Greek Mavericks: Giving Her Heart To The Greek. Jennifer Taylor

to follow him into the bathroom. Except it was more like a high-end spa. There was an enormous round tub set in a bow of glass that arched outward so the illusion for the bather was a soak in midair.

      “Wow.” She slowly spun to take in the extravagance, awestruck when she noted the small forest that grew in a rock garden under a skylight. A path of stones led through it to a shower area against the back wall. Nozzles were set into the alcove of tiled walls, ready to spray from every level and direction, including raining from the ceiling.

      She clapped her hand over her mouth, laughing.

      The masculine side of the room was a double sink and mirror designed along the black-and-white simplistic lines Mikolas seemed to prefer, bracketed by a discreet door to a private toilet stall that also gave access to his bedroom. Her side was a reflection of his, with one sink removed to make way for a makeup bench and a vanity of drawers already filled with unopened cosmetics.

      “You live like this,” she murmured, closing the drawer.

      “So do you. Now.”

      Temporarily, she reminded herself, but it was still like trying to grasp the expanse of the universe. Too much to comprehend.

      A white robe that matched the black ones she’d already worn hung on a hook. She flipped the lapel enough to see the monogram, expecting a T and finding an M. She sputtered out another laugh. He was so predictably possessive!

      “Can you be ready in twenty minutes?”

      “Of course,” she said faintly. “Unless I get lost in the forest on the way back to my room.”

      My room. Freudian slip. She dropped her gaze to the mosaic in the floor, then walked through her water closet to her room.

      It was only as she stood debating a pleated skirt versus a sleeveless floral print dress that the significance of that shared bathroom struck her: he could walk in on her naked. Anytime.