Rake Most Likely to Sin

by Bronwyn Scott

  Brennan shrugged, but his eyes held hers, not letting her gaze leave him. ‘You aren’t made for an old man, Patra. Your husband had to be young, too.’

  ‘I’m thirty-five, Brennan, five years older than you, hardly a girl in the first blush of youth.’ Not like Katerina Stefanos, who was twenty and had parents who guarded her virtue like wardens. Patra had no such virtue left.

  Brennan scoffed at the idea. ‘If thirty-five is too young to live life like a nun, then twenty-three certainly is. You can’t mean to throw your life away on your husband’s memory, not when there is so much life left in you, for you.’ His quiet tone gentled the words. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that message. The women in the village had been preaching it for two years now. Apparently, ten years was the statute of limitations on grieving. Too bad that didn’t seem to apply to forgetting, as well. She didn’t want to forget Dimitri, but she did want to forget what had happened to him and why. She didn’t want to remember that it had been her fault he’d died. But it wasn’t a choice. Remembering was her penance. All the freedom in the world couldn’t change that.

  ‘I suppose you think I should experience that life with you? That I should throw my reputation away on a young man like yourself who will be here and gone whenever the mood strikes him?’ She felt her anger start to rise, encroaching on her euphoria. What did Brennan know of loss and sacrifice in his gilded life? ‘You presume too much on too short of an acquaintance.’ Patra tried to stand. Perhaps it would be best to return home before the day was ruined.

  Brennan’s hand closed around her wrist. She felt a frisson of thrill shoot up her arm like it always did when he touched her. It didn’t matter where they were. It could be the simplest of touches, a hand at her elbow in the market, and it would still ignite her as if it were the most intimate of caresses. ‘Patra, don’t do this.’

  ‘Don’t do what? I’m merely standing up.’ She was trying to resist, truly she was.

  ‘Stop it, please.’ Brennan tugged her down gently and she took up her place on the blanket. ‘You’re walking away physically and verbally. You do this when the conversation becomes difficult.’ She wanted to argue. She’d never walked away from anything, but Brennan continued, not giving her a chance to respond. ‘You did it that first night on the hill, you did it when I showed up to paint your shutters and you’re doing it now. You don’t want to talk about the past and you don’t want to explore your own needs, so you create a quarrel.’

  Every sense she possessed flared with danger: fight, fight, fight, he is too close. Had anyone in the past twelve years seen her as clearly as he saw her right now? It was positively frightening and yet beautifully bittersweet that of all the people in the world who had the capacity to really see her, it was an Englishman who was merely passing through her life, who could mean nothing to her. But that was for later. Right now, Brennan’s blue eyes had become the sum of her world as they held her gaze, urging her to listen.

  ‘Don’t be afraid of what I make you feel. To be truly free, Patra, you have to own your past, not just the facts, but the emotions, too. Otherwise, you can’t give yourself the future you deserve.’ She was acutely aware this was real. This moment, these words, were not part of a ruse. They were for her, outside any fiction the two of them were creating. The realisation nearly choked her.

  ‘How do you know such a thing?’ Patra whispered. Their heads were close together, their voices hushed with the divine intimacy of the moment. She could hear the quiet susurration of the waves just beyond them.

  ‘Because I’ve been there,’ Brennan murmured, his confession brushing her lips, his mouth close to hers.

  In that moment, she wanted to know. She whispered her own question against his lips. ‘How? Tell me.’ What had he struggled against? What ghosts could possibly haunt this glorious man-boy’s past?

  There were no answers, only the sliding of his mouth over hers in a communion of sinners, two flawed persons searching for salvation. He pressed her back on the blanket, his body covering hers. This, she recognised, was his strategy; to offer physical intimacy in lieu of conversation. It was not a poor substitute.

  Blue eyes looked down at her, wet auburn hair framed his sun-kissed face, a slow, intensely private smile taking his mouth, muscled arms bracketing her head. Her breath came fast. There was going to be trouble, good trouble. She wanted to reason she hadn’t bargained on this, but deep down she knew she had.

  ‘Let me give you what you need.’ He was asking permission not only for himself. He didn’t need it. He was probably very aware he could coax compliance from her. He was asking on her behalf. She needed to give herself permission, out loud, with witnesses.

  She breathed a single word. ‘Yes.’

  Brennan’s mouth took hers again, not in invitation as his first had been, but in affirmation of her permission. She welcomed the press of his lips, the exploration of his tongue, the weight of his body, warm and male atop her. His hips moved against hers in the smallest of motions, but it was enough to ignite certain fires. She moaned a sigh as his hand slid beneath her wet chemise to claim a breast in a slow caress. It was his turn to groan, his mouth moving to feast at her neck, to the valley between her breasts. His hands were at her hips, pushing up the clingy chemise, pushing aside the clumsily wrapped towel.

  His mouth kissed her navel, foreshadowing his intentions, giving her the choice and she gave it, her body opening to him in its most private arenas. How unnerving, how exquisite, that he’d known precisely what she needed.

  He slipped his hand between her thighs, resting it in the curls of her mound. She could feel her body quiver and then steady itself as he murmured soft words of encouragement. It had been so long since she’d felt like this, wanted to feel like this. His fingers moved, finding her slick pearl. He drew his thumb over it, a slow, sure caress that tantalised, bringing her closer to some nebulous edge with every pass. Her moans came in short gasps now, her body desperate for the promise that awaited it.

  ‘Let go, Patra. Let it come, invite it to take you,’ Brennan’s voice coaxed, compelling and smooth, sure. She could trust that voice. He would not fail her, not in this. ‘This is just another cliff, Patra. Jump. Jump for me.’

  And she did. But she did not merely jump, she flew with the sun setting in a blue-violet sky above her, the last of the sand’s afternoon warmth at her back, her lover’s hand on her, calling forth release. Her body remembered this and it called forth memories of its own, it unlocked self-imposed chains. Somewhere in the last twelve years she’d forgotten her true self, the passionate, vibrant woman who embraced life. That woman was still there, locked away deep inside for reasons Patra couldn’t remember just now with Brennan’s hand at her core, with her passion rising, with release seizing her in its fevered pitch. What she did know was that in these moments, she was free. The little voice in her mind that cried caution was silent at last.

  Chapter Eight

  In those shattering moments, Brennan knew a primal satisfaction. Patra was beautiful in her pleasure, her throat exposed, her head thrown back. Who would have guessed such depths of passion lay beneath the stoic woman he’d seen in the market? Patra wore vulnerability well and it moved something ancient and possessive at the core of him. To make oneself vulnerable was to trust, and in these seconds, Patra trusted him. It was quite remarkable given that she’d been fighting every step of the way. But he’d recognised it wasn’t him she was fighting, it was herself.

  He smoothed back her hair and placed a soft kiss at her temple. ‘Now you know it’s possible. You can stop fighting.’

  ‘I’m not fighting anyone,’ she murmured, her voice drowsy, her eyes dreamy when they met his.

  ‘You’re fighting yourself.’ Brennan settled beside her, body stretched out, head propped in a hand. ‘Trust me, I’ve seen this fight enough to know what it looks like.’ His free hand traced idle circ
les on the flat of her stomach. ‘My friend Haviland fought it when he resisted the marriage his family arranged and traded it for the marriage he wanted with the woman he loved. My friend Archer fought it when his mother died. How could he be true to her and still be true to his family? These are important questions for men of honour. The answers will drive their lives. It’s an important fight to win because it will determine whether or not they will have the only thing in life that matters.’

  ‘What’s that?’ She smiled at him and he felt a very different answer in his gut. You. You could be the sole focus of a man’s life and he would consider it a success. But that was just fanciful wishing brought on by the sea and the sun and perhaps the echoes of domesticity from the day.

  ‘Happiness,’ Brennan answered. ‘Happiness is the only thing that matters.’

  ‘Not love?’ She wanted to debate, he could see her eyes starting to spark with some mischief, her drowsiness leaving her.

  ‘Love is a form of happiness.’ He looked out over the water where the sun hung, a big fiery orb on the horizon before it plunged into the water. ‘Count with me, Patra. Let’s put the sun to bed.’

  She sat up and he wrapped an arm about her, drawing her close against his side, her head on his shoulder, elusive happiness filling him. He’d found it for a moment. He didn’t expect it to last much longer, but he’d learned to take what he could get. Her soft voice joined his. ‘Five, four, three, two...one. Goodnight, sun.’

  Patra tossed her head, drawing her hair to one side over a shoulder. She gave him a contemplative stare, thoughts moving behind her dark eyes. ‘Do you think someone can find love, a strong abiding love, more than once in a lifetime?’ If Katerina Stefanos had asked him that question, he would have run screaming. But from Patra it was non-threatening. She wasn’t angling for him. They had their agreement and aside from what happened here on the beach, she wasn’t emotionally ready. Neither of them wanted to marry at the moment. She was not asking because of any feelings between the two of them. She was asking for herself. ‘I wonder sometimes if my husband was my one and only grand passion, would I be wrong to try and look for it with another? If he was my one chance, then perhaps it is futile to even search because it won’t be out there.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Brennan said slowly, honestly. Stars were starting to come out in the lavender sky. ‘I don’t even know if we get the assurance of finding such a thing even once.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ There was a tinge of sorrow in the undertone of her voice. ‘You’ve never been in love.’

  ‘Not yet.’ A pale star shot across the sky and Brennan closed his eyes. ‘But I keep hoping.’

  * * *

  Was he looking for love? The thought haunted him long after he’d taken Patra home and returned to his room in Konstantine’s guest quarters. Was love the reason he was still travelling south long after his friends had stopped? Was he literally leaving no rock unturned in his search? He hadn’t thought of it in that way before. He’d understood he had been looking for fun, for adventure. Had those things merely been a mask for something superficial, ways to fill a deeper need?

  Brennan stretched and got off his bed. He was too awake to sleep even after all the exercise and the early morning. His mind was alive and busy, a sure sign he wouldn’t sleep any time soon. He was used to it. He ate like the proverbial horse and he slept like one, too. Archer had taught him that years ago in school. Horses could survive on two hours of sleep a night. Brennan laughed to himself as he climbed the stairs to Kon’s rooftop patio. Two hours sounded just about right and why not? He was a firm believer he’d get all the sleep he needed when he was dead. Until then, there was too much to do.

  ‘Did I miss the joke?’ Konstantine turned from the railing.

  ‘No, I was just thinking about horses.’ Brennan joined him, leaning his elbows on the railing and staring out to the harbour. He could see Kon’s boat from here. Too bad London homes didn’t have this feature. He loved the rooftop patio; cool and private, a place where a man could gather his thoughts at the end of the day.

  ‘I’m surprised you aren’t thinking about women instead.’ Konstantine gave him a friendly elbow to the ribs, but his tone was serious. ‘It seems you must truly be irresistible if you have even the remote Patra Tspiras at your feet. Not even the great war hero, Castor Apollonius, managed to capture her affections. Not that the village ever considered that a tremendous loss.’ Konstantine leaned on his elbows, staring out to the harbour. ‘The two of them broke over politics, it appears. He wanted to support a, um, certain organisation, shall we say, in the new government and she didn’t. He persisted with that political stance and she would have nothing to do with him. She retreated from our little society after that. Everyone was surprised.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s wealthy, powerful, handsome and he’d been especially close to her husband,’ Konstantine explained. ‘He was with her husband when he died. It seemed to many of us grief would have brought them together.’ A little flame of irrational jealousy sparked out of nowhere in Brennan’s gut. Another man had wanted Patra and had actively pursued her.

  Konstantine paused and Brennan sensed there was more his friend wanted to say. It had been a week since the party, a week since Katerina had made her bold play for him. Brennan thought he knew what it was his friend wanted to ask. ‘I don’t intend to marry Katerina Stefanos,’ Brennan said quietly in the dark. ‘The offer is very generous and I am cognisant of the honour the family’s attentions do me, especially as an outsider. But I can’t make her happy.’ Couldn’t make himself happy, not with her. He didn’t have much to offer a wife, but he could at least offer happiness. He would hold on to that.

  Kon was patient with him, his nod slow and understanding in the dark. ‘Are you sure? It is a perfect offer. It would set you up for life.’

  Brennan swallowed. ‘I know.’ With Katerina he would have the simple life he wanted, a life where he worked with his hands and mind to create a product. There would be joy in bringing in the olive harvest every year, in nurturing the groves, watching over them all year, making his own money. ‘I do wonder why I can’t say yes and be done with it.’ Brennan sighed. ‘Sometimes I think there is something fundamentally wrong with me.’

  Konstantine laughed. ‘There is nothing wrong with you that hasn’t plagued every man who has not yet met his match. You don’t love Katerina and you are unwilling to resign yourself to a life without that one thing.’ But his laughter was short-lived.

  Konstantine blew out a breath. ‘I don’t mean to tell you what to do, but you are new here and you may need some guidance. The village does not care that you have chosen not to marry Katerina. There was nothing official, nothing publicly agreed to. But the village does want you to marry someone if you stay.’

  Brennan waited patiently. This was not new. He’d sensed it for a few weeks now, this shift in the village’s expectations of him. It was what had driven him to the ruse with Patra.

  Konstantine shook his head. ‘I don’t think Patra can be that woman.’

  Brennan felt a surge of protectiveness well up. ‘Why not?’ It came out more defensively than he’d anticipated.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Konstantine was struggling to find words, wanting to be blunt, but wanting to respect him, too. ‘I think she’s hiding something. Something keeps her apart from us, something more than the grief of losing her husband.’ He clapped a hand on Brennan’s shoulder. ‘I am glad she is allowing you to help her. The place needs it. We all offered at one time or another, but...’ He sighed, letting his words trail off with implication.

  Hadn’t he, too, sensed Patra’s reticence stemmed from something more? Hadn’t that been the very reason he’d offered the bargain in the first place? She wasn’t in a position to accept more from him than this temporary alliance. It prevented him from having to offer more. And that had been fine right up
until today. The beach...well, the beach had been a revelation to say the least. Now, here he was, jealous of a spurned suitor he’d never met.

  ‘I think worry is premature. I’ve only squired her about the market and done a few repairs.’ He opted for nonchalance, hoping he was compelling. Guilt dug its spurs into Brennan’s gut. He hated misleading his friend. Kon was only telling him all of this because Kon had fallen for the ruse, the village was falling for it and Kon wanted to warn his friend. ‘I’ll be careful, Kon. Thanks for the advice.’

  He meant it. Konstantine had become a true friend in the last six months, giving him a room in his home, giving him a job on the fishing boat and insisting he take some small wage. He understood the job paid him in other ways, too; it gave his days purpose and structure, it gave his body something to do that it was good at and it paved the way to his acceptance in a socially closed community that viewed strangers with distrust. Brennan owed Kon and his wife, Lydia, far more than could be paid back with something as common as money.

  ‘I just don’t want to see you hurt,’ Kon replied, pushing off the railing. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, Lydia is waiting.’ He winked and headed for the stairs. He paused before going down. ‘You can do what you want, Brennan. I just wanted you to know Patra is a woman in need, but she is also alone because she wants to be.’

  Brennan nodded and watched his friend go. Maybe he should stop looking for love. That was how it had happened for Haviland, for Archer, for Nolan. Love had found them. They had not found it. He certainly wasn’t looking for love with Patra Tspiras. He merely wanted to buy some time, wanted to figure out where he went from here. At least that’s what he told himself, because if that wasn’t the answer, he wasn’t sure what was. Life was good at the moment. That would have to be enough.

  Chapter Nine

  Life was good at the moment and it was more than enough for Patra as she took a leisurely stroll through the market. Her basket was nearly full, but she wasn’t ready to leave. It was mid-morning and the agora was bustling beneath mild blue skies, a light breeze blowing gossip.