Flights of Fantasy

Ordered by her boss to take a vacation, or else, photojournalist Chloe Atkinson accepts an invitation for a cruise aboard the luxurious power yacht, the Fantasy. In this scene, she meets her host for the first time... or do they already share a past?

         "Chloe, it's a pleasure to have you aboard."
         She looked up into his lean, dark face, cheekbones starkly carved, a wide slash of mouth, obsidian eyes beneath black brows. Light from the wall sconces gleamed on his skin, highlighting the bronzed tones of his shaven head. She suspected it was vanity that prompted him to keep his beautifully curved head on display. His face was ruggedly compelling and intriguing, one the camera would love. She didn't do commercial portraits, but he'd be an excellent subject. As she studied him, thinking about camera angles and lighting, she realized he examined her as intently.
         "I'm Yancy," he said.
         "Of course." She extended her hand, recalling what her boss had said about her host's professional accomplishments, his vast wealth, and his rapid rise to a position of power and influence. "Thank you for inviting me, Mr. Yancy--"
         "Just Yancy," he interrupted as he took her hand. He smiled broadly, making a little dimple appear in one cheek.
         "While I'm here, maybe we could do an interview?"
         The dimple disappeared. "No interviews. Ever."
         "Then why am I here?"
         "You don't remember me?"
         She narrowed her eyes and looked up past his broad shoulders covered with custom-made suiting, to his face. He smiled at her, softening the no-nonsense lines of his mouth. One slightly crooked tooth marred the perfection of otherwise even white dental work.
         Her breath felt trapped in her chest at the way he stared at her, expectantly and oddly demanding. It was her business to remember faces, but she couldn't place his cryptic, intense face. Quelling the strangest urge to run her hand over the curve of his head to learn if it was as smooth as it looked, she retrieved her hand from his warm grasp. "We've met?"
         "A long time ago." His smile warmed his black eyes. The dimple appeared, giving him the look of a mischievous boy. "You sat at the front of the room, I was at the back. I think I paid more attention to you than to Mr. Braganti's theories--"
         She wrinkled her brow in concentration, then made the connection. "You were in my poli-sci class? But that was in college, years ago!"
         "It took me a while to find you."
         "Why would you want to do that?" She took a step back, putting space between them. Just because he knew her college class schedule didn't mean he'd actually been there. She'd encountered stalkers before, met men who expected her to trade her body for an inside scoop.
         "Relax. You're among friends."
         Friends? Hardly. Did he think his money gave him the advantage? She put more space between them.
         He smiled, as if he'd guessed her thoughts. "I've wanted to get to know you, but the time wasn't right. Now it is."
         "Right for what?"
         "For you."