her hands and read through them again. “The name of the hostel here.” He refrained from any other comment about it. “It’s very similar to the restaurant. An easy mistake. But there are many wonderful places to eat here. You need only—”
He looked up at Hannah with a smile, but to his horror, her bottom lip was quaking.
“Darling.” He cast aside the papers and gathered her in while she furiously wiped at her eyes. “It’s all right.”
“I’m sorry,” Hannah said furiously. “I’m—these hormones, and—” She sniffed. “This was going to be my one big splurge for the trip, and now I’ll never—”
“Don’t say that.” He put two fingers under her chin and tilted her face to his. Her lips softened under his, parting in a wicked way that made him want to cancel all dinner reservations until the end of time
. It was a difficult thing, to break away from her. “I’ve always loved it here.” He pressed one more kiss to her forehead. “Santorini is one of my favorite places on earth. I know just what to do.”
Hannah tried her best not to be devastated, but her heart was heavy as Kyril led her through the city. “I can’t believe I screwed this up,” she said mournfully, and Kyril ran a reassuring hand down her back.
“I promise you, Hannah, you’ll have another chance. In the meantime, this is our turn. And it will be utterly delicious.”
Hannah peered up at the building on the corner. It was another whitewashed house, smaller in stature than Kyril’s villa. “Someone’s house?”
He grinned. “No.” They followed a narrow path around to a wide porch overlooking the ocean, where a uniformed host waited to seat them at the tiniest restaurant Hannah had ever seen. It was only seven tables, warm in the sun, and she loved it instantly.
A man in a fine suit came out of the building, saying something in Greek with a wide smile on his face. Hannah could only catch Kyril’s name, but she knew by his answering smile that the two men must be friends. He greeted Kyril with a boisterous clap on the back, and they spoke rapidly to each other in Greek. Kyril turned to her after a moment, eyes shining. “Adrian, the owner of one of the world’s finest restaurants.”
“Hannah,” she said, extending her hand to shake.
It was a little impressive, the way Kyril moved in the world. The people he knew.
It was less impressive when he ordered her dinner for her.
Adrian took them personally to their table and stood nearby while they perused menus printed on thick white paper.
Kyril turned to him without so much as a glance in her direction and ordered for them both—a salad of olives, feta, cucumber, and onions; roast lamb; and skordalia. Adrian nodded, took their menus, and began to turn away.
Hannah couldn’t let that stand. She was a grown woman, and she could play his game. “Adrian, one moment.”
“Of course.” He stepped back to the table.
“We’ll have the baklava as well,” she said. “Up first, before anything else.” Adrian looked to Kyril for his confirmation, but Kyril was busy gazing at Hannah, his lips curved upward in a certain amusement.
“My order wasn’t enough for you?”
“Having a man order isn’t true to the experience,” she sniffed, and Kyril laughed.
Still, she had to admit, she’d been thinking of ordering the lamb.
Kyril was right. It was utterly delicious.
Hannah rushed through her plate until she caught herself. There was no need. She was starving, still—but they had all evening. Conversation. She would focus on the conversation.
“You love Santorini enough to have a home here?”
Kyril finished another bite of his own meal. “Oh, yes. It’s one of my favorite places to get away from—” He paused, considering. “I hesitate to say pressures. The responsibilities of Al-Dashalid.”
“What about Venice? Had you been there before?”
“Once, but it’s been years now.” He cracked a smile. “It was during my sightseeing phase. I traveled at every opportunity, up until my father had a heart attack.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Hannah said.
“He recovered well,” Kyril said, gazing out at the ocean. “But after that, running the country fell to me. And that always takes precedence over escaping to this gorgeous place. My brothers were generous in letting me get away this time.”
“Do you miss it?” Hannah watched the way Kyril’s eyes danced in the setting sun. “Traveling, I mean.”
He thought for a moment before he answered. “I miss the anticipation of it. I can understand, perhaps more than most, why this trip is so important to you. I need those moments, too.”
“It’s all in the journey,” she said sagely, and he laughed.
“Truer words have never been spoken.” Kyril leaned back in his seat. “I will admit that the…scarcity makes me appreciate these adventures even more.” His expression settled into a serious set. “I enjoy it every moment I can, and I want that for you, too, Hannah.”
She sensed a shift into a heavier topic and considered parrying—they could talk about anything in the world, couldn’t they? But Hannah was too invested in the lamb, too invested in the man, to fight. At least this time.
“What do you mean?” She asked, though she was fairly sure she knew what he meant.
“It’s time to make some plans.” He straightened in his chair, and with that one simple movement, his power radiated from him. “It’s wonderful to live in the moment, but we must think of the future. Our child—” His eyes flickered to her belly and back to her face. “He or she will be a member of the royal family. At some point, we need to discuss those implications.”
Hannah nodded. “I’m listening.”
Kyril’s eyebrows rose. “All right.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “I know you don’t intend to give up on being a mother. I don’t intend to give up my role as this child’s father.”
“Reasonable enough,” Hannah said, and the image of him with a baby in his arms flashed into her mind's eye as suddenly as lightning. Not just a baby—their baby.
“If we’re both committed, the only solution is for you to move to Al-Dashalid.”
It struck her then—the full realization of Kyril as sheikh. Her stomach flipped. “Yeah. I guess so,” she said softly. She’d always known it was a possibility. She had even, in some distant part of her mind, known it was likely that moving to Kyril’s country would be in her future.
He cleared his throat. “I hate to be so blunt, but it would be…difficult for you there.”
Hannah folded her hands on the table. “Difficult?”
“As an unattached foreigner, with no family—with no father or husband—you won’t have many rights. And the law is clear in Al-Dashalid. When the parents are not married, the father gains custody of any children.”
Hannah’s jaw clenched. She had to look away. The thought of handing over her child was too much.
“Hannah, I’m not making a threat,” Kyril said, taking her hand, calling her gaze back to him. “I’m only informing you of the law. It will be much better for everyone if we are married.”
A fierce protectiveness blazed through her. She would do anything for her baby, and her rights. This proposal—a practical, unromantic one—was the only one she was willing to consider.
“I’ll marry you.” Her voice was harder than steel, not the giddy exclamation she’d always imagined. “Right here and now. No fanfare. No—” She waved a hand in the air. “This is a practical decision and nothing more. I won’t give up my rights. Or my baby.”
Kyril took a deep breath, his eyes shining despite the seriousness of his expression. “I wouldn’t expect you to. But…”
“But what?” Hannah held his hand as if it were a life preserver in a roiling ocean. How had he become her anchor?
“My family is already planning a wedding.” For once in his life, Kyril looked sheepish. “It’s part of marrying into the royal family. And with my thirtieth birthday being the deadline, the planning—well, it’s already well underway, even if the bride is still a mystery.”
“I won’t have it.” Hannah straightened up, imagining her spine was hard as diamonds. “I’m not joining the royal family. I’m only securing my right to parent my child.” She forced her shoulders to lower away from her ears. “You’ll get your inheritance, so we—we’ll both win. But I won’t be a royal wife. I’ll make my own life in Al-Dashalid.”
“We’re in agreement, then. We'll marry here and work the rest out later.”
Hannah let it go. He’d come around. After all, she wouldn’t give him any choice.
9
“It’s not going to be enough,” Hannah said aloud, though there was no one in the room with her. She’d risen early and come to a study overlooking the ocean, a notebook in one hand and her phone in th
e other. It was time to plan the wedding.
But her original idea—stripped and sterile—wasn’t going to be enough. She wanted more.
One day, she’d show her child photographs from her wedding day, and standing there in a sundress wouldn’t do.
She needed a great dress and beautiful flowers, and that was just the beginning.
It was going to be a Herculean task, getting married on Santorini when she was an American citizen and Kyril was sheikh of Al-Dashalid, but she relished the challenge. She smiled down at her notebook. Planning had gotten her this far, to a stunning Greek island. She could plan a simple wedding.
Thirty minutes later, the bubble of her hopes had burst.
For one thing, there was a waiting period in Greece. And for another, she had exactly none of the documents she’d need to apply for the license. Kyril probably didn’t, either. Why would he travel with those kinds of things? He hadn’t been planning to get married here, and neither had she.
“Deep in thought?” Kyril appeared next to the desk, a plate of toast in hand. It touched her, the simple gesture, but it didn’t repair her dashed hopes.
“Deep in despair. There’s so much red tape. If we wanted to get married here—” She did another quick calculation. “It would take the rest of the time I have left for my tour. I’d have to skip all the rest of the things I planned, and we’d have to rely on FedEx. Maybe the embassy could help with some things, but there’s no way they could expedite—”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Hannah blinked up at him. “Pardon?”
Kyril didn’t look like a defeated man. In fact, he looked practically giddy. “I’ll take care of it, darling. Don’t worry another moment. Meet me at the town hall in two hours.”
“Do you—wait. How can you possibly—what are you planning, Kyril? Do you even know what’s involved?” She stumbled over the words, stunned.
“This is something I can do for you.” Kyril leaned down and kissed her. “Please, let me.” He made for the door, then turned back and put the plate of toast gently on the desk. “Breakfast,” he called. “And relax. There are many wonderful books in the library here.”