The Kiss She Claimed From The Greek

Sofie was regretting following her guest downstairs. Clearly he was fine. More than fine. He was bare-chested and wearing a pair of sweatpants from the bag of donated clothing. They confirmed her suspicion that none of the local men matched his build. They clung to his slim hips and strong thigh muscles like a second skin. Finished about an inch above his ankles. He should have looked ridiculous. He looked sexier than sin.

‘It’s okay. I was a little worried because you slept right through the afternoon and evening, but you’re feeling okay?’

He seemed to consider this for a moment. ‘I’m feeling good. I feel better than I have in days, actually.’

Sofie made a face. ‘It’s impossible to rest properly in hospital. You obviously needed to sleep.’

‘I’m usually up before dawn.’

He looked almost surprised that he’d said this. Sofie took a step into the kitchen. Pluto ambled over and she rubbed his head absently. ‘Do you think you’re remembering something?’

Darius frowned. ‘I think it’s not usual for me to sleep like that. Dead to the world. For hours. I feel like I’ve had my first taste of real sleep in years.’

‘That’s a good thing... I think?’ Sofie said tentatively.

Darius’s expression was shuttered, as if he didn’t like what he was revealing. ‘It can’t hurt, I guess.’

‘Sometimes you sound quite American,’ Sofie observed. ‘Maybe you’ve spent time there.’

He shrugged. ‘Possibly. Depending on what I do for a living.’

Sofie felt a rush of sympathy. ‘I can’t imagine what it must be like to have everything you know...who you are...wiped from your head.’

‘I wouldn’t recommend it.’ His tone was dry.

‘Sorry,’ she said quickly, mortified that she’d reminded him of his predicament—as if he wasn’t already aware of it every second.

‘Do you want coffee? I’d be getting up soon to make some anyway.’

‘Sure.’

Sofie busied herself with the coffee machine, cursing herself that she hadn’t put on more clothes before coming down. But she hadn’t been sure if she’d actually heard Darius moving about or not. And she had been mildly worried about him. So when she’d seen his open bedroom door she’d just come downstairs without thinking.

Now her skin prickled all over, and she was conscious that he must be looking at her and finding her wholly average. No matter what he did in his life, there was no doubt that he was the kind of man who would be used to interacting with only the most beautiful women. It would be impossible for a man like him not to.

When the coffee was made she handed him a cup and tried not to stare at his bare chest.

They sipped their coffee in a mutual appreciative silence. Sofie never felt as if she was fully functioning until she’d got that first hit of caffeine. She couldn’t help noticing Darius’s hands. Square. Masculine. Long fingers. Short nails. But neat.

She asked impulsively, ‘Can I see your hands?’

Darius looked at her for a moment, but held out his left hand. Sofie put down her coffee cup and took it in hers, not prepared for the jolt of sensation that arrowed all the way down to the pit of her belly. She did her best to ignore it.

Her hands were very small and pale next to his. She did her best to control her reaction to touching him, even chastely like this. She turned his hand over and back, observing, ‘Your nails are neat, not bitten. You’re not a nervous person. Your hands are unmarked, but they’re not soft. You might work in an office, but it’s not your only domain.’

She became aware of her own short, unmanicured nails and skin slightly callused from the work she did. Not the kind of hands he would be used to in a woman, she’d wager.

She dropped his hand and picked up her coffee again, cradling it in two hands, slightly aghast that she’d just done that. She took a step back, as if terrified that she might try and touch some other part of him.

‘You’re a palm reader in your spare time?’

Darius’s tone was faintly mocking. He’d curled his left hand into a fist. Embarrassed heat rose in an inexorable wave and Sofie couldn’t stop it. What had she been thinking? She hadn’t. That was the problem. Around him she didn’t function normally.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Not a palm reader as such...but my granny used to do it. She taught me that it’s more about being a good observer than any kind of magic.’

Darius settled back against the kitchen counter. ‘She sounds interesting.’

Sofie nodded, her heart aching a little. ‘She was. I adored her. She died when I was still quite young, though.’

‘What did you parents do?’

‘My father was the local postman for years. My mother was a homemaker. We rented out rooms in the house in peak tourist season.’

Sofie thought of the days when she would find her mother standing at the kitchen sink and staring out at the garden. Sighing. Lamenting the lack of siblings for Sofie.

‘All my mother wanted was a big family,’ she found herself divulging. ‘She’d grown up an only child, as had my father.’

‘Have you always worked at the hospital?’

She nodded, glad to move away from painful memories. ‘I had intended studying to become a nurse, but then my father fell ill and died, and shortly after that my mother became terminally ill. I cared for them both, so I put off doing my degree.’

‘There’s nothing stopping you now.’

‘No,’ Sofie agreed.

Her mother’s death was still recent enough to be an excuse not to make any big changes, but Sofie knew there was more to why she hadn’t jumped at the first opportunity to follow her dream. She’d started to feel restless for something else—something she wasn’t even able to articulate. A desire to see the world. She’d only realised this while caring for her mother.

‘The truth is that I’m not sure what I want any more.’ She hadn’t even admitted that to her closest friends.

‘So in the meantime you clean?’