by Trish Morey
And his eyes—his eyes looked at her as if he knew her. It was disconcerting. She blinked that thought away. Nobody knew who she was. Nobody knew she was here. She’d left the lawyer’s offices and headed straight to her apartment to pack a carry bag, booking a flight in the taxi on the way to the airport.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘What’s it to be? Dinner with me or a night alone and morose and a lifetime spent regretting it?’
‘You’re very sure of yourself.’
‘I’m very sure of the fact I want to have dinner with you. I want to get to know you better.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I have a feeling I’m going to like what I discover. Very much.’
She shook her head. It was ridiculous to feel half tempted. She didn’t do blind dates. She didn’t let herself get picked up in cafés. She didn’t let herself get picked up, period. And that little voice in her head asking her why not just this one time could just get back in its box and shut up, especially given the lawyers’ warnings.
Except the voice in her head was conspiring with Alexios’s pleading dark chocolate eyes to resist arrest. Why shouldn’t she have dinner with this man? it argued. What was wrong with feeling attracted to him and actually acting on it? Nobody knew who she was, and even if people had seen photos of her in the press, she was no household name. People might think she looked familiar, but she hadn’t been interesting or scandalous enough to become common paparazzi fodder—not for a long time.
After the undisciplined years of her late teens, she’d made sure of that. She’d been cautious. Responsible. Determined to keep out of the public eye as much as possible. Which meant not taking unnecessary risks, however good-looking those risks might be.
‘No,’ she said finally, common sense winning over recklessness, not letting him argue further when he raised one hand as if to protest. ‘I’m afraid not. Thanks for the conversation. It’s been...’
‘Tempting?’
‘Interesting.’ Although she knew his word was far closer to the truth.
Someone brushed quickly behind her before moving away—a waiter gathering cups and plates, she presumed—so she had to wait a few moments until she could push her chair back. ‘It’s been lovely chatting. Have a pleasant evening.’ And then she reached beside her to where she’d left her bags. Except there was only one there. She blinked, checking on the floor under and around the chair.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘My handbag,’ she said. ‘It’s gone.’ She scanned the café, saw a man scooting between the tables towards the exit, the white strap of her shoulder bag trailing under the crook of his arm, and felt the sickening realisation that it hadn’t been a waiter or even a customer brushing past behind her, but a thief. He glimpsed back over his shoulder as if checking he’d made a clean getaway, guilt written all over his profile, and she was on her feet, pointing. ‘Stop!’ she cried, before appealing to the startled restaurant patrons, ‘That man’s stolen my bag. Someone stop him!’
‘Wait here,’ said Alexios, with a comforting hand to her shoulder and already off in pursuit, heads of patrons turning as he cut a swathe through the tables.
The waiter stood back for Alexios before he wove his way across to her, full of apologies and consolation. ‘Let me get you another coffee,’ he offered.
‘Not coffee,’ she said, not needing it. Her heart was already beating wildly in her chest. It needed no more stimulation. Her passport and her purse were in that bag. The thief had a head start on Alexios. If he disappeared amidst the alleyways of Thera and if she lost it...
The waiter nodded, only to return with sparkling water instead, and a tiny ouzo, ‘To calm your nerves’, while an American woman at the next table leaned over to pat her on the arm, tut-tutting about thieves who preyed on tourists, and hoping that Athena’s husband would get her handbag back.
She didn’t have the heart to tell the woman the truth, that they had never met before today. Because the second Alexios had disappeared, another unpalatable possibility had already wiggled its way into her consciousness, that her would-be rescuer and thief had been working together, one to distract her with compliments and meaningless conversation, while the other worked out the best time to strike. She’d assumed he was some kind of gigolo when all the time he was more likely some kind of common thief.
A devastatingly handsome, charming thief.
More fool her.
The seconds ticked by, feeling like minutes, all the smooth-talking compliments he’d given coming back to haunt her, mocking her. He’d called her beautiful and she’d been charmed stupid because of it. And suddenly she couldn’t sit there any more. Why was she waiting for a stranger to return with her purse? She should be going to the police.
The waiter waved aside the bill when she promised to return, when there was a commotion at the door, followed by applause and cheers, and there, standing in the doorway, was Alexios, breathing hard and holding her bag.
Relief surged like a wave over her. Never had she seen a more welcome sight. ‘You caught him?’
‘I did,’ he said, handing her the bag. ‘The boy won’t be bothering anyone around here again.’
More cheers rose from the patrons and Alexios was hailed a hero while Athena opened her bag to check her passport and purse were still there. ‘I was just about to go to the police. Should we report it anyway, in case he tries again?’
‘He didn’t have time to open it, let alone steal anything,’ Alexios assured her. ‘And after the talking-to I gave him, I’m sure he won’t be trying that again any time soon.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, peeling off some bills to pay for their coffees. ‘My passport and my credit cards are in here. I don’t know how to repay you.’
He smiled. ‘That’s hardly necessary. Though, if you insist, my invitation still stands to come to dine with me, if you care to change your mind?’
Her eyelids closed on a slow blink. The man had just rescued her handbag and she felt a flush of guilt for thinking Alexios might be working alongside the thief. And after he had proven himself trustworthy by catching up with the thief who had stolen her bag, it would be churlish to refuse dinner with him now, surely?
Besides, just for once it was nice to be able to give into temptation and not feel guilty about it. What possible harm could it do?
Her smile told him all he needed to know. He was already smiling himself before she uttered the words, ‘It would be my pleasure. Of course I’ll have dinner with you.’
CHAPTER THREE
HE HAD HER.
He’d never doubted it would work, of course. He’d expected her to refuse his advances, but he’d been prepared for that. What better way to secure her agreement than to make her believe she owed him? It had all gone off with domino simplicity, and now the blood in his veins pumped with new purpose, his plan unfolding as he led her through the winding paths and towards the table for two he’d prearranged that would give the best view of the sunset.
‘Santorini is my favourite Greek island,’ he said, as they strolled together through the labyrinthine paths. There was no need to rush. Sunset was still some time away, despite the jockeying already going on for positions. ‘Perhaps my favourite place in the world.’
‘Mine too,’ she said.
‘Is that so? Then we have something in common. This is a good place to start, don’t you think?’
She smiled in a way that told him she was amused rather than impressed. ‘I’m sure it’s a favourite for many people in the world.’
‘True,’ he conceded, knowing he still had work to do. She’d agreed to dinner but she was still wavering, he could see, still cautious. But she’d come around. It wasn’t as if it were a chore to charm her. He’d been speaking the truth to her over coffee. When she smiled, her face came alight, her surprisingly blue eyes dancing, and the most surprising discovery of all—dimples in her
cheeks either side of her lush mouth, that turned classically beautiful into bewitching.
And then there was the way she moved. Wearing a cute nineteen-fifties-inspired sundress, with wide shoulders and full skirt all cinched in at the waist to accentuate the slim form that lay beneath, she moved with model grace, the sway of her hips sending the skirt of her dress in a seductive motion that had him already itching to peel it off.
No, it would be no hardship bedding her. No hardship at all. And before she knew it, she’d be so busy luxuriating in the glow of the loved, he’d relieve her of her fortune without her even noticing.
And by the time she did, revenge would be his.
It was perfect.
The sun was slipping lower in the sky, couples and groups of tourists already staking their claim for what they thought the best vantage point from which to witness the sun dipping into the sea in all its molten glory.
He made small talk as they wended their way through the town, keeping it light, making way when another train of tired donkeys lumbered home past them, their brightly coloured tassels swaying on their foreheads.
‘Here we are,’ he said, stopping at a locked gate on the caldera side of the path. He punched in a number and pushed it open, making way for her.
He saw the surprise on her face when she registered that they were outside a palace, a remnant of the Venetian occupation of Santorini in centuries long past. ‘I thought we were going to a restaurant. But this...’
‘Is a very private restaurant.’
She turned to him, her blue eyes confused. ‘But this is a home. A palace.’
‘With the best views in Thera. I’m staying here.’
‘Staying here? Like a guest?’
He answered with a welcoming sweep of his arm. ‘Come inside, I’ll show you the view from the terrace.’
She stayed exactly where she was, half inside the gate and half outside, her head tilted to the side. ‘Who are you?’
‘I told you. My name is Alexios. Alexios Kyriakos.’ He looked at the still-open gate behind her. ‘The gate isn’t locked from the inside, but I can always leave the gate open, if you prefer, if you think you might need to escape.’ He paused for one heavily weighted second. ‘If you don’t trust me, that is.’
He swore she almost blushed at his mention of trust. Of course, she trusted him now. She shook her head, looking contrite, pushing the loose tendrils of her hair back behind her ears. ‘I’m sorry. I’m a little on edge today, especially after what happened at the café. There’s no need to leave it open, of course.’ And she moved out of the way so he could shut the gate.
He didn’t show her inside. Instead he ushered her along a path that wove around the side of the building that opened onto an expansive terrace with a breathtaking view of the islands that made up the broken circle of the caldera, formed in the massive eruption of the volcano beneath thousands of years before. Below them, the almost sheer wall of layered volcanic residue fell away so it felt as if they were suspended over the very edge of the crater. And there, in the gap between the islands, hovered the setting sun, dipping inexorably on its journey towards the sea.
She leaned her hands down on the balustrade, turning her face into the breeze that rushed up the sides of the cliffs, and breathing in the fresh salt air. ‘It’s magnificent.’
‘Isn’t it?’ He hung back, his hands in his pockets. He didn’t crowd her. He didn’t hover by her side. He wanted her to feel secure. Safe. It was his pleasure now to watch her. And wait for the right moment.
She turned towards him, the setting sun picking up the golden flecks in her blue eyes, turning them to jewels. Oh, he could wait for the right moment, just so long as he didn’t have to wait too long.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘while we wait for the sun to perform its magic, perhaps you would like to eat.’ He waved his arm behind, where the doors of the palace had been flung open, to reveal a table set for two dressed in white.
Her brows drew together as she took in the scene. ‘How is this possible when we only met this afternoon?’
He smiled, loving her suspicious mind. If only she knew. ‘The staff were expecting me for dinner,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I simply called from the café after you agreed to dine with me to ensure there would be enough for two.’
She wandered closer to the table, set with crystal glasses and silverware and tiny vases filled with fresh thyme and rosemary, the scent wafting on the warm breeze like the sheer curtains billowing behind the doorways.
‘You understand now why I had no desire to keep this all to myself?’
She nodded. ‘It’s beautiful. Thank you.’
‘Then please sit, and eat, and afterwards we shall enjoy the sunset together.’
As if on cue, the serving staff appeared, delivering warm breads and freshly made dips to the table, followed by pan-fried saganaki cheese topped with balsamic figs along with the freshest baby squid, an array of grilled meats and all washed down with the finest Santorini Vinsanto wine.
‘It’s wonderful,’ she said, at one point, leaning back in her chair, her glass of wine in her hand.
He raised his own glass to her. ‘It is my pleasure.’
‘Tell me,’ she asked, leaning forward after taking a sip of wine, ‘why is it that you are here, all alone on Santorini?’
‘I am here primarily for business.’
She arched an eyebrow at that, an obvious question. ‘Not,’ he added, ‘that I have a wife or girlfriend I could have brought to accompany me.’
‘And why is that?’ she asked, gesturing glass in hand to the palace behind and the spectacular caldera view before them. ‘When clearly you are a man of means—and, as you are no doubt aware, not entirely unpleasant looks.’
He cocked an eyebrow. ‘“Not entirely unpleasant”? That is good news, indeed. But as to your question, I’m afraid I’ve been too much of a workaholic. Driven, some might say.’
Especially when it came to the pursuit of justice.
‘Although not too driven to chat me up.’
He shrugged. ‘Lately I have become aware of how isolated I have become. Meeting you cemented an appreciation of the error of my ways.’
‘Wow,’ she said, her blue eyes bright. ‘That’s a heady responsibility you’re piling upon my shoulders. I hope you’re not going to be disappointed.’
He smiled. ‘Now you’re laughing at me.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m just not used to flirting.’
‘Neither am I,’ he said with a smile. ‘Although I am finding it an entirely pleasurable pastime. If I might be so bold as to ask, why are you here alone?’
‘Like I said, Santorini is my favourite Greek island. I like to come here to think.’
‘Do you have so much to think about?’
‘Who doesn’t?’ she said with a shrug, not giving anything away. ‘What kind of business are you in?’
He smiled at her quick volley, but didn’t push it. He’d learned in his dealings with people that the way to make them open up was to pretend indifference, to let them set the agenda. He knew that sooner or later she’d wander back into the topic of her own accord. ‘Shipping mainly. Cargo and containers, timetables and paperwork. It’s boring.’
‘I’m sure it’s not,’ she said. ‘Is it a family business?’
‘No. I have no family.’
‘What, none at all?’
He gave the briefest shake of his head, feeling a familiar rising tide of bitterness, thinking how different things might have been—should have been—if not for the greed and the actions of this woman’s father. He swallowed back on the surge. He didn’t need a tidal wave. All he needed now were ripples—a reminder—of why he was here, and why doing this was so right. ‘There’s nobody,’ he said. ‘Not now.’
‘Oh,’ she said, her teeth finding her lip while she blinked too fast. �
�It seems we have more than one thing in common. My mother died when I was sixteen. I—I lost my own father a month ago.’
He schooled his features to compassion, even as he smiled inwardly. She might have a sad story, but it was no match for a story of betrayal. ‘Is that what you’re here on Santorini to think about?’
‘Perhaps,’ she said, her misty eyes clouding over as she looked away, out towards the sun, now sending a golden-red ribbon of colour across the water. ‘Look,’ she said, standing. ‘The sun is setting.’
He followed her to the balustrade, to where they could see the white buildings that adorned the caldera rim now washed in red, the sun a fat golden orb bending the painted layers of the sky beneath.
‘So beautiful,’ she said, her eyes fixed on the spectacular display.
She was, he thought, watching her rather than the sunset, and soon she would be his. The knowledge made him burn. The perfect revenge and the only disappointment was that Stavros wasn’t here to see it. But then, it would be a much more extensive—and satisfying—revenge than he’d had planned.
‘Look,’ he said, putting mere fingertips to the fabric at the small of her back while he pointed out to the midst of the darkening sea, where a sailing boat bobbed in a ribbon of golden light.
‘Oh,’ she said, and he knew it was because he’d touched her, because he’d felt her shuddering response, and knew she was ripe for the taking.
Oh, yes, he would play this cherished daughter of his nemesis like a fish on a hook. Play her, use her, and then he would break her, just as her father had broken his father.
And then he would walk away.
* * *
To Athena, it seemed the sunset was being performed for her and Alexios and for them alone. There was nobody else within earshot, no evidence of other human life beyond a solitary sailing boat far below them on the sea, while the colours around her intensified, the range narrowed to red and gold and every brilliant shade in between.
And then suddenly his hand was gone from the small of her back, and despite the spectacular glory going on around her it was that tiny touch she missed. Missed his warmth but most of all the spark he’d triggered in her flesh. And now the sun was setting, burning brighter, until it kissed the water and, despite knowing better, Athena held her breath in anticipation of the hiss of steam at the union.