Finding You

by Jo Watson

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “Now you lie in the sun. You tan, you listen to the sea, you stare up at the sky, you relax.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s the Greek way.”

  “It’s the Greek way to expose your skin to deadly UV rays?” I stuck my hand into my bag and started pulling out my tube of sunscreen, but as I did Dimitri snatched it away from me.

  “Tan. Live a little.”

  “What? That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, equating ‘living’ with having a tan, that’s ab… ab… ab…” Dimitri started taking his shirt off and I started stuttering stupidly. “Abs.” My voice sounded dreamy and strange and then I quickly realized what I’d said. “Absurd. That is completely absurd,” I said, trying to correct and cover, but truthfully all I could see and think about were his ridiculously perfect, glistening-in-the-Mediterranean-sun abs that my eyes were now boring into. What was absurd? What had we been talking about?

  I glanced around at the other females on the beach. There was the usual jaw dropping and eye popping, as well as the odd bit of loose drool tumbling from lips. But he just carried right on. Slowly. Seductively. As if he knew what he was doing to people and he didn’t care. Now my eyes moved away from his abs and rolled.

  “Really? Are you doing that on purpose?” I challenged.

  “Doing what?” He tossed his shirt down onto the lounger.

  “Taking your shirt off like you’re trying to attract the attention of every female in a five-mile radius. Can’t you just take it off normally? Like a normal person would. Or do you want everyone on the beach to stare at you?”

  He shot me a smile. “I did take it off normally.”

  “No you didn’t.” I pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Put your shirt back on and then take it off again.”

  Dimitri’s eyes glinted. “Are asking me to take my clothes off?”

  “No. I’m asking you to put them back on and then take them off in a manner that is more normal instead of this whole Oooh I’m a hot Greek model oozing sex on the beach thing you’re doing that is driving all the woman mad and making them stare at you.”

  Dimitri smiled at me mischievously and then put his shirt back on. “You know, there’s another way to show me how to take my shirt off.” A strange inflection hung in his voice. “You could always take it off for me.”

  “I’m not doing that!” I said quickly, trying to act defiant rather than shocked and mildly excited by his statement.

  “But don’t you want to teach me the correct way to take off my shirt?” He was teasing me now. Egging me on.

  I shook my head quickly. “I’m not taking your clothes off.”

  “Come on, Jane, take my shirt off.” His voice was playful and teasing and just so damn sexy, it was futile to resist.

  “Fine. Fine,” I said, walking toward him. “But don’t think I’ll enjoy it or anything. I’m just doing it to prove a point and show you how a normal person would take a shirt off. Think of it as a kind of scientific endeavor.”

  “Purely scientific,” he repeated, sounding amused.

  “Exactly. An experiment of sorts.”

  I was trying to look calm and unfazed, but inside I was freaking out. You can do this, Jane! You can remove the clothes of the hottest man on the planet, in public, and look totally cool and calm while doing it. Think of it as giving someone a routine filling. It’s simple; you’ve done it a million times before…

  Dimitri eyed me as I crept closer. When I was close enough, I stuck out my thumb and forefinger like two little crab pincers and tried to delicately take the hem of his shirt between them.

  He burst out laughing. “I’m not going to bite you.”

  “I know that,” I snapped back at him. “I’m just deciding on the best approach. The most effective manner of proceeding.” I gazed at the hem of his shirt. I’d managed to lift it a little—enough that I could see the start of those rock-hard abs that a sledgehammer probably wouldn’t shatter.

  “Run your hands over my abs and have sex with me. Have sex with me now. Abs. Sex. Beach. Now!”

  I reached out slowly again and started tugging at the shirt. With each tug, he was looking more and more naked. Despite my previous decision to remain as indifferent as I possibly could, I let my fingertips linger and trail ever so slowly up his stomach. I felt him quiver under my touch and I was suddenly overcome with the same unfamiliar feeling from before.

  I felt like I was an actress on stage, playing the role of a woman who pulled Dimitri’s shirt off with an expertise I never knew I had. This woman was also not subtle about letting her fingers linger on his body and trail up and over his chest. I finally tugged it off and threw it down on the sand aggressively, as if to say, “Ta-da!”

  “There,” I said, feeling rather pleased with myself. “The correct way to remove a shirt in public. Note how it was done at a much quicker speed, instead of looking like you were actually doing it in slow motion for the benefit of an audience.”

  He seemed amused by my statement. “So, do you need help taking yours off?” he asked, sounding innocent.

  “No thanks. Believe it or not, I have been undressing myself since the age of four. I am quite adept at taking my own clothes off, but thanks for asking.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. I think I’ll manage.”

  “Really, it’s no bother.” He moved a little closer to me.

  I shook my head firmly.

  “That is completely unfair. You can’t go around undressing me and not expect me to do the same for you.”

  I very dramatically rolled my eyes and started saying, “It’s just not going to…” Suddenly I felt his hands slip under the hem of my shirt and start pulling on it. “… to happennnnnn…”

  The last word came out very breathily.

  Shirt. Sex, beach. Now… beach shirt. Sex… beach shirt? Even my inner monologue was scrambled.

  I gasped and shivered as he let his fingers graze my skin in exactly the same way the actress version of myself had. He did it for a lot longer than I had, though. He stepped closer to me and slipped another hand under my shirt. His fingertips trailed all the way up my body as he pulled it off. The shirt finally slipped off my head with a final tug—and that’s when I saw the dancing pink dots of light playing on his chest, and the erotic little bubble I was in burst.

  “Oh God.” I slapped my hands over my breasts. “I forgot about the sequins. What is wrong with my mother, honestly? Sequins?”

  “I think your mother has great taste,” Dimitri said as he sat down.

  “Don’t ever tell her that! She’ll start dressing you, and it’s so subtle in the beginning you won’t even notice what she’s doing until it’s too late and she’s replaced your entire wardrobe.”

  And then he laughed again. What was going on? I wasn’t funny. I was told once to never try to make jokes. “Jane, joking is not your strong point,” they would say. “Please don’t try to make a joke,” they would urge.

  “Why do you find me so funny?” I asked.

  “Are you kidding?” Dimitri turned to me and propped himself up against his elbow. My heart came skidding to another full stop. “You’re not just funny, Jane, you’re also fun to be around.”

  “But I’m not. I’m not fun, or funny. I’m boring and lack social skills. I’m a dentist for God’s sake. No one likes people who make children and grown men cry, which by the way I do on a daily basis. I don’t have a spontaneous bone in my body, and I can guarantee you that not one person would describe me as fun.”

  But he was still laughing. “You’re fun. Trust me.”

  “Really?” I asked, absolutely dumbfounded by his response. I was just about to ask him more when a large shadow fell over us.

  “Dimitri, kalimera,” a sweet-sounding female voice said in a flirty singsong manner. I shielded my eyes from the sun so I could better examine the source of the voice. Standing in front of us was a little troupe of thre
e gorgeous, topless, stunning, did I mention topless girls. I was shocked. I hadn’t expected to see so many mammaries so close to me, and on a beach no less. Dimitri sprang to his feet, looking very pleased by this sudden female interference. In fact, he went over and kissed each one on both cheeks. Why were they topless?

  I glanced around quickly and suddenly realized that almost everyone was topless. What the hell kind of a beach was this? Boobs everywhere, regardless of the shape or size or age of the things. They were all just hanging out (some hanging more than others).

  I stared in horror as Dimitri talked, and joked, and ran his hands through his hair with these three topless Greek seductresses who were all so obviously pouting and twinkling their sparkling little eyes at him. I stared and I could almost feel the daggers shooting out of my eyes. I’d never experienced such a pang of deadly jealousy before. The thought I’d had earlier—the one I hadn’t been able to quite grasp—started rising to the surface.

  The thought bobbed for a moment or two in the same place it had been, that weird limbo between conscious and unconscious. But this time it broke into my consciousness.

  I… I…

  Impossible, it cannot be.

  I… I…

  Nope, there it is again, the thought is there and it’s starting to form itself in my head.

  I… I… was really starting to like this guy.

  I like this guy. I like Dimitri Spiros?

  The realization made me sit up straight in my chair, and my sudden movement caught Dimitri’s attention. He turned to me and almost did a double take when he saw the look of shock on my face. Then his eyes settled onto mine. He looked like he was trying to communicate telepathically with me, and then he smiled.

  He smiled like he’d never smiled at me before, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Despite the warm and thrilling smiles from Dimitri in the wake of my own confusing discoveries about him, I hated the beach. It was hot. It was sandy. The sun was beating down on me and pulling every last drop of moisture out of my skin. I was sweating. And every now and again the wind would pick up and slap me in the face with a handful of sand.

  I’d tried. I’d tried to do the whole Greek thing and lie in the sun as if there were no tomorrow. I’d tried looking out over the sea and contemplating its blue magnificence. Contemplating the warm, glorious sun and beauty of nature… but I couldn’t.

  “Okay. I’ve tried,” I said. “I’ve tried everything, but I just can’t get into it.”

  “Mmmmm,” Dimitri moaned. His eyes were closed and he looked like a snake on a warm rock soaking up the rays.

  “I hate the beach. I always have. I especially hate sand, it gets in all sorts of places, and did you know that the bacteria content in sand is actually very high? I’ve also never seen the point of lying down and doing nothing. And I don’t like not wearing sunscreen, either, okay?”

  Dimitri sat up and pulled his glasses down. “Okay. We can go.”

  “Just like that? We can go?”

  “Sure.” He stood up and started collecting our things.

  “You’re not going to give a lecture about letting go and getting my inner Greek on?”

  “No. If you aren’t enjoying the beach, we’ll go.”

  “Okay.” I was slightly stunned. “So what’s next on the list again?”

  “One of the highlights of your trip,” he said.

  We walked along the beach for about twenty minutes in total silence. The black sand was beautiful and the water was so warm that I waded in ankle-deep and kicked it up with my feet.

  “So will you tell me where we are going yet?”

  “Over there.” He pointed in the direction of a few brightly colored boats that were moored on the sand. Behind them stood an old-looking building. Long tables stretched out lazily under shady trees. There were a few people sitting at the tables drinking glasses of wine and laughing. The sign on the door read WINERY.

  “Wine tasting in Santorini is a must.” Dimitri smiled, took me by the hand, and led me to a table right there on the beach under a tree. A woman rushed over to us and greeted Dimitri like she knew him, and naturally—like every woman that seemed to know him—she was gorgeous. There was more smiling and hugging being thrown around again. *Pang of jealousy*

  “Do you know every woman on the island?” It had been my intention to hide the sarcasm in my tone, but it hadn’t worked very well.

  “Why, are you jealous?” He smiled, looking very pleased with himself. Too pleased.

  “No!”

  “It kind of sounded like it,” he teased.

  “No, it’s just an observation.” I tried to brush it off but couldn’t. “And,” I continued, “they’re all so beautiful and they flip their hair a lot and they fawn and they look at you all flirtatiously and do things like this—”

  I pouted my lips and tried to give myself a pair of cute Bambi eyes. “Oooh, Dimitri. How are you? Hair flip, hair flip,” I said while flipping my newly cut hair and giving it a good shake.

  First his eyes slowly crinkled into a smile, and then his whole face joined in. “Do that again, please.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m trying to work out if that was the cutest or the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I froze. My mouth opened and I thought I could feel my eyes widen unnaturally. He must have thought I looked like an idiot. I closed my mouth—I might as well have taken my hand and pushed it shut—and focused very hard on relaxing my neck and shoulders in an air of indifference. I felt like a contortionist. Why was he still watching me? I smiled and placed my hand under my chin, leaning my head on it not-so-nonchalantly.

  “Nice place,” I finally said, deflecting.

  “Nice place,” he echoed, still holding eye contact. “They are famous for their nice wine.”

  “Nice,” I said. God, this was such a useless conversation, and the word nice was being way too overused. I was happy when the waitress suddenly arrived with our glasses of wine. After some explanations and discussions about them (I heard something about oak and citrus and pairing with lamb), we began tasting. Each wine was more amazing and delicious than the previous one. I’d never been one to consider the flavors of wine before, but today, sitting here with him, under the trees, on one of the most amazing beaches I had ever been on, everything tasted better. Everything looked more beautiful, like I was seeing it all in crisp high-definition detail. Perhaps it was the gentle buzz of the sixth sip, but a feeling of courage started to bubble up in me.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.” His face was flushed from the sun. His hair was slightly messy and tussled by the wind. His eyes were that gut-stabbing, hypnotizing green color. He was perfect.

  “Are you…” I cleared my throat as the next half of the sentence got stuck there. I couldn’t believe I was about to ask such a question. I’d never asked anyone this before. “Are you…”

  I coughed a tad. My words were still stuck and I reached for my glass of wine, holding up my finger to him, indicating for him to wait.

  “Take your time.” He watched me closely.

  I swallowed and the liquid somewhat soothed my dry throat. I tried again. “Are you flirting with me?” I finally managed.

  A slow, languid, and downright filthy-sexy smile lit up Dimitri’s face. “What do you think?”

  “Well…” I gathered my thoughts logically. “Many of our conversations have seemed to err on the side of s-e-x. Understandable in a way since we did h-a-v-e i-t.” I didn’t know why I was spelling out all the words like a parent swearing in front of a toddler. “But we did agree to keep things professional—I even paid you—yet it just doesn’t feel that professional.”

  “What’s not professional about it?” he said, leaning across the table.

  “Well, there’s that leaning you’re doing right now. You did take my clothes off earlier on the beach, and there is all that looking and husky-toned talking. So if
I add all those things together, they are fairly congruent with the hypothesis that you are in fact flirty.”

  I finished and looked at Dimitri expectantly, but he said absolutely nothing. He simply stared and continued his table lean. Silence. More silence. Oh God, maybe I had crossed a line here and had totally misinterpreted the situation between us. Maybe he was trying to think of a way to say no without embarrassing me.

  “What?” I asked nervously. A movement caught my eye and I watched as his hands stole their way across the table. They stopped inches away from mine. We both gazed down at them expecting them to do something, like they were somehow not connected to us. A solitary finger reached out and twirled itself around one of mine.

  “Have you only noticed now?” he asked, looking up at me. “I’m flirting with you, Jane.” His words came out firmly, and he couldn’t have sounded sexier if he tried.

  “I see.” I nodded, taking in the information and trying to process it in a logical, reasonable manner and not one in the vein of a…

  “Push the glasses of wine off the table and have sex with me. Now. Sex. Now.”

  “So what do you think?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve never been in a situation like this before, and for the first time ever I regret not reading all those articles my mother sent me about flirting and sex and…” I stopped midsentence. This was so bizarre; honestly I had no idea what to do. Only one way to find out. I might as well ask him.

  “You tell me what usually happens next,” I asked tentatively.

  “That’s up to the woman. I’ve made my intentions clear, and you can decide what you want to do with that.” His smile was gone now; instead he stared at me with a look that made my blood reach boiling point, only to completely freeze over immediately after.

  His intentions were clear. He wanted to sleep with me again. Just like Val had said. And it terrified me. A part of me wanted that so badly, but this time it was different. It would be different from the other night when I’d considered it a one-night stand with a man I would never see again. This time, I liked him. And that was a dangerous place to be.