Yank hated to travel. He could never find his tickets and his boarding passes disappeared. He picked up the wrong luggage and always seemed to end up next to crying babies. Occasionally he became so absorbed in his thoughts that he missed his boarding call altogether and the plane took off without him. As a result, SysVal had an unwritten policy that he was never to be sent on a business trip alone. But Mitch hadn't been able to retrieve Susannah, and they certainly couldn't send Sam. That meant Yank had to do the job.
His coworkers would have been surprised to know how efficiently he had managed the complicated trip to the island of Naxos. They still didn't understand that he was able to function quite well when he chose to. It was just that most of the time he didn't choose to.
As he got out of the jeep in front of the cottage, he made a precise currency conversion in his head and then tipped the driver exactly fifteen percent of the fare, counting out the drachmas and organizing them into precise piles in the palm of his hand. When he was done, he carefully slipped his wallet back into his pocket so he wouldn't lose it and picked up his suitcase. It was leather and monogrammed with matching Y's. A former girlfriend had given it to him as a present for his thirtieth birthday. Later, his accountant told him that she had charged it on one of Yank's own credit cards.
While he walked up the path to the cottage, he organized his thoughts and mentally prepared himself for the task of retrieving Susannah. This was a job he couldn't afford to bungle. It was too important to all of them.
She answered the door after his first knock. She appeared so tired and sad that Yank wanted to hug her, but of course he didn't. All the feeling he had held for her since the evening Sam had brought her to the Homebrew meeting rushed through him like a bombardment of electrons.
"Yank!" Susannah's mouth grew slack with astonishment. She glanced past his shoulder to see who had brought him. He could almost feel her dread that it might be Sam.
"Hello, Susannah." He watched as she tilted her head to the side to look behind him again. "I'm alone."
"Alone?"
He nodded.
Her forehead wrinkled. "Did someone come part of the way with you?"
"I came all the way alone."
"Ail the way to Greece?"
"Could I come in, Susannah? And if it isn't too much trouble, I'd very much like something to drink."
"Of course." She stepped aside to admit him, but she couldn't resist one last peek outside before she shut the door.
"I think we have some Greek beer," she said. "But-Why are you here, Yank?"
"I've come to get you," he said simply. "I've come to take you home."
The sun was in Paige's eyes, so for a moment she thought the man standing with his back to her on the patio was Mitch. A flash of pleasure washed through her at the idea of engaging in another round of sexual dueling with the delectably stuffy Mr. Blaine. But then she realized that the man looking out toward the sea was much leaner than Mitch and even taller-maybe four or five inches over six feet.
As he turned toward her, she caught her breath. What an incredibly arresting man! His brown hair was side-parted and well-cut. His features were unusually sharp: bladed cheekbones, a thin straight nose, finely chiseled lips-all of it topped by a pair of light brown eyes that were widely spaced and compelling. He was casually dressed in a charcoal shirt with a pair of chinos and a webbed belt. A nearly empty bottle of Greek beer was clasped in his hand, and a gold watch with a leather strap encircled his wrist. All in all, he was an extremely tempting piece of male flesh.
She took a step toward him and stopped as a prickle of unease traveled up her spine. He was looking at her so strangely, almost as if he were taking her apart and examining the separate pieces-the iris of an eye, the curl that brushed her cheek, her chin, a breast. He shifted his gaze to her other breast, regarded it with great concentration, and then moved his eyes down over her torso to her hips. Instead of being insulted, she felt curiously flattered.
"Should I turn around so you can see the rest?"
"Not unless you'd like to." His voice was so deep and soft that it almost seemed to have blown in off the sea.
The door of the cottage opened and Susannah came out with a glass of ice water. She looked tense and frazzled. "Paige, you're back. I didn't hear the moped."
"Just got here." Paige set down the string bag of produce from the market and once again glanced curiously toward their visitor.
"Paige, this is Yank Yankowski. Yank, my sister Paige."
Paige nearly choked. This was Yank? This was the dopey genius that Susannah and Mitch had told her all those stories about? Had Susannah gone blind or had she simply lost her mind?
Paige let her gaze drift appreciatively over Yank. "No wonder big business fascinates you, Susannah. Do you have any more male partners tucked away?"
Susannah looked at her blankly.
Paige returned her attention to Yank and saw that his eyes had grown unfocused. He began patting his pockets, muttering something indecipherable, and then-without a word to either of them-walked past them into the cottage.
Paige watched him with amazement. "What on earth-"
"He's working on something. He does that all the time." Susannah took a sip of her ice water and set it down. Her hand shook ever so slightly. "Paige, don't let him take me back."
"What are you talking about?"
"Yank's come here to take me back. I-I'm not ready yet."
Paige regarded her curiously. "Then don't go. I've told you that you can stay as long as you like."
"You don't know the way he is. When he has his mind set on something, it's impossible to distract him. He's like Sam, except different. He's so gentle. Kind. It's difficult to explain."
"That's ridiculous, Susannah. He can't take you back unless you decide to go with him."
Susannah didn't look convinced. "I never expected him to show up here. Yank doesn't travel by himself. He can't manage things."
"He seems to have managed things just fine." Paige shook her head in amusement. "I can't believe that's the same man you and Mitch were telling me all those dopey stories about. Susannah, he's incredibly sexy."
Susannah seemed vaguely startled. "Well, he's changed a lot since we started the company. He's certainly a lot better looking than he was when I met him. AH the women he's had in his life these past few years have put him together. I guess it happened so gradually that those of us who are with him all the time barely noticed."
"What do you mean, 'put him together'?"
"They've done his clothes shopping for him and thrown out the awful stuff he used to wear. He had this terrible crew cut right out of the 1950s, and these ugly black glasses with Coke-bottle lenses. His girlfriends cleaned him up, organized his wardrobe, and made him get contacts-that sort of thing, But it's all surface cosmetics. Yank is still Yank. And-" She shivered slightly. "Sometimes he can be scary."
It was the first thing Susannah had said about Yank Yankowski that made any sense to Paige.
As she had done with Mitch, Paige invited Yank to stay the night and fed him a delicious dinner. To Yank's credit, he managed to keep up his end of the conversation throughout most of the meal and only faded out on them a time or two. After the dishes were cleared, he asked Susannah to show him the beach.
She made a great play out of pushing the cork back into a bottle of wine they hadn't quite finished. "Let's do it tomorrow. I'm a bit tired tonight."
"I'd very much like to see the beach now," he said quietly.
"It's late, Yank. And it's a steep climb."
"There's a full moon. We can see quite well."
Susannah shot Paige a pleading glance, and her sister's maternal instincts took over. She set down her dishrag and touched Yank's arm lightly. "Beach tours are my specialty. If you treat me right, I might even let you cop a feel behind the rocks."