One Week in Greece

by Demi Alex

  Bethany placed her right hand on his shoulder, bent her left leg toward her ass, pulled off her shoe, and handed it to him. She repeated the same for the other shoe, then thanked him and took them both back into her hand. “Your turn.”

  Laughing, he kicked off a pair of Timberland boat shoes and placed them on a boulder. He raised his brow and leaned his head to the side for her to do the same. She did, and he nodded, motioning for her to walk ahead of him.

  “Are all Greeks as domineering as you?”

  “Not all,” he said, dropping his Ray-Ban’s on to the bridge of his nose, but not before she glimpsed the smile in his eyes again. “But the Lallas men do have a reputation for getting their way.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  Amused, he snorted and seemed to suck a laugh between his teeth, peculiar, but definitely amused. “I see you’ve been spending time with my little cousin.”

  “I’d say Paul is a little of a control freak,” she admitted.

  “That he is.”

  They walked the final distance in comfortable silence, and once they were seated she remembered her lack of coffee. “How are we going to get our breakfast down here?”

  “There’s a staircase for the guests and servers to use.” He pointed just beyond the shrubbery bordering the path they’d taken, and she was surprised to see sturdy, wide, metallic stairs, complete with thick railing. “Don’t be mad. My way down is authentic. That staircase is for tourists.”

  “I did say I wanted an authentic island experience,” she said, recalling their conversation the previous night. “But it took us ten minutes to climb down. I don’t know how much longer I can go without my morning coffee.”

  “Gianni is on his way,” he said, he lifted his chin to the stairs. “You’ll be in caffeine heaven very soon. He’s bringing the double Greek plus a frappé chaser and lots of food. We’ll sample the guests’ favorites and try a few new things we’ve put on the menu. I’d appreciate your opinion.”

  She nodded, reaching for her coffee mug the second it was placed on the table and taking a long overdue, delicious sip. He hadn’t exaggerated. The rich Greek coffee hit the spot. It had a creamy texture, but no milk, and enough sugar to make her happy, but not so much to diminish the taste. Grateful he’d insisted on a double rather than the small demitasse cup, she held the mug close, closed her eyes, inhaled the heady aroma, and sighed.

  “Awesome. Perfect.”

  “Telia,” he repeated in Greek. “You also said you wanted to learn the language, koukla.”

  And there it was again. Koukla.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Was Christo flirting by calling her koukla?

  Bethany looked away, but was pleasantly distracted when she spotted the almond cookies. “Amygdalota.”

  “Bravo. Pretty soon you’ll be fluent in Greek food,” he said, playfully tickling her arm.

  She smoothed her fingers over her forehead, trying to understand what was happening. Christo was nice, friendly, and cool. Sure he carried more machismo than her male friends in the city, and he didn’t have an issue with touching. Most Greeks she’d met seemed okay with touching—a lot, but he wasn’t rude or presumptuous.

  He certainly didn’t give off the “I want to get you naked” vibe. Yet, he’d called her koukla—twice. Paul had called her koukla, but when Paul had said it, she’d wanted to climb into his arms and nuzzle his neck. Not so with the handsome and charming Christo.

  “What’s wrong, koukla?”

  Make that three times. “What exactly does koukla mean?”

  “It translates as doll, and it’s very common when addressing a female we appreciate and like.” He took a loud breath and concern marked his brow. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. It wasn’t my intent.”

  He switched out his coffee with the frappé chaser. “Adorable little girls are koukles, sisters are koukles, girlfriends, moms, and even grandmothers are koukles. It’s a term of endearment. I feel comfortable with you, and I think we can be good friends. Nothing…” He rolled his wrist as if searching for the right word. Frustrated, he shook his head.

  “Say it in Greek,” she suggested.

  “Nothing…” He snapped his fingers searching for the right word. “Nothing devilish, sly, or sexually motivated. I meant it a simple way. Like a hug.”

  She giggled so hard that the fresh squeezed orange juice sloshed all over her hand. “I’m not sure that a hug is much easier for someone like me to understand, but it’s fine. I’m not offended. I like it that you call me koukla. It’s nice.

  “Then why did you have that stormy look in your eyes?”

  Blotting a napkin on the mess, she went for casual and dismissive. “Not stormy, just puzzled. Paul said it, too.”

  “Ah, now I see. Did he tack a mou to the end?”

  She nodded, and he laughed, saying something in Greek that sounded very entertaining. He didn’t bother to elaborate in English.

  “This is a conversation for friends who have known each other a very long time and share unconditional trust or bottles of vodka.” When she didn’t object, he took the napkin from her hand and handed her a fork. “We’ll come back to it, if you like, after you try the omeletta. It’s my favorite.”

  She gladly accepted the change of subject and cut into the omelet. She moaned as the scent of that special cheese released into the air. “I already know I’ll like it. I think I’m addicted to this cheese.”

  Her taste buds agreed, and she gave him a thumbs-up. They tasted a little of each item on the plates, repeating thumbs up for favorites and making the okay sign for good and fresh. Nothing garnered a thumbs-down. They watched windsurfers take to the slick-as-oil water, catching the island’s famed meltemi winds, sipped on their frappés, and spent fifteen minutes in comfortable silence.

  “So, Christo Lallas. You’re proving to be a complicated man.”

  She met his gaze, surprised with his patience. Something had taught the man that the best way to get an answer was silence. He waited for her to continue.

  “By night, you’re a pool-side bartender. Early in the morning, you’re a food tester and guest greeter, and then work the front desk and handle the resort exodus. What exactly is your official title?”

  “I’m my uncle’s nephew,” he replied with a matter of fact tone.

  “And what do you do?”

  “Anything he needs me to do.” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach. “If it’s a day like today, when ninety percent of our rooms turnover, I work the front desk. When a bartender calls out for a shift, I tend bar. But on an ordinary day, I make sure the staff is on their game and things run smooth. And as for checking on the restaurant, what sane man would complain about having meals cooked for him every morning? Much better than a piece of dry toast at home.”

  “So you manage all those departments?”

  “I coordinate,” he said, remaining very humble about all he did. “The departments run well on their own.”

  “You’re a GM.”

  “If you want to label it,” he conceded. “I oversee the resort’s operation, but we are very lucky to have a fantastic staff. Each employee was handpicked by my uncle or my aunt. They are very devoted to him and use their talents to make him proud.”

  “I’m sorry about your aunt’s passing.”

  “There seemed to be a lot of that going around these past few years,” he said in a low voice. He drank the remainder of his frappé and piled the empty plates on the tray Gianni had left for them.

  Realizing it was one of those moments silence encouraged sharing she waited for him to continue.

  “Three years ago, my mother got very sick. She refused to come to Athens as her doctor had recommended, so I returned to the island full-time to help with caring for her. She lived her last year exactly as she’d wanted. It was full of great experiences and good memories, and it proved to me that there is no other place in the world I’d rather m
ake my own family. Unfortunately, it will need to be without my parents around. Mama’s heart grew tired and stopped beating.”

  “I’m sorry, Christo. She must have been very young.”

  “Not young, but not old. My parents tried for years to have children, and I was a late surprise. Mama was in her mid-forties when she had me, and since I have eight years on Paul, you can do the math. She was in her late seventies when she passed. My dad was ten years older than she was, so he was old when his broken heart said no more. He passed one year after her passing.”

  She covered his hand with hers and squeezed.

  “Thea Vaso lost her battle a few months after my father went. I stepped in to help Kosta when he couldn’t concentrate on the daily activities of the resort. And while Paul and other cousins and family come and visit and are great, in reality my uncle and I have only each other throughout the year. So when it comes to his resort, I get the job done.”

  “You live here with him?”

  “No,” he said, checking his phone. “We have time so I can show you my home and show you why I love this place. Want to go for a quick walk?”

  She glanced at his phone and saw it was five minutes to eight. She leaned her head to the side and looked at him.

  “It’s fine. We don’t need to be at the desk until nine,” he said, making her laugh.

  She stood and dropped her napkin to the table. “Shoes?”

  “Ochi,” he replied, standing beside her. He held out his hand and motioned for her to walk ahead of him. “We’re heading in the opposite direction, on the other side of the cliff. It’s low tide and the water is shallow. Your dress won’t get wet.” He chuckled and then stepped out of her reach, placing his hands before him in a protective stance. “That’s if you hike it up a few inches and piss off the forces above.”

  She tried to land a playful smack, but he caught her wrist in mid-air.

  “It’s going to be fun having you around, koukla. You make me laugh.”

  “Ditto,” she said, then stepped into him and hugged him. “I don’t know the male version of koukla yet.”

  “Ochi, koukla. It doesn’t translate the same,” he said, adamantly shaking his head and hugging her tight. “However, I wasn’t teasing about pissing off the forces above.”

  She looked over his shoulder and up at the terrace. Sure enough, two rigid forms were silhouetted in the sunlight; one with his arms crossed over his chest, the other with his hands in his pockets, and both with legs planted in a combative stance.

  They’d understand and calm down when—

  “No. Not going there,” Bethany said, as the reality of her situation body slammed her. “BFFs have no say in who I spend my time with. Screw them.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose and burst out laughing. He laughed so hard that he released her and placed his hands on his knees and kept laughing.

  “I’m serious,” she said, her cheeks getting hot. “I could offer my naked body to them on a silver platter, but they just want to be friends.”

  “That’s not what I saw last night.”

  “That’s what it is. They have no interest in getting some of this.” She ran her hands down her body for emphasis. “They’re immune.”

  “And you?”

  Only slightly embarrassed, she shrugged. “I’m not dead.”

  “Malakes.”

  She’d heard that word repeatedly; it was very popular, very colorful, and she wasn’t about to ask him to translate the exact meaning of one of the biggest curse words in his language. Jerks, fuckers, assholes, was probably close enough.

  “It doesn’t matter. They can’t handle me anyway.”

  “I’m not convinced,” he said, shaking his head and bending over laughing again. Holding a finger into the air, he caught his breath and grinned. “It would be interesting for sure. So, in the spirit of good fun, my lothario reputation, as Justin put it last night, is at your full disposal. Nothing will make a man, and his man, realize what they want than thinking a big, bad cousin is making moves on the woman of their dreams.”

  She wasn’t the woman of their dreams.

  “I think you have it wrong,” she said.

  “I don’t think so. I know what I saw. My eyes don’t lie.” Christo placed his hands on her shoulder and turned her around. “Come on. Let me show you the beautiful home my parents built, and the gorgeous vineyard I made them sell because I was too young and too stupid to know better. It’s the vineyard I’m going to buy back at the end of the summer. Even if I told them I was never going to be a winemaker.”

  “You’re going to live on the island year-round, permanently?”

  “I am,” he said, nodding and leading her down the beach. “And here is the fair warning I must share with the probable Boss Lady, not my new friend.”

  “Go on,” she urged, strangely comfortable with the man.

  “If you do go ahead with the purchase of Vaso’s Dream, we’ll be neighbors. I won’t be putting in an application for general manager, but I do have someone in mind, someone I’ve been working with to take my place and help my uncle once I start work on the vineyard.”

  “You’re definitely leaving?”

  “I am.”

  Disappointment filled her. Not only was she confident Christo was a good and loyal manager, but she had a feeling he’d be someone she could always lean on.

  “That’s too bad, Christo. You’ve done a great job for Kosta, and I don’t doubt you’d be a great fit with Luxury Homes. I have a feeling I’ll miss working together.”

  He grinned that panty-melting grin and she had no doubt he could get the staff to do his bidding with ease.

  Lallas charm, she thought. They all had it.

  “Now that we’re friends, I will never abandon you if you need me,” Christo said. “I can take care of all the boring stuff for your company the same way I do for my uncle, until you’re set. I’ll do what it takes to keep Vaso’s Dream beautiful. But, Miss Sexy Boss Lady, if it happens, you and I will be neighbors. We’re going to need to work together and get along well so our lives are good.”

  “Duly noted, Mr. Lallas.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “She’s on the beach,” Paul said, looking down at his cousin’s hideaway. “Christo is hugging her and spinning her like a doll.”

  “What?” Justin nudged him out of the way and looked over the railing. He growled, obviously annoyed, and reached for the latch on the gate. “Not liking this.”

  “Neither am I,” Paul said, holding Justin back from opening the gate. “You can’t go down there and force her to stop talking to the general manager of the place she intends to purchase. It may be business.”

  “Bullshit. She’s in his arms. That’s not business.”

  “We’ll be screwed if we show up, and you know it. Want her to shut us out again?” Paul stepped back from the gate and watched the turmoil brewing in Justin’s eyes, but at least he wasn’t storming down to the beach. “Let’s calm down and consider our options.” He fisted his hands and stuffed them in his pockets. “We may not be able tell her who to see or what to do, but I can talk with Christo. We know he’s the love them and leave them type. She’s not for him. He won’t go for her.”

  When Bethany vanished behind the gray of the rocks, Paul stepped back and sat at a table. Justin joined him, his reluctance obvious in the way the veins bulged on his neck. A waitress came over and asked if she could get them anything. He needed a huge amount of control to remain polite and order their coffees. He managed.

  “What if she goes for him?” Justin asked.

  “Fuck me! Don’t say that.” Paul managed until Justin pointed out the obvious. “No fucking way!”

  “Well, it’s possible.” Justin dropped his head into his hands and massaged his scalp. “Your cousin is the island’s infamous womanizer. He’s fucking gorgeous. He snaps his fingers and women line up for a chance to be with him. His bedposts are completely m
arked up and there is no more room for new notches.”

  “I’ll talk to him. Promise,” Paul said.

  “We’re keeping her at a distance to keep her safe. You think Christo is safe?”

  “He’s reasonable. I’ll talk to him,” he repeated. Suddenly aware of the other diners having gone quiet, he told the waitress to make the coffees to go. “We can’t really do this here. I have a lunch meeting with the Luxury rep, Bethany Michaels, not our girl, Bethy, in only a few hours. I need to keep my head on straight. We’ll discuss it in the afternoon. In private.”

  * * *

  Paul instructed the maintenance team to check the showerhead in Villa Calliope for a leak and the main light sensor in Villa Euterpe. He touched his hand to the freshly painted exterior of Villa Clio, and, confirming it was dry, he removed the WET PAINT sign. Taking advantage of the early departure of a group of guests from Denmark, he’d spent three hours whitewashing two of the smaller villas they’d vacated.

  His nose was sunburned and his shoulders ached, but the work had allowed him to focus on something other than Bethany.

  That’s a lie.

  He’d thought about her non-stop; every damn minute he’d been painting the villas he was thinking of her. And if he kept replaying his earlier thoughts, he didn’t stand a chance of making it through the so-called tour.

  He entwined his fingers and stretched his arms ahead of him until he felt the pressure in his back release, deciding to be angry with his cousin instead. The shithead had designs on a woman he shouldn’t ever consider. If she had her way, she could be his boss one day soon. Then what would the suave Christo do? Bang her to keep the job?

  Paul immediately regretted the absurd and rude thoughts about his older cousin. Over his pity party, he knew he had to get Christo alone and settle the issue of a Bethany fling. She wasn’t fling material, and in spite of his reputation, Christo wasn’t an ass and would never take advantage of a woman.

  Feeling a little optimistic, he stepped beneath the shade of a pink bougainvillea tree, with flowers Justin said looked like a breath of fresh air, and opened the app to send him a video message. He tapped on Justin’s name and hit record.