Such a sweet kid. In the months I stayed, I don’t think I ever heard him speak, though he often watched me with these unusual hazel eyes, always wide, as if I was a curiosity.
As I drive down the hill and Molyvos comes into sight, I see with delight that nothing’s changed. It’s what I love about the island. It has all the amenities that you could want on vacation: beaches, museums, great restaurants, live music, night life...and yet the small port town of Molyvos clings to the side of the hill like it has for millennia. The ruins of the Byzantine castle on top of the cliff welcome me as if I’m a long lost traveler come home. The streets of town are narrow and cobblestoned, not designed for vehicles, so I park my car in the lot on the outskirts of town and tow my luggage behind me, weaving my way through the narrow streets and steps to where the guest house perches.
The town is unusually quiet, particularly considering it’s spring and, in my opinion, the best time to visit. It’s just past one, so most residents are at home enjoying a large midday meal, but the decided lack of tourists is another reminder of the failing Greek economy.
Based on how quiet everything is, I guess booking the guesthouse online wasn’t necessary. But I’d wanted to because it seemed so ironic that the aged Medea Kinellis was conducting her business via the internet using twenty-first century technology while still living in a place where time stood still.
I ring the bell with a sense of giddiness. I can’t wait to see her. Of course, there’s always the possibility she doesn’t remember me. I mean, I’m only one of thousands of people who’ve traveled through these parts. The fact that she seemed to have a special place in her heart for me, well, that was probably just part of who she is, part of her charm, and a way to get tourists to come back every year.
Even with these doubts whispering around in the back of my head, I don’t care and I’m sure I’m sporting a goofy smile.
The door opens and an elderly gentleman I don’t recognize is standing there, slightly stooped, his thinning dark hair slicked back from his high forehead. “Ms. Savage?” He smiles questioningly, dark eyes watering.
I nod and he opens the door to invite me inside. When he goes to take my luggage, I assure him I can manage, but then I notice the flash of displeasure and realize my faux pas. In his eyes, I’m a young woman. He’s a man. It’s his job to help me, no matter how fragile he may look. I relinquish my bags and follow him through the entrance.
Like everything else in Molyvos, the guesthouse hasn’t changed. It’s divided into four parts: the common area: with a kitchen, dining room, sitting area and large terrace all located on the main floor, a pension style lodging for travelers on a limited budget on the lower floor, the family residence is on the third floor and the deluxe guest suite, where I’ll be staying, takes up the entire second floor. My suite includes a large bedroom with a beautifully appointed en suite, a living area with kitchenette and a large private terrace.
The exposed beams and whitewashed stone immediately comfort me, as do the gauzy white curtains that blow in the open windows. It’s all so wonderfully welcoming, the smell of the salty sea air, the feel of the cool red tile beneath my sandaled feet, the lure of the large four poster bed. Yes, I feel as if I’ve come home.
“Excuse me,” I say to the older gentleman as he deposits my suitcase on the rack next to the wardrobe in the bedroom. “Is Mrs. Kinellis at home?”
His brow furrows and he shakes his head. He holds up his finger and mumbles something in Greek, as if asking me to wait. He departs before I have an opportunity to give him a tip for carrying my luggage and I vow to leave extra upon my departure.
Making my way across the room, I go to the curtains and spread them wide, smiling as I take in the red tile roofs leading down to the port at the base of the hill. The azure blue of the Aegean Sea sparkles in the late afternoon sun.
Ahh.
I have a feeling this is going to be one of my best holidays yet.
A knock sounds on my door and my heart flips as I anticipate coming face to face with dear Mrs. Kinellis after so many years. “Come in,” I call, still standing by the French doors, not wanting to betray how anxious I am to see her again.
Except, it’s not her.
Standing in the open door is someone who is as opposite to Medea Kinellis as you can get.
First of all he’s a ‘he’ not a ‘she’. Secondly, he’s young. Late twenties, maybe? Thirdly, where Medea was barely five feet tall, this man is enormous. Six foot three at least. He’s too tall. Too big. He has to duck in order to clear the doorway.
He’s wearing an open-neck cotton shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, and loose linen trousers like he’s just come from a photo shoot on the beach. His hair is a mass of dark curls and his face is tanned with a wide jaw and the kind of nose sculptors take great care to reproduce in stone.
But it’s his eyes that captivate me. They’re tawny colored—I think, it’s hard to tell from this far away—anyway, the color contrasts with his dark skin tone and dark lashes making him look like a tall, delicious, god with king-of-the-jungle eyes.
There’s something familiar about him too, like I’ve seen him on TV. Or, like he’s made a guest appearance in one of my many illicit dreams.
Yes. That last one.
“Ms. Savage. Welcome to the Daphnis and Chloe Guesthouse.” He looks around the room. “I hope you find everything to your liking.” His voice rumbles like a volcano about to erupt, and I feel the wonderful resonance of it in my chest. Even though he has the coloring of a Greek man, he’s got this beautiful British accent.
Sublime.
I’ve got a partiality to accents, British accents in particular. Probably because they sound so proper. Given the right partner in the bedroom, that proper accent creates a tantalizing dichotomy when coupled with completely improper requests and the sound of his accent prompts my imagination to take me there...with him.
“Would you kindly shed your garments, Ms. Savage? Yes. Lovely. Lie on the bed. Spread your legs. Ah, that’s it. Beautiful. Now, will you permit me to tell you exactly what I’m going to do to you...?”
“Is everything all right? Is the room to your satisfaction?”
I clear my throat and glance around. “Yes, everything looks lovely.”
What is wrong with me? Two minutes in his presence and I’m imagining sex scenes with the poor man.
Fickle, fickle Tessa.
What was it? Less than twenty-four hours ago I was with Alander?
Alander who?
I know, terrible, isn’t it?
Now I only have eyes for the tall Adonis with the lion eyes and the sexy accent who has barely made it inside my doorway. If he doesn’t leave my room soon, I’m going to jump him and it won’t be pretty.
“We normally serve breakfast downstairs between seven and nine, but as you’re our only guest...we can make other arrangements if you like.”
My warped brain takes his words and twists them as if he’s suggesting illicit arrangements.
I give my head a little shake and rub my eyes. But when I open them, I swear I catch him checking me out. His gaze starts somewhere mid-calf and up it goes with a leisurely browse. Then back down. Only to shimmy back up, even more slowly, giving me the shivers.
I swallow.
My hand flutters to my throat and I fight the urge to undo the top button on my blouse.
Not good.
“I can bring your breakfast up here, if you like.”
To my one-track mind, it’s like he’s suggesting that he, himself, is on the menu.
“Ms. Savage?”
“What? Sorry. What?”
“Is that all right with you?”
“Yes. Yes of course.” I nod even though I have no idea what I’ve agreed to. I think it’s something about breakfast. Not sure. Doesn’t matter. “Thank you.” I say, trying to politely wave him out before I do something insane. “Everything is lovely. Perfect. Really. Thank you.”
He smiles as he backs out the doo
r. It’s an interesting smile. Secretive. Like he can read my dirty mind.
No. That’s just my overactive imagination.
There’s something wrong with me.
“If you need anything, anything at all...my name is Nicolai and I’d be happy to serve you.”
With that, he closes the door and I am left to deal with my insanely naughty thoughts. I lean against the door and press a hand to my feverish forehead. My reaction to Nicolai—what a nice name—might be understandable given his striking physical presence, but is no less unacceptable. I just met the man. Good lord. My reaction is over the top, even for me. I’m sure it’s because I’ve had my arousal prematurely squelched with the whole Alander-being-married thing.
There’s only one remedy. I lock the door to my suite, unpack my suitcase, locate my vibrator and sprawl out on the big bed, taking the matter of my unspent arousal into my own hands.
My imagination takes me back to the elevator this morning...with Alander. In my new version, his body guards aren’t there, it’s just us. I’m facing the mirror at the back and Alander is behind me, his hands all over me...
“You shouldn’t have made me wait, Tessa Savage,” he whispers into my hair.
“I had no choice,” I say.
“Is that right?”
“Yes.”
He lifts my skirt up to my waist, caressing my bare back side. “You had a choice then...” I hear the sound of his fly sliding open. “Now, you have no choice.” His hand moves and his body shifts until his hard male flesh presses right up against the cleft of my butt. “You are going to take me right here...” He slips a finger into the tight opening of my ass. “And you are going to enjoy it.”
“You think so?” I gasp as he fits another finger inside.
“I know so.”
“You’re a tyrant.”
“Yes I am.” He works a third finger into me and spreads my tense muscles from within. Plunging and twisting, working me, loosening me...readying me for his cock. “Fuck I love your ass,” he murmurs
Wanting what he’s suggesting as much as he wants it, I can’t help but make soft sounds of pleasure while I arch my back, opening myself to his questing touch.
“That’s it, Tess,” he groans, replacing his fingers with the head of his cock.
Oh God! I’m still so tight. I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I can handle him.
It’s too late. He’s pushing himself inside me just as the elevator rocks to life. I cry out in acute arousal and dismay as the door dings and slides open. I open my eyes to see the reflection of a crowd of people looking in on us.
Alander plunges again.
Oh!
I turn my pleasure-logged gaze to his reflection to tell him to stop.
Only one problem. It’s not Alander fucking me from behind...it’s another man, a much younger man. One with dark curls and incredible hazel eyes.
“Nicolai?”
My orgasm takes me by storm and I have to clamp a hand over my mouth to muffle my cries.
Holy shit.
All it took was an image of Nicolai’s face, contorted with desire, and...BAM!
So much for using masturbation as means of controlling my thoughts about the poor man I just met.
I lie on my back, with my knees bent, massaging my temples.
I’m pretty sure I know what my problem is. I’ve gone without sex longer than I should have. The little interlude with Alander yesterday only served to aggravate my libido, so now I’m reacting to the first attractive, red-blooded male I see. There’s only one solution. I need to find a lover. Quick.
However, when I head out that evening with plans to go to the nearest taverna for supper and hopefully meet someone of like mind, I run into the very man I’m trying to avoid. He’s carrying a cloth bag filled with fresh vegetables and he’s wearing a perplexed expression on his handsome face.
I was hoping my lust-logged brain had embellished his attributes. Unfortunately, it did not. In fact, if anything he is even more attractive. He seems somehow bigger outside in the narrow alleyway. His eyes shine brighter, his shoulders appear broader and the smile on his face hints at even naughtier secrets.
The mere sight of him triggers a tightening of my nipples and a throbbing between my thighs.
Not good. This is not good.
“Ms. Savage,” he says with a frown. “You are eating at the guesthouse this evening, aren’t you? My cousin’s grilling fresh mackerel and the spanakopita’s already in the oven.”
“Oh,” I say, covering my mouth. So that’s what he’d asked me about earlier while I was immersed in my wicked fantasy. I clear my throat. “I did say I was eating in tonight, didn’t I?”
“Yes.” He gives me an odd look.
“Right. Well, let’s go back to the guesthouse then, shall we?” Oh no. I wonder if he can hear that I’m putting on a little bit of a British accent. I do that sometimes, I unconsciously adopt the accent of others around me. Perhaps it’s because I have no home but make my home wherever I am at the moment.
“Good.” He furrows his brow before continuing down the lane to the guesthouse.
I follow so close that I catch a whiff of his personal scent; citrus, cardamom and fresh air. He smells like a beach party. It’s a little slice of heaven and instantly brings on more vivid fantasies starring...him. My naughty gaze drops to the mound of taut flesh covered by loose linen, moving directly in front of me.
I try to tear my eyes away, but I’m not having much luck.
It’s not until he stops and I nearly run straight into him that I lift my gaze. Is he smiling that sort of half-smile because he caught me staring at his ass?
“I hope you’re hungry.”
“Yes. Very.”
“Please.” With a sweep of his hand, he indicates the open door to the guesthouse. I precede him inside and he ushers me to the terrace where a table has been set for two. Pulling out my chair, he gets me settled before disappearing inside again to drop off his purchases.
He returns with a bottle of ouzo and two small glasses which he promptly fills. He hands me one and takes the other, lifting it in a toast. “Yasou,” he says.
“Yasou.”
We drink and he refills our glasses.
“Is it too presumptuous to ask to join you?”
“Of course not,” I indicate the empty chair. “I was hoping you would.”
Ah, shit. I wonder if I should warn him that spending time with me in this intimate—I glance around—romantic setting is going to result in only one thing. Me jumping him.
He’s smiles and I start to think that perhaps the man is amenable to me making an advance, despite our obvious age difference. I tilt my head and smile back.
His response is to continue to regard me over the lip of his ouzo glass.
“So, Nicolai, are you the property manager here?”
He sets his glass down and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his wonderfully broad chest. “No. I own the guesthouse.”
“You do?” I frown, realizing I’ve been so enamored of him I’ve forgotten to ask after Mrs. Kinellis. She must have sold it. Considering she was in her late seventies when I was here last, that would put her in her eighties now. Running a guesthouse on her own was probably getting too difficult at her age.
“The property has been in my family for three generations.”
I blink. I tilt my head. I blink again. “Really? I thought this place belonged to the Kinellis family. You see, I stayed here before. About six years ago. Medea Kinellis and I became quite close. That’s why I came back.”
“I know.”
“You know? How do you know?”
“I know because I am Medea’s grandson. I’m Nicolai Kinellis. And, it wasn’t six years ago that you were here, it was seven.”
He stands and dips his head in my direction. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see to the food.”
I’m stunned. I’m completely gob-smacked, confounded, blown-awa
y, dumbfounded. Stunned. It’s not possible.
Medea’s grandson is a boy.
The person I’ve been interacting with, Nicolai, is a man.
The two are not the same.
Although, now that I think about it, there was something about him that seemed familiar when we first met this afternoon.
When he returns, a moment later, carrying a steaming platter of fresh spanakopita, I realize what it was that I recognized. What I now recognize.
His eyes.
I remember how he used to watch me, always with a semi-perplexed expression, as if I was a curiosity. And, I remember how striking his eyes were, even then.
But, to say this man sitting across from me is one and the same as that shy young boy? Well, it’s impossible for me to put the two together. Everything about him has changed. It’s like some Greek god swooped down from the heavens and took over his body, leaving only his eyes intact.
I’m so stupefied, not only am I running out of adjectives to describe my shock, but I don’t know what to say to him. I’ve been entertaining erotic fantasies about him all day and now I feel like the biggest pervert around. I mean, I knew he was younger than me, but that much younger?
I cover my discomfort by stuffing my mouth with spanakopita. But the pastry is obviously fresh out of the oven and I burn the inside of my mouth.
“Ach!” I spit the spinach and pastry back onto my plate, waving my hand in front of my mouth.
“Are you okay?”
I grab ice out of my glass and suck on it, pressing the cube against the sensitive skin on the roof of my mouth.
“I’m sorry. I should have warned you it was hot.”
I mumble something about it not being his fault while I continue to suck the ice. However, images from my most recent fantasies plague me as I nurse my burned mouth and I’m appalled with myself.
Seduction in the Sun: Adult Romance Box Set (9 Sizzling Tales with BBW, Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Alpha Males) Page 39
