by Jane Porter
His brows pulled. “No. I know Yanni the pilot well—very well—and, being a pilot myself…”
“You’re a pilot?”
His dark head inclined and he said slowly, “I was flying at the time of the crash.”
Ah. “And the others?” she whispered.
“They were all in different places and stages of recovery.” His long black lashes lowered, hiding the brilliant blue of his eyes.
She waited, and eventually Kristian sighed, shifted, his broad shoulders squaring. “One had managed to ski down the mountain to a lower patrol. Cosima…” He paused, took a quick short breath. “Cosima and the guide had been rescued. Two were still buried in snow and the others…were located but already gone.”
The details were still so vague, and his difficulty in recounting the events so obvious that she couldn’t ask anything else. But there were things she still wanted to know. Like, had he been going back for his brother when he crashed? And how had he managed to locate Cosima so quickly but not Andreas?
Thinking of the accident, she stole a swift side-glance in Kristian’s direction. Yes, he was walking, and, yes, he was physically stronger. But what if he never saw again?
What if he didn’t get the surgery—or, worse, did have it and the treatment didn’t work? What if his vision could never be improved? What then?
She actually thought Kristian would cope—it wouldn’t be easy, but he was tough, far tougher than he’d ever let on—but she wasn’t so sure about Cosima, because Cosima desperately wanted Kristian to be “normal” again. And those were Cosima’s words: “He must be normal, the way he was, or no one will ever respect him.”
How would Cosima feel if Kristian never did get his sight back?
Would she still love him? Stay with him? Honor him?
Troubled, Elizabeth drew her shawl closer to her shoulders and gazed out the helicopter window as they flew high over the Peloponnese peninsula. It was a stunning journey at sunset, the fading sun painting the ground below in warm strokes of reddish-gold light.
In her two years of living in Greece she’d never visited the Peloponnese. Although the Peloponnese was a favorite with tourists, for its diverse landscape and numerous significant archeological sites, she only knew what Kristian had been telling her these past couple weeks. But, remembering his tales, she was riveted by three “fingers” of land projecting into the sea, the land green and fertile against the brilliant blue Mediterranean.
“We’re almost there,” Kristian suddenly said, his hand briefly touching her knee.
She felt her stomach flip and, breath catching, she glanced down at her knee, which still felt the heat of his fingers even though his hand was no longer there.
She wanted him to touch her again. She wanted to feel his hand slide inside her knee, wanted to feel the heat of his hand, his palm on her knee, and then feel his touch slide up the inside of her thigh. And maybe it couldn’t happen, but it didn’t make the desire any less real.
Skin against skin, she thought. Touch that was warm and concrete instead of all these silent thoughts and intense emotions. And they were getting harder to handle, because she couldn’t acknowledge them, couldn’t act on them, could do nothing but keep it in, hold it in, pretend she wasn’t falling head over heels in love. Because she was.
And it was torture. Madness.
Her heart felt like it was tumbling inside her chest—a small shell caught in the ocean tide. She couldn’t stop it, couldn’t control it, could only feel it.
With an equally heart-plunging drop, the helicopter descended straight down.
As the pilot opened the door and assisted her and then Kristian out, she saw the headlights of a car in front of them. The driver of the car stepped out, and as he approached she realized it was Kristian’s driver.
Whisked from helicopter to car, Elizabeth slid through the passenger door and onto the leather seat, pulse racing. Her pulse quickened yet again as Kristian climbed in and sat close beside her.
“Where are we?” she asked, feeling the press of Kristian’s thigh against hers as the driver set off.
“Kithira.”
His leg was much longer than hers, his knee extending past hers, the muscle hard against hers.
“It’s an island at the foot of the Peloponnese,” he added. “Years ago, before the Corinth Canal was built in the late nineteenth century, the island was prosperous due to all the ships stopping. But after the canal’s construction the island’s population, along with its fortune, dwindled.”
As the car traveled on quiet roads, beneath the odd passing yellow light, shadows flickered in and through the windows. Elizabeth couldn’t tear her gaze from the sight of his black trouser-covered leg against hers.
“It’s nice to be going out,” he said, as the car began to wind up a relatively steep hill. “I love living in the Taygetos, but every now and then I just want to go somewhere for dinner, enjoy a good meal and not feel so isolated.”
She turned swiftly to look at him. There were no streetlights on the mountain road and she couldn’t see his face well. “So you do feel isolated living so far from everyone?”
He shrugged. “I’m Greek.”
Those two words revealed far more than he knew. Greeks treasured family, had strong ties to family, even the extended family, and every generation was respected for what it contributed. In Greece the elderly rarely lived alone, and money was never hoarded, but shared with each other. A father would never let his daughter marry without giving her a house, or land, or whatever he could, and a Greek son would always contribute to his parents’ care. It wasn’t just an issue of respect, but love.
“That’s why Cosima wants you back in Athens,” Elizabeth said gently. “There you have your parea—your group of friends.” And, for Greeks, the circle of friends was nearly as important as family. A good parea was as necessary as food and water.
But Kristian didn’t speak. Elizabeth, not about to be put off, lightly touched his sleeve. “Your friends miss you.”
“My parea is gone.”
“No—”
“Elizabeth.” He stopped her. “They’re gone. They died with my brother in France. All those that perished, suffocating in the snow, were my friends. But they weren’t just friends. They were also colleagues.”
Pained, she closed her eyes. Why, oh why did she push? Why, oh, why did she think she knew everything? How could she be so conceited as to think she could counsel him? “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t know.”
“But I thought… Cosima said…”
“Cosima?” Kristian repeated bitterly. “Soon you will learn you can’t believe everything she says.”
“Even though she means well.”
Silence filled the car, and once again Elizabeth sensed that she’d said the wrong thing. She pressed her fists to her knees, increasingly uncomfortable.
“Perhaps I should tell you about dinner,” Kristian said finally, his deep chest lifting as he squared his shoulders. “We’re heading to a tiny village that will seem virtually untouched by tourism or time. Just outside this village is one of my favorite restaurants—a place designed by a Greek architect and his artist wife. The food is simple, but fresh, and the view is even better.”
“You could go anywhere to eat, but you choose a rustic and remote restaurant?”
“I like quiet places. I’m not interested in fanfare or fuss.”
“Have you always been this way, or…?”
“It’s not the result of the accident, no. Andreas was the extrovert—he loved parties and the social scene.”
“You didn’t go with him?”
“Of course I went with him. He was my brother and my best friend. But I was content to let him take center stage, entertain everyone. It was more fun to sit back, watch.”
As Kristian talked, the moon appeared from behind a cloud. Elizabeth could suddenly see Kristian’s features, and that rugged profile of his, softened only by the hint of fullness at his lower l
ip.
He had such a great mouth, too. Just wide enough, with perfect lips.
To kiss those lips…
Knots tightened inside her belly, knots that had less to do with fear and more to do with desire. She felt so attracted to him it was hard to contain her feelings, to keep the need from showing.
What she needed to do was scoot over on the seat, put some distance between them—because with him sitting so close, with their thighs touching and every now and then their elbows brushing, she felt so wound up, so keenly aware of him.
She looked now at his hand, where it rested on his thigh, and she remembered how electric it had felt when his hand had brushed her knee, how she’d wanted his hand to slide beneath the hem of her dress and touch her, tease her, set her on fire…
That hand. His body. Her skin.
She swallowed hard, her heart beating at a frantic tempo, and, crossing her legs, she fought the dizzying zing of adrenaline. This was ridiculous, she told herself, shifting again, crossing her legs the other way. She had to settle down. Had to find some calm.
“You seem restless,” Kristian said, head cocking, listening attentively.
She pressed her knees together. “I guess I am. I probably just need to stretch my legs. Must be the sitting.”
“We’re almost there.”
“I’m not complaining.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
She forced a small tight smile even as her mind kept spinning, her imagination working overtime. She was far too aware of Kristian next to her, far too aware of his warmth, the faint spice of his cologne or aftershave, the formidable size of him…even the steady way he was breathing.
“You’re not too tired, are you?” he asked as the car headlights illuminated the road and what seemed to be a nearly barren slope before them.
“No,” she said, as the car suddenly turned, swinging onto a narrow road.
“Hungry?”
She made a soft sound and anxiously smoothed the velvet hem of her dress over her knees. “No. Yes. Could be.” She laughed, yet the sound was apprehensive. “I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
He reached out, his hand finding hers in the dark with surprising ease. She thought for a moment he meant to hold her hand but instead he turned it over and put his fingers on the inside of her wrist, checking her pulse. Several seconds passed before his mouth quirked. “Your heart’s racing.”
“I know,” she whispered, staring at her wrist in his hand as the lights of a parking lot and restaurant illuminated the car. His hand was twice the size of her own, and his skin, so darkly tanned, made hers look like cream.
“You’re not scared of me?”
“No.”
“But maybe you’re afraid to be alone with me?”
Her heart drummed even harder, faster. “And why would that be?”
His thumb caressed her sensitive wrist for a moment before releasing her. “Because tonight you’re not my nurse, and I’m not your patient. We’re just two people having dinner together.”
“Just friends,” she said breathlessly, tugging her hand free, suddenly terrified of everything she didn’t know and didn’t understand.
“Can a man and a woman be just friends?”
Elizabeth’s throat seized, closed.
The driver put the car into “park” and came around to open their door. Elizabeth nearly jumped from the car, anxious to regain control.
At the restaurant entrance they were greeted as though they were family, the restaurant owner clasping Kristian by the arms and kissing him on each cheek. “Kyrios Kristian,” he said, emotion thickening his Greek. “Kyrie. It is good to see you.”
Kristian returned the embrace with equal warmth. “It is good to be back.”
“Parakalo—come.” And the older man, his dark hair only peppered with gray, led them to a table in a quiet alcove with windows all around. “The best seats for you. Only the best for you, my son. Anything for you.”
After the owner left, Elizabeth turned to Kristian. “He called you son?”
“The island’s small. Everyone here is like family.”
“So you know him well?”
“I used to spend a lot of time here.”
She glanced out the window and the view was astonishing. They were high on a hill, perched above a small village below. And farther down from the village was the ocean.
The lights of the village twinkled and the moon reflected off the white foam of the sea, where the waves broke on the rocks and shore.
The restaurant owner returned, presenting them with a gift—a bottle of his favorite wine—pouring both glasses before leaving the bottle behind.
“Yiassis,” she said, raising her glass and clinking it with his. To your health.
“Yiassis,” he answered.
And then silence fell, and the stillness felt wrong. Something was wrong. She just knew it.
Kristian shifted, and a small muscle suddenly pulled in his cheek. Elizabeth watched him, feeling a rise in tension.
The mood at the table was suddenly different.
Kristian suddenly seemed so alone, so cut off in his world. “What’s wrong?” she asked nervously, fearing that she’d said something, done something to upset him.
He shook his head.
“Did I do something?” she persisted.
“No.”
“Kristian.” Her tone was pleading. “Tell me.”
His jaw worked, the hard line of his cheekbone growing even more prominent, and he laughed, the sound rough and raw. “I wish to God I could see you.”
For a moment she didn’t know what to say or do, as heat rushed through her. And then the heat receded, leaving her chilled. “Why?” she whispered.
“I just want to see you.”
Her face grew hot all over again, and this time the warmth stayed, flooding her limbs, making her feel far too sensitive. “Why? I’m just another battleaxe.”
“Ohi.” No. “Hardly.”
Her hand shook as she adjusted her silverware. “You don’t know that—”
“I know how you sound, and smell. I know you barely reach my shoulder—even in heels—and I know how your skin feels—impossibly smooth, and soft, like the most delicate satin or flower.”
“I think you’ve found your old pain meds.”
His dark head tipped. His blue eyes fixed on her. “And I think you’re afraid of being with me.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.” She reached for her water glass and took a quick sip of the bubbly mineral water, but drank so much that the bubbles ended up stinging her nose. “I’m not afraid,” she said, returning the glass to a table covered in white crisp linen and flickering with soft ivory candlelight and shadows. “How could I be afraid of you?”
His lips barely curved. “I’m not nice, like other men.”
Her heart nearly fell. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “I’m not going to even dignify that with a response.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re baiting me,” she said.
He surprised her by laughing. “My clever girl.”
Her heart jumped again, and an icy hot shiver raced through her. Liquid fire in her veins. His clever girl. He was torturing her now. Making her want to be more than she was, making her want to have more than she did. Not more things, but more love.
His love.
But he was promised, practically engaged. And she’d been through hell and back with one man who hadn’t been able to keep his word, or honor his commitments. Including his marriage vows.
“Kristian, I can’t do this.” She would have gotten up and run if there had been anywhere to go. “I can’t play these games with you.”
His forehead furrowed, emphasizing the scar running down his cheek. “What games?”
“These…this…whatever you call this. Us.” She shook her head, unable to get the words out. “I know what you said earlier, tha
t tonight we’re not patient and nurse, we’re just a man and…woman. But that’s not right. You’re wrong. I am your nurse. That’s all I am, all I can be.”
He leaned back and rested one arm on the table, his hand relaxed. His expression turned speculative. “And will you still be my nurse when you return to London in two days?”
“Three days.”
“Two days.”
She held her breath, her fingers balling into fists and then slowly exhaled.
His mouth tugged and lines deepened near his lips, emphasizing the beautiful planes of his face. “Elizabeth, latrea mou, let us not play games, as you say. Why do you have to go back?”
“I have a business to run—and, Kristian, so do you. Your officers and board of directors are desperate for you to return to Athens and take leadership again.”
“I can do it from Taygetos.”
She shook her head, impatient. “No, you can’t. Not properly. There are appointments, conferences, press meetings—”
“Others can do it,” he said dismissively.
Staring at him, she felt her frustration grow. He’d
never sounded so arrogant as he did now. “But you are Koumantaros. You are the one investors believe in and the one your business partners want to meet with. You are essential to Koumantaros Incorporated’s success.”
He nearly snapped his fingers, rejecting her arguments. “Did Cosima put you up to this?”
“No. Of course not. And that’s not the issue here anyway. The issue is you resuming your responsibilities.”
“Elizabeth, I still head the corporation.”
“But absent leadership?” She made a soft scoffing sound. “It’s not effective, and, frankly, it’s not you.”
“How can one little Englishwoman have so many opinions about things she knows so little about?”
Elizabeth’s cheeks flamed. “I know you better than you think,” she flashed.
“I’m referring to the corporate world—”
“I am a business owner.”
It was his turn to scoff. “Which we’ve already established isn’t well managed at all.”
Hurt, she abruptly drew back and stared at him. “That was unkind. And unnecessary.”
He shrugged off her rebuke. “But true. Your agency provided me with exceptionally poor care. Propositioned and then blackmailed by one nurse, and demeaned by the others.”
