Outside, Cullen watched Sabine for signs of fatigue. She started to breathe heavier as they walked down the street. At the footpath he’d discovered yesterday, he stopped.
“It’s a steep descent.”
“I’m fine,” she said, dismissing him to gimp down the footpath on her own.
Impressed by her courage and spunk, Cullen followed. He caught himself looking at her butt as she moved down the hill and had to force his gaze elsewhere. Rocks and brush painted the hillside, ending where a sandy inlet sloped into the ocean. Gentle waves lapped the shore, the only sound to be heard other than their footsteps.
“Oh,” Sabine breathed.
He stepped down the last of the incline, and his booted feet sank into fine, white sand. She was like a painting now. Hair sailing in a slight breeze, eyes full of appreciation that might not have been as profound had she not come so close to losing her life.
She sat on the sand and removed her hiking boots and socks. Then she rolled the hem of her lounge pants to the edge of her bandages, just above her ankles. Rising, she walked to the shore and went into the water, but only far enough to get her feet wet. That salt water would hurt her raw wounds like a thousand bee stings. Cullen removed his boots and rolled his pants up to follow her.
Waves splashed against rocks and crawled over the sand. Offshore, the water was so clear it looked like pool water, glittering, translucent cerulean fading to deep sea.
“Have you ever been to Greece before?” she asked.
“Many times,” he answered. “But never here. I’ve been to Santorini and Athens.”
“You speak the language like you’re from here.”
“My grandmother was born here.” It caught him off guard how easily that came from his mouth, personal information he usually never divulged.
“You’re Greek?” She gave him a survey, as though confirming it with her eyes.
“Partly. My mother married an Irishman. I had a knack for languages in college.”
“What was your major in college?”
“Political science.”
“What did you do after that?”
He just looked at her, knowing her questions were deliberate. He couldn’t tell her much about himself, particularly what he did after college. Not when a media frenzy awaited her return. Public curiosity would leave his company—which didn’t overtly exist and never could—too vulnerable.
“Did you join the military?” she asked.
“Something like that.”
Her mouth pursed and she stopped strolling through the water. “What’s your name? You can at least tell me that much.”
He stopped, too, and faced her. “Rudy.”
“That’s a stupid name. Even for a code name. Tell me your real name.”
He wanted to, and that heightened his concern. “Sabine…”
Pivoting, she resumed her walk through the water, her steps not as smooth as before, frustration giving her verve even as she limped. But that only managed to intrigue him more.
He caught up with her, noticing the subtle jostle of her breasts.
“I’m sure you know everything about me,” she said bitterly.
“I know your name is Sabine O’Clery and you’re thirty-three years old. Not married, no kids. I know you’re from Colorado and for some reason took the contractor job in Afghanistan.” He knew more but now was not the time to tell her.
She glanced at him. “I speak Farsi. There was a need for people like me there. I liked the idea of contract work because it gave me an opportunity to make more money and see interesting places.” She grunted her laugh. “At the time it seemed like a good idea.” Her face grew haunted and she stopped walking, staring out to sea.
“I’m sorry.” And he was, for putting that haunted look in her eyes.
Slowly, she turned and lifted her eyes. “How old are you?”
No harm in telling her that. “Thirty-five.” When she continued to look at him with those brilliant green eyes, he added, “Not married. No kids.”
“That sort of thing is hard for a man in your line of work, isn’t it? Having a family, I mean.”
He didn’t reply, wondering if she was trying to pry more from him. He couldn’t let her. He’d already said too much.
“How many of these missions do you do a year, anyway?”
Still, he didn’t say anything.
“Who do you work for?”
That especially was off-limits.
Anger flared in her eyes. He marveled at the intensity and couldn’t stop himself from looking down when she folded her arms in front of her.
“Is it my father?” She all but spat the last word.
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed and he felt dissected as she searched for signs that he was lying. She wouldn’t find any. He could pass any polygraph without flinching.
“Then it has to be the military.”
He just looked at her. Let her assume he worked for the military. It wasn’t completely a lie.
With a frustrated spin, she turned and limped to her boots.
He followed. “Do you have something against your father? Who is he?”
She sat on the sand and started to put on her socks, agitation showing in her movements. “I’m grateful you saved my life. And I’m sorry your teammates were killed.”
The memory of his teammates kept him from pressing her for an answer. Instead, he sat beside her, studying her fiery profile. Whatever had estranged her from her father, it must have something to do with the secrets Noah had to keep. She definitely didn’t like secrets. But he couldn’t let that stop him from keeping some of his own from her. What he did through his company was so black not even his commander in the army reserves knew the truth. If the media got hold of that, it would destroy him.
Sighing, he looked out to sea. He and Sabine were way too curious of each other.
“You probably like not telling me your name,” Sabine said without looking up from her boots.
He observed her for a moment, her words sinking in, confirming what he’d already guessed. The curiosity that could mushroom into more if he wasn’t careful.
“You don’t need to know anything about me,” he said as gently as he could. “As soon as I get you to London, you’ll never see me again.”
She stopped yanking the laces of her boots to look at him in surprise. “You’re taking me to London? What happens when we get there?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he started to put on his boots.
Sabine grunted and jerked the laces of her second boot together.
Best thing would be if they could just get along until he got her to London. He didn’t want her to bolt because he reminded her of Noah. “Why don’t we forget how we got here and just enjoy the island? We might not ever get a chance to come to a place like this again. I say we find somewhere to have dinner tonight. Something local, with fresh seafood.”
Deeper anger furrowed her brow. “What would we talk about, Mr. Thirty-Five, Not Married, No Kids?”
He supposed he should have expected her to react like that. And what was he thinking, suggesting they have dinner together?
“I told you I went to college,” he said. “You know about my grandmother, too. That’s a lot more than most people know.”
“Am I supposed to be flattered?”
He had to get a grip on this. Fast. “Sabine, what I do for a living won’t survive the kind of publicity your kidnapping is getting. Imagine what your rescue is going to do. As soon as you land in the United States, it’s going to be a circus. I can’t be seen with you after this. Can’t you understand that?”
She didn’t reply and struggled to her feet.
Cullen finished with his boots and followed her up the footpath. She was breathing hard climbing the steep slope. Her grimaces and awkward steps told him her legs were hurting.
He started to reach for her.
She swatted his hands away and propelled herself faster up the hill, no doubt on she
er will, casting him a dagger look over her shoulder.
He almost chuckled. One thing was for sure—she was definitely getting better.
Sitting on one of the woven chairs on the balcony, Sabine wondered what had made her so angry earlier. If Rudy didn’t want to tell her his name, he didn’t have to. Right?
She could hear him moving in the room. The shower started to run. She tried not to picture him in there, but it was impossible after seeing him without a shirt. She didn’t want to be attracted to a man who was just like her father.
She tapped the tabletop with her fingers. She wasn’t sure what bothered her more—not knowing who’d sent him, or his secrecy. If her father had sent him, that made Rudy a mercenary. A ruthless killer with no loyalty to country or ideals. That notion wrestled with the honorable act of rescuing her, and a niggling inner voice taunted that she didn’t know for sure her father’s company was that disreputable. But Rudy was keeping things from her and doing it with ease. She hated that in men. Plus, he’d gotten a thrill crash-landing the plane. That in and of itself was a big enough warning sign. The man probably never enjoyed an idle moment.
The shower turned off. Sabine looked toward the room, unable to see him and upset that she wanted to. She heard the bathroom door open. Then Rudy appeared in the doorway in black jeans and a white short-sleeved dress shirt, gray-eyed and tall and dark and too gorgeous to be good for her.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
He was probably going on another of his patrols. She nodded.
“Don’t go anywhere and keep the door shut, okay?” he added.
“I’ll wait here for you,” she said. Why did that sound so intimate? Waiting for him. She was going to wait for him. And then what?
Her gaze collided with his for a long moment before he turned and left the room.
Sabine put her elbow on the table and propped her chin in her hand, looking over rooftops at the sea in the distance. The smell of baking bread reached her. She inhaled and welcomed the distraction. Below, the street bustled with activity. People riding or leading donkeys passed. Taxis drove by. She could hear the collective chatter from people sitting on a patio at a restaurant up the street.
She got lost in the pleasure of just experiencing the moment, listening to the sounds, smelling the smells, feeling the warm sun on her skin. Living. It lulled her into a doze. She leaned her head back and let the peace take her.
A while later, she had no idea how long, she heard the room door open and close. Rudy emerged onto the balcony and put a bag on the table in front of her.
Wariness mingled with delight. A present, but it was from him. “What’s this?”
He seemed reluctant to answer. “For tonight. You can’t wear what you have on.”
A responding flutter tickled her before she could stop it. What was he doing? He didn’t seem to know himself, the heat in his eyes at odds with his shift in weight from one foot to the other.
Flustered, Sabine turned to the bag and reached inside. She lifted a swath of soft white material, holding up the bodice of a dress. It was long sleeved with a scooped neckline. Standing, she faced Rudy. The flowing hem fell to her ankles and would cover her bandages.
“It’s like I said earlier—we’re here on this island, why not enjoy it?” He sounded defensive, as though he didn’t want her to know he had other reasons for picking out this dress.
She smiled to cover the much more serious wave of pleasure that realization stirred. “If you’re trying to get my mind off Afghanistan, you’re doing a great job.”
Chapter 4
All the while she showered and primped in front of the mirror, Sabine wondered if having dinner with Rudy was such a good idea. Granted, they had to eat, and this was Greece, but he’d made it clear she’d never see him again after he sent her on her way to the United States. Did she want to risk exploring something romantic with him? Because with all his secrets, he would be a risk. She’d dated a few men and slept with them, but this wasn’t the same. Being with those men had felt comfortable. Being with Rudy set sparks on fire. Big difference.
She inhaled and blew out the air through pursed lips. As long as she kept Rudy’s true purpose in mind, she’d be all right. He had rescued her. When he completed his mission, he’d go his way and she’d go hers. Dinner with him would be just that. Dinner. She’d go to taste the local fare, and tomorrow she’d be on her way home.
She left the bathroom and stopped. Rudy sat in a chair by the bed, reading a brochure of some sort. He looked up and went still when he saw her. His gaze slowly devoured her as he rose to stand.
“Are you ready to go?” she asked, doing her best to hide how awkward she felt.
“I knew that dress would look beautiful on you,” he said as though he hadn’t heard her.
The compliment rushed through her in a warm wave. Just dinner, she told her heart. Stop letting nice arms and abs get in the way.
Seeming to catch himself, he went to the door and waited for her there. She reached the open threshold.
“By the way, we’re on our honeymoon,” he said.
She stopped abruptly, unable to keep her head from snapping over and up to look at his face.
“If anyone questions us, that’s what you tell them,” he explained. “For cover.”
Embarrassed that she hadn’t immediately caught on to that, she left the room, letting him follow down the hall and stairs. In the lobby, Alec looked up from a paper he was reading and smiled.
“I am happy to see you are feeling better, Mrs. Harvey,” he said in accented English.
Sabine forced a smile. “Thank you. I do feel much better.” She avoided any connection with Rudy’s eyes as they left the pension. Mrs. Harvey. Mrs.
The sun was low in the sky as they made their way down the street. Rudy led her into an alley. It was so narrow that he had to move behind her to allow a man leading a donkey to pass. Through another alley, they dodged two more people with donkeys and emerged onto a street where a white building with tables outside came into view. Theodosia’s, a sign read on the glass door.
Rudy opened the door for Sabine and she entered. The interior was longer than it was wide, with windows along the back that had a view of a rocky shoreline. Dark wood tables with white tablecloths and miniature vases of white flowers filled the space between. The hum of conversation joined the clang of dishes, and the smell was divine. Sabine inhaled a full breath to savor it for a while.
Rudy leaned close. “It’s called a psarotavérna. A taverna that serves fish.”
“It smells like heaven.”
“Welcome, welcome.” The woman they’d first seen when they’d arrived in the village came forward, her wrinkled face smiling. She wore a red embroidered dress with gold chains hanging from her neck. Her hair was white and in a bun.
“This must be your lovely wife.” The woman hooked her arm with Sabine’s. “I am Theodosia,” the woman said, leading them past tables of Greek-speaking patrons.
At a table in the corner, intimate and lit with a candle, Theodosia let go of Sabine, who sat and watched Rudy do the same across from her.
“Enjoy,” Theodosia beamed.
Rudy said something in Greek that made her smile wider and laugh as she turned away.
“She’s very friendly,” Sabine commented.
Rudy scowled. “Too friendly. Maybe we should have gone somewhere else.”
“We’re the Harveys, remember?” She laughed a little, beginning to enjoy this.
He grunted and turned to the menu.
The tension on his face dimmed her playfulness. Did he regret bringing her here? Why had he taken the chance? She was afraid to guess. Why had she agreed to go with him? The answer sobered her. They were both too interested in each other.
A waitress arrived at their table and filled two glasses of water. “You ready, no?”
Rudy ordered. Sabine didn’t understand a word he said, but when the waitress left the table, she assumed he’d ordered fo
r both of them.
“What are we having?” she asked.
“Octopus pilaf.”
He grinned at her questioning expression, all his tension evaporating.
“Never had it?” he asked.
She smiled and both felt and saw him notice. “No, but I love seafood.”
“Me, too.” He looked at her in a way that she shouldn’t have liked, but oh, how she liked it. The heat and vitality of him warmed her.
One glass of wine arrived at the table. The waitress put it in front of her.
“Aren’t you having any?” she asked Rudy when the waitress left.
He shook his head. “I don’t drink.”
The way he said it made her wonder. “Because your job requires it?”
“No. When you grow up with a drunk for a father, alcohol loses its appeal.”
She lifted the glass of wine and sipped, thinking he had not meant to reveal so much feeling and not wanting to let on that she’d noticed. “Where is your father now?”
He met her gaze as she lowered the glass. At first, she didn’t think he was going to answer, but it turned out there was too much emotion simmering in him.
“He lives in a low-income housing project with his crack-smoking girlfriend,” he said, his tone laced with bitterness and sarcasm.
“Do you ever see him?” she asked, keeping her tone unassuming.
“No. I gave that up the day I left home, when I was sixteen.”
“How do you know he has a girlfriend, then?”
“Every now and then I give in to the hope that he’s changed and call.”
Sabine met his gaze for a while. It hurt him to see his father like that. Had his upbringing motivated him to do what he did for a living? Maybe if he saved enough people, he could make up for not being able to save his father.
“My mother died when I was very young. He never got over it,” Rudy added.
“He must have loved her very much.”
“Too much. It’s what destroyed him.”
Sabine covered her inward response with another sip of wine. Maybe that’s what had turned him into an adrenaline junky. He didn’t want to end up like his father. What better way to accomplish that than always being on the go? Never home. Avoiding relationships that would make him feel too much.
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