by Cat Porter
“Adri—” He covered my hand with his warm one, and my head shot up at his touch, at the sudden soft tone of his voice.
“I’m glad you’re here with me, Turo.”
He took my hand between both of his. “You’re cold.” He laid a kiss on my open palm. A gentle swipe of warmth which left behind a current of heat on my flesh. His thumb rubbed over the spot. “Only the truth, I promise.”
“Thank you.” I took my hand back. I pulled my legs up again and stared out at the sea.
“Greeks must take this weather, these views for granted, right?” Turo brushed a wisp of my long hair to the side, tugging on it. “How can you be moody on such a beautiful day?” His playful, ironical tone was back.
“I’m in mourning for my life,” I replied.
“Oh, it’s too early for Chekhov, Adri.”
My head knocked back and laughter ripped from my chest. He laughed with me, and I liked it. “Ach, Turo, you’re the only one who’s ever understood that line.” I clapped a hand on his leg.
His grin broadened, his taut thigh muscle tensing under my touch.
My phone pinged, and I checked the screen. Mamá. “Good morning, Mum.”
“Adriana.” Whenever she used my full name, it was either for a formal social introduction or because she was terribly irritated. “I heard about a shooting on the news. You were there last night, weren’t you? Why didn’t you say anything? I knew something was off.”
“We were there, yes, but we were already in the car leaving when it happened. There was so much confusion.”
“Is your security with you?”
I knew her anxiousness for my safety would never die. Better she speak directly with the source. I handed the phone to Turo, and he took it, an eyebrow raised.
“Good morning, Mrs. Lavrentiou.” His gaze remained on me as they spoke, his tone professional, calm. I squirmed in my seat. An utter turn on. Something must be wrong with me, a man who spoke with my mother while his eyes lasered over me and my body coiled in heat.
This unusual state of intense arousal had not subsided over the past twenty-four hours. More arousal than I’d felt over the past two years combined, and all because of Mr. Turo DeFuckingMarco.
He handed me back my phone with a lift of his chin. All taken care of.
“Mum, I’d best go. I’ve got a thousand things to do before the party,” I told her.
“Are you sleeping with him?”
“What? With who?”
“Mr. DeMarco?”
“No, Mother.”
She paused. Using the term “Mother” in English always made an impression on her. It was sharp, a warning she was treading into shaky territory. “I’m asking—” she continued, “—because it makes for confusion between a security man and yourself. You want him alert and focused on the environment, not dreamy-eyed over you.”
Turo, dreamy eyed? I suppressed the laugh rising in my throat. “This concern is coming from experience?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I always loved my mother’s honesty. She was blunt, but that characterised her love for me and my brother, uncompromising and fierce. Unconditional.
“Don’t worry, I’m saving that for when we get back to Athens,” I replied, my gaze darting to Turo.
“Entáxi.” I could practically hear her grin at my flippant reply over the phone. Snark was always appreciated between the two of us.
And it was snark because we both knew I wasn’t the wild and crazy type of girl that my mother had been, that my friends were. I’d once had an active social life—parties, clubs, restaurants, bars, holidays. But not anymore, not since then. And from the very first, I’d never tumbled easily into men’s beds. I’d only slept with three men, not the twenty or thirty most of my girlfriends had.
My mother liked Alessio, but she wasn’t a fan of his family’s business, so our relationship did not get her official stamp of approval. She put up with it though. She knew what it was to sow your wild oats; she’d been a wild girl in her day. Everyone expected me to be the same, but I’d disappointed them.
Well, not completely.
“Have a good party, darling,” Mum said. “And let Mr. DeMarco do his job.”
“Oh, I will.” I slid my phone back on the table.
“She’s worried about you,” Turo said.
“She’s a mum. Isn’t that what they do? Doesn’t your mum worry about you?”
He took in a deep breath and shifted his gaze out to sea. “In her own way.”
“Have I said something wrong?”
He turned back to me. “No, why?”
“You got a bit moody there. Like me.”
His shoulders visibly relaxed, and he reached for his espresso. “What’s really upsetting you, other than getting shot at? I know last night was frightening for you, of course it was, but you’re much too young and gorgeous a girl to be mourning anything. Your life has just begun.”
“Why are you talking like an old man? You’re not that much older than I am.”
“How old are you?”
I signaled for another cappuccino. “Twenty-three. You?”
“Thirty-three.”
“Hmm.” I’d been right.
“At your age—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t you dare,” I cut him off.
“At your age,” he continued, “I felt I had the whole world in the palm of my hands. It was a joke though, I came to realize.”
My cappuccino arrived. “Grazie.” I stirred in a spoonful of sugar. “Turo, you’re too late. I already made that mistake and learned my lesson two years ago.” My eyes pricked, and I swallowed my fresh coffee. My tongue blazed with the hot brew. “Last night was another reminder that I can’t hold on to anything.”
“You held on to me.” His voice was low, intimate, but not in a tender way, and my stomach knotted, heat flaring through my system.
“Yes, I did.”
“And I’m still here.”
“Yes.”
“And you got me out of there,” he said.
“Luca did that.”
“Because you insisted.”
My ringtone went off, slicing through the magnetic pull of our words, the hypnotic lure of him. I glanced at my phone.
Him again.
Third time this morning. I still didn’t want to listen to his concern and lame sentiments. And his incessant phone calls were pointing to what I suspected, weren’t they? No, I didn’t want to believe it could be true. I didn’t want to hear it, not now, not yet. I hit the ignore button and flipped my phone over.
The boat thwomped on the water, making us sway back and forth with the movement. The wind was relentless, the sea had turned choppy.
“Bongiorno.” Alessio and Luca sat down at the table.
“Good morning,” said Turo.
The Aliberti brothers gave their order to the steward, and their espressos arrived quickly along with an ashtray. Another steward brought cornettos and sfogliatelle—the Italian versions of a croissant—colorful sliced fruit artistically arranged on a huge white platter. Alessio munched on a cornetto, Luca on an apricot, Turo a few strawberries.
Alessio piled a dish with fruit and slid it toward me, his eyes boring into mine. Always watching out for me. I took a slice of melon and nibbled on it as he lit a cigarette.
“We have about five more hours to Mykonos,” said Alessio, stacking his lighter on top of his pack of cigarettes. “What would you like to do today on the island, cara?”
“We both have a lot to do,” I said. “You have to check in at the store and the beach club. I need to talk with—”
“Yes, but still, I want you to have a good day today. You need it. How about lunch at Nobu, and then—”
“Alessio, wherever we go there will be lots of people and photographers, and I don’t think I can do crowds right now, especially not paparazzi. Not right now. I don’t want you worrying about me when you have so much to deal with today. Please. I’d prefer to stay
on the boat. I’ll be calling and texting everyone from here.”
His head jerked back. “You are coming to the party, aren’t you? You set up the whole thing. You—I need you.”
“Of course I’ll be there. This is a very important night for both of us. I just need some time before the event starts.”
“Okay,” he said, his eyes darting to Turo. “Whatever you wish.” Alessio swung me into his lap, pulling me close.
“Grazie.” I stroked his tattooed arm. “I’ll be at the party a few hours before it starts.”
“Don’t worry, bro, I’ll hold your hand today,” said Luca on a lazy laugh, diffusing the tension. Alessio only scowled at his brother and planted a quick kiss on my cheek.
Turo visibly stiffened. He eyed the waiter who stood like an obedient soldier at the edge of the deck, and the man scurried over. I imagined Turo had that effect on a great many people. Even though those eyes of his were now shielded by sunglasses, his glare was powerful, the set of his jaw sharp, the tightening of those sculpted lips adding to his sudden fierceness.
“Sir?”
“Another espresso,” Turo said. “Make it a double.”
Mykonos
16
Turo
Psarou Beach was insane.
We were anchored in the cove facing the shoreline where the party would be held tonight at a beach club. On the shore, tall straw umbrellas and loungers stretched back onto the beige sand, row after row after row. Frankly, I couldn’t see much of that sand.
The party Alessio was throwing tonight at the Delfini Beach Club to promote his new collection was meant to kick off the summer season, but this place was already crowded with swimmers and cocktail drinkers, and quite a number of yachts, large and small, were moored all around us. What must this place be like at the height of the summer season?
“Look at that monstrosity, tsk,” Gennaro said, his sharp gaze chewing on a massive beast of white metal anchored farther out from us. “Those Russians…”
“You don’t like Evgeny’s new yacht, Zio Genni?” Alessio asked.
Gennaro made a hissing sound. “No taste at all. Only look at me and how big my cock is.”
Alessio let out a dry laugh and muttered something under his breath as he scanned the huge ship with masts as tall as any city skyscraper.
Gennaro turned to me. “Alessio designed this boat for his father,” he said, tapping his fingers on the table. “It’s all about discretion. The Allegra’s dark color reflects the sea. It does not show itself off from hundreds of miles away like—” he slanted his head toward the Russian giant, his hand swiping the air “—that monstrosity.”
“These new Russian billionaires want to be noticed,” Luca said. “Ev is enjoying himself.”
“Yes, he likes to enjoy himself,” muttered Gennaro.
“He’s here with his daughter,” Alessio said. “She’ll be at my party.”
Luca stretched out in his chair. “Which one?”
“Which one haven’t you screwed yet?” Alessio shot back.
Luca smirked. “I don’t remember.”
“Behave tonight,” Alessio said.
“I’ll try my best.” Luca headed for the stairs at the stern to board the launch that waited for them. Gennaro and Miguel, his bodyguard, followed.
Alessio took Adriana’s hand and kissed her once on each cheek. “Join us by five o’clock, okay?”
“Five o’clock,” she repeated.
Alessio lifted his chin at me and joined his family on the launch. They zoomed away on the water, heading for the beach club.
Ciao.
Standing at the railing, Adriana and I watched them until the launch docked at the shore. We turned to each other. My pulse thrummed, and it wasn’t from the hot sun or the double espressos. The two of us. Alone.
“So,” she said.
“So,” I said.
She giggled, a throaty sort of laugh that only cranked up the tension in my muscles. Especially one particular muscle. I needed an outlet or I was going to do something I might regret.
“Is there a gym on this yacht?” I asked.
“Yes, small but fully equipped. Do you have gear with you or do you need—”
“I’m good. Show me the way?”
“I was going to head there too. Nothing like cardio to clear the head and refresh the body.”
“Oh, I agree.”
“There’s a jacuzzi on the top deck we can go to right after if you like.”
“Perfect.”
Adriana and I hit the Allegra’s gym. Her on a spin bike, and me pounding it out on the treadmill. She’d turned on music from the built in stereo system and wasn’t chatty but remained focused on her workout, like me. She finished before I did and got two sports drinks from the mini fridge. Our eyes met as she opened one and popped it into the drink clip of the treadmill for me.
“Thank you,” I mouthed, and she grinned.
She stretched out her sweaty body on a mat, and I kept my eyes pinned out the window to the sea, as ideas on how to make her even more sweaty rioted through my mind.
Dionysus, you fucker.
We both finished and went back to our cabins, changed into swimsuits, and headed for the top sundeck. A jacuzzi was frothing in invitation, a number of padded lounge chairs stretched out over the beechwood decking. Our very own private beach club.
Adriana slid into the jacuzzi. “Perfect,” she purred, her head falling back, her face bathed in sunlight.
“Certainly is.” I got into the warm water next to her.
She was perfect. Her long, wet throat glistened in the sun, and all I wanted to do was lick that slick skin down to her full round breasts that now seemed to float in the bubbling water from within that pink bikini top. Watching her body work in the gym was enticing on one level, but this was enticing on a whole other. A prolonged feast for the eyes, the imagination.
I adjusted my sunglasses. “I’m really appreciating the…sudden quiet.”
She glanced at me, squinting, a grin on her lips. “Yes, me too.”
We stayed in the warm water another ten minutes then lazed on the loungers side by side. She took off her top and stretched out in the sun, her long, curvy body, slick and shiny from her spray of sunscreen oil.
Motherfuck.
I took in every line of her. Better than I’d imagined while kissing her the night before. In the bright light of day, my fantasy had been made reality—curvy hips, tight ass, long legs, those full tits. She turned over on her stomach.
My phone pinged. I blinked at the screen in the glare of the sun. Jesus. Two texts from Francesca.
Francesca: Turo! Sorry about Dad. He’s such a bulldog
A bulldog? She had no fucking clue. Mauro was a bull with two swords stuck in his neck on a good day. When the going got tough, he bucked, roared, trampling anyone in his way. Stubborn, intractable to the very end. An end of his own making.
Francesca: I’ll be at Crawfish tonight at 11. Let me make it up to U with a drink?
Crawfish. One of my and my mother’s successes from my era with the company. A New Orleans style bar restaurant featuring craft beers from all over the country with a performance area for Zydeco artists. Crawfish had been my brainchild, my baby. And, obviously, it was still a hot spot.
That tight thread of concern for my mother that I hadn’t been able to let go of since I saw her the other day ticked against my chest. I should check in with her.
I deleted the texts.
My gaze fell on Adri’s relaxed body next to mine, and I let out a heavy breath. The desire to lose myself in her curves gripped me by the balls. My muscles tensed, and I tore my eyes away from her hot little body.
I needed to make sure that Gennaro was going to play ball with Mauro, and then I should be getting back to Chicago, shouldn’t I? Should. Should. Fucking should.
“Bad news?” Adriana’s eyes squinted at me.
“An interruption.” I shut down my phone.
She turn
ed over, her nipples hard and begging to be bitten. “Work or pleasure?” she asked putting on her sunglasses, her masked gaze directed at me.
I tossed my phone to the edge of the towel. “Right now, Miss Lavrentiou, you’re my one and only work and pleasure.”
“Lucky me.”
“You are. Very lucky.”
“Women must fawn all over you.”
“They do, honey.”
She laughed.
My hand itched to cup the round fullness of her breasts, to knead their soft firmness. I wanted to see her face morph with pleasure and shock at what I’d do to those ripe tits.
I cleared my throat. “I don’t think I can have a conversation with you two inches away from me in a state of near nakedness.”
She grabbed her bikini top and fastened it over herself as I watched. “Better?” she asked.
“Such a shame.” I let out a lazy laugh, silently urging my cock to settle down.
“Was the text from a woman?” she asked, taking a sip of her iced coffee.
“Yes.”
“Your lover?”
“She wishes.”
“But you don’t?”
“Absolutely not.”
Her eyebrows popped up at my swift, sure reply. “You’re already involved with someone, is that it?”
“With you.”
“No, Turo, in America.”
“Broke it off just before I came here.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“You don’t have to be. It had gone on too long.”
“You didn’t love her?”
“No. I also didn’t care enough, and not the way she wanted me to.”
Her lips tipped up. “Well, aren’t you in demand?”
I leaned over and brushed her upper arm with my lips, and she shivered. I grinned at her, enjoying her reaction. “Women see a certain thing in me they want and try to get it.” My tongue traced a circle on her shoulder. “I offer things in return.”
She eyed me. “You’ve designed that very well.”
“Designed?”