by Lily Harlem
A wave of panic went through me. He had actually refused to move and let me leave.
“I like you,” he said, “and I can tell you like me. Maybe we do some little jiggy, jiggy together later.” He rested his hand on my arm and squeezed. “I show you a good time.”
“I think not,” I said firmly and pulled from his touch. “I—”
The sound of chair legs scraping on the floor and the bang of my unwelcome visitor’s body slamming into brickwork echoed around the bar.
I looked up.
Sullivan loomed next to the table. He had Juan pinned against the wall—one hand gripping his right arm, the other around his neck.
“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Sullivan shouted.
“Get…off,” Juan gasped, wriggling.
“You gotta be kidding me, asshole.” Sullivan pushed into him harder, the muscles of his naked upper torso tensing and swelling.
Juan grunted and tried to shove at Sullivan.
I grabbed my wobbling wine glass, stood, then stepped farther into the corner, away from their grappling bodies. My heart was thumping wildly and my mouth was dry.
The other men in the bar had turned to witness the spectacle.
“I asked you what the hell you’re doing,” Sullivan said harshly. “Tell me.”
“What is it…to you?” Juan said, grabbing Sullivan’s forearm with his free hand and attempting to remove the grip on his neck.
Sullivan didn’t move his arm. Instead, he rammed his knee against Juan’s thigh and clamped him even harder against the wall.
Juan gritted his teeth and anger shone in his eyes. “Get…off…me.”
“I’ll let you go if you’re going to get outta here.” Sullivan’s biceps bulged. He was bigger than Juan, and his flawless skin shone, even in the shadows, with a slight film of sweat.
“No… Argh!” Juan went silent.
Sullivan appeared to have cut off Juan’s oxygen supply.
“Sullivan,” I said. “Please, stop.” I didn’t like Juan, but I didn’t want to be the cause of a murder.
“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, asshole,” Sullivan said, slowly, calmly, like he had all the time in the world. “You’re going to walk outta here, far away, and I’m never going to see you again.”
Juan had both of his hands clamped around Sullivan’s thick wrist. He appeared to be tugging but with no effect. He nodded, slightly. His cheeks were reddening, and his eyes were so wide I could see all the whites.
“Good,” Sullivan went on, “because if I do see you again, that beer of yours will be down your throat, and it will still be in the goddamn bottle as I ram it past your tonsils. You hear me?”
Juan nodded again, as best he could around Sullivan’s death grip.
Suddenly, Sullivan stepped backward, nudging the table out of the way and putting himself between me and Juan.
Juan fell forward, latched his hands around his throat and dragged in a deep breath.
Sullivan was also breathing fast. I could make out his ribs expanding and contracting beneath his skin. His swim shorts had ridden down, exposing the small dimples in his lower back and the first hint of his buttocks where the skin was paler.
“What is happening?” The barman rushed over, hands up, fingers spread wide. “No fight here.”
“It’s okay,” Sullivan said. “Your troublemaker is leaving.”
“Good,” the barman glanced at me. “What happened?”
“He is crazy American,” Juan said, edging away toward the men playing cards.
“I only get crazy if you hit on my woman,” Sullivan said.
His woman?
Juan glanced at me, then at Sullivan. Did he find it hard to believe this gorgeous, young man liked me? That I was his woman? Of course he did. It was ridiculous.
Juan frowned, stumbled slightly, righted himself using the back of a chair, then headed out of the bar.
I watched his figure pass by the opposite side of the small window. He was walking at a good pace.
Thank goodness.
He’d gone.
“Are you okay?” Sullivan turned to me.
“Yes.” I set down my wine. Was I okay? Yes. No. Damn, I wasn’t sure. That had been horrible. Every bit of it. Scary, humiliating, intense.
“Your woman,” I managed. Out of everything that was going through my head, that was the bit that had stuck.
“Yes,” Sullivan said, with a note that defied me to argue the point. “Now come on, we’re outta here.” He reached down and grabbed my bag. “This way.”
I didn’t dispute being his. Not that it was true. I just didn’t want to stay in the black bowels of the bar for another moment. Even with Sullivan there, it felt oppressive and seedy.
Sidestepping the table, I grabbed my purse and nodded at the barman. “I’m very sorry,” I said.
“It is okay, lady,” he said with a concerned expression. “You okay with him? With this man?” He nodded at Sullivan.
“Yes, I’ll be—”
“She’ll be fine,” Sullivan said, placing his hand on the small of my back and urging me forward. “I’ll look after her.”
I passed the other patrons, aware with each step I took that Sullivan’s big presence was behind me. I could feel the heat of his body, hear his breaths, and where he was touching me, at the base of my spine, my skin tingled with awareness.
I walked quickly and was pleased to get outside, though I couldn’t help scanning the area, worrying that Juan might be still lurking about.
“It’s okay,” Sullivan said, coming to a halt next to me, his chest brushing my upper arm. “He won’t be back.”
“You must think I’m pathetic,” I said with a huff, feeling braver now that I was in the broad light of day with people around—couples, families, all eating and being normal.
“No. Why would I think that?”
“Well, you know. Having to get rescued.”
“I’m sure you’d have handled it yourself fine if you’d had to, and it wasn’t like there wasn’t anyone else in there.”
“I know, but you had to come in and rescue me like I was some damsel in distress. Like I said, pathetic.”
“That is the last word I’d ever use to describe you, Kay. And hell, what kind of man would I be if I let some creep put his filthy hands on you?”
“I know, but—”
“There are no buts about it. He was the one in the wrong, not you, and now he’s gone. So don’t worry about it.” His expression went from firm and sure to soft and kind. He smiled. “Come on. Let’s go get a drink together. No strings attached.”
“Well…?” I hesitated and looked at his stubble-speckled jawline and the way the bristles ran downward, over his Adam’s apple. “Okay, but no strings.”
His smile broadened. “Great. There’s a nice place just up the hill. Great views, no weirdos. I’ll just stow this bag on Dolly Bird first. Wait right here.”
He lifted his touch from my back, and I realized I’d become used to it in just a matter of seconds. That patch of skin felt cool now that he’d gone, despite the warm temperature.
As he strode to the Beneteau, the sun shone down on him, bouncing off his shoulders and catching in the overlong strands of his mussed up hair. He appeared perfectly in control and calm. No one would guess that he’d just pinned a man by his throat against a wall.
I’d been glad to see him. No doubt about that. He might be young, but he was big and strong and could clearly handle himself.
Within minutes, he was back at my side, smiling, with his shades in place and a slightly faded, red Reebok T-shirt pulled over his torso.
“You all set?” he asked.
“Yes, I suppose so.” I secured my handbag over my shoulder. Going for a drink with Sullivan hadn’t exactly been part of my plan when I’d seen how young he was, but it appeared that was what was happening now. But it was just a drink, nothing more. Maybe he’d have an idea about flight times and where I could get Internet
connection to book my passage home.
We walked up a long, sloping lane past a few tourist shops displaying postcards, honeypots, brightly painted crockery, and imitation Greek artifacts. Sullivan’s flip-flop sandals clacked off his heels. Thomas had never worn them. He couldn’t stand the feel of something between his toes, so he’d said. But Sullivan was clearly perfectly comfortable in the footwear he’d put on.
“It’s just there. Look,” he said, pointing to the top of the road. “Told you it wasn’t too far.”
“It looks nice.” As we drew closer, I studied the small balcony area. It was shaded by a large red sheet that basked the tables and chairs in a scarlet hue, and a dozen or so containers set about held vivid orange flowers that small, adoring bees buzzed around.
“You grab a seat. I’ll go order some wine,” he said, gesturing to a free table at the far end.
I didn’t answer. Instead, I made my way to the table and sat on a white plastic chair.
My breath caught. The views were stunning. I could see beyond the harbor to an island in the distance. It rose from the sea, all gnarled and huge. I could make out greenery on it, a few trees, and a road winding from left to right.
I wished I had Internet connection so I could find out what it was called and its history.
A wave of sadness washed over me. Had I been staying, that’s exactly the sort of thing I’d have been doing. Learning about the islands in the Ionian Sea, exploring, sailing, having fun and doing new things. It was meant to be a new beginning. Finding myself, trying Sullivan on for size, a fresh relationship, a different way to be, excitement, adventure. Getting out of my comfort zone.
But not now.
Now I just needed to go home.
There was no new me.
There was no me and Sullivan.
Comfort zone, where are you?
Sullivan appeared holding a bottle of wine and two glasses.
“Here,” he said, placing them all down on the table. “I thought a bottle was called for.”
I pointed out to sea. “This is beautiful.”
“Yes, I thought you’d like it. I’d always planned on bringing you up here to recover from your journey.”
“You had?”
“Yes.”
“That was very thoughtful.”
He shrugged. “I’m a thoughtful guy.” He paused and looked at me. “But you know that.”
I did know that. He was incredibly thoughtful, and sensitive and caring. The list of adjectives to describe him was long, and now I could add to it brave, determined, protective and also very young.
Remaining silent, I watched him pour us each a glass of wine. He then sat, not opposite me, but next to me, so that he, too, could see the view.
“Cheers,” he said, tipping the rim of his glass to mine. “It’s not quite how I imagined this would go, but at least you’re still here.”
I managed a small smile and sipped my cold wine. It tasted much nicer out here with this view, the salty breeze and Sullivan’s subtle cologne swirling in my nose.
What am I doing?
I couldn’t appreciate his cologne, he wasn’t right for me. End of.
“That’s Ithaca,” he said, using his glass to gesture out to sea. “Beautiful place, smaller than Cephalonia.”
“Is it? Looks quite big.”
“No, about a quarter of the size. It doesn’t take long to sail to.”
“Is the harbor on this side?” I tried to find a clump of buildings that could be a port but couldn’t see anything. Perhaps it was just too far away.
“No, the port is east-facing. You have to go as far as a hill that has three lighthouses on it and then head inland. Sheltered little place. I was happy for it in a storm once.”
“I guess that’s the saying, isn’t it? Any port in a storm.”
He laughed, a deep rumble of a sound. “Yeah, you’re not wrong there.”
I looked from Ithaca to him and saw my reflection in his dark shades. My hair had lost the battle of staying sleek and shiny throughout a day of traveling, and the breeze had gotten hold of it, puffing it up slightly. Any remnants of makeup appeared to have evaporated, and the small collar on my silky blouse looked twee and out of place compared to Sullivan’s chilled-out, beach bum appearance.
I turned away, touched my hair and rolled my lips in onto themselves.
If only things had been different. The chilled-out look and easy-going vibe he projected would have suited me very well. For a moment, I wished I wasn’t so old, then I took a sip of wine, looked out to sea and berated myself. I was content with my age, comfortable with the person I was and the body I was in. What I should really be wishing was that Sullivan had another ten years on him. That way, this could have worked.
Chapter Four
“You see, it’s like this,” Sullivan said as he moved several small bowls we’d eaten snacks out of around the table. “Ithaca is there.” He pointed out to sea then at an olive plate. “Levkas is up here.” He tapped the top of an oil decanter. “And the mainland is here, that’s the bread board.”
“Ah, I see.” It was making sense now. He’d been telling me about his circular trip on his last visit to the islands, but I’d been struggling to work out the geography. I drained the last of my wine. “And where did you see the leatherback turtle?”
“Here, off the southeast coast of Levkas. It just swam right on up to me, ducked under the boat and then went on its way. I don’t think it was interested in me, it was simply going somewhere.”
“To lay its eggs, maybe.”
“Perhaps.” Sullivan smiled at me then nodded into the distance. “We’re losing Ithaca now, the sunlight is almost gone.”
I studied the looming silhouette that rose from the sea. “I suppose I really should find myself some place to stay.” I’d been caught up in our conversations, learning about Greece and enjoying sampling little Greek tapas dishes. I’d forgotten to organize myself somewhere to sleep.
“Kay.” Sullivan leaned forward. He put his hand on the table, right next to mine, so that our little fingers were only a hair’s breadth apart. “Please, stay on the boat.”
I shook my head. “It really wouldn’t feel right.”
“I understand that you’re shocked by my age, and that’s my fault. I accept the responsibility.”
“You do?” He’d surprised me there.
“Yes.” He placed his hand over mine. “And I’m sorry. Really sorry.”
I stared at the table. His big wrist covered my forearm, and the bracelets tickled my skin.
“I’m glad you’ve apologized,” I said.
The heat from his wide palm engulfed my knuckles, and the weight of his fingers on mine was heavy and solid.
“And do you accept it?”
“It would be rude of me not to.”
He chuckled. “Oh, that is so very British of you.”
I shrugged and looked at him. He’d shoved his shades up to the top of his head again, sweeping his hair backward as though he was wearing a hairband. But far from feminine, he just looked all the more adorable. He was what my friends and I would describe as hunky, fit, a great catch for a roll in the sack—when we’d been younger, that was.
“I might have accepted your apology,” I said, irritated at myself for thinking of him as hunky when there was never going to be anything between us. “But that doesn’t mean to say I’m not still angry. Apart from anything else, you’ve ruined my holiday.” I pulled my hand from under his and curled my fingers into a fist below the table. “And I haven’t had one for years, as you well know.”
He left his hand there, fingers spread, as though hoping I might slide mine back under it.
“That doesn’t have to be the case,” he said. “We can still have a vacation together.” He pressed his lips into a straight line. That little muscle in his cheek flexed again, and I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “As friends,” he said stiffly. “If that’s all you want now.”
“O
h, Sullivan. It’s not what I want, no, but it’s all there can be. I’m nearly old enough to be your mother.”
“Don’t talk crazy. Who has kids at fourteen?” He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. The bracelets bunched upward, and his T-shirt sleeves strained around his biceps.
“Okay.” I sat back and sighed. I had to concede to him that had been a weak argument. “But still, even if we were serious, in the way that we said we were—”
“And still can be.”
“No, don’t you see? It won’t work. I’m forty-two and I don’t have children. I’ve decided not to. It’s not something I’ve ever felt—maternal, that is. And I know I won’t regret that decision later in my life.”
“I don’t want kids, either. I told you that.”
“And when I thought we were the same age, that was fine, but for heaven’s sake, you’re so young and you don’t know what you want. You’ll likely wake up one day next month, next year, or the year after and be desperate to be a daddy, and I can’t give you that.”
“I won’t. I promise you I won’t, and I can assure you I know exactly what I want, Kay.”
“But how do you know?” I couldn’t be convinced. I’d been witness to too many people being struck by broodiness. I could almost hear Brenda using it as her first argument for me not having a serious relationship with Sullivan.
“Because I do,” he said. “I’ve seen plenty of my friends have children. First one, then two, three, four kids, and the whole thing just doesn’t appeal to me. I’m a free spirit. I like seeing the world, working hard and playing hard.” He uncrossed his arms and leaned closer to me. “And I’d rather have you. You’re so special to me. You’re all I need. Kids would only take up time that I could be spending with you.”
I shook my head and sighed. “I wish I could believe you.”
“You can.” He reached out and took my face in his hands. “Please,” he whispered. “Believe me.”
Twilight had both etched his features in shadows and highlighted his cheekbones. He was so handsome, beautiful in fact.
“No,” I whispered, regret tugging at my heartstrings.