Niko's Stolen Bride

by Lindy Corbin

  It gave him no comfort that she was as aware of him as he was of her. If anything, it made it harder. This was a relationship that would wither before it ever had a chance to bloom, doomed to its pitiful end at midnight tonight. Unlike Cinderella and her Prince, there would be no second chances. No happily ever after.

  He would do the right thing today. He would treat Kara with the respect that she deserved. Perhaps they could make a few pleasant memories to replace the disastrous ones of last night. Suddenly he was fiercely glad that her idiot fiancé had succumbed to the wiles of some barroom broad.

  He would, at the least, have today.

  Chapter 3

  The yacht created quite a stir among the tourists along the dock. They turned to stare, pointing and nodding their heads in smiling admiration.

  Kara stood in the bow while Niko maneuvered the ship into the narrow slip between two white yachts roughly the size and shape of whales. He was using a set of controls that he had flipped out from a hidden compartment on the side of the ship, near the railing, as well as calling instructions in rapid fire languages she couldn’t begin to comprehend. Since yachts were a common sight in Key West, she wasn’t sure whether the attention was centered on the sleek lines of the black ship or the attractive male crew. George Partheris was the focus for the younger females. Though he’d been born in Athens, his features were more refined than Niko’s and his skin tone more yellow than olive. He had a military air about him with his white uniform and his hair cut severely short, yet his easy smile made him approachable.

  They were docking steps away from the famous pier on which crowds gathered every evening to watch the sunset. Even now, couples and families strolled among the temporary booths, watching the artists as they painted, eating fried plantains or meat pies flavored with Jamaican jerk spices. The smell of cooking drifted to her, almost overriding the raw odors of gasoline and decaying seaweed. Above her, sea gulls wheeled and dived, while a few meandered among the humans, looking for dropped crumbs. Their cries mingled with the steel drum band that played on the edge of a nearby restaurant’s balcony and rivaled the rock music blaring from a yacht further down the dock.

  She loved Key West already.

  When she looked over at Niko, she saw he was turned her way. His expression was hidden behind his sunglasses, but she smiled and threw him a quick wave to let him know she was all right.

  She was all right.

  She acknowledged it to herself with a hint of surprise. Not excited, but calm and ready for the adventure the afternoon would bring. For a moment, she wondered how she could feel this way when she would have expected to be depressed about the dashed hopes and spoiled dreams today represented.

  Niko flashed a wide, white smile in return, then turned his head to shout something at George. The younger man looked up from where he was attaching ropes from the boat to the pier. He swung his head to track the progress of a well-endowed young woman in a bright-pink string bikini, obviously the subject of Niko’s comment. George pursed his lips and gave a long wolf-whistle. The girl acknowledged his tribute by increasing the sway of her generous hips as she strutted.

  Kara laughed and shook her head. Men, they never grew up. Suddenly that seemed just fine. Shouldn’t life be full of laughter and enjoyment rather than regrets? It was something to think about, to aim for in the future. Perhaps she had already taken steps in that direction.

  Her gaze followed Niko’s movements as he stood at the controls with his legs spread for balance and his dark hair shining in the bright sunlight. He looked so competent, as if he’d done this all his life, which he probably had.

  The man was everything a woman could ask for in a companion. His smile was compelling, and his softly accented voice was smooth as silk, rolling across her nerves like a soothing balm. When he looked at her, he was focused, as if she was the most important thing in his world at that moment. Still, spending the day with him made her nervous. As long as she remembered that he was here at Elaina’s bequest, keeping her out of the woman’s hair while she spun who knew what yarn about the botched marriage, she could make it through.

  Once they crossed the gangplank onto shore, Niko took charge.

  He was adamant that they must start on the far end of Duval Street then make their way back to the center of the tourist activity near the pier. He flagged a passing rickshaw-style buggy, just big enough for two people. A painted beach scene featuring a skimpily-clap girl in a grass skirt decorated the vehicle’s side panels. It was powered by a shirtless young man on a bicycle who had thighs the size of tree trunks and a tan to rival Niko’s.

  Traffic was congested as it was late Friday morning and people were no doubt moving into the hotels for the weekend. Niko placed one arm across the top of the rickshaw cage, just above her shoulders and leaned close to point out the sights. He had changed into shorts and a tee-shirt in a shade of light blue that reflected in his eyes, making them more the azure of the sea than their normal gray-blue. His leg pressed against hers as he moved in the confining carriage.

  The soft scrape of hair on his calf against her bare legs distracted her from what he was saying. She shifted to avoid the contact, hoping that he hadn’t noticed. When he drew his arm down from where it rested against the top of the buggy, she suspected that he had. Not much got by the man.

  Near the harbor, newer buildings with brightly painted stucco prevailed. As they moved further along the famous street, they reached a section of older homes with wood siding and wide, curving front porches. Many had advertisements on the front lawn indicating they had been converted into Bed and Breakfast inns. Here and there were tokens of the previous season’s hurricane activity: missing tiles on the roofs, scars on the trees where huge limbs had once shaded the road and fences that had not been repaired. It was a sobering reminder that nature was not always as kind as she was today.

  The rickshaw driver let them out at the huge cone that marked the southernmost point of the United States. It stood near the edge of the seawall with the sun-tipped waves of the Gulf of Mexico dancing behind it. Painted in alternating bands of red, black and yellow, it was topped with the triangular emblem of The Conch Republic along with the information that it was only ninety miles to Cuba.

  They stood for a moment, watching laughing families who waited for their turn to be photographed in front of the monument. Each person in line seemed to accept that it was their job to take the photo for the group in front of them. When it was their turn, with many gestures and smiles, they would indicate how their own camera worked and give it to the stranger behind them. It was a miracle of cooperation, especially since some people didn’t speak the same language.

  As a woman snapped a quick photo for the young couple in front of her, a toddler detached himself from her grasp. He was a determined little child with a thatch of red hair and short legs that covered the ground at an amazing speed. He headed straight for the guardrail at the edge of the ocean. Made of round metal pipes, it was sturdy, but there was a large gap near the ground and a long drop to the rocks below.

  With a muttered oath, Niko raced to intercept him. He bent, sweeping him up in his arms and swinging him high in the air. The child laughed with delight and Niko smiled up at him. Kara felt an answering smile curve her lips at the picture the two made.

  Clasping the boy close to his chest, Niko returned him to his anxious mother. He waved off her thanks and strode back to Kara’s side.

  “Shall we?” Niko gestured toward a wide side street that paralleled the ocean.

  Kara turned her head for a last glimpse of the line of tourists. It was a shame that she didn’t have a camera; she’d have liked a photo to recall the bright colors and cheery atmosphere.

  Grasping her arm, Niko led her away from the crowd. The houses on the side street were smaller and newer than the ones on Duval Street, but the trees had been allowed to grow tall and wide near the edges of the lawns, providing the cool relief of deep shade.

  “Do you have children
?” Kara risked a side glance at his features which were tight with tension. Elaina hadn’t mentioned any kids, but she didn’t speak of her family often. Niko appeared to be in his late twenties, old enough to have a toddler of his own, and he was certainly comfortable with them.

  “No,” he said shortly. “I thought once—” He ran a hand through his hair in a gesture she was beginning to recognize as frustration. “It wasn’t to be.”

  At the grim finality of his tone, she stopped walking and placed a hand on his arm. She knew he had been married and that it had ended unpleasantly. Suddenly, she was aware of the heat of his skin under her fingertips. The rigid set to the muscles warned her that he didn’t welcome her concern or her touch. She let her hand drop from his arm, curling her fingers and rubbing their tips with her thumb as if she could erase the feel of him on her skin.

  It was clear he wanted to put the question behind him. Still she hesitated to follow his lead. His past was none of her business, but the tight set of his jaw hinted that he hid an open wound deep inside and the woman in her wanted to soothe it.

  It had nothing to do with him personally. It couldn’t possibly; she’d just met the man. It was fellow feeling for the pain that humans could inflict on each other. Her mothering instinct, her father called it. As a teenager, her favorite part of baby-sitting jobs had been soothing away the tears of a scraped knee while applying simple first aid. Kiss it and make it better.

  She raised her gaze to his firm mouth. For an instant, she was back in the nightclub with his lips brushing against hers. She wondered what he would do if she pulled his head down to hers and matched the contours of her mouth to his. Her breath caught for a moment, then she pushed the thought away as she felt the rise of heat up her neck. Luckily, he didn’t seem to be paying attention.

  “We have company.” His head was cocked to one side as he gestured toward the ground near their feet.

  Following his gaze, a surprised laugh escaped her. A mother hen with a brood of small yellow chicks had come out from under a shrub to investigate the strangers in their midst. “How adorable. I wish I had something to feed them.”

  “You’d have to carry a large sack. By law, chickens are allowed to run free on the island so they’re everywhere, including the public parks and the open-air restaurants. People love to throw them bits of their hamburger buns, so they’re always underfoot.”

  “That’s so cute.”

  “You’ll think so,” he murmured as he stepped around the clutch of fowl and led her down the sidewalk, “until you step in chicken droppings.”

  She punched him lightly in the arm, her clenched fist bouncing off the muscle. Her fingers straightened as she dropped her hand. That was a mistake. One she’d made twice. She should not be touching this man with the casual air of old acquaintances. Or at all. She cleared her throat, searching for something to say. “I’ll have you know I watch where I’m going.”

  “I watch where you’re going too.”

  Kara turned her head sharply in his direction, but Niko wasn’t looking at her. Deciding it must have been an innocent remark, she pushed away the edgy awareness and focused on sight-seeing.

  The street quickly became more commercial as they strolled back toward the main square. The owners of some of the houses had converted the front rooms to small stores. There were art studios with paintings and pottery, handmade clothes and jewelry as well as salons for tarot readings. There was even a small bar that delivered cold bottles of beer out of the window of what used to be the living room. They window-shopped and sometimes stepped up onto the wide front porches to check out a particularly interesting object, but didn’t find anything to draw them into the deeper recesses of the stores.

  “You do seem to know your way around,” Kara said as Niko guided her across a busy street and back into the relative quiet of a residential area.

  “Key West is just a couple of hours from Miami by boat or car. My friends and I came here often for the weekends.” He stopped on the sidewalk and turned toward her, a smile curving one side of his lips. “We were typical college students; scuba diving in the day and bar hopping at night. Sometimes, I miss those days.”

  Kara stared up at him, trying to imagine him as young and carefree. It was impossible. He was a big, sexy male, confident in a subtle way that made her want to relinquish control to him. She had the crazy idea that this was a man she could follow to the ends of the earth if he asked. There was nothing more she wanted to do than sink into the shelter of his arms, to smell the sun-warmed musk of his skin, to pull his head down to hers for a long kiss. Instead, she stepped back, breaking the connection.

  He gestured toward a tall wrought iron gate beside them. “This is Ernest Hemmingway’s house. Would you like to go inside?”

  Two story and square, its wide balconies were graced with fanciful wrought iron railings. It stood in the midst of a small garden with tall trees and bunched bamboo that shaded the meandering brick paths. On one side of the house was a water garden edged in white coral rock and with lilies scattered across its shallow, glassy surface. On the other, the music of a small fountain could be heard, splashing into its wide bowl.

  They had just missed the beginning of the guided tour of the famous author’s house. So they opted to wander the gardens, searching for the offspring of his six-toed cats. Hemingway cats, they were called by the locals. The kittens were highly prized and often disappeared under the arms of visiting tourists. There were several animals to be found lounging beside the fountain or sprawled under the shade of hibiscus bushes. Most were either asleep or lay with their eyes half-closed against the glare of the noon sun and the curious stares of the two-legged intruders.

  “Are you a cat person?” she asked Niko as she settled on a bench strategically placed below a bougainvillea covered arbor. “Or a dog person?”

  He reached up to remove his sunglasses, folding them and hanging them from the neck of his shirt. “Neither.”

  She threw him a mock horrified glance, briefly meeting the liquid blue-gray of his gaze. His pupils were large, tempting a woman to swim in their depths, but sharp intelligence gleamed beneath the surface. She suspected that he recognized the conflicting emotions that ebbed and flowed through her today. It had been easier, less personal, to talk to him with the protective shield of the darkened glass between them.

  To hide her unease, she gave a dramatic shudder. “You’re not one of those guys who keeps snakes or lizards?”

  “Hardly.” He leaned against the wooden edge of the arbor then reached to pluck a fuchsia bloom from its vine, twisting its stem between his fingers. “I always thought I’d like to have a dog when I was a kid, but my mother wouldn’t allow it. She was a model, so designer clothes were everyday wear for her. I was only allowed to hug her after she’d checked to make sure my hands were clean. An animal jumping on her would not have been acceptable.”

  Kara tried to imagine a childhood without a mother who’d showered her with hugs and kisses. “It sounds a bit bleak.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t think so. Mother had lots of friends, so I did too. There was always the nanny, tutors or the housekeeper to keep an eye on me. When she traveled for work, she left me with friends who had children my age, so I got to play with their pets.”

  No matter what he said, it was not the same as having a dog that licked your face while you cried because your first boyfriend dumped you or a cat that lay beside you and purred away a long, rainy afternoon while you read.

  Niko leaned close. With one swift movement, he pushed the stem of bougainvillea that he held under the rubber band she had used to pull her long hair back from her face. His feathery lashes concealed his eyes as he straightened.

  *

  “Tell me about Frank.”

  The words startled him almost as much as her. He needed to know whether she was miserable because she missed him or was troubled about the confrontation that would occur when she returned to face him. Or maybe he just wanted to hear her v
oice and the words didn’t matter. He waited, tension dragging down his shoulders.

  “That would be – awkward.”

  “How so? There is only me and the cats to hear. We could be just the impartial listeners you need.”

  Her protest was immediate. “You’re hardly impartial.”

  There was a grain of truth in that, one he thought it best not to admit. “Sometimes, just saying the words out loud brings things into focus. It might help you decide how to handle the situation with Frank when the time comes.”

  “I don’t think–”

  “I’ll start,” he interrupted. “You and Frank work together, right? I think that you both drifted into this relationship and everyone around you expected it to go further, so you let it happen. What I can’t figure out is why Frank waited until the last minute to back out.”

  The silence stretched and, for a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to open up to him. She sighed, a long, soft sound that he barely heard over the chatter of tourists who strolled on the paths nearby.

  “I can answer that. Frank was having second thoughts, but wouldn’t admit it. He couldn’t bring himself to hurt me.”

  Leave it to a woman to always find the most compassionate point of view. “Maybe so, but as your impartial judge, I must point out that an honorable man would have talked to you, not cheated on you the first chance he got.” He didn’t try to hide the dry disdain in his tone.

  “He was acting so oddly last night,” she said slowly. “He’s not usually affectionate in public and he was all over that woman in the back of the car.” She pushed a stray tendril of hair back from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. “Frank is a nice man. Maybe it was nerves or the alcohol or his friends egging him on. I’ve never seen him be so rough, and he’s certainly never talked to me as rudely as he did. I wouldn’t have put up with it.”