by Demi Alex
Paul slowed his step, confident in how easily Justin covered her hand and beamed his approval, stroking his thumb over the back of her palm the whole time she spoke to Theo Kosta. He wanted to watch their interaction. Learn.
Theo listened, appeared surprised, maybe even annoyed, but suddenly his features relaxed and he seemed to be enjoying himself.
Time was up. Nearing the trio, inappropriate thoughts of the beautiful Bethany in their bed effectively extinguished, he forced the friend vibes to the surface.
By keeping his distance, he was missing out on something good. And regardless of what that good was, he wanted to be a participant and not an observer.
“Stupid, stupid boys. If you don’t wake up, she’s going to be stolen from beneath your noses,” his uncle said in Greek.
“I heard that,” Paul said, squeezing his uncle’s shoulder and earning an unapologetic response instructing him to act. He leaned down and looked the matchmaking man in the eyes.
“Stop,” he replied in Greek.
He stretched across the table, and rubbed Justin’s nape as their gazes met and he formally greeted the trio. Paul then walked to Bethany and kissed her cheeks, her sweet citrus perfume reminding his body of its carnal desires, but his mind thankfully reminding him of reality. Sometimes you can’t have what you want, no matter how right you know it could be.
Resigning himself to the physical discomfort in his groin, he sat in the chair directly across from his man and next to the woman that belonged between them, although fate wouldn’t allow her to be. He decided to redirect the conversation and act the proper host. “I hope you’re saving room for dinner, because I’m starving. We’re going to Kalos Psaras.”
“Nice. The tavern lives up to its name of The Good Fisherman,” his uncle said, spearing a piece of cucumber and eating it like it was the greatest delicacy on earth.
“Would you like to join us?” Bethany asked.
“I would like it very much, my dear, but unfortunately, I can’t.” Kosta smothered another piece of bread with the spicy spread and handed it to Bethany. “I’ve already had dinner,” he said, with an exaggerated sigh. “Besides, the night is for the young. You kids go. Have fun, because tomorrow you have a lot of work to do.”
“I know.” Excitement colored her face, and the woman looked even prettier with added pink in her cheeks. “I’m so looking forward to the formal introduction. I’m itching to get the feel of the resort from the front desk, or as Christo keeps correcting me, reception,” Bethany said. “He said to meet him at eight.”
“Don’t bother getting there before nine if you’re supposed to meet Christo. He needs two cups of coffee to wake up. And if he said he’ll see you at eight, it means nine,” Paul said, touching her forearm and regretting the instinctive contact because the connection sizzled straight through him.
He’d meant to settle and reassure her; instead he’d thrown himself into a state of excitement. He had to stop touching her. His body’s reactions were not easy to control.
Friends, friends, friends.
“No work tonight, though,” Paul insisted. “We have a deal. We’re focusing on your friends agreement.”
“Thank you.” She tapped her hand to her chest in a show of gratitude. “It means so much to me, to us,” she said, gesturing toward Justin and including him in the heartfelt acknowledgement.
Paul read between the lines, and nodded, acknowledging her private thank you for giving the three of them a chance.
Then she gave him a wicked smile. “But tomorrow, tomorrow the gloves come off. I plan on making you see that we’re the right choice for Vaso’s Dream. Luxury Homes Away From Home will wow you, and you’ll have no doubt, Paul. I promise.”
That was his line. He was the only one who got to promise. Especially when it came to his resort.
He wasn’t going down without a fight. The resort belonged in the family, not with a huge conglomerate.
“We’ll see,” he said in an indifferent tone. “But not tonight. Tonight we’re friends. Okay?”
Obviously, the irony of the conversation wasn’t lost on Justin, who grinned and pushed back his chair. He walked around to Paul, squeezed his shoulder in approval, and leaned down to place a kiss on Paul’s neck. “We’re ready to go when you are, love.”
“I’m ready,” Paul said, accepting the change in subject. “Hope you’ve left room.”
“We have,” Justin said. “Let’s get this pretty lady to Little Venice for a taste of Greece.” He held out his hand and waited for Bethany to take it.
Paul’s thoughts moved from business antagonist to sexy temptation in three seconds flat.
He wasn’t sure he could do it. A drop-dead-gorgeous business nemesis cozying up to his partner—and being polite and agreeable with him—was not something he was familiar with. Not to mention his body’s reaction to her. Thinking of her with Justin, thinking of her with him, thinking of her between them. Fuck, he was in trouble.
She stood, and the flowing material of her sky blue halter dress played around her ankles, complete with a thigh high split up the right side. He adjusted the growing ache at his groin, hoping to disguise the evidence, before standing to join them.
“Paul, thank you.” She surprised him with a quick hug, and his body stiffened further. “I can see why J loves you. You’re not just a good-looking man; you’re compassionate and wonderful. I’m really looking forward to tonight, and I’m glad we can be friends,” she said, flashing a radiant smile, and accepting Justin’s offered hand.
“Me, too,” Paul replied, moving to his uncle and gently patting the older man’s shoulder, when what he wanted to do was pull Bethany into his arms and hold her close. But what if he couldn’t keep it all in perspective? Touching his uncle was safer. “We’ll see you in the morning, Theo.”
“Wait. Take my car,” he offered. “It’s roomier than your smart rental.”
Paul and Justin both held out their hands, and Kosta laughed.
He looked at Justin. “You’re willing to drive on our crazy streets?”
“I am, if I get to drive one of your vehicles.” He turned to Bethany. “Kosta has a collection of the coolest cars. A wet dream on wheels.”
“You’re not driving,” Paul said, pushing Justin’s hand away and waiting for his uncle to drop the keys into his upturned palm. “You can’t freaking drive to save your life. You suck at it. You prefer public transportation. Remember?”
“I’m with Paul on this one,” Bethany said, pulling her hand from Justin’s and stepping next to Paul. She touched his forearm in a show of unity. “I know what he’s like when he drives.”
“Drives slower than my yiayia,” Paul said.
“Grandma,” Justin translated.
“Scarier than his driving speed, I remember what it’s like to be in the passenger seat when he makes a left turn.” Her sweet laughter filled the air. Looking at Kosta, she raised a finger. “I vote you give the keys to Paul.”
Paul smiled at the playful gleam in her eyes. She was going to be fun.
“Told you she’s smart.” Kosta laughed and dropped the keys into Paul’s palm. “And your grandmother doesn’t even have a driver’s license.”
“Case and point made.” Unable to resist the easiness of her touch any longer, Paul wrapped his arm around her. “I got the girl, and I got the keys. You coming?”
“Whatever. I’m coming,” Justin said, pretending to grumble. “I don’t think it’s nice that the two of you are ganging up against me, but I’m going to overlook that because I’m hungry.”
Fuck me. This is going to be some sweet hell, Paul thought, caressing her hip like they’d all been together forever. And for that very reason Paul knew he had to tread more carefully than he’d originally planned.
Acknowledging that a friendship for Justin’s sake wasn’t the only motive in getting to know Bethany, he set a mental timeline and reviewed it continuously as Justin played tour g
uide on the drive into town.
One week to sign or not sign papers. Hopefully not.
Five days until her douchebag father arrived.
Twelve hours before spending a full day with her and explaining the intricacies of the resort.
Less than ten minutes of concentrating on the road, before he couldn’t look away from her beautiful eyes, brown eyes that were as tempting as the dark chocolate he loved.
Resigned to a night of mental conflict, he parked and exited the car, managing to keep his distance from Bethany and Justin as they walked to the waterfront tavern.
Justin holding Bethany's hand was not the picture of friends reconnecting. Not by a long shot. Paul didn’t miss how tight his or her fingers interweaved, nor how Justin stroked over the back of her hand, which rested so naturally in his, nor how obvious the connection was for everyone to see.
It was a connection of lovers. They had been lovers, were still in their hearts and would be once again. And what was most unsettling for Paul was that he liked the idea.
The end of summer flashed into his mental timeline. The fate of the resort would be settled by then. They wouldn’t be under the spell of a magical island any longer. And he would be able to revisit the possibility of asking Justin to consider inviting Bethany into their bed with clarity.
Friends with benefits.
They’d need a crash course in FwB101 if the perpetual outline of Justin’s erection was any evidence of how badly he wanted her, too. She leaned into him, welcomed his touch, and clearly enjoyed his kisses. And if it weren’t for the expected decorum of their arrangement, Paul would have accepted the flare of her nostrils and widening of her pupils as the invitation—and interest toward him—they truly were. Bethany was an open book, and he was an exceptional reader.
The end of the summer it was. Without the business conflict, there would be no reason for him not to participate. Justin’s need for the woman would be impossible to placate by then, and he would want to bring her into their bed. Plus, by then, she’d have grown comfortable enough with Paul to wholly trust him, mind and body.
Sating their needs, temporary or not, was the best way to ensure a friendship.
He knew it in his gut.
He just needed to give them time to realize the same.
Chapter Twelve
Another table for three. This time by the seawall, and looking up at the lighted windmills standing guard over the island. Surprisingly, Bethany didn’t feel like the third wheel, but rather like she was a princess snug between two princes. The lights reflected on the water, music drifted in the air, and the world was just perfect.
She met Paul’s gaze and raised her glass. “To new friends.” She turned to her left and clinked her glass against Justin’s. “And old, forever friends.” Then she brought the chilled wine to her lips and sipped.
“To friendship.” Justin tapped Paul’s glass, and they raised their glasses together.
“To friendship,” Paul echoed, his golden gaze growing heated.
While the men’s words and actions were proper, the underlying chemistry set Bethany’s body on fire.
She fanned her face with her hand and leaned back in her chair. Looking out at the water, she wondered how the hell this chaste arrangement was ever going to work. The sexual energy wrapped around her and smothered her senses more than the heady sweetness of the night blooming jasmine.
Being with Justin and Paul, on any level, made her skin flush and her mind cloud. She needed to get a grip on her hormones. Maybe find a sexy man—not one of them—and get laid.
She pasted on a big smile and accepted her fate: friendship with the only two men in the world that made her crazy enough to climb walls for an orgasm at their hands. But she wasn’t going to cause them any problems. And she’d keep reminding herself until the guilt of her thoughts eased from her mind. They were just thoughts.
They wanted a platonic relationship. Friendship it was. Pure friendship.
Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, she thought.
“I’ve had Greek salad with feta cheese, but this seems to be done up in a different way,” she said, gesturing to the dish in the center of the cozy table and steering the conversation to a safe subject.
“That’s not feta, but a special version of Mykonos’s own white cheese. It’s called xinotiro. It has a slightly creamier texture and is a bit tart, even sour, compared to Feta. They make it like the kopanisti you tasted earlier. The dish is called a dako,” Justin said, surprising her since it had been Paul who had rattled off their order in Greek and appeared to be the food expert.
“Toasted whole-grain rusks are soaked in water to soften,” Paul explained, moving a large spoon through the salad. “Then they’re broken into pieces and topped with tomatoes, onions, the cheese, capers in this case, and local seasonings.”
“It’s drowned in olive oil,” she added.
“Yup,” Justin said. “The stuff is addicting. You’ll crave it long after you get back to New York.”
While Justin arranged a forkful of the dako and handed it to her, Paul scooped into the dish and heaped a serving on her plate. They worked together with such ease and efficiency, it made her mind drift back to the naughty fantasy she’d once whispered to Justin in the privacy of their bed.
She blinked to clear the vision, moved in her seat to shake the sensation, and redirected her thoughts, again, to the meal they were sharing.
She slipped the fork between her lips and savored the taste of the unique salad.
“This is taramosalata,” Paul said, breaking a piece of the crusty bread and running it through a pink dip. “Think of a doctored version of caviar.” He held it for her to take, and she gladly accepted it from his hands. Tasting the lemony fish spread, she sighed in contentment.
“Everything is full of flavor and just delicious,” she said. It wasn’t even fishy.
The waiter arrived, brings servings of golden calamari and tiny fried fish.
“Aitherina,” Justin said, squeezing fresh lemon juice on the fish. “I called those tasty little suckers fish chips the first summer I spent here.” He popped one in his mouth and chewed. “Yum.”
“Eww. They still have heads and tails,” she exclaimed, shaking her head and folding her hands in her lap.
“They’re too small to debone. You eat them whole.” Using his fingers, Paul picked one of the thinner fish, bit off the head, flipped it over to eat the tail, and then offered it to her.
“No,” she said, leaning back from the table. “I’ll pass.”
“Give it a chance, Bethy.” Paul’s words rolled over her as he looked into her eyes and held the fish to her lips. “You’ll like it.”
Holy smokes. It didn’t feel like he was talking about fish. He was speaking about them. She twisted her hands in her lap, wondering why she wanted to make him happy, and why it mattered so much to let him know she trusted him.
She swallowed her objection and parted her lips. He fit the fish between her teeth and tilted his head in approval. She chewed, pleasantly rewarded by the fresh and delectable taste of sea.
“It’s good,” she whispered.
“Yeah, I know,” Paul said, smoothing his thumb over her lower lip and down her chin. “Want another?”
“Okay,” she said, motioning for him to eat the head and tail before offering it to her again.
Strange as it was for a friend to feed her, his attention warmed her. She relaxed and listened as Justin and Paul recalled the last time they’d eaten at the restaurant. The water had been rough, and waves had sprayed over the sea wall. No one had sat at the first row of tables. But the weather hadn’t stopped them from enjoying the appetizers and the fresh-off-the-boat fish, just as they were doing together.
“It seems like a lot of people’s socializing is centered around meals or coffee breaks,” she said.
“It is,” Paul said. “Greeks make time for friends and slow down for meals. Sometime
s dinner can last hours. So much is done at the table.”
They ate family style, with Justin and Paul explaining the how and what of the best-tasting seafood and sides she’d ever had. No fillets. No neat plates of sectioned off food groups.
Horta, boiled greens, were piled high as the table’s centerpiece. The calamari disappeared quickly, and the iridescent remnant of the oil on the white plate testified to its freshness. The grilled octopus cut with a fork and melted in her mouth. The crisply fried small local barbouni, the sweetest red mullet fish she’d ever had, was the biggest pain in the ass to debone. She waited—impatiently—as Paul meticulously cleaned it for her, but it was so worth the wait. And last, but not least, Justin’s favorite side, French fries, sat amidst the table of seafood.
“Koukla mou, you want me to prep another barbouni for you?”
She was startled at Paul calling her his doll. She knew the meaning because Mr. Lallas had also referred to her the same way and she had Google translated the term earlier. She pushed her plate forward. “I think I’m done. Totally stuffed.”
The whole dining experience had been so strange, so comfortable, and definitely not a night out with a new friend.
Truth be told, she’d expected the comfort level to be easy with Justin. She trusted him, loved him, and knew him. And because of the comfort she knew she’d find in Justin, she’d feared things with Paul would be awkward.
Not so. Both men put her at ease, an ease that had her stomach doing somersaults.
The surprising feelings of comfort and belonging with Paul made her question her sanity. She wasn’t just drawn to him. She was connected…linked. She wanted so much more of the man standing between her and the business acquisition she’d worked hardest for in her life.
“You don’t need to be so nice to me,” she said.
“You’re easy to be nice to,” Paul replied, expertly cleaning the last barbouni with his knife and fork.
Like a surgeon making an incision, he sliced through the crispy fish, cut off the head and tail, pushed away the rows of tiny bones at the top and bottom of the body, lifted the ribcage with his fork, and lastly removed the main skeleton. After checking for stray bones, he glanced up at her.