Chapter 2
TWO MONTHS LATER…
Tiffany Wainwright was hard to impress. She grew up on an outback cattle station that covered almost ten thousand square kilometres.
Where she came from, they mustered cattle with helicopters.
Large saltwater crocs lurked in the river that ran along the western boundary.
She’d lost count of the number of snakes she’d encountered.
Once, when she’d been seven, a royal prince had stayed for a week.
And later, when she’d left Australia at the age of eighteen, escaping family drama to go on a grand adventure, she’d hiked to the Mount Everest base camp, danced under the Northern Lights in Iceland and walked the Great Wall of China.
Eight years ago, at the age of twenty, she started working on cruise ships.
Huge floating hotels with theatres and casinos that had taken her all around the world.
For the last three years she’d worked as a casino croupier onboard the Hellenic Spirit where the amount of money that was won and lost every night was eye-watering.
All that was to say that while she might have come from the middle of nowhere, she hadn’t just fallen off the turnip truck.
Still, the gleaming superyacht secured to its mooring before her was impressive.
Not because of its size or its twenty-million-dollar price tag, but because of what it represented.
Exclusivity.
No four thousand people on this boat, most of whom had saved up their hard-earned cash to afford the extravagance of spending time at sea. No upselling to the high-end drinks package or the most expensive shore excursion option. This was luxury only a select few could afford.
The hull was blindingly white under the intense September sunshine that drenched the island of Hydra in bright golden light.
It illuminated the clear water fringing the rocky edges of the harbour wall, bounced off terracotta rooftops and dazzled like diamonds on the sea that deepened beyond the harbour mouth.
Her gaze fell on the loopy calligraphy flowing down the side that confirmed this was, indeed, the Nerida . And for the next two months, it was going to be her home.
A flutter of anticipation and excitement winged its way through Tiffany’s belly.
Or maybe it was nervousness. It was the first time she’d worked on something this small, and she wasn’t sure of her role.
The agency had said it would be steward work – cleaning, serving, bar work – with occasional croupier duties, which was why, largely, she’d scored the job.
Anyone could be taught to make a bed and fix a margarita, but becoming a professional croupier was a much more specialised area and not something that could be taught overnight.
Of course, she’d never done it in such a bespoke environment before, but she was up for the challenge and she’d kick ass doing it because that was what she did.
A girl who’d grown up roping and wrangling cows and cowboys knew how to work hard and wasn’t afraid to get dirty doing it. And besides, she had to because life on a huge cruise ship hadn’t been working for her for the last few months.
Too many people. Too little space. Too little privacy. Not enough free time.
None of those things had bothered her before, but they did now.
Which was why when her contract came up for renewal a month ago, she’d decided not to re-sign.
She hadn’t known what she’d wanted but when the agency had come back to her with this job, it had seemed like a good stepping stone to whatever was next.
A chance to breathe and figure things out.
They had assured her there would be plenty of free time as the boat wasn’t being chartered this season.
It was being used exclusively by the owner instead, who cruised when the whim took him and didn’t entertain too much or travel with a gang of freeloaders.
But did insist on having a live-in crew at the ready at all times.
Which meant Tiffany might have time to pursue other things.
Like that book that had been brewing in her head ever since she’d set foot on her first cruise ship and her romance with the ocean had begun.
She’d been ignoring the urge for years but ever since Kelsey and Ari got hitched, it had thrust itself to the fore of her mind again.
They’d invited her to come and say with them in their apartment in Athens or the one in London, for as long as she needed. But Tiffany had financial responsibilities she couldn’t let slide and the newlyweds already had Kelsey’s mother living with them. They didn’t need a fourth wheel.
She took a deep steadying breath, dragging warm Aegean air into her lungs before rolling her suitcase the short distance to the cast rail.
Behind her was the waterfront where colourful tavernas, restaurants and souvenir shops bordered the cobblestone promenade that separated land from water.
Where donkeys – the only form of transport on the island – patiently waited with their handlers to deliver tourists to the Church of the Assumption, or their hotels or one of the seaside villages further away.
In front of her was her invitation to the sea.
Stepping onto the sleek, sturdy bridge leading from mooring to deck, she dragged her case behind her as she navigated the narrow path then stepped onto the aft lower deck area.
No one appeared to be around to greet her, so Tiffany took a moment to imagine what it must be like to own something like this.
To live this kind of life. To take off when you felt like it and drop in wherever you wanted.
To have that kind of freedom at your fingertips.
To know you could cast off and travel anywhere the whim took you.
Not that she’d ever wanted to be rich. Having money – on paper anyway – hadn’t brought her mother much joy, or helped her little brother fit into a hypermasculine world that didn’t make space for vegetarians, especially those who preferred creativity to cattle.
And God knew she’d seen enough tragic stories in the eyes of many a high roller who had sat down at her blackjack table.
But to have the time and space money afforded a person? That would be nice.
‘Oh, hey.’
Tiffany turned at the sound of a thick Scottish accent to find a big guy with a shock of red hair and woolly red beard shot with grey. ‘Hi.’ She walked forward, extending her hand. ‘I’m Tiffany. The new second stew,’ she said as they shook. ‘People call me Tiff.’
‘Ivan,’ the guy said, introducing himself with a smile. He was in black shorts and a navy polo shirt with Nerida embroidered in white on the left upper chest. ‘I’m the bosun. My wife, Kelly, is the first stew. Come on in and I’ll take you down to meet everyone then you can meet the boss.’
He grabbed her bag before Tiffany could assure him she was fine carrying it herself.
She was big-boned like her father and brothers and strong from years of hard work lugging hay bail and saddles and roping cattle.
But he took off at a clip and she followed as he strode through the boat, naming rooms as he went, travelling through the kitchen to a set of stairs that led below deck to the staff quarters.
Everyone, dressed in variations of the Nerida navy shirt, was sitting at the staff dining table, so she got to meet them en masse.
Remembering names was not one of Tiffany’s fortes but, in her defence, large cruise ships usually employed about two thousand people. And sometimes, like on her last ship, the Hellenic Spirit , turnover could be significant. She was pretty sure she could handle the names of five people.
‘This is Tiff,’ Ivan announced to the people around the table cradling mugs topped with frothy milk and indulging in a mid-morning snack, which appeared to be baclava.
Her stomach growled. She’d been too excited and nervous to eat this morning before she caught the ferry from Athens to Hydra.
A deluge of introductions followed. There was Maria, the chef from Venezuela; Kelly, a Kiwi who was the first stew and essentially her direct boss as well as Ivan’s wife; Simon from Nova Scotia, who was another member of the deck crew along with Anja, who was Danish.
Tiffany smiled at each of her new crewmates. The mix of accents was one of the things she’d known she was going to miss about being on a huge cruise ship, but it appeared she needn’t have worried.
‘I’ll take you to meet the boss when you’re ready,’ Kelly said as she showed Tiffany to her cabin.
It was a bunkbed but the space wasn’t too cramped, and she didn’t have to share with anyone – bonus. Stowing her suitcase on the lower bed, Tiffany turned and said, ‘No time like the present.’
Kelly took her on a more thorough tour as they made their way up to the bridge, through the guest suites and saloon, bars and lounges, chatting all the way about their cruise to Mykonos tomorrow and what a cushy gig it was on the Nerida . When they got to the bridge, it was empty.
‘Oh.’ She frowned. ‘He was here earlier. Hang on.’ She unclipped the small handheld walkie talkie hanging from her hip. ‘Boss, the new girl is on the bridge.’
Girl . Tiffany couldn’t ever remember feeling like a girl. She’d been her father’s little sidekick for years and then, at the age of twelve, she’d seen something she shouldn’t have and she’d grown up overnight.
‘Roger,’ a distorted voice responded.
‘He won’t be long,’ Kelly assured. ‘In the meantime, this is the wheelhouse where?—’
She was interrupted by Ivan’s Scottish brogue over the radio. ‘Kel, provisions have arrived.’
‘Roger, I’ll be down.’ She slid the radio back in place. ‘Do you mind if I…’ She gestured her intent to leave.
‘Of course.’ Tiffany nodded. ‘Go. Actually, why don’t I come and give you a hand with the provisions? This could probably wait?’
One of the things Tiffany had liked about working on massive cruise liners was being one of many small cogs in a big wheel that all did their own thing to keep the ship rolling. Cogs didn’t meet the owner of the wheel.
Not unless there’d been a serious screw up.
She understood this was a comparatively much smaller boat and that the owner was on board and that she’d probably run into him on a daily basis, but she wouldn’t have thought people who owned multi-million-dollar superyachts generally hung out with their staff.
It wasn’t like they were going to be lounging in the jacuzzi together.
Their intro could surely wait.
Kelly quirked an eyebrow. ‘Impressing the owner already, you’ll go far.’ But she was obviously teasing as she continued. ‘At ease, sailor, there’ll be plenty enough for you to do over the next two months. You can take this one off.’
Kelly departed out the same door they’d arrived, and Tiffany took a moment to glance around the space dominated by polished wood and dark leather.
Her attention was drawn to a bank of screens that sat at right angles to what she presumed was the instrument panel, which was tucked just below the expansive windows that followed the curve of the bridge and afforded the captain a 180-degree view of wherever he was heading.
Hanging off the panel dead centre was an old-fashioned wheel. It wasn’t pirate-ship huge but it fit the nautical ambience, its rounded wooden contours gleaming with polish.
As she lifted her eyes, Tiffany’s gaze was drawn to the view through the spotlessly clean glass and the beckoning blue beyond, and her breath caught.
It didn’t matter how many times she saw the water in this part of the world, it always entranced her, even as she struggled to define the exact shade of blue.
The door on the other side of the wheelhouse opened abruptly, interrupting her musings. A strange prickle brushed her nape as Tiffany turned to find the owner striding in her direction. And that was when her stomach went into freefall.
Oh God. It was him. Theo Callisthenes – in the flesh. Wearing a hell of a lot more clothes than the last time she’d seen him.
Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…
Tiffany saw the exact moment realisation dawned for him, his powerful stride breaking as he came to a complete stop. Two brows pulled down and froze into a dark slash above those piercingly blue eyes she hadn’t been able to forget.
‘ Tiffany? ’
Momentarily speechless, all she could do was stare.
At the toss of his dark hair, the harsh cut of his cheekbones, the stubble darkening his square jawline, the jut of his chin.
The fullness of a mouth that he’d known exactly how to wield for maximum effect.
Not to mention those broad shoulders she’d clung to as he’d pounded into her, and those quads so perfectly delineated they could have been chiselled from marble.
Quads that had supported and cushioned her as he’d pinned her against the back of a hotel door and driven her to the most exquisite orgasm of her life.
If Tiffany had been superstitious she’d have wondered why the universe was conspiring to thrust them together again, but she was far too pragmatic for that. As ever, she preferred to get on with it.
‘Theo.’ She’d been going for nonchalant but missed the mark by a mile, her voice disappointingly high. ‘Surprise.’