She had learned a brutal life lesson.
Most guys didn’t want love.
They didn’t want a connection.
They just wanted a conquest. A warm body. A thrill. Before they disappeared, taking the other person’s heart like a trophy.
She would never trust a man’s pretty words again.
Dani exhaled sharply and blinked back to the present, the scent of diesel snapping her out of the memory.
She swiped at the sweat on her brow and shook her head as if she could scatter the thoughts loose. She’d buried Morocco. Buried Zayan, and all the smooth-talking guys that came after. They were all just another Carlos. Nice, fun in moderation, and never to be taken seriously.
So why the hell had Alexandros Kallistratos of all people made her want to see if he was different? His generous offer for a night should tell herexactlywhat kind of guy he was! An older version of Zayan! Smooth, confident, and full of the same steaming crap she’d been sold before.
She gritted her teeth and returned to the engine. There was work to be done—and no space in her heart for pretty lies in expensive suits.
Four
He woke with a smile on his lips.
It had been years—years—since Alexandros Kallistratos had felt this brand of anticipation humming in his veins before his feet even hit the floor. A slow, lazy ache stretched through his muscles, and the image of tousled curls and flashing green eyes danced at the edges of his memory like smoke.
Dani.
The name curled in his mind with the same enigmatic sensuality that had haunted his dreams all night. Dreams that had been… vivid, to say the least. One minute she was dripping wet and defiant on his yacht, clutching her boots like a lifeline. Next, she was laughing—naked except for grease-smeared cargo pants—wielding a wrench like a weapon and daring him to get closer.
And he had. In the dream, he had gotten much closer.
He chuckled under his breath as he stepped out onto the shaded upper deck where breakfast awaited. The Aegean morning breeze skimmed across his bare arms, warm and salty, tousling his still-damp hair as he took his seat at the table set beneath the linen awning. His steward, Haralambos, approached with practiced grace and set downhis breakfast—poached eggs on grilled bread with ripe fruit and a glass of fresh orange juice.
He barely had time to unfold his napkin before Demetrius appeared, folder in hand and an amused smile twitching the corners of his mouth.
“Good morning, Alexandros,” Demetrius greeted, his tone just this side of innocent. “Did you sleep well?”
Alexandros gave him a lazy, knowing glance and nodded to the steward. “Join me.”
Demetrius sat as Haralambos brought a second setting. He ordered espresso and yogurt with honey, and they waited in companionable silence until the steward disappeared again, leaving only the whisper of the sea and the soft clink of silverware.
Alexandros leaned forward, his elbow resting on the table as he reached for the folder.
“Is this her?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
Demetrius nodded. “Initial file. Took some digging.”
Alexandros opened the folder and blinked.
One page.
One. Single. Page.
And not even filled with double-spaced typing.
He lifted the sheet and turned it over as if a fuller dossier might be hiding on the back. But the reverse was blank, as stark as the amused glint in Demetrius’s eyes.
He read aloud, voice low with disbelief.
“Danika Rae Collins. Age twenty-one. American. Lives aboard a trawler at Pier Five named…The Gentle Breeze.”
