“We just met a few days ago, and I haven’t had the opportunity to get his number,” she protested.
“You just met? You said you were dating him!”
He translated this to the folks who didn’t speak English. Harry ran her hand through her hair as several pointed things were said. She didn’t understand the words, but she could tell from the way they were spoken that people regarded her as some lesser species of celebrity chaser.
“I’m going to the taverna,” she said, pushing past the man. “You believe what you want.”
“We will come with you,” he said, and she’d be damned if they didn’t all fall in behind her as she stumbled down the hill toward the water. The sun was glinting on the rippling water by now, gilding it orange and red and gold, but Harry had no eyes for the beauty of her surroundings.
It was at that moment that she discovered that Agios Nikos boasted not one, not two, but four tavernas along the waterfront. And Elena hadn’t bothered to mention which one was Iakovos’ favorite.
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered as she marched toward the first one, her crowd gasping in shock as her self-appointed translator repeated her oath in Greek.
Iakovos wasn’t at the taverna. She knew he wouldn’t be, because that would have been just way too convenient. Neither was he at the second or the third, which were scattered along a half mile of waterfront. The fourth taverna, she could see as she stood weaving with heat exhaustion, lay even farther down the curved stretch of seafront.
“You do not find your boyfriend yet, eh, kyria?” the spokesman of her followers said. She turned to tell him that Iakovos was sure to be at the last taverna, but the words shriveled to nothing on her lips as at least two dozen faces glared at her. Evidently she’d picked up some bystanders at the other three tavernas.
“I’ll find him,” she told the crowd, and stubbornly turned on her heel to walk the five hundred miles to the next taverna.
Several people ran ahead of her as her procession made its way there. She had no idea if they ran ahead to warn Iakovos of her arrival—she rather hoped they would, so that he would come out and meet her with applications of cooling beverages and sympathy for passing out in the heat—but as it happened, he didn’t.
The bastard wasn’t at the taverna.
Harry stared in openmouthed dismay at the taverna full of people who weren’t one of the world’s sexiest, most eligible bachelors, and wanted to cry. “He’s supposed to be here,” she said, her gaze shifting along the long line of accusatory faces. They’d been joined now by several people from the taverna. She held out her wrist, tapping on the watch. “I was supposed to meet him at six. It’s almost seven now.”
No one said a word, but they didn’t have to—their expressions said it all.
“Right,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment. She just wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground. “To hell with this. I’ll just take a boat back to the island. Either Iakovos is there, or someone will have his phone number.”
“You have a boat?” her primary escort asked her.
“No, but there’s bound to be one of Iakovos’ . . .”
The man’s expression darkened.
“Or maybe I’ll just hire someone to take me out there,” she amended.
“No one will take you. No one goes to Kyrie Papaioannou’s island without his permission.”
Harry rubbed her forehead, wondering what would happen if she collapsed right there in the middle of the taverna. Would someone find Iakovos? Or would she be handed over to the police as a potential stalker?
“Fine,” she said, coming to a decision. She’d be damned if she let a lot of unfortunate circumstances keep her away from the man she loved. She looked out at the water, the dark shape of Iakovos’ island visible as the last flaming rays of the sun stretched across the horizon. “It’s only a couple of miles out. I’ll swim to it. And the first person who tries to stop me is going to get a knuckle sandwich.”
They were marching her up to the police station, two men holding either arm, half the damned town trailing behind her, when a jeep squealed to a stop a half block away.
“Harry!” a man’s voice roared into the night, and she stopped, glaring furiously as Iakovos strode toward her, pulling out his cell phone as he did so.
“I found her,” he snapped into the phone. “Tell the police it’s all right. Where the hell have you been?” The last sentence was spoken to her, but even as the words left his lips his eyes were scanning her captors. “And what’s going on?”
“I’m being taken to jail,” she said, wanting to simultaneously weep with joy at seeing him and lambaste him for not being where he was supposed to be. “Evidently this town really, really likes you. And they didn’t believe that we’re . . . dating.”
He spoke rapidly in Greek, taking her arm in one hand, the other gesturing as he no doubt explained to the people the nature of their relationship.
One of the men answered him. Harry knew what he must have said by the long look Iakovos gave her. “You broke someone else’s nose?”
She examined her fingertips for a few seconds. “I told him that if he tried to stop me from swimming out to your island, he’d get a knuckle sandwich. He evidently didn’t believe I was serious. He does now.”
Iakovos took a deep breath, speaking again to the crowd, which reluctantly dispersed, before he steered her into the jeep. “That was the mayor, sweetheart.”
“The man who owns the taverna where I was supposed to meet you?”
He nodded, put the car in gear, and headed down the road the way she’d just come. “Where were you, speaking of that?”
“Lost. And passed out.” She explained about waking up on the sidewalk.
He glanced at her, frowning. “Where’s your hat?”
“What hat?”
“You went out without a hat? That’s not very bright, Harry. You’re not used to the sun here yet.”
“Thank you, Captain Hindsight,” she said wearily.
He said nothing more, and she worried for a few minutes that she’d offended him, but if she had, he was above such things. He helped her out of the jeep and escorted her to a table, calling for water as he got her settled.
By the time she’d had three glasses of water and had eaten a little flatbread, she was feeling much more human.
Iakovos had gone to see the mayor, who had retired earlier in dignity to the back room. The two men emerged now, the mayor wreathed in smiles despite the reddish purple skin below both eyes and his swollen nose.
When Harry apologized, he said, “Is fine. My nose is broken more than once. Never has it been so happy as to be broken by the kyria.”
“Apparently you can work miracles,” Harry said a few minutes later after the mayor had toddled back off to his cronies.
He flashed her a grin as several bowls of intriguing food were set before them. “I just told him that you were a famous writer and might pick Agios Nikos as the setting for your next book. He wants you to make a character based on him.”
“I just bet he does,” she said, smiling as he shifted his chair over closer to her, his leg pressing with comforting solidity against hers. “Where’s Elena? I thought she was going to have dinner with us.”
“When you weren’t here, Dmitri and Elena and I split up to find you. She’s probably back home now, on the phone with her tiresome friends. Dmitri said he was going to visit a woman he sees on and off when we’re here.”
“So it’s just you and me tonight, is it?” she asked, tracing a vein running down one of his long, sensitive hands.
“It is. Do you want to return home, or are you up to this?” he asked, nodding at the people who had gathered as music started up from a three-piece band. “They play every Monday night. I thought you might like to hear them, since they do some traditional music.”
“This looks fun,” she said, wanting to be alone with him but intrigued at the same time to see this new side of him.
It was an eye-op
ening evening. Iakovos might have had no ear for music, but he obviously enjoyed it nonetheless, his feet tapping to the lively tunes, his fingers warm on her back and neck as he sat, relaxed, laughing and joking with the folks of the town, periodically giving her steamy looks that promised much for later activities.
She didn’t know the words to any of the songs—most of them were in Greek anyway—but she hummed along as the entire taverna sang some of the numbers. A few people danced as well, but Iakovos was evidently content to just sit there with her.
It warmed her heart to know that this man who bought and sold expensive pieces of property without a second thought, had so much in common with people who worked for their daily meals. She didn’t miss the byplay of a couple of older women who were clearly chaffing him, giving him little nods toward her. He laughed and answered them, his eyes amused when he turned back to her.
“Don’t tell me—the ladies of the town are trying to hook you up with their unmarried daughters?” Harry asked, wanting badly to kiss him but lacking the nerve to do so in front of everyone.
“Only one of them, and she’s been trying that for the last ten years. Seraphina was telling me the best way to keep you from getting sunstroke was to make sure you never left my bed.”
“I do like Seraphina,” she answered, scanning the crowd. “Which one is she?”
“To the left, in the yellow flower dress.”
Harry waved at the old woman, who smiled and nodded back.
“So what do you think of the typical Greek now?” Iakovos asked, his mouth close to her ear as the music started up again.
She turned her head, her mouth almost brushing his. “I think they’re all wonderful. But not as wonderful as you.”
“Harry,” he said on a breath, his hand in her hair, angling her head back so he could kiss her. His lips were hot on hers, his tongue hotter still as it slipped between her lips. She moaned as it twined around her tongue, the taste of him making her body feel far too hot and confined in her dress.
He was still kissing her when the music ended, the applause rippling into laughter when someone caught sight of them.
“Time to go home before I demand a room right here,” Iakovos said, pulling her to her feet, making a bow when some wag called out something that she was willing to bet was risqué. She waved good-bye to them all, and was a little surprised when many of the crowd came out with them to see them into the jeep.
She glanced back as he drove off, waving to her new friends, wondering if she would ever see them again.
She would if she had anything to say about the matter.
CHAPTER 13
“Yacky.”
“Eglantine.”
Harry peeled herself off his chest and looked down at him. “We have to get out of bed.”
“I don’t think we do, no.”
“We do. We’re becoming sloths. For three days all we’ve done is make love, drag ourselves out to the patio to eat, take short breaks to swim, and then we’re back in bed again.”
His gorgeous dark eyes glittered at her with a light that never failed to make her shiver with delight. “You could be right. We should eat in bed. That would eliminate all that patio time.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it—he filled her with so much joy, she felt as if it were bursting from her. She wanted badly to say it, positively ached to mention the word, but she wasn’t sure if he was quite ready to hear it yet. He seemed happy, yes. He certainly had done everything possible to make the last few days filled with nothing but happy memories. He’d told Dmitri that he wasn’t to be disturbed for anything short of complete economic breakdown, sent Elena off to Switzerland for her birthday trip, and rearranged his business schedule for a few days so they could stay together, alone, just the two of them and the twenty or so people he employed to maintain his island paradise.
She examined his face, his beautiful face with its long nose, straight black brows, and definitely aggressive whisker growth. She knew without looking that she sported any number of little patches of whisker burn on her neck, breasts, belly, and, she suspected, between her thighs. Iakovos offered to shave more frequently, but she had told him she didn’t really mind. But it was his eyes that held her attention, those eyes that could glow with such warmth that it left her breathless.
“I love you,” she said, unable to keep from saying the words.
He froze beneath her, his eyes suddenly wary.
“I’m serious. I really love you. All of you, not just your body, in case you’re worried about losing the number five spot. I love your mind, and I love your mouth, and your upper lip, and your lower lip, and everything else about you, even the fact that you actually like mint toothpaste, which frankly is just beyond my understanding, but even despite that gigantic personality flaw, I love you with every little atom of my being.”
He blinked at her, then smiled a slow—very slow—smile, one filled with a whole lot of male satisfaction.
“Now,” she said, tapping her fingers on his breastbone, “would be a perfectly appropriate time for you to tell me that you love me as well.”
“Would it?” he asked, cocking one glossy black eyebrow.
“Yes.” She waited.
He just hummed softly to himself, his hands drawing lazy patterns on her naked behind.
“Yacky.”
“Eglantine?”
“You’re not going to say it, are you? You’re going to make me beg you to say it, just because I call you Yacky, and make your life a hell, and turn things upside down, although I’m not quite sure what I’m turning upside down, but evidently I am, and for some perverse reason, you feel the need to punish me for it by not telling me you love me, when I know perfectly well that you do.”
“If you know I do, then you don’t need me to say it, do you?” he asked with maddening reason, giving her butt a swat as he gently pushed her off him in order to pad naked into the bathroom.
“I’m going to make you pay for that—you are aware of that, aren’t you?” she called after him, unable to keep from admiring his truly spectacular butt as he strolled into the bathroom.
“I know you’ll try. Can you pack your things and be ready to leave tomorrow?” he asked, pausing at the door.
She sat up, clutching his pillow because it smelled like him. “Yes. Am I going somewhere?”
“Athens, if you wish to join me.”
“Your office?” she asked.
He nodded. “I’ve put off work as long as I could, but there are several deals that are coming to a head, and I’m needed.”
“All right, but at some point I’m going to have to go home and cope with my apartment.”
“I have to go to New York in two months—you can come with me when I return to the States, take care of your business in Seattle and meet me in New York, if you like.”
“Do you love me?” she asked.
He grinned and went into the bathroom.
“When are you going to ask me to marry you, you annoying man?” she yelled after him.
He burst into a song. In Greek. Off-key, of course.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw things at him. She wanted to spend the rest of her life kissing him.
Dear god, she was in way over her head with him.
Harry in Athens for the first time was an eye-opening experience for Iakovos. He knew she had been looking forward to seeing the city, since she hadn’t been to Greece before, and he had anticipated with mild pleasure showing her around the various sites. But he hadn’t expected her to be so enthusiastic, or so delighted with everything historical. He had lived in Athens on and off for most of his adult life, but he felt as if he’d never really seen it until she dragged him around to every sight she could find. The time spent together as he showed her the city he loved filled him with a quiet contentment.
“You really are a lucky man to have grown up with this,” she said one night at the Acropolis as she stood leaning back against him, his arms around her, her h
ands over his. In front of them, the Parthenon sat on its hilltop like a stately jewel, lit with soft amber lights. Above their heads, the moon was full.
He nuzzled the side of her neck. “I’m very lucky.”
She turned in his arms, oblivious of the other tourists who had gathered with them. “This is, hands down, the most romantic night of my life.”
“Is it?” He kissed her temple, smiling to himself.
“Yes. Notice that full moon.”
He obligingly looked at the moon. “It’s very full.”
“Full moons are romantic, Yacky,” she told him with slightly flared nostrils.
“So I’ve heard, Eglantine.”
“The Parthenon, lit at night, in the company of the one you love, is also romantic.”
“I’m hungry,” he told her. “Shall we have dessert somewhere?”
Her teeth ground for a few seconds. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to marry you. I could never marry a man who lacks the slightest iota of romance in his soul.” She slid out of his arms and started marching across the rocky ground to where his car waited.
He grinned at the back of her head, taking her hand in his as he said, “It’s good, then, that I never got around to asking you to marry me, isn’t it?”
She growled at him. She positively growled.
He didn’t think he could possibly love her more than he did at that moment.
Unfortunately, business concerns drove him away from her side. He worried that she would be bored on her own, but he had reckoned without her ingenuity.
“I need to get this book done anyway,” she told him one morning about two weeks after they arrived in Athens. “I’m behind schedule as is, and I do need quiet time to write, so stop worrying.”
“Mikos will drive you anywhere you wish to go,” he said, pulling out a card and jotting down a number.
“I thought he was your driver.”
“He is, but I have so much work to do, I won’t be going anywhere soon. Do you have a fancy dress?”
“Like the belly-dancing costume?” Her cheeks flushed as she remembered two nights past when he had convinced her to don the outfit and dance for him. He’d been right—he lasted about two seconds before he removed the outfit and made love to her all night long.
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