by Cat Porter
“How do I make you feel?”
“Naked.” She let out a nervous laugh. “Spellbound to you, to something I’ve never known before. Yet at the same time utterly clear-headed. I can’t explain it in words. I even touched myself thinking of you.”
Fuck yes. “When?”
“On the boat before we left for the party.”
A noise rumbled in my throat. “Did you come?”
She nodded. “A little.”
“A little?”
“I stopped it.”
Hell no. She needed to be coming and screaming and writhing with the force of it. The force of me.
I tugged on her hair. “You wanted me to kiss you that night in Athens. You made that happen. Why? Because you thought you’d never see the tourist from America again?”
“That’s right. A risk without consequence.”
I lifted her chin. “I’m your consequence, baby.” I licked the seam of her mouth and she let out a moan. “Do you like my kisses?” I breathed against her lips.
Her eyes flared. “I love your kisses.”
“How do I kiss you?”
“Like you want all of me right the hell now. Like we don’t have tomorrow.”
“On this island, there is no tomorrow, only now.”
Since those hours on Evgeny’s boat, the adrenaline constantly outraced the blood in my veins, but my blood just caught up. Heat filled me, driving through me; a euphoric calm. I brought her in front of my body, my arms circling her, and pressed her back against my chest.
“The night of the shooting, when we spent the night on the boat—” I nuzzled her neck and she shuddered in my hold. “Did you and Alessio fuck?” The evil me wanted to know.
“No, I took half a sleeping pill and slept.”
My fingers lazed a trail around a breast, around a nipple which was already hard as a pebble. My lips skimmed her throat, a finger following down the warm slope and back up again, tracing her lips. “You want me to kiss you now?”
“Yes…”
She slanted her head to mine, and my teeth nipped at the delicate skin at the base of her neck. She shivered again, and I pulled her closer. Adri was a wine spiced with passion, laced with vulnerability and a very slight hit of shy, and I breathed in that aroma, tasted that full-bodied richness. It mesmerized me, filling my senses with delicious possibilities.
When I’d first laid eyes on her, I’d assumed she was the jaded, wealthy Euro party girl, an easy pick, a fun diversion. She wasn’t that, she was so much more. An unexpected other. I wanted her more than anything or anyone I’d ever wanted before.
She’d stopped time by bringing us here, and Andros had enclosed us in its veil. Had stopped the clanging of swords in my head, the poff of gunpowder, the rip of that violin, that horrible cheering of a greedy, bored mob intent on blood.
I’d been inside that fear, I’d ridden it, and it had stripped me, stripped pieces of me I’d always taken for granted, had cultivated. But here, now, right now with Adriana, that fell away, didn’t gnaw on me, drain me. It was me and her on this rock. That was it, and that was all that mattered.
“Go farther with me, Adri,” I whispered, my voice rough. “For however long we have.”
“You are willing to get uncomfortable with me?” she breathed.
“Yes.”
She turned in my arms and our eyes met. We held on to each other on that cliff in a rich silence, the seagulls cawing and dipping over the choppy Aegean. She took my fingers and put them in her mouth and sucked on them.
My fucking heart stopped.
She brought my hand down between her legs, inside her shorts, past her panties. My fingertips grazed wet.
I let out a groan. “Are you sure?”
“Touch me.”
“Don’t fake with me. Don’t. I’ll know.”
“I want this with you,” she breathed. “I want you. For real.”
Her breathing got heavier, her eyes darker. Heat spiraled in my chest.
“Say it, say it again, dammit.”
She took in a breath on a hiss. “I want you.”
“Again.”
“I wa—”
I claimed her lips, my pulse spiked as my fingers dove in her hot silk, claiming her.
Her hips rocked into my touch. I touched her secret hollows, and her molten eyes burned into mine; we met in that sliver between raw truth and madness. A fever rose inside me, and I wanted more of it. Craved it. Her cries echoed in the stone ruins around us. Clutching my arms, she ground into my hand, her low moans stirring a foreign ache inside me. I would give her whatever she needed. And she needed. Oh, she needed.
“Yes,” I whispered against her skin. Her jaw slackened, her eyes gleamed and their fierce light heated my skin. “Stay with me, baby. Feel it. Take it as it comes at you. A wave in the sea, a turn in the road.” I nipped at the delicate skin under her jaw. “Take it.”
She trembled in my hold, inside and out, and with a sharp cry and eyes clenching shut, she burst on my fingers, my face buried in her warm throat. My Aphrodite had come, had danced in the rhythms of the pleasure I’d composed for her, and she soared in my arms and took me with her. I had given that to her, given it back to her. She’d tasted the wine again after so long.
My wine.
We held each other, my heart careening wildly in my chest.
I wanted to drink more wine from her.
My hand cupped her pulsing wet pussy. Claiming, treasuring. Owning it. Yes, this pussy was mine now, this glorious body. Adri.
She took my mouth, and we sealed that pact.
That morning on that rocky bluff, high above ancient blue waters, in the stony ruins of conquerors’ ambitions and pirates’ bloodlust, we held each other, breathing in the salty sweet sea air, and listened to our hearts whisper of what had been, and hum with what could be.
32
Turo
As promised, Adri made us Greek coffee once we got back to the house. “You like it?” she asked, sipping from her small cup as she sat down with me at the kitchen table.
“Hmm.” I took another long sip of the sweet coffee and held her gaze, my tongue swiping at my lip from a trace of the thick crema.
“Mind you, don’t drink it to the very end. The coffee settles at the bottom of the cup into a mud,” she said.
Her blue gray eyes were filled with a tense kind of vulnerability. The knowledge of our intimacy, my touch on her, her sharing that part of herself with me—that part she hadn’t shared in so long with anyone. She didn’t seem embarrassed or awkward, but pleased.
That unabashed look in those eyes told me something else. Those eyes lingered on me, swimming with warmth and fascination, and I’d put that there. Heat circled through my chest and it had nothing to do with the hot coffee I was drinking. This was intimacy, wasn’t it? Delicate and intense, shared, private.
I wanted more.
“What’s the plan for today?” I asked.
“Beach.”
“Ah.” I took another sip. “And maybe after…beach?”
“Yes, good idea.” Her lips formed that sexy grin. “And then we could…beach.”
We finished our coffee, changed, and stopped at a bakery for sesame seeded goodies and bottles of water to bring with us. My eyes moved around the small store, the open doorway as she placed our order. A man in jeans and a brown leather jacket stood across the street smoking and watching the bakery. His gaze suddenly shifted down the road. I’d noticed him earlier a few blocks from the house.
“We’re going to hire a boat to take us to a remote beach just north of Chóra,” Adri said as we left the bakery.
Áxla, she told me, was probably the finest beach on the island and not too far away. Driving there was next to impossible as the dirt road that led there was even more insane than the road to Vitáli. Fantastic.
We got on board the small boat which would take us to the beach. I turned to watch the harbor receding from view. And there was that man in the brown lea
ther jacket on his phone, turning his back to the sea.
“This way you get to see the island by water, Turo,” Adri’s excited voice brought my attention to the rocky shoreline, the hidden coves as the fishing boat cut through the dark blue water. Truly spectacular raw beauty. Luckily, only two other couples were on opposite ends of the beach when we arrived by our hired water taxi. This was a remote location. If that man was following us, tracking us, there’d be no way he’d come here without it being obvious. My pulse ticked. For the time being we were good. For now.
The small, smooth pebbles on Áxla’s shore shone in the sun, creating a blanket of unbelievable glimmering pale gold beach. As we neared the shore, the crystal clear, aqua water took my breath away all over again. I’d never tire of the sight of it, I knew. Here, there were no loungers with thatched umbrellas, no café bar filling iced frappé orders. Just a sweep of clean shore in a low-lying cove which cut the velocity of the winds, and a rolling hill of green in the valley beyond.
“There’s a river back there and a hiking trail.” She pointed beyond the shore.
Taking her hand in mine, we made our way down the small plank, and onto the shore. We dropped our bags in the center of the beach, and I pitched the umbrella she’d brought along this time. Adri laid out a bamboo mat on our patch of sand with our towels spread out over it, and I set the big tote bag on top along with larger rocks in case the wind kicked up. We were efficient vacationers.
She tossed her sunglasses on the towel and ripped off her blousy caftan with the wide winged sleeves, a short, see-through number of burgundy and pink, and ran into the water. I tore off my T-shirt and chased my island nymph and her sculpted ass into the rolling waves.
We swam up and down the shore, collapsed on our towels relishing the warmth of the sun’s rays. She applied sunscreen all over my chest and back. My pulse picked up. My erection knew no bounds and I didn’t give a damn. Neither did she. She put the cap on the white bottle, her tits squeezing out of her tight bandeau top, and I leered at her, ogling like a hormonal boy.
We ate our sesame-covered kouloúria, the thin Greek version of a bagel. She took her bikini top off and, lying down on her tummy, fell asleep. I fell asleep too, if only for about fifteen minutes according to my watch, but it felt luxurious and indulgent. My body enjoyed being stretched out under the sun in the clean, clean wind, the refreshing sea swirling a few feet away. In fact, I was more relaxed than I’d ever been in recent memory on this remote beach. Chicago may as well have been in another fucking galaxy. Alessio’s boat. The Russian’s playground. All of it.
Adriana turned over and stretched out like a satisfied cat.
Jesus.
I straddled her, hands planting on either side of her head.
She blinked. “Hello.”
I kissed her, nipping at her upper lip, and her hips curved up to meet mine. Her hand swept up my side to my pec, rubbing the hard muscle there, and my stomach tightened. I stroked the edge of a silky breast, my hand itching to cup the round fulness, to knead its soft firmness. I wanted to see her face morph with pleasure and pain at what I’d do to that ripe tit.
I leaned over her, whispering in her ear, “I want to bite you, suck on you, lick you.”
Grinning, she dug her fingers into my sides as her hips raised against mine, searching for more friction, but I pulled away and went back to my side of the towel. I liked teasing her, keeping her guessing. She sucked in a deep breath and put her top back on, fiddling with the fabric.
I opened up our water bottles, and handed her one. Crossing her legs tightly, she gulped at her water. Her teeth scraped along her bottom lip. “Your sense of control, that’s your strength. That’s where you’re comfortable, isn’t it?”
I screwed the cap back on my water bottle. “It keeps things clear. Confusion sucks, in plain English.”
“I agree, it does. But do you not think it keeps you stuck at the same place somehow?”
“What are you trying to say, Adri?”
She pressed her lips together.
“Say it.”
“I don’t want to be your convenient.”
“My what?”
“Or your something that works.” Her lips twisted.
“What are you talking about?”
“You want authentic from me? I want authentic from you. After this—” she waved her hand in the air in one of those throwaway Greek gestures “—you can go back to your controlled convenience.”
My breath knotted in my chest.
She wanted my authentic. My erection felt pretty damned authentic. My pulse heating every time I touched her, kissed her. My thoughts, all of them, were shadowed by her.
And that after? Me leaving Greece and going back to Chicago was after. Her in Athens or London or wherever the fuck, stepping back into a sea swarming with men was her after.
After.
Fuck after.
“Adriana? Vre, Adri, ti káneis ethó?” a loud male voice bellowed, blowing our discussion to bits before it got a chance to meld.
A towering figure cast a shadow over us. A young guy, Adri’s age, with messy, wind-tossed hair almost to his shoulders wearing a T-shirt, board shorts, and expensive Brazilian flip-flops gazed down at her, his dark eyes clocking every detail of her oiled up, sun-kissed body, his grin wide and eager. My spine straightened.
“Niko?” Adri jumped up and hugged the beach dude, and they chattered wildly in Greek. She grabbed onto my arm and introduced us.
“Turo, this is Niko Randopoulos. His family owns a huge plot of land he’s developing just behind the fields and the river over there.” She pointed to the green valley behind us.
Seriously? How the hell do you own a huge plot of land like that on this beach?
“I’ve brought the architect and the engineer to go over final details,” said Niko in English following Adri’s lead. “Construction begins next week.”
“So it’s finally been approved?” she asked.
“Approved enough.” He winked at her.
Adri jumped up on a squeal and gave Niko another hug.
“Congratulations! I’m so happy for you! It’s been such a long wait for this to go through.”
The jerk slid his arm around her waist and she turned to face me. “Niko is building a new type of resort based on sound ecological practices with a small organic farm, a restaurant, and a number of private bungalows.”
“Very exciting,” I said.
“I’d love for you to see. Do you have time?” His gleeful delight was focused on Adri like a super laser and made my pulse tick, tick, tick.
“Would you like to, Turo?” Adri asked. Niko brushed a hand through his wavy locks, his eyes on Adri, his grin growing again.
“Sure, we have at least another two hours before our boat is due back,” I replied, shooting him a brittle grin.
We picked up our towels and closed the umbrella, filled the tote bag, and piled it all in a mound on the mat. I put my tee on, Adri her coverup, and we followed Niko through the green brush on a short hike up past the narrow river to an expanse of land, where four men discussed and took photographs and noted measurements, planted small marker flags.
Niko explained his design plan, his hope for his resort to offer an alternate luxury vacation experience. Down to earth, but deluxe all the way. Adri told me that Niko’s family owned the most popular yoghurt company in Greece. So that was how you bought a huge plot of primo land on a beach on a Greek island and developed it into a luxury resort.
“I’ve always wanted to combine my passion for ecologically responsible living with a business,” Niko said. “My father is still trying to talk me out of it, mostly because he’s worried. Things are changing in Greece, he says. He’s even thinking of moving the company’s headquarters out of the country.”
“Really?” Adri said.
His gaze wandered over his expanse of green land. “But I don’t want to leave. This place to me is so special, the island, Áxla. Always has been. It’
s always been my dream to do something here. I want to see this through. I have to.”
“Absolutely,” said Adri, her voice suddenly as firm and quiet as Niko’s as she scanned the valley.
I had to admit Niko’s vision was impressive, his dedication to create outside the box, to build on what his family had, to stick it out and do it on his own. “You should see it through,” I said. “Very impressive.”
Niko grinned. “Thank you.”
I glanced at my watch. “Adri, we should get back to the beach. The boat will be here in fifteen minutes.”
“Ah, already?” She let out a sigh and put her arm through Niko’s. They walked ahead of me on the trail back to the beach.
I ground my jaw at the sight of them arm in arm, talking and laughing easily. They were in sync. The perfect couple. My eyes fell to her sashaying hips and ass, and I tried my damnedest not to let that sight make me even crazier.
I lost that struggle.
33
Turo
On the boat back to town Adri talked non-stop about how the island had been a hotspot for hikers and eco-tourists for years now, and how she admired Niko for doing what he really wanted, how it would benefit the island. We never picked up that tense conversation of ours from earlier.
Back in town, we picked up sausage from a butcher shop, and headed for the house. No sign of our friend in brown leather. At the house, Adri headed straight for the kitchen and got right to work. She wanted to make me the island specialty for lunch. A frittata with spicy sausage and fried potatoes.
“My grandmother taught me how to make fourtália right here in this kitchen,” Adri said, scooping up fried potatoes from the pan of bubbling olive oil.
The slices of locally made fennel sausage sizzled in the pan, filling the kitchen with their sweet, smoky fragrance. She handed me a wire whisk, and I whipped the eggs, an unusual rich orange color in the white ceramic bowl. This is what farm fresh looked like. She took the bowl from me and slid the contents into the pan and the eggs bubbled furiously. She added the fried potatoes, lowered the heat, and covered the skillet.