Seven Hot Nights in Greece

by Rose Lange

  Then she heard his car door open and shut and hers open. “Give me your hand.”

  She encased her hand in his, and a smile spread across her face. He walked her several paces before speaking. “Okay, now.”

  Removing it, her mouth fell open as a beautiful, romantic picnic laid waiting across the secluded nook of a meadow. A red and white-checkered tablecloth lay on top of a larger, softer-looking red blanket. Sunlight spilled over a bottle of wine immersed within a tub of ice. Trees blending with blue skies surrounded and enclosed them in a cocoon.

  “Patrick, wow. This is beautiful.”

  “I’m happy you like it, Emma,” he said, his voice a husky murmur next to her ear.

  She turned to him. The gaze he trained on her sent her tummy free-falling.

  He grasped her hand, bringing her closer. “Shall we?”

  He’d prepared a hearty, yet simple lunch of soup, tucked away and warm in Thermos mugs, sandwiches, and decedent-looking chocolate cake for dessert.

  A half hour later, her belly full, she helped him clean up. She rested her back against the soft blanket next to him, watching the clouds take shape in the sky.

  She turned toward him. “Thank you, Patrick. This was wonderful.”

  “You’re welcome, Emma,” he murmured. Settling himself on his hip, he wrapped his arm around her waist.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now,” he said.

  “And what’s that?”

  “Why’d you keep the globe?”

  Swallowing hard, she honestly didn’t feel like answering. Because telling him would mean so many things she wasn’t ready to admit. She was a chicken, but she wasn’t ready to divulge what her heart felt for him.

  She lowered her eyes, but almost immediately, he gently and with reverence, tipped her chin up to face him. The warmth shared between their bodies made her heart stall.

  She knew exactly why she’d kept it but didn’t wish to share. She didn’t wish to share how every time she looked at the globe, she’d think of him. How he’d held her heart in the palms of his hands. How she’d fantasize of those nights in Greece on an endless reel. That she’d done the same thing in high school when she’d first laid eyes on him.

  Only, at the time, it had been just that: a mere fantasy.

  The fantasy didn’t compare to the reality of Patrick as a lover, and being able to touch him, hold him close. Of those eyes, and the way he looked at her, the heat shining from them had been unexpected the night they’d shared their first kiss.

  The early days, when she’d first met him, but her harmless crush turned into more.

  Sharp memories resurfaced.

  The first time she’d met him on her mom’s stoop. The first time he’d helped her mom shovel snow, and maintain the yard in the summer. The times she’d confided in him, and he’d listened.

  His beautiful heart and soul shimmered brightly. The physical attraction morphed into more than she could handle, and she couldn’t stop herself from falling in love.

  Her belly quivered, recalling the night they’d shared everything, and became more than friends.

  “Because, I wanted to . . .” Her voice shook, whether from nerves or fear of avoiding the truth, she wasn’t sure which.

  Her heart turned like an over easy egg as he cradled her cheek within the palm of his hand, awaking her out of this trance. Helplessly, she stared into those eyes. It was as though he could see deep into her soul.

  Slowly, he stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb until she relaxed completely against the softness of the blanket beneath.

  He looked at her with his heart in his eyes. “It’s always been you, Emma. Only I was too young, stupid, and blind to realize it at the time.”

  Then, he shook his head as though realizing he’d said too much, but before she could respond, he claimed her mouth. The kiss soft, coaxing, and velvety warm.

  She wrapped her hand over his and gave herself to him.

  His kisses grew urgent, hungry, and needy. Desperation that had been absent in previous kisses emerged, as if his very life depended on her kiss. His tongue effortlessly slid inside, dancing against hers. His hands roved down and rubbed the cotton material of her dress as if to feel for something, before he briefly broke the kiss.

  Her eyes met his, and a naughty grin spread his handsome face in two. “Commando?”

  She bit her lower lip. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

  Putting her hands down at her sides, she watched him crawl down the length of her body, and grasp her foot. He didn’t stop there, but took his time. He massaged her ankle, her calf, before moving his hands upward until he met the hem of her dress. Without reservation, he slid upward until the material of her dress bunched around her waist and hips.

  A ferocious growl escaped his lips as he nestled himself between her spread legs. She bit her lower lip as he nipped her inner thighs.

  Thank God he put his mouth on her pussy. No longer able to watch, she closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of his mouth, his tongue, and holy shit. His teeth ever so slightly biting the bud between her legs as her hips bucked. Waves of sensations coursed through her veins, heating her blood, as her chest thrust upward. Her hands blindly reached for his hair as she enmeshed her fingers within the wavy locks. His grasped her backside, giving her a not-so gentle squeeze before his hands journeyed beneath the dress and toward her breasts.

  Opening her eyes, she fumbled with the hooks of her bra, until both breasts sprang free, and allowed his curious fingers free rein. He took one globe in his hand and squeezed. She snapped her eyes shut again, unable to watch another second longer.

  “Damn it, my goodness. Patrick.” Desire made her voice hoarse, barely there.

  He didn’t speak. He didn’t stop what he was doing, as if his sole focus was her pleasure alone, and this only further inflamed her hunger for him. She didn’t know how much longer she would last. Then he slipped one finger, followed by two inside her, keeping his mouth right where it was, and that was it.

  The core between her legs swelled, until it boiled over and spread like wildfire.

  “Patrick, wow. Fuck, but please, please don’t stop.” Her hips levitated as the waves of her orgasm knocked her over, numbing her from the waist down.

  She grasped his hair, coiling it between her fingers, and he obeyed, continuing to lick and nip her sensitive flesh. He’d since removed his fingers, grabbing her ass and spreading her wider. He feasted as if he’d not had a bite to eat in years.

  Finally, her hips floated back down to earth.

  She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, and again, he nipped at her inner thigh. God damn, but the man couldn’t seem to get enough.

  “You’re a naughty tease,” she murmured.

  “You taste so fucking good, Emma.” As if to prove his point, he licked her juices off his lips.

  She shook her head. “You are so bad.”

  Sliding her dress back down to cover her, he crawled until they were once again face-to-face and whispered, “Who’s the one who went commando?”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  ~ ~ ~

  On the quiet drive home, his thoughts drifted back to this afternoon, and these last few weeks with Emma. She’d fallen asleep, which he guessed was a good thing. It would maybe give him some time to think and to gather himself.

  Their time alone, the picnic lunch, cloud gazing, and of course, his inadvertent declaration, which he really hadn’t meant to just blurt out that way. The stunned, surprised look on her face told him everything.

  Thankfully, she had not questioned him.

  Emma, goddamn it, after all this time had literally knocked him off kilter. The minx brought back memories, when he’d fumbled for her underwear, onl
y to greet bare skin. She’d bewitched him, and as much as he’d tried to resist. It was futile. He couldn’t, and was a dead man walking. It wasn’t just her physical beauty, but her beauty from the inside. Her sunny smile, her sweet disposition, and her laugh could make Mr. Grinch crack a smile.

  It was that infectious, damn it, but the woman had had him transfixed from day one.

  Arriving home, he cut the engine and turned to look at her, still peacefully asleep, and he almost hated to wake her. Lashes lay against creamy fair skin, her lips still ripe, red, and swollen from his kisses.

  Gently, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, moving to her nose, before blissfully landing on her mouth, and within moments, she stirred, responding to the kiss as she opened her mouth in greeting.

  She paused, offering him a sleepy smile. A passionate haze hovered over her features, and she opened her eyes.

  “I can’t think of a better way to be woken up,” she purred.

  He pulled completely away, afraid if he didn’t they could get very carried away in this car. “Would you like to come upstairs, and, I don’t know, stay until dawn, sweets?”

  “Yes, please.”

  They spent the evening wrapped in each other’s arms, and after a round of heart-stopping sex, he drew her against him and buried his nose in hair. He took a long, appreciative whiff, relishing her warmth pressed against him, and before he knew it, sleep claimed him.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Patrick, the baby’s kicking. Here, feel.”

  Laura grasped his free hand and placed it over her swollen belly.

  He smiled as the hearty baby growing inside her kicked and wiggled.

  Turning his eyes back on the road, he looked briefly back at his fiancée. A face-splitting grin lit her face, her head thrown back as her laughter filtered through the air, blending with her favorite song on the radio, an upbeat Spice Girls song from eons ago.

  Her laughter and the silly tune the sweetest sounds on earth.

  Then, there was no time to think or react. Another vehicle hurtled toward them, colliding straight into the passenger’s side, crushing them like a sardine can. The car forcefully pushed to the side of the road, flipped several times, before landing in a ditch.

  He couldn’t feel any movement in his legs, and his breathing labored as his lungs burned. The smell of burnt rubber, smoke, blood, and airbag chemicals burned his nostrils. He reached toward his head, coming away with blood covering his fingers, and he’d no doubt have a skull-crushing headache. In fact, his head was already killing him, as if someone took a hammer to his insides, but that didn’t matter. It was temporary.

  He was alive. They were alive.

  The faint sounds of sirens in the distance grew louder, as they approached.

  Thank God, help was on the way.

  Vision slightly blurred and hazy, and making his head spin even more with the movement, he grasped Laura’s knee. “Honey, come on. Help is on the way.”

  She didn’t respond, but he heard a faint cough. Barely, she stirred, and faced him. Tears streaming down her cheeks and ran into her quivering lips.

  Only, this smiling angel wasn’t Laura. It was Emma seated next to him. He reached forward, cradling her cheek in his hands.

  “Patrick, I love you,” she whispered.

  Tears welled then slid down his cheeks. “Honey, I love you, too. Please, save your strength. You don’t need to speak right now. We’re going to make it.”

  Light laughter pierced the air, but quickly vanished. Weakly, her shaking hand moved to his lips and she met his direct gaze. “Always remember, I love you, Patrick.”

  As if in slow motion, he watched her delicate hand slip and fall back into her lap. She slumped back into the seat, and he watched his angel slip into the next life.

  Agony knifed through his insides, and shock momentarily kept him in his seat. In its place, rage swiftly took hold. “No, no, no!” he screamed.

  With shaky fingers, he unbuckled the seatbelt, and ignoring the pain knifing through his upper body, he ripped the console upward, nearly severing the plastic and pulled Emma closer. Still, it didn’t seem close enough, and the rage inside tugged harder.

  Even in death, she looked beautiful. Blood covered the side of her face then dripped down, mixing with still-fresh tears and landing on the now ripped, pink cardigan. The string of pearls he’d given her two months ago for her birthday decorated her graceful neck. A pained laugh erupted through him as he recalled he’d only a couple hours ago teased her for changing her outfit three times. She’d wanted to look just right for the baby shower.

  He gently cradled her face and pressed his forehead against hers as a fresh wave of tears burned his eyes, fell and gave way to gut-wrenching sobs. Threading his fingers through sticky hair, matted with blood. He never wanted to let go. Denial and despair seized control, constricting his heart, as he realized his life was over. Their life together . . . violently ripped out of his hands.

  As the sirens drew nearer, he drowned them out. Kissing her mouth in one last, good-bye kiss, rocking them back and forth.

  He wished for her life back. He’d give his own if it meant she could live. His hand shook, drifting to her crushed abdomen. Their baby was gone too. The two loves of his life: gone. In one lousy second, he’d lost his partner. His best girl, and a baby girl he’d already loved, but would never meet.

  Shaking, he backed up in his seat, but it didn’t create nearly enough distance. He wasn’t able to look at her any longer, the pain too unbearable.

  A raging scream ripped from his soul.

  ~ ~ ~

  Patrick bolted upright in bed, his breathing coming in short, desperate spurts as the sweat trickled down his back, and along his forehead, and from every crevice of his skin. His entire body shook, and he pushed his hands into the mattress, hoping to quell the slight tremors. His heart pounded so fast, threatening to explode.

  Fear, pain, and anger boiled in his veins, burning him, as though a heat wave blasted through the entire room, covering him in soot and ash. He fought for calm, but it wouldn’t come as his senses rode painful aftershocks.

  Turning, he saw Emma lying next to him, her eyes shadowed in concern. Even the semi-darkness of the room couldn’t keep that hidden.

  He flinched as she rubbed his back in comforting circles. A touch intended to calm brought anxiety, as the nightmare hovered over his brain.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.”

  Needing space, and to bypass more questions he did not wish to answer, he got out of bed, retreating to the bathroom. He turned on the light, shut the door, and with unnecessary force, pushed his palms against the counter.

  He risked a glance in the mirror, seeing the mess he was. Hair mussed and moisture liberally bathing his pale face. He tried some deep breathing, but calm did not come. In their place, bile rose in his throat and almost made him want to throw up. The last time he’d woken from that particular nightmare, he’d been gravely ill.

  Turning on the faucet, he splashed cool water over his face and neck.

  Holy Mother of God, but what the hell kind of dream was that?

  He’d had the same nightmare, many times over the course of the years since Laura had been killed, but now? Now Emma had been the victim when a drunk driver had sideswiped them, on the way to the baby shower. She’d been the one he’d held in his arms, feeling helpless, alone, and terrified.

  The pain.

  The memories ripped open a wound that, while closed, had never fully healed. Tears blurred his vision as everything washed over him, flooded him until tears blurred his vision. The guilt he carried, at being the one to come out alive, with a few bumps, scrapes, and bruises, but alive, instead of Laura and their unborn child.

  His family had been r
ipped out of his hands in one lousy afternoon, and what was to be a happy afternoon, a happy time in their lives, turned to tragedy within seconds.

  Instead of planning for a wedding, he’d planned a double funeral. Instead of unwrapping gifts, and opening baby shower cards, he’d opened sympathy cards. Instead of sleeping with the comfort of her warmth by his side, and the gentle coo of a newborn, he’d slept with the urn filled with her and the baby’s ashes on the nightstand.

  He’d been a motherfucking wreck.

  The present seized hold as he recalled seeing Emma’s face, the vivid image of her lifeless form, even in a dreaming state, scared him shitless.

  A soft knock at the door brought his mind back to the here and now, and he turned off the running water, swiping his face with a nearby towel.

  “Come in.”

  He watched the door open, and she stuck her head in.

  Her soft voice a balm to fragile nerves. “Patrick, are you sure you’re all right?”

  One of his T-shirt’s swallowed her curves, and her hair was strewn over her shoulders, her cute feet bare. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her at a distance at the same time. Then, she came closer, and her scent filled his nostrils. Inquisitive sea blues studied. Her delicate hand covered the side of his face, rubbing gently, back and forth. Concern shadowed her features, and he knew without a doubt.

  He loved Emma, and the mere thought gave his body a jolt.

  “Yeah. I’m okay,” he lied.

  “Then let’s get back to bed.”

  Chapter 13

  Emma awoke to an empty bedside and the sound of the shower running. Sunlight filled the bedroom, gleaming against the hardwood floors. The French doors leading to the balcony were slightly opened, allowing a gentle breeze in.

  Last night weighed heavy on her mind and sent chills down her back. The sound of Patrick’s screams were ones she’d never forget. He’d been talking in his sleep and that had been the first thing to wake her, but she hadn’t made out a single word. Then tears ran down his face.