Xenakis's Convenient Bride(5)

In that moment, she wanted to be his type, able to be casual about  intimacy and physical delights. There was such promise in his eyes. Such  pleasures untold.

But that way lay heartache of the most shattering kind. She knew it far too well. She had to remember that.

"You're not the first to think I'm his mistress." She hadn't bothered  fighting the perception because her reputation had been in ruins the day  Takis offered her this job. What was one more snide remark behind her  back?

She needed to hold this man off, though, or she might self-destruct all over again.

"That's really sexist, you know, to assume that sleeping with the owner  is the only reason I would be living here. Or to think I couldn't own  this house. Not when it sounds as though I'm a lot closer to affording  it than you are."

He didn't move, but his silence blasted her, warning her to mind herself.

A power struggle with this man was deeply foolish. In fact, trying to keep him at a distance might be a lost cause.

That thought was so disturbing, she could only blurt, "I'll meet you at the car."

She charged-retreated-into the house where she quickly scraped the  moussaka filling she'd just finished browning into a bowl. She set it in  the fridge before collecting her keys and purse, hands shaking.

Outside, her car was blocked by the pallet of new tiles he had unloaded a few days ago, along with the bin of broken ones.

Damn. No way could she risk staining the convertible. She glanced at his  makeshift bandage. That must be painful, but he was stoic about it.         

     



 

"We'll have to take the scooter." She moved to the stall and reached for  her helmet, offering him Ophelia's. They were both pink, matching the  Vespa.

"It's too small," he dismissed with a dry glance.

"I'm sure you're right. Your big head would never fit." Shut up, Calli.  She set aside the helmet and paused before buckling on her own. "Do you  want to go by yourself?"

"I don't know where the clinic is, do I? I might bleed out before I find it. No, by all means, take me."

He was being sarcastic, but his voice hit a velvety note with that last  couple of words, causing a clench of heat in her. Her mind filled with  imaginings she didn't even want to acknowledge. Take me. She maneuvered  the scooter out of its spot with a practiced wangle, started it and  balanced it between her legs.

He took up twice the space Ophelia did and wasn't shy about setting his  hands on her hips. He guided her backside into a snug fit between his  thighs.

She tried to stiffen and hold herself forward, but that only arched her  tailbone into his groin. There was no escaping the surrounding heat off  his bare, damp chest or rock-hard thighs shoved up against the outsides  of hers. She wore shorts and a T-back sports cami. It was a lot of skin  grazing skin. He let his hands fall to the tops of her legs, fingertips  digging lightly into the crease at her hips.

She stopped breathing, held by an electrical current that stimulated all her pleasure points.

His growing beard of stubble scraped her bare shoulder and his breath  heated the sensitive skin where her neck met her collarbone. "Shouldn't  you be speeding off to save my life?"

"I'm seriously debating whether it's worth saving."

He hitched forward, jamming her buttocks even tighter into the notch of his spread legs.

She took off in a small act of desperation, glad for the muffle of the  helmet and the buzz of the motor so she didn't hear his laugh, even  though she felt it.

Honestly.

She sensed him turning his head this way and that as she took the  shortcut over the top of the island, through the area with the very best  views, between the extravagant mansions that dominated the peak of the  hill. Then, as they came down the other side and the road wound toward  the coast, the horizon appeared as a stark line between two shades of  blue. They descended to where the land fell away in a steep cliff.

On the mountainside above them, stone fences kept sheep in their fields  and hopefully off the roads. She kept her speed down just in case. The  scent of blossoms in the lemon groves filled the morning air and she  couldn't help relax as the cool breeze stroked over her skin.

His thumbs moved on her and she grew tense in a different way. Tingles  of anticipation raced up her rib cage, longing for his touch to rise and  soothe, cup her aching breasts and draw her back into him more fully.

How did she even know what that would feel like enough to want it? Her  sexuality had been flash frozen before it had had time to properly  bloom. She didn't want to want a man's touch. It was self-destructive  madness.

Descending the hairpin turns rocked her against him, driving her mad.  She had come this way because it was quicker, but she usually avoided  this route into the port town. It wasn't the once-daily ferry traffic  and swarm of fresh tourists that bothered her. This part of the island  actually had the best beaches and the better shopping. Ophelia begged to  come here and there were a handful of really great restaurants.

Unfortunately, this route took her directly past a kafenion where local  men sat and watched the world go by. Her father was often among them and  she braced herself as they approached, refusing to look, keeping her  nose pointed forward as she passed.

Not that he would acknowledge her, especially with a man behind her. He  would ignore her completely, exactly as she would ignore him. She just  preferred not to set herself up for that blaze of layered pain.

They hit the melee of the village streets and she was glad they had the  scooter. It allowed her to zigzag around traffic snarls and down narrow  alleys, coming in the back way to the clinic where she parked next to  staff cars.

"Who is Ophelia?" he asked as they dismounted.

"How-?" She followed his nod at the helmet she'd hung off the  handlebars. "I forgot that was there." She rubbed the small, faded words  she'd written across the back of her helmet shortly after Takis had  bought the scooter. Ophelia, stop that.

Calli was only nine years older than the girl and didn't have any  siblings. In a lot of ways, Ophelia felt like a little sister to her. In  others, Calli's feelings went much deeper, more maternal. She adored  the girl and was going to miss her terribly, even though Ophelia could  be a complete brat at times.         

     



 

"She's Takis's daughter. I look after her. Takis travels a lot, but she  just turned fourteen and has convinced him to send her to boarding  school. She's with her grandparents, shopping for everything she'll  need. She outgrew this island long ago."

Takis hadn't wanted to see it. Losing his wife had jaded him. He wanted  to keep his daughter sheltered as long as possible. Unfortunately, that  had meant the girl had chafed and acted out-for Calli, thanks very much.

He was finally allowing the girl to spread her wings, though, which  loosened the complex grip of gratitude and genuine love that had kept  Calli here, raising a child who needed her while yearning to find her  own.

"So you're a nanny." He said it like he didn't believe it.

"Hmm? Oh. Yes. Nanny, housekeeper, party planner. Whatever Takis needs  me to be." She started toward the clinic. "Barring what you suggested  earlier."

"Good." He moved quicker than her, catching at the door to hold it for  her, filling her vision with his contoured chest lightly sprinkled with  fine black hair, his skin burnished bronze, his nipples dark brown. "I'm  glad you're single."

"I intend to stay that way." Her voice husked despite her attempt to sound haughty.

"Even better."

A pained fist clenched behind her breastbone. Vacation. Playboy. She  flipped her hair as she passed him. "I should have given you one of  Takis's old shirts. I'll buy you something from the shop across the  road. After I make arrangements to pay your bill."



Stavros walked outside, pocketing a course of precautionary antibiotics,  rolling his eyes at the primitive concoction he'd been given. He might  have pointed out the far more effective class that had recently passed  approval if he hadn't already been skating so close to revealing his  identity.

As he had wrapped his injury, he had realized he couldn't use the global  health insurance that covered Steve Michaels, heir to a multinational  pharmaceutical corporation. Using his Greek surname for the admission  form had been another gamble. The nurse, a woman approaching retirement,  had eyed him, saying she had attended school with a local woman who had  married a Stavros Xenakis. Any relation?

He had ducked raking over the past. It promised to be a lot worse than  this dull ache in his shin. Besides, Antonio had managed to get through  two weeks without blowing his cover. Stavros's ego refused to fail where  his friend had succeeded.

He spotted Calli standing in the shade near the Vespa. As he approached,  her gaze took an admiring sweep over his still-naked torso, betraying  that her disdain for him was an act even as she shook out a T-shirt and  offered it to him with an expression on her face like an offended  matron's.