With Love From Athens

After they’d dropped anchor, he set a lantern over the companionway in the center cockpit, told her to stay put and disappeared below, returning a few minutes later with a bottle of chilled white wine, crystal glasses and a small tray of appetizers. “I’d toast you in champagne,” he said, taking a seat across from her and pouring the wine, “but it doesn’t travel well in a sailboat.”

“I don’t need champagne,” she assured him. “I’m happy just to be here with you.”

He tipped the rim of his glass against hers. “Then here’s to us, karthula.”

The wine dancing over her tongue, crisp and cold, lent her courage. “You’ve called me that before. What does it mean?”

“Sweetheart.” He raised one dark brow questioningly. “Do you mind?”

“No,” she said, and shivered with pleasure inside her cozy velour jogging suit.

Noticing, he gestured below deck. “Dinner’s in the oven and should be ready soon, but we can sit in the cabin where it’s warmer, if you like.”

“I’d rather not,” she said, shying away from the closed intimacy it presented. Now that the rush and excitement of getting away was over and it was at last just the two of them, she was gripped with an almost paralyzing shyness. “It’s so peaceful and quiet on deck.”

“But you’re on edge. Why is that, Emily? Are you wishing you hadn’t agreed to spend the weekend with me?”

“Not exactly. I’m just a little…uncomfortable.”

He scrutinized her in silence a moment, tracking the conflicting emotions flitting over her face. At last, he said, “About us being here now, or about the other night?”

She blushed so fiercely, it was a miracle her hair didn’t catch fire. “Do we have to talk about the other night?”

“Apparently we do,” he said.

She fiddled with her glass, twirling it so that the lantern light glimmered over its surface. From the safety of distance, she’d been able to put her conduct on Wednesday down to a temporary madness he’d inspired. But now, with no means of escaping his probing gaze, how she’d responded to him left her feeling only shamefully wanton and pitifully desperate.

What had possessed her to behave so completely out of character? Professionally she was ICU Nurse Tyler, capable, skilled and always in control. Socially, she was good friend Emily, affable, dependable—but again, always in control.

She did not rush headlong into affairs, she did not beg a man to make love to her and she most certainly did not brazenly invite him to explore her private parts. That she had done all three with Niko made her cringe. Yet, here she was, because embarrassed or not, she couldn’t stay away from him. And that meant facing up to what had transpired between them.

“You must know how very difficult it was for me to leave you as I did,” he said softly, divining so exactly the source of her discomfort that she wondered if she’d actually voiced her thoughts aloud. “I won’t pretend I’m not eager to pick up where we left off, but only if you feel the same. We take this at your pace, Emily, or not at all.”

She glanced around, at the velvet moonlit night; at the dark hulk of the island rising to her left. She listened to the silence, broken only by the gentle wash of the sea against the boat’s hull. Finally she dared to look at the man staring at her so intently. “It’s what I want, too,” she admitted. “I’m just a little out of my element. This is all very new to me, Niko.”

His posture changed from indolent relaxation to sudden vigilance. “Are you trying to tell me you’re a virgin?”

She choked on her wine. “No.”

“No, that’s not what you’re trying to tell me, or no, you’re not a virgin?”

“That’s not what I’m trying to tell you. I was referring to the setting—the boat, the glamour, the exotic location. As for whether or not I’m a virgin, does it really matter?”

“Yes, it does,” he said soberly. “Not because I’ll judge you one way or the other, but because if I’m your first lover, I want to know beforehand.” He leaned across and touched her hand. “So?”

Another blush raced up her neck to stain her face, though she hoped it didn’t show in the dim light. “I’m not.”

Picking up on her discomfiture anyway, he burst out laughing. “Don’t look so mortified,” he said. “I’m not, either.”

“But it was only once, and not exactly…a howling success. Contrary to the impression I might have given you the other night, I’m not very good at…well…this.”

“I see,” he said, making a visible effort to keep a straight face. “Well, now that you’ve got that off your chest, what do you say we have dinner and let the rest of the evening take care of itself?”

“I’d like to freshen up first.” In reality, she’d like to put her head down the toilet and flush, or better yet, jump over the side of the boat and never resurface.

“Sure,” he said easily. “I’ll be a couple of minutes getting everything ready, so take your time. Our stuff’s in the aft cabin, which has its own bathroom.”

It had its own built-in king-size bed, too. Dressed in navy-blue linens, with a wide ledge and window at the head, and brass wall lamps on either side, it set the stage for seduction and sent a tremor of terrified anticipation fluttering in Emily’s stomach.

Would she disappoint him? she wondered, unpacking her clothes and laying out her toiletries on the vanity in the bathroom. Make an even bigger fool of herself this time than she had before? Was she being too reckless, too naive, in straying so far out of her usual comfort zone? Or had she finally found the one man in the world who made all the risks of falling in love worthwhile?

Soft lights and music greeted her when she returned to the main cabin. The air was fragrant with the scent of oregano and rosemary. Navy-blue place mats and napkins, crystal, brushed stainless steel cutlery and white bone china graced the table. In the galley, on the counter above the refrigerator, were a basket of bread and a bowl containing olives, and chunks of tomato, cucumber and feta cheese drizzled with olive oil.

Long legs braced against the barely perceptible rise and fall of the boat, Niko stood beside the oven, arranging skewers of roasted lamb, eggplant and peppers over rice. “Not exactly a gourmet spread,” he remarked, carrying the platter to the table. “Just plain, simple picnic fare.”

“I’d hardly call it plain or simple,” she said, thinking of the plastic forks and paper plates, which marked the picnics she usually attended. “How do you keep your dishes and glassware from breaking when you’re under sail?”

“I had the boat custom built with cabinetry designed to keep everything safely in place. I’ll show you later, if you’re interested.”

“Interested? Intrigued is more like it. At the risk of repeating myself, you’re not at all the playboy I took you to be when I first met you.”

Green eyes filled with amusement, he said, “You’re an expert on playboys, are you?”

“No, but I’m willing to bet they don’t put their lives on the line to help people in distress, and they don’t cook.”

“Don’t let the meal fool you. I had it prepared at a local taverna. All I had to do was heat up the main course, which pretty much sums up my talents in the kitchen.”

He brought the bread and salad to the table, poured more wine and clinked his glass against hers. “Here’s to us again, karthula. Dig in before everything gets cold.”

The food was delicious; conversation easy and uncomplicated as they discovered more about each other. They both enjoyed reading and agreed they could live without television as long as they had a supply of good books at hand, although he preferred nonfiction whereas she devoured novels. And neither could live without a daily newspaper.

Niko was an avid scuba diver and had explored a number of wrecks off the Egyptian coast. The best Emily could manage was snorkeling in a protected lagoon and admitted to being nervous if she was too far away from the shore.

He’d seen parts of the world tourists never visited. She stayed on the safe and beaten track: other parts of Canada, Hawaii, the British Virgin Islands.

When they’d finished eating, she helped him clear the table. Dried the dishes he washed. Stacked the wineglasses in the cunning little rack designed to hold them. And loved the domesticity of it all. A man, a woman, a nest…

As ten o’clock inched toward eleven, he suggested they finish their wine on deck. The moon rode high by then, splashing the boat with cool light, but he took a blanket from a locker and wrapped them both in its fleecy warmth.

“I dream about places like this when I’m away,” he said, pulling her into the curve of his arm. “It’s what keeps me sane.”

“What is it about your work that made you choose it? The thrill, the danger?”

“In part, yes. I’d never find satisfaction playing the corporate mogul sitting behind a mile-wide desk and counting my millions, despite my father’s trying to buy my allegiance with more money than I could spend in a century of profligate living. To him, money’s the ultimate weapon for bringing a man to heel, and it infuriated him that, in leaving me my own fortune, my mother stripped him of that power over me. It’s the one thing she did that he resented.”

“But there’s another reason you decided on such an unconventional career?”

He shifted slightly, as if he suddenly found the luxuriously padded seat in the cockpit uncomfortable. “This isn’t something I’d tell to just anyone, but yes, there’s another reason. Using her money to help people in need eases my conscience at having killed her.”

Aghast to think he’d carried such a heavy burden of guilt all his life, Emily burst out, “I know I’ve said this before, but her death was an unforeseen tragedy, Niko, and you’re too intelligent a man to go on blaming yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. That Pavlos let you grow up believing otherwise—”

“I thought we’d agreed not to talk about my father.”

“We did, but you’re the one who mentioned him first.”

“Well, now I want to forget him, so let’s talk about your parents instead, and satisfy my curiosity on a point that’s puzzled me ever since you first mentioned it. You said they were killed in a car accident, so how is it that you were left with virtually no financial security? Usually in such cases, there’s a substantial settlement, especially when a minor is left orphaned.”

If she’d pressured him into confronting his own demons, his question very neatly forced her to address her own. “There was no settlement from the accident,” she said. “At least, not in my favor.”

“Why the devil not?”

She closed her eyes, as if that might make the facts more palatable. It didn’t. It never had. “My father was at fault. He was speeding and he was drunk. Sadly he and my mother weren’t the only victims. Four other people died as a result of his actions, and two more were left with crippling injuries. Because of the ensuing lawsuits, I was left with nothing but my mother’s personal effects and a small insurance policy she’d taken out when I was born. And you already know how that was spent.”

“They had nothing else of value? No stock portfolio or real estate?”

She shook her head. “We never owned a house, or even an apartment. Home was a top floor suite in a posh residential hotel overlooking English Bay in Vancouver. A place where they could entertain their socialite friends and host glamorous parties.”

Niko muttered under his breath and she didn’t have to understand Greek to know he swore. “So they could afford that, but never thought to provide for their only child’s future?”

“They lived for the moment. Every day was an adventure, and money was meant to be spent. And why not? My father was hugely successful in the stock market.”

“A pity he wasn’t as committed to setting some aside for his daughter’s future as he was to spending it on himself.”

“He and my mother adored me,” she flared. “They made me feel treasured and wanted. I led a charmed life, filled with warmth and laughter and love. You can’t put a price on that.”

“They were spoiled children playing at being adults,” he countered harshly. “Even if they’d left you a fortune, it could never make up for what their fecklessness ended up costing you.”

“Stop it!” she cried, not sure what angered her more: that he dared to criticize her family, or that he was right. “Just shut up!”

Throwing off the blanket, she climbed onto the side deck and went to stand at the bow of the boat. It was the most distance she could put between them.

He came up behind her. Put his arms around her. “Hey,” he said. “Listen to me.”

“No. You’ve said enough.”

“Not quite. Not until I tell you I’m sorry.”

“What is it about ‘shut up’ that you don’t understand? I’m not interested in your apology.”

“And I’m not very good at taking orders. Also, I’m the last person qualified to comment on flawed relationships.” He nuzzled the side of her neck, his jaw scraping lightly, erotically against her skin. “Forgive me?”

She wanted to refuse. To end things with him while she still could, and save herself more heartache down the road. Because that annoying voice of caution was whispering in her head again, warning her that this was just another in a long list of differences. They disagreed on too many critical issues ever to remain in harmony for very long. He didn’t care about family. Didn’t believe in love. Wasn’t interested in marriage or commitment.

But the starch of her resistance was softening, leaving her body pliant to his touch, her heart susceptible to his seduction. A lot of men said the same things he had—until the right woman came along and changed their minds. Why couldn’t she be the one to change his?

“Emily? Please say something. I know I’ve made you angry, hurt you, but please don’t shut me out.”

“Yes, I’m angry,” she admitted miserably, “because you had no right trying to strip me of my illusions. And I’m hurt, because you succeeded.” She spun around, dazzled by tears. “I’ve spent the last eighteen years wilfully ignoring the truth about the parents I so badly wanted to preserve as perfect in my memory. Thanks to you, I won’t be able to do that anymore.”

He swore again, so softly it turned into an endearment, and buried her face at his shoulder. She started to cry in earnest then, for lost dreams and fate’s cruel indifference to human pain.

“Let me make it better, angel,” Niko murmured, stringing kisses over her hair. “Let me love you as you deserve to be loved.”

And because she wanted him more than she wanted to stay safe, she lifted her tearstained face to his and surrendered. “Yes,” she said.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE lover’s grand romantic gesture—sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to bed—didn’t work on a sailboat. Slender though she was, the companionway just wasn’t big enough for them both at the same time. The best he could do was precede her into the main cabin and guide her as she backed down the four steps leading below deck.

Not exactly a hardship, he decided, steadying her with a hand on either side of her hips as she descended. She wasn’t very tall, a little over one and a half meters, and weighed no more than about forty-six kilos, but as her slim, elegant legs crossed his line of vision, the prospect of laying them bare to his renewed inspection left him hard and aching.

Unfortunately, by the time he’d led her into the aft sleeping quarters, her eyes were enormous in her pale face, she was trembling and hyperventilating. Some men might have interpreted that as an eagerness that matched their own, but he’d seen too many refugees huddled in war zones with bombs exploding around them, to be so easily taken in.

Virgin or not, and for all that she’d seemed willing enough when he’d asked her to let him make love to her, now that the moment lay at hand, she was afraid. And in his book, that meant ignoring the raging demands of his libido, because the day had yet to dawn that he satisfied his own needs at the expense of a woman’s.

Instead he flicked on the wall lamps, and slipped a CD into the built-in sound system. With the soothing sound of a Chopin nocturne filling the silence, he drew her down to sit beside him on the edge of the bed and wiped away the remains of her tears. “You are so incredibly beautiful,” he told her.

She managed a shaky laugh. “I doubt it. I never learned to cry daintily. But thank you for saying so. Most men hate it when a woman resorts to tears.”

“I’m not most men,” he said, running his fingers idly through her hair. It reminded him of cool satin. So did her skin when, grazing his knuckles along her jaw to her throat, he extended his slow exploration. “And you very definitely are not most women.”

He touched her mouth next, teasing her lips with his thumb. Not until they parted of their own volition did he lean forward and kiss them softly.

Her eyes fell shut as if the weight of her lashes was too much to bear. She sighed. And when she did, all her pent-up tension escaped, leaving her flexible as a willow against him.

Still he did not try to rush her, but cupped his hand around her nape and touched his mouth to hers again. She tasted of wine and innocence, and only when the subtle flavor of desire entered the mix did he deepen the kiss.

Gradually she grew bolder. Her hands crept under his sweater and up his bare chest, deft and sure. She murmured, little inarticulate pleadings that said the fear was gone and she was ready. More than ready. Her hunger matched his.

Suppressing the urgency threatening his control, he undressed her at leisure, discarding her shoes and socks first, then her jogging suit. A practical outfit and attractive enough in its way, it did not merit lingering attention. But underneath, she wore peach-colored lace; a bra so delicate and fine, her nipples glowed pink through the fabric, and panties so minuscule they defied gravity.

Clinging provocatively to her body, they were so blatantly designed to stir a man to passion that he had to turn away from the sight before he embarrassed himself. Had to rip down the zippered fly of his jeans or suffer permanent injury from their confinement. Kicking them off, he yanked his sweater over his head, flung it across the cabin, and sent his briefs sailing after it.

Misunderstanding his abrupt change of pace, she stroked a tentative hand down his back and whispered, “Are you angry? Did I do something wrong?”

“You’re the nurse here,” he ground out roughly, spinning around so that there was no way she could miss the state he was in. “Does it look to you as if you did something wrong?”

She blinked. And blushed.

If he hadn’t been such a seething mass of sexual hunger that the functioning part of his brain was concerned only with how soon he could satisfy it, he’d have told her how her shy modesty charmed him. But his stamina was nearing its limits and wanting his dwindling endurance to be focused on bringing her pleasure, he drew back the bedcovers and pulled her down to lie next to him.

Willing his obdurate flesh to patience, he undid the clasp of her bra. Slid the outrageous panties down her legs. And when at last she lay naked before him, feasted his eyes on her. Dazzled by her blond perfection, her delicate symmetry of form, and perhaps most of all by the sultry heat in her eyes, he shaped her every curve and hollow with his hands, and followed them with his mouth.

She undulated on the mattress, offering herself to him without reserve. Clutching his shoulders in swift bursts of tactile delight when he found her most sensitive spots. Arching, taut as a high-tension wire, as he brought her to the brink of orgasm. And collapsing in a puddle of heat as she surrendered to it.

That she was so responsive to his seduction gratified him, but it inflamed him, as well. He wasn’t made of stone, and knew he couldn’t go on indefinitely denying himself the same pleasure he afforded her.

She knew it, too, and reaching down, she closed her hand around him. With another of her engaging little sighs, she traced her fingers over his erection, glorying in its strength, cherishing its vulnerability. Did so with such reverence that she somehow managed to touch him elsewhere, in places he kept separate from other people. In his heart, in his soul.

The emotional onslaught, as singular as it was powerful, blinded him to the encroaching danger. Responsibility, finesse, all the vital prerequisites by which he defined his sexual liaisons, deserted him. He was consumed with the overwhelming need to possess and be possessed. Seeming to sense the latter, she angled her body closer and cradled him snugly between her smooth, beautiful thighs.

Her daring lured him past all caution. The blood pulsed through his loins. He could feel her damp warmth beckoning him, knew of his own near-capitulation, and with only nanoseconds to spare, he dragged himself back from the brink of insanity and sheathed himself in a condom. Then and only then did he bury himself fully within her.

Tilting her hips, she rose up to meet him, caught in his relentless rhythm, absorbing his every urgent thrust. She was sleek, hot, tight. Irresistible. She took his body hostage. Held him fast within her and rendered him mindless to everything but the rampant, inexorable surge of passion rising to a climax that threatened to destroy him.

It caught her in its fury, too. He felt her contract around him. Was dimly conscious of her muffled cries, her nails raking down his back, and then the tide crashed over him. Stripped him of power and tumbled him into helpless submission. With a groan dragged up from the depths of his soul, he flooded free.

Spent, but aware he must be crushing her with his weight, he fought to regain his breath, to regulate his racing heart. Finally, with a mighty effort, he rolled onto his side and took her with him. Glancing down, he found her watching him, her eyes soft, her lovely face flushed. A world removed from the trembling creature she’d been half an hour before.

Curious as to the reason, he said, “You were nervous when I first brought you down here, weren’t you?”

“I still am.”

It wasn’t the answer he expected, but remembering her comment about her previous experience, he thought he knew what prompted it. “If you’re thinking you disappointed me as a partner, karthula, be assured I could not ask for better.”

“It’s not that at all,” she said. “Before we made love, I was afraid I’d end up liking you too much. Now I’m afraid because I know I was right.”

Her admission splintered his heart a little, as if she’d driven a needle into it and caused a tiny wound. He was not accustomed to such quiet honesty from his partners. “Is that such a bad thing?” he asked her.

“Not necessarily bad. I knew making love with you meant taking a risk. I just didn’t realize how big a risk.”

Then don’t think of it as making love, he wanted to tell her. Be like the other women I take to bed, and see it as enjoyable sex. But she was so aglow that he couldn’t bring himself to disillusion her. Which, in itself, gave rise to another troubling stab to his hitherto impregnable heart. She brought out a protective tenderness in him that he found as frightening as it was unacceptable.

Reading his thoughts with daunting insight, she said, “Don’t worry, Niko. I’m not so naive that I think this weekend is the prelude to a long-term relationship. I’m not expecting it to end with a proposal of marriage or a ring.”

Why not?

The question so nearly escaped him that he had to bite his tongue to contain it. “I’m in no position to offer either, even if I wanted to,” he said, when he recovered himself. “My career doesn’t lend itself to that sort of commitment, and I doubt there are many women who’d put up with a husband who’s away more often than he’s at home.”

“Exactly. Realistically, neither of us is in the market for anything but a casual fling. I’m just not very good at ‘casual.’”