on one of the loungers and just studying the sky. With little ambient light, the stars seemed to multiply. She saw more each night than she’d ever seen in London.
They’d be stopping at anchor soon. The Aegean rocked the boat gently each night. She loved it. Maybe she should consider looking for a permanent berth on some ship once her task had been completed.
“Thank you,” one of the crew said as he rose. “It’s good.”
One by one the others rose and thanked her. Sara was beaming when Stefano left to clean the kitchen. He’d removed all the dishes and utensils, leaving the table bare, except for her glass of water.
One of the men went to sit near the aft rail, gazing out across the sea. The others left, presumably to other tasks or for an early bedtime.
Sara enjoyed the night air for a short time, then went back to the galley to check on preparations for breakfast. Once she had that done, she’d call it a night.
She had been longer on the aft deck than she thought. The galley was gleaming. Stefano had finished and vanished. She would have enjoyed some company in the quiet space while she mentally reviewed the checklist for the ingredients she would need to bake individual quiches for breakfast. She’d make a pan of sweet rolls and cut up fresh fruit. The larder of the galley was bigger than the pantry she had in her flat. The yacht was spacious and outfitted to suit the most discriminating tastes.
Humming as she double-checked everything, Sara was startled when she heard the door open behind her. Turning, she stopped in surprise. No doubt about it, Nikos Konstantinos had come to the galley.
In a land where all men seemed to be handsome, she was momentarily taken aback. Feeling tongue-tied like an idiot schoolgirl, she could only stare for a long moment, feeling every sense come to attention as she gazed at him. He had wavy black hair and a tan that spoke of hours in the Aegean sun. Dark eyes gravely regarded her. He seemed to fill the doorway, his head barely clearing the lintel. He was over six feet, with broad shoulders and a trim physique. The white dinner jacket he wore seemed out of place on a ship, yet suited him to perfection. Bemused, Sara wished her friend Stacy could see how the rich dressed for dinner—even on a private yacht. This man would take the crown for good looks. She felt a frisson of attraction, and the surprise shocked her out of her stupor. He’d think she was an idiot if she didn’t say something.
“Can I help you?” she asked. For a moment she felt a pull like a magnet’s force field, drawing her closer. Looking away for a scant second, she was vaguely pleased to note her feet were still where they had been. She hadn’t made a fool of herself by closing the gap between them.
“You are the chef replacing Paul?” he asked in disbelief.
Sara almost groaned in delight at the husky, sexy tone of his deep voice. She wanted to close her eyes and ask him to recite some lengthy passage just to hear him speak. But Sara Andropolous was made of sterner stuff. Tilting her head slightly, she gave a polite smile, ignoring her racing heart and replied, “I am.”
Be very wary, she warned herself. This man held the key to the Konstantinos family island. She dared not do anything to jeopardize that. But for an instant she forgot all of that as she took in his stunning good looks. The tingling awareness seemed to grow with each tick of the clock.
He narrowed his eyes slightly. “I had not expected a woman so young,” he said softly.
“Age has little to do with accomplishments,” Sara replied, her back up now. What, a woman still in her twenties, though barely, couldn’t be as great a chef as one in her fifties? So much for instant attraction. Reality slapped her in the face. He came from the same world that had ended so cruelly for her mother thirty years ago. What did he know of deprivation, hardship, heartache? Or working one’s butt off to get ahead? She’d fought long and hard to achieve the level she had attained. Age had nothing to do with it. Sheer dog-headed determination and drive had.
While not precisely the enemy, Nikos Konstantinos was, nevertheless, not a friend either.
“My apologies, I didn’t mean to imply it was. You caught me by surprise, that’s all. I came to compliment you on tonight’s meal. My guests were most pleased. The lamb almost melted in our mouths.”
Sara was pleased with the compliment and equally surprised her new boss had taken time to come to tell the chef in person.
“I am Nikos Konstantinos,” he said. As if she wouldn’t know.
“I am Sara Andropolous,” she replied. Would he recognize the name from the one letter she’d sent months and months ago? Or had he not been the one to refuse it and have it returned to sender?
“You are finding everything you need?” he asked.
“Yes. The galley is perfect.”
“As are the meals you are preparing. I am pleased.”
She felt a warm glow. She had worked hard to achieve her goals. She would fight tooth and nail to keep her position. But not, it seemed, today. The man she now worked for was satisfied.
“I believe in passing along compliments so people know their work is appreciated,” he commented.
She studied him a moment longer not knowing what to say. He nodded his head once and left.
Nikos Konstantinos had not followed in his father’s and grandfather’s footsteps, but had made his mark in the hotel industry. Since building the Windsong, his impact on Greek tourism had been assured, Sara had been told more than once. The employees of the hotel bragged about its success, and with good reason. The excellent staff had had a lot to do with it, after all. The resort was rumored to have a waiting list of more than a year for a reservation. Guests not staying in the hotel could sail into the wide harbor, rent a slip at the lavish marina and use all amenities of the resort—including dining in one of the six fine restaurants. Those staying at the resort could choose which restaurant in which to dine each evening or arrange for room service to deliver and serve a meal as elegantly on a private terrace or balcony as in any of the five-star restaurants.
She was surprised he was as young as he was to have accomplished all he had. Maybe she should have returned the compliment. But then, he had started with a wealthy family backing him; he had probably leapfrogged over growth pains others had to endure.
She returned to her task. Their backgrounds couldn’t be more different. Sara had been raised without a twopence to spare. Fighting her way above the poverty level, she’d put herself through culinary school by working endless hours in kitchen sculleries to afford the training needed to rise above the level of short-order cook. Perseverance, determination—and yes, even some of that stiff-necked pride from her mother—had pushed her through and to success.
Whereas Nikos had probably merely spent one month’s allowance and had the Windsong built with a snap of his fingers. Nikos, she thought, like they were friends or something. Mr. Konstantinos, she corrected herself silently. If his guests continued to be pleased, he would be, as well. Which meant he’d keep her on board longer. Fingers crossed it was long enough to visit the family island.
Heading for her tiny cabin a short time later, Sara grew optimistic. She’d met the owner and he was satisfied with her work. Surely that meant things were still looking up for her plan.
Sara knew she’d been unbelievably fortunate that the chief chef had recommended her for this cushy spot. There were five other crew members in addition to herself. With the guests
