by Tarr, Hope
Used to fending for herself, she tamped down the impulse to vault out of her seat. Instead she stayed put and waited for Nick to cross to the passenger’s side and open her door. He did, offering her his hand. Taking hold, she climbed out. He waited for her to clear the car, then reached around and closed the door.
Releasing his hand with reluctance, she thought, I could get used to this.
Not that she’d have much more of a chance. By Thursday Nick would be gone, back in Greece and out of her life. Given his player past, like the steam from a perfectly risen soufflé, he would quickly cool. For Stefanie, it would take considerably longer for the sizzle to cease.
Inside her house, she gestured him to one of the high-backed stools in her kitchen. “I’ll be ten minutes tops,” she said, hurrying toward the stairs.
He answered with a tsk. “You Americans are always rushing about. Please take your time. I will wait.”
Wondering what she should wear, she turned back. “You still haven’t said where we’re going.”
“Somewhere worthy of you or such is my hope.” He smiled but his eyes stayed serious.
At a loss for words, she smiled back. “I’ll be fast.”
In her room, she shucked off her clothes and headed for the shower. Her bathroom lay directly above the kitchen. Laving herself with liquid soap, she tried not to think about Nick just one floor below. She focused back on practicalities, namely what to do about her hair. Unfortunately there was no time to wash it, but leaving it in a post-shower frizz wasn’t an answer, either. Stepping out, a spritz of styling spray finger-combed through tamed any frizz into waves. She quickly brushed her teeth, rolled on deodorant, and swiped on mascara and lipstick.
Searching her narrow, sloped-roof closet, her new clothes grouped on hangers at the end, she settled on a dusty-pink, cotton-fringe dress. Cream-colored crochet open-toe wedges were stylish while comfortable enough for walking. For jewelry, she slipped on what Macie called a “statement piece,” a sterling silver cuff bracelet beaded with beach glass.
Descending the stairs, she reached the landing and stepped off.
Nick looked up from checking his phone. He shoved the iPhone in his pocket and stood. “As you Americans say, wow.”
Suddenly shy, she said, “I’m sorry I took so long.” Her promised five minutes had turned into closer to fifteen.
“I am not.” He met her at the foot of the stairs. “You are well worth any waiting.” His gaze traveled over her—her face, her breasts, her belly and lower. Returning to her eyes, he said with feeling, “You look enchanting.”
Beyond a shy “thank you,” Stefanie wasn’t certain what to say. In the past several days, she’d received more compliments from Nick than from any other man. Unlike the empty flattery Pete had laid on, his seemed sincere.
He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
Feeling light-headed, she tucked her arm into his. They stepped outside, pausing long enough for Stefanie to lock up the house. Though it was still muggy, the temperature had cooled considerably. Strolling alongside Nick through eighteenth-century streets fronted by brick-and-frame townhouses, boutiques, art galleries, and restaurants, she felt like Cinderella indeed.
In true Nick fashion, he kept their destination a surprise until the final few moments. It wasn’t until they turned off Prince Street onto South Pitt that Stefanie realized where he must be taking her. Housed in a restored eighteen hundreds warehouse, Restaurant Eve was laidback yet elegant, the menu featuring artisanal fare from local country markets. Walking up the cobblestone path limned with candles, she felt as though she was living the Cinderella fairy tale meets Top Chef.
They entered, the softly lit interior humming with quiet conversations. An affable host showed them to their table in the chef’s tasting room.
Nick’s eyes, black in the low light, sparkled like jet. “You are pleased, I think?”
Pleased didn’t begin to describe it. She hadn’t really given much thought to where he might take her, supposing he’d choose one of the popular tourist restaurants on King Street or along the waterfront. She should have known Nick would never settle for the ordinary.
Laying the napkin onto her lap, she admitted, “I have wanted to come here forever.”
He sent her an amused smile. “Forever is a very long time.”
“Okay, since 2004 when it opened.”
His face registered surprise. “But why have you never dined here before? It is so close for you.”
Pete had been a strictly beer-and-burgers guy. Before him, she’d held the rustically romantic restaurant in reserve to share with someone special. Looking into Nick’s shining eyes, she realized that her dream was finally coming about, though not as she would have imagined.
Helpless to explain without embarrassing herself, she shook her head. “I know. I’ve been bad about taking time off from working. I need to fix that.” She did—along with so many other things, starting with Olympia International. Meeting Nick’s gaze over the flickering votive candle, it was all too easy to slide into the romance of the moment and forget what was at stake.
As if sensing there was more she wasn’t saying, Nick reached over and lightly squeezed her hand. The contact sent her senses seesawing. Threading his strong fingers through hers, he said, “Tonight we have all the time in the world. At least until they chase us out,” he added with a grin.
Their nine-course meal began with the heirloom tomato tart with golden brown basil and featured butter poached Maine lobster with Eastern Shore corn. Between courses, Nick spoke of his life in Greece—his sister, Nina, who, growing up, had liked to play practical jokes even more than he had; the holidays, when the entire family gathered around the long, linen-draped dining room table; and the lovely beach house in Crete, which more so than his sleek, modern flat in Athens, seemed like home.
“But enough of me,” he said, abruptly ending the narrative. “I wish to know more of you.”
Tracing a finger around the rim of her wineglass, she said, “I’m not sure there’s much more to tell.” What was left to say—her past with Pete, the predicament she’d gotten her poor father into and was desperately working to get him out of—was uniformly unflattering.
He smiled over at her, and once again she caught herself wishing that this lovely dinner might be exactly that, a date pure and simple. “I do not believe that for a second,” he assured her, his smile broadening.
Lulled by the wine and the ease of his company, she settled on safer subjects, especially the Sunday dinners she’d helped her mom make, feasts of spanikopita, grilled meats and fishes, stuffed peppers and zucchini, pastas and rice dishes, all lovingly prepared and beautifully presented.
“Even after plates had been cleaned, my parents and aunts and uncles would linger over their ouzos and espressos, telling stories of ‘home.’”
The Greece they’d described was an earthly paradise of impossibly blue water, cloudless skies, and ever-present sunshine, their village a utopia where no one was too busy to sing, to joke, to dance. The poverty and the lack of opportunity that had driven them to leave for America were never mentioned, as if erased from memory.
“You must come and see it for yourself. Soon,” he added, reaching for the wine bottle to top off her glass.
Had he just invited her to visit him? Or was she reading too much into the statement? “I want to.”
Time spent in Nick’s company really did seem to sprout wings. Before Stefanie knew it, they were finishing dessert and considering coffee. Mindful of her new wardrobe, which she was determined to continue to fit into, Stefanie settled for a single bite each of the gianduja french toast and the apple donuts. Afterward, Nick ordered ouzo for himself and a cappuccino for her.
He leaned closer. “You have a bit of powdered sugar just…here.” Before she could reply, he slid his thumb along her bottom lip. The glancing touch had her fighting a fierce tingling. “There, it is gone.” Holding her gaze, he sucked the sugared digit into his mouth.
>
Oh. My. God. That had to be one of the sexiest things she’d ever seen a man do in public. Pete had licked his fingers, too, mostly at meals involving copious quantities of ketchup and barbecue sauce, and all she’d felt was annoyed and vaguely grossed out.
Gaze riveted on his mouth, she fought for breath. “Thanks. Um, sorry about that.”
“Do not be sorry. It is my pleasure. On the night of my arrival, you fed me from your own hand, do you remember?”
She more than remembered. “You said you hadn’t had the chance to wash your hands.”
A wicked grin lit his eyes. “I lied.” He leaned closer, as if to kiss her.
For a terrifying, exhilarating few seconds she was almost certain he would. But then the server’s reappearance had them straightening in their seats. Nick waited for her to set down their beverages and withdraw before admitting, “Dear Stefanie, I am afraid I have not been entirely honest with you.”
Uh oh, here it comes… Stefanie tensed, girding herself for whatever bad news he was about to lay on. The takeover was a done deal. He was suing them all in court. Acropolis Village was being razed to make room for a parking lot. The twister of terrifying possibilities tore through her mind.
“About Mara.”
Relief washed over her, but a new fear quickly followed. “She’s okay, isn’t she?” In less than a week, Nick’s daughter had carved a very special place in Stefanie’s heart. So had Nick, but his was too complicated to contemplate beyond the present moment.
He nodded. “She is perfectly healthy.”
“That’s good. You had me worried.”
His expression turned tender. “You are very sweet to care for a child you’ve just met.”
“I can’t imagine anyone not falling in love with Mara. She’s such a great kid.”
Paternal pride shone in his face. “She is, though I cannot take credit.”
Now who of them was being too modest? “I don’t believe that.”
He exhaled as though seeking to find his way around a weight on his chest. “It is a complicated situation.”
In Stefanie’s experience, “complicated situations” were code for bad news. She dropped her gaze to her cup. Her grandmother had taught her to read tea leaves—sort of—but unfortunately she hadn’t ordered tea. The barristo had fashioned a perfect fern in the center of the foam topping. She blew on the coffee to cool it—and the image blurred to an unrecognizable blob. That was life. One minute you were having a perfectly romantic dinner and the next you were hearing stuff that would probably be a deal buster for both of you.
She forced her gaze back up. “Her mother passing away must have been really hard on her. I lost my mom when I was twelve, but I’m so grateful for the years we had.”
His pained look had her wondering if she’d said something wrong. Holding her gaze, he admitted, “Mara never knew her mother. Alexia gave her up for adoption as soon as she was born. Until I found her four months ago, the only family she knew was that of the sisters and the other orphans at a convent in Crete.”
Shocked, Stefanie let the spoon slip. “I had no idea.”
Expression raw, he bowed his head. “I am a man of many flaws but willfully abandoning my child is not among them. Had I known Mara existed, I would not have hesitated to claim her. If nothing else, I hope you believe that.”
Stefanie nodded. “You don’t owe me an explanation, but for what it’s worth, I do believe you.” Acting on instinct, she slid her hand across the table toward him.
He grasped it as though she offered a lifeline. “It is extremely important to me that Mara grows up feeling loved and wanted.”
She squeezed his hand. “I am sure she does. It’s obvious she adores you.”
Emotions flooded his face. “I cannot imagine my life without her. I love her very much.”
“It shows. You’re great with her.”
“Thank you, that means a great deal. So are you.”
Warmed by the compliment, she still shrugged. “I’ve been having a blast hanging out with her, but then I’m kind of a big kid myself.”
“I think you are modest, perhaps too modest for your own good.”
Stefanie didn’t have an answer to that. Macie had said pretty much the same to her many times, and so had her pop. She withdrew her hand under the pretense of adding more brown sugar to her cappuccino.
“What of you, Stefanie?”
Startled, she looked up. “What about me?”
“Is there a special man in your life? Do you have an understanding with someone?”
A catch in her voice, she admitted, “There was…someone. But not anymore.”
Dear God, please don’t let that be pity softening his eyes. “Then he must be a fool of which you are well rid. You have such passion, such fire, such a generous capacity for giving that it would be a crime to waste yourself on such a man. But I see I am too forward. You are blushing.”
She pressed the back of her hand to one cheek. Her skin felt scalding. “No, it’s fine. I’m just not used to being the center of attention. Usually my stepsisters are the ones at front and center.”
At her mention of the twins, his expression soured. “Yet another great shame.”
She picked up her cup and forced down a sip of the sweet coffee. Only Stefanie no longer hungered for sweets. Since Nick, all her cravings were for the spicy. “I don’t mind being behind the scenes.”
Orchestrating a fabulous party from the sanctuary of the kitchen must be a lot like directing a play, or so she thought. Still, if she were honest with herself, she had to admit it felt nice, flattering, to have someone—Nick—appreciate not only her food but her.
He nodded. “As the eldest of four and the only male, I am used to being, as you say, at front and center. It can become wearying. I used to beg my parents for a baby brother to even the odds.”
Stefanie bit her lip against admitting she’d read his Wikipedia entry as well as sundry press clips. “You’re lucky. Big families are the best,” she said, feeling wistful once more.
“I think so as well.” His gaze turned serious once more, his irises darkening. “You want children someday, do you not? Forgive my impertinence, but I see the way you look at Mara with such…longing.”
Stefanie felt more than unmasked. She felt stripped bare. She’d always envisioned herself as the matriarch of a big, boisterous family, a husband and kids all congregating in her huge, homey kitchen, impatient to taste “Mom’s” latest creation. Since Pete, she’d started thinking she might have to settle for being a single auntie to her friends’ children.
Nick reached across the table and took her hand again. “I didn’t mean to pry—or to make you sad.”
“I’m not sad,” she insisted even though she suddenly was. “It’s just… Yes, I’d love to have kids, lots of them,” she admitted, straining to speak past the lump in her throat.
His fingers firmed about hers. “Before Mara, I never thought I wanted a family. I valued my freedom above all else. But her coming into my life has changed everything. I hope to give her a brother or sister someday should the right woman come into my life and I into hers.”
Could she be hearing him right? The same man who’d once given two female mud wrestlers twenty thousand dollars each to put on a “private” match wanted to settle down? But the Nick she knew was not that man. He was not a player, not anymore. If she’d had any doubts that he’d changed, the sincerity she saw in his eyes and heard in his voice put them to rest.
The server’s reappearance saved Stefanie from answering. Looking between them, she asked, “May I get you anything else?”
Yes, a crystal ball. Overwhelmed, Stefanie shook her head. “No thank you. Everything was wonderful,” she added quickly.
More so than any flirting, the intimate conversation had bound them, or so it seemed to Stefanie. Nick and she came from different worlds, lived on separate continents, and were currently at cross-purposes, and yet she suddenly felt as if she were staring into t
he face of her soul mate.
Nick looked up to the server. “We are ready for the check.”
Chapter Seven
The walk back to Stefanie’s was a quiet one.
They reached Nick’s parked car just as a church bell tolled the midnight hour, “pumpkin time,” or so the fairy tale told. Flickering flames from the Gaslight-era-inspired streetlamps played upon his profiled features, making him seem princely indeed.
He gestured toward her house on the other side of the street. “I will see you to your door.”
Stefanie knew what that meant. At the very least, he was going to kiss her. More than likely he was going to ask her to invite him inside. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to invite him inside, not for a few minutes or an hour but for the night—all of it. And yet the lovely dinner hadn’t erased the facts. He was still the CEO of Costas International, still the man to whom her father owed 2.5 million dollars, who might very well choose to ruin them. He would be going home to Greece on Thursday—for good. Given those circumstances, how could she possibly go to bed with him? Even though she wanted to—a lot.
She reached for her strength. “Thanks, but that’s not necessary.”
He frowned. “I am Greek. You are a woman under my protection. It is necessary.”
He was an alpha male to his core as well as absolutely swoon-worthy. By now Stefanie knew better than to argue. “O-okay.”
They cut across the sidewalk to her front steps. Holding back for her to ascend ahead of him, he set a steering hand on the small of her back. The heat from his palm was searing, the gesture one of possession, claiming.
She reached the porch on shaking legs. Floorboards creaked as Nick stepped up beside her. His hand slipped away.
Feeling its loss, she turned to face him. “Thank you again for dinner. I had a lovely time.”
The words scarcely did justice to the emotions roiling inside her—sadness and arousal, temptation and fear. The latter was as much for herself as for her father. Unlike Pete, unlike any of the men before him, if she wasn’t careful, Nick could break her heart.
