‘I know.’ She flinched a little, the fact she had been a virgin until recently something that confused even her.
‘You’re a beautiful, fascinating woman. I find it impossible to believe you hadn’t been asked on dates...’
At that, her feminism bucked hard. ‘My not having really gone on dates bears no correlation to whether or not I was asked.’
He laughed softly. ‘Naturally. So you just turned down any offers?’
‘I accepted some,’ she conceded. ‘At Brent’s urging. Good practice, he’d said, and I guess he’d been sort of right. But, honestly, I was so bored out of my brain I contemplated stabbing myself in the eye with a fork,’ she joked.
He lifted his brows. ‘So my witty and insightful conversation is how I won you over?’
‘Nope, it’s all down to sex appeal with you, sorry.’
‘I’m flattered.’
‘You probably shouldn’t be. I’m basically reducing you to an object.’
‘I don’t think I mind.’
She grinned. ‘I’m glad to hear it, because I intend to objectify you a lot for the next little while.’
‘Why not start now?’
* * *
He thought she was asleep. She’d been quiet a long time, her head pressed to his chest, her hair loose along his arm. He’d been lying there, staring up at the stars overhead, replaying their evening: her rapid-fire conversation, a smile playing about his lips as he recalled the perfection of how it had finished—making love here beneath the ancient night sky.
‘I always loved stars.’ Her voice was a murmur.
He stroked her back, wondering what time it was. Two? Three?
He heard her yawn then she nuzzled in closer, her body cleaved to his. ‘When I was nine, and incredibly homesick, I used to look out at the stars and imagine my mum. Did you know we’re all made of stardust?’
‘I thought that was just a song.’
‘No, it’s true.’ Another yawn. ‘Stars that go supernova create all the elements. We’re more than ninety per cent stardust.’ Her breathing slowed, and once more he thought she’d fallen asleep. Indeed, when she spoke next, her words were heavy, almost slurred.
‘I used to look out at the stars and take comfort from the fact that, through them, my elemental make-up and my mum’s, we were connected even though we were far apart. Stars bind us all together, in a way.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE INTERNET WAS littered with articles about her, and photographs too. As Amelia Ashford had said, Amelia Jamieson had been in every broadsheet newspaper several times. But Amelia had also been modest. She’d told him some of her story without revealing many of the things others might have bragged about. Such as the scientific breakthrough she’d made as a ten-year-old that had led to a whole wing of a university in Texas being named after her. Or the research she’d done that had added a new dimension to the way scientists viewed star formation. She hadn’t told him about the awards, the accolades, the grant money.
Her life, up until she’d made the decision to branch off from her scientific work and become a teacher named Amelia Ashford, had been completely different.
While he was in awe of her genius, he was even more in awe of her courage. To disregard the accolades and praise that was part and parcel of her success, to disappoint her parents and start a whole new life completely on her own, took guts and bravery. While he’d known she was special, seeing the full picture made him appreciate the full extent of that. Photographs of a young Amelia did something to his heart, layering cracks into it. She looked so young and so intensely vulnerable.
It also made a whole heap of sense when it came to why she’d turned up on his doorstep at Renway Hall like a lioness preparing to defend Cameron. She hadn’t had anyone to stand up for her interests as a child, and she hadn’t been prepared to let that same thing happen to Cameron.
It was hard not to feel a sense of affection for someone who was prepared to go in to bat for your own flesh and blood—and who’d single-handedly salvaged the relationship. Without Amelia, he didn’t want to think about where he and Cameron would be.
* * *
‘Working?’ He propped one shoulder against the door of her office, scanning the whiteboards. Each was covered with incomprehensible mathematics. The first time he’d come in here and seen it he’d felt as though he were landing in a parallel universe. He was by no means intellectually lacking but his skill set was totally different from this. Mathematics was useful to him when it came to bonds, and profit and loss schedules, not these kinds of complex equation.
‘Mmm...’ She was scanning a piece of paper on her desk. She lifted her eyes to him, then a finger. ‘Hang on one second.’ Without turning away from him, she spoke again. ‘Bishop to E7.’
Santos scanned the desk and saw that there was a tablet propped to her left. A man’s face filled the screen. Handsome with blond hair, overly white teeth, a swarthy tan and green eyes. ‘You’re sure?’
She rolled her eyes but there was a wink in them for Santos. ‘Absolutely. I have to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?’
‘No worries. Later, Millie.’
Millie? Heat shifted inside Santos. It wasn’t jealousy so much as surprise, he told himself. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected her friend Brent to be like—surely that was who she was talking to—but it hadn’t been this.
‘Playing chess?’ He covered his unexpected response conversationally.
‘I’m three moves away from check mate. He doesn’t realise it.’
‘You don’t have a board.’
‘It’s in here.’ She tapped her head.
He laughed. ‘Of course it is.’
‘Did you need something?’
Another burst of flame exploded inside him. It was the middle of the work day; it was unusual for him to be here, in her office. But the sense that he was unwelcome sat ill around his shoulders.
‘You’re busy?’
‘I’m—no. Not really. Just familiarising myself with the class list for this year, starting to plan some lessons.’
This year. Term began soon; she’d be leaving. And, while it was strange to imagine what life on the island would be like without Amelia, he was also glad that their time together was almost drawing to a close. He wasn’t foolish enough to pretend their forced proximity hadn’t threatened to complicate his usually straightforward approach to relationships.
When Amelia left, he and Cameron would move to Athens and he’d return to a normal sort of life. He’d meet other women, and before long he’d forget about Amelia.
No. He’d never forget about her, and he didn’t actually want to, anyway. But, once she left, his life would return to normal; he wouldn’t crave her like this. It was simply a question of proximity and habit.
‘I’m going to stretch my legs on the beach. Want to join me?’
She blinked, the offer apparently not what she’d expected. ‘Where’s Cameron?’
‘He’s napping.’
Amelia’s brows shot upwards. ‘Napping? Is he ill?’
‘He’s exhausted,’ Santos admitted sheepishly. ‘I took him to the fishing village this morning. We hiked, swam, ate. I gather I wore him out.’
Her heart felt as though it were being gently warmed. Santos spending time with Cameron made her feel an intense wave of relief. When she’d first arrived she’d had no idea how Santos would ever fill the father role in Cameron’s life but the pieces were falling into place. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask about that—how come there’s a village on an otherwise private island?’
‘Come for a walk with me and I’ll answer.’
She tilted her head a little. ‘Bribery?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Fine.’ She dropped her pen and stood. The sight of her in a pair of linen shorts and a simple T-shirt made him want to forget hi
s suggestion of the beach and instead drag her to his bedroom. He swallowed hard and spun away before he could do just that.
The sand was warm beneath their feet. He took her hand on autopilot as they approached the shoreline, and felt her eyes jerk to his in response, but she looked away again almost immediately.
‘So the fishing village?’
‘Right. That was my grandfather.’
‘He built it?’
‘No.’ Affection ran through him. ‘My grandfather was a great man, Amelia. I wish...’
I wish you could have known him.
He cut himself off from saying the overly sentimental line, wondering where the hell the words had even come from. ‘I wish he was still here, but he died when I was in my teens.’ He kicked at the water; it splashed ahead of them. ‘He was close friends with Daniel Konopolous, who was apparently renowned for his skill as a fisherman. In stormy weather and at any time of the day he could return with full nets. He lived on this island, but the village was losing its numbers, with people moving to the mainland. My grandfather bought the island, including the village, and allowed the fisherman to live and fish rent-free. There’s been a fishing community here for a very long time; he didn’t want to see that heritage lost.’
‘And you still support the village?’
‘I like having it here.’ He reached down, picking up a piece of pale blue sea glass and handing it to her. She studied it as though it might have secret properties.
‘So you don’t charge them anything?’
‘Why would I? I don’t need the money.’
‘I thought you lived and breathed business. Such generosity isn’t routed in commercial principles.’
‘Perhaps not,’ he agreed. ‘But it’s born of decency. Besides, I have no doubt my grandfather would come back and haunt me for ever if I made the slightest attempt to alter the arrangement.’
She was still looking at the sea glass. After a moment, she lifted it towards his face. ‘This is the exact shade of blue as your eyes.’
The observation was simple, and perhaps it came from a scientific perspective, but that did nothing to stop the sharp blade that seemed to be drawing along his sides. And if he’d been wondering if she was reading something into that, or being sentimental in her own way, she lifted her hand and tossed the sea glass out to sea, smiling at him in a way that showed how wrong he was. What had he been afraid of—that she’d treasure the gift of sand-softened glass for ever?
She had done nothing to worry him on that score. Everything was going just as he would have wanted—simple, easy, no emotional demands. It was perfect. As if to cement that, he caught her around her waist and lifted her to his chest, so she tipped her head back on a laugh as he carried her out to sea.
‘I’m fully dressed!’ she warned and he arched a single brow in response.
‘Is that an invitation?’
‘Cameron could see.’
‘He’s fast asleep.’
She searched for something else to say but he didn’t give her much opportunity. Striding deeper into the water, once it was halfway up his chest he dropped her into it and she squawked, spinning round and instinctively splashing him. He laughed, dropping into the sea himself, reaching for her, bringing her thrashing body closer and kissing her through the saltiness of the ocean.
She stopped moving and stood still, pressed to him, her body wet, their clothes clinging to them. When they kissed, nothing else seemed to have light or meaning; the world ceased to have a purpose beyond them. He deepened the kiss, his tongue duelling with hers, and she retaliated, using his body to move higher, her mouth pressing to his, her hands driving through his hair, her breasts flat to his chest. He groaned, moving deeper in the water until she was floating and he was keeping them standing, and only here in the safety of that depth did he push her shorts down, so he could cup her naked buttocks and hold her against his hardness.
The sun baked down on them, hot and unrelenting on the back of his head as he kissed her, his erection jerking between them, his body alive with a desperate hunger that only she could meet.
How could it still be like this between them? For weeks he’d been waiting for desire to wane, yet it hadn’t. Every night together brought them closer to the end, making him aware of the temporary nature of this. And that served to increase his urgency, to make him yearn for her even at times like this—when they’d been together only the night before.
‘You are so perfect.’ He spoke the words in Greek, safe in the knowledge she wasn’t fluent in the language and wouldn’t understand them. ‘This is perfect.’
Her response was a soft moan into his mouth and a roll of her hips, a silent invitation that came from her own overwhelming need for him.
‘Please...’ The word was one she said often when they were making love, begging for him to quench her needs, and he never needed to be asked twice. He had no protection—a foolish oversight, but they had only been coming for a beach walk—he hadn’t expected this. Why? Why hadn’t he, when their needs were always paramount? And what had he wanted, then—simply to walk hand in hand and talk? Who the hell was he turning into?
In rejection of that, he moved his hand between her legs, his eyes on hers as he found her most sensitive cluster of nerves and strummed it, his fingers knowing exactly what she liked, how to pleasure her, how to drive her wild and then hold back, to extend her fevered need.
‘I want you,’ she insisted, tilting her head back, her eyes scrunched closed.
‘I don’t have a condom.’
‘I do.’ Her cheeks were already pink from the heat of passion but he suspected there was a blush in there too. ‘It seemed like a wise precaution to start carrying something,’ she explained with a shrug, reaching behind her and pulling a foil square from her back pocket.
‘You have no idea how good that looks to me right now.’
‘To both of us,’ she assured him, using her teeth to open the square. Her hands found the tip of his cock and expertly rolled the protection over his length, if somewhat teasingly, so a hiss burst from between his teeth.
‘Christos.’
Her response was to lift up and wrap her legs around his waist, taking him deep inside her, an inaudible curse escaping her lips as she lay back in the ocean. His hands gripped her hips and he moved her, pulling her back and forth at first before his hand shifted to her femininity, strumming it as he moved so she whimpered and pulled to sitting, pressing herself against him and moving up and down his length, using her feet wrapped around his back for purchase.
Her first orgasm almost brought his own from him. He ground his teeth together, refusing to succumb to that temptation, needing more of this before he brought an end to it. Her breathing was frantic and he kissed her, sucking her panic and pleasure into his mouth, holding her against his body as her feminine core spasmed around his length.
Before she could find her equilibrium, he began to move again, pushing into her and pulling out, his hands roaming her body, his mouth devouring hers; or was it the other way around? A fever had gripped them both, making it impossible to tell who was pushing and who was taking; they were a jumble of hands and limbs and frenzied movements.
‘God, Santos!’ His name was tormented. She cried it out but the ancient ocean swallowed it away, the elements surrounding them making this all the more powerful. When her body was at its breaking point once more, he went with her, releasing himself with a guttural oath, burying his head in her shoulder, breathing her in, feeling every breath of hers in his lungs, his own lungs barely able to inflate his chest sufficiently.
The waves rolled with an audible gush; the ocean breathed alongside them and the sun beat down, the elements fierce and organic, and Santos stood there pressed to Amelia, holding her against his body until the world had tipped neatly back onto its axis.
‘Your shorts are floating away.’
‘Mine too, come to think of it.’ She laughed a little unsteadily.
‘Stay here.’ He pulled away from her with genuine regret, free-style swimming to their clothes and catching them in his palm.
‘Thanks.’ She took them from his outstretched hand when he returned. He put out an arm of support and she gripped it while she pulled on her shorts, smiling at him as though she was waking up from some kind of dream.
‘That’s not what I expected when we came out here.’
‘Me neither, though I suppose that shows we should always expect it as a possibility.’
‘That’s true. One week a rooftop in Athens, the next a private beach in the Aegean.’ She shook her head, her mouth curved in amusement.
‘Tonight, a roof-top garden in Paris?’
‘What?’
Her smile dropped, showing surprise. His tone was nonchalant, casual. ‘I offered to take Cameron there, to measure the Eiffel Tower. I’m sure he’d enjoy it a lot more if you were there too.’
‘Oh.’ Uncertainty shifted in her expression. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘It’s just... Paris.’
He waited.
‘You know, city of love?’
He burst out laughing. ‘And you think this holds some danger for us?’
Heat stole into her cheeks. ‘No, that’s silly.’ She laughed, but it was shaky. ‘But I’ll have to get back to England soon. Paris might be better kept until after I go.’
‘Paris is next door to London. Why not stop in on your way home?’
* * *
The finality of his offer filled her head with doubts. It was so casual, so carefree, as though ‘the way home’ was simple. As though a little detour would mean nothing. And it shouldn’t. It wasn’t the fact it was Paris, per se, but that it was yet another shared experience, something they were doing together. The night they’d spent in Athens had already begun to transform her dreams. Falling asleep in his arms beneath a starlit sky had seemed to weave her past and present together—fears and grief from her childhood, encapsulated by the heavenly spectre of glistening particles in the sky, had acted as some kind of balm. And ever since then she’d found it impossible not to think about that—and about him.
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