“Santorini always breaks my heart just a little bit,” he said. “The Minoan culture was beautiful and sophisticated. And it was all wiped away. One day you should go there, visit the excavation of Akrotiri on Thera. There’s a museum of found objects and some of the most stunning frescoes ever created. Many people believe that Akrotiri is the basis for Plato’s story of Atlantis.”
“I’d love to go there.”
“It’d be a shame to miss. Perhaps in June you can travel for a while before returning to the US.”
“You know I have the exam, so maybe you should take me there. Make it our next outing.”
“We’re not having more outings.”
“Don’t say that. Please. I still have three more months here. You can’t bring me all the way to Greece and keep me on your rock.”
“I don’t go to Santorini.”
“But you just said it’s amazing.”
“And it is. For others. But I don’t go. I won’t.” He looked away from her, gaze fixed on the shadowy island ahead of them. “And before you push and push and spoil the day before it’s even begun, I’ll tell you—it’s where my wife died. So I don’t go there. Ever.”
Georgia swallowed hard. It was the first time he’d brought up his wife, and there had been no tenderness in his voice, just ice. And grief.
They traveled the rest of the way in silence, but Georgia didn’t mind. She welcomed the sun on her face and the wind tugging at her hair and she used the silence to think about what Nikos had told her...not about Greece but about his late wife.
She wanted to know more but knew that this wasn’t the time. She didn’t want to upset him or spoil their outing. It felt wonderful to be off Kamari, and she was excited about having a new experience. They might be traveling only twenty-some kilometers but it felt like an adventure, and she didn’t care if they did nothing on Amorgós but walk around the little town and then up through the few houses before returning to the boat.
But as it turned out, there was plenty to do in the village of Katapola, Amorgós’s biggest harbor. True, there weren’t many shops, but Georgia just enjoyed exploring the town. Because everything was new to her, and it was her first real taste of a Greek village; she found it endlessly fascinating.
With Nikos at her side, she explored the pretty bay, dotted with fishing boats, white windmills and the traditional blue-and-white houses. Small cafés and taverns spilled onto the sidewalk facing the water, and on a side street they popped into a bakery so Georgia could admire all the different breads and pastries.
Georgia saw the woman behind the counter give Nikos a cold look, but he seemed not to notice, ordering one of each of the cookies so Georgia could try them all. She was about to ask him about the woman’s odd behavior when Nikos opened the paper bag, drew out a cookie and popped it into her mouth. “Well?” he said. “Good?”
She wiped the crumbs from her lips and smiled. “Delicious,” she said around the mouthful of almonds and honey and delicate flaky pastry.
“I thought we’d save them for lunch,” he said, reaching into the bag and selecting one. “But they’re far too tempting.” He broke the slice of baklava in half, then handed her half.
She wasn’t able to get her half into her mouth without making a mess.
Nikos watched her, amused. “You have honey all over your fingers.”
“Not for long,” she answered, grinning and then licking the tip of her sticky finger. She saw his dark eyes spark as she sucked on her finger, and suddenly her pulse quickened and she felt suspiciously breathless.
“I’d offer you a taste,” she said, “but I’m not sure if that is appropriate.”
“You love to torture me.”
Her lips lifted. She smiled up into his eyes, wondering why she took such pleasure in provoking him. “Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“It’s fun.”
He groaned and took her arm, steering her from the bakery’s front steps and away from the women entering the shop, their dark gazes all so curious. “It’s not fun,” he said, keeping her arm as they walked up the narrow street, the road cobbled. “I can barely keep my hands off of you as it is.”
She flashed another smile up into his face. “So I’ve noticed.”
“We are here to get away from all that.”
“All that is you and me.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do. But all that is us, together, and it goes wherever we go. It’s not Kamari.” There was laughter in her voice. “But it would be funny if the energy and magic was Kamari.”
“Why would that be funny?”
“Because it’s not a particularly romantic island. It’s an arid rock.”
“It’s not supposed to be romantic. It’s my home.”
She laughed. “You sound so grumpy right now. What’s wrong with you?”
He stopped walking to face her, his hands on her shoulders. “All I want to do is tear your clothes off of you and touch every inch of you, and you’re making it almost impossible to forget how much I want you—”
“So don’t.”
“Georgia.”
“Find us a room somewhere and make love to me. Maybe once it’s out of your system, you’ll feel much better.”
“Stop it,” he growled.
“What? I’m trying to help you.”
“You’re not helping. Because making love to you once won’t get it out of my system. It won’t satisfy me. It’ll just make me hungry for more.” His hands pressed into her shoulders. “If you wanted to help, you’d ask me the age of the church we passed on the corner. You’d want to know why there are so many windmills on Amorgós. You’d want to know how they make the whitewash on the stucco buildings.”
“But I don’t want to know about whitewash or the stucco. I want to know about you.”
“Georgia.” Her name was wrung from him, a low, hoarse groan of sound, before his head descended and he was kissing her, the kiss of a man drowning, dying.
There was so much heat and need in the kiss. His mouth was hard, and it slanted over hers, forcing her lips open. His tongue found hers, probing, seducing.
She shuddered and pressed herself to him, loving the feel of him—hard, muscular, all male.
An old woman passing by muttered a rebuke, and Nikos lifted his head, ending the kiss. His expression was rueful as he stepped back.
“What did she say?” Georgia asked, touching her lips, which felt tingly and sensitive.
“That we needed to get a room.”
Georgia giggled. “I told you so.”
“Hmph.” Nikos took her arm again. “We’re here to sightsee. We’re going to sightsee. And you’re going to enjoy every little church and interesting view, and in an hour or two we will have lunch, and after our lunch we will return to Kamari, where I’ll lock you up for your own safekeeping.”
Georgia just laughed again.
He glared down at her with mock fierceness. “I’m serious.”
“I know you are, which just makes me like you all the more.” She patted his arm. “When you’re not growling and issuing orders, you’re a very nice man and very good company.”
“Don’t soften me up.”
“Too late.” She flashed him another smile. “It’s already happening. You, my dear Nikos, are putty in my hands.”
“A gross exaggeration.” But he was smiling and she felt her heart turn over because when he looked at her like that, she felt as if she’d somehow won the lottery.
* * *
Georgia was right, he thought later, as they sat in the back of the small taxi that he’d hired to take them all over the island. She’d gotten under his skin and was working some kind of magic on him, and God help him, he liked it. Liked her.
She made him feel things he didn’t think he’d ever feel again, and he loved her smiles and her laughter and how she seemed to radiate sunshine even on a gray, windy day.
And while he enjoyed looking at her, he enjoyed talking
with her even more. She was intelligent and witty and not afraid to stand up to him. Maybe he loved that most. She wasn’t scared of him and didn’t run away when he was impatient or frustrated. She held her own. She even pushed back, teaching him manners.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
She noticed. “You’re smiling,” she said, slipping her hand into his in the back of the taxi.
He glanced down at their hands and how she’d so naturally linked them. “What are you doing?”
“Pretending you’re my boyfriend.”
“Why?”
“It’s fun.”
“We’re here to get distance.”
“Kind of hard when we’re smashed together in a car the size of a sardine can.”
He grinned ruefully. She had a point. It was refreshing. She was refreshing. She made him feel young and hopeful, as if he were but a boy with his whole life ahead of him. “You enjoyed lunch, though?”
They’d explored the north end of the island during the morning, stopping at Tholaria and then Lagada, where they’d had a light meal, and were now heading south again, approaching the monastery outside of Chora, Amorgós’s principal town.
“Very much so!”
He told her they were on the way to Hozoviotissa Monastery, and he mentioned that there was a dress code, but she was fine in her long, slim skirt and lace-trimmed peasant-style blouse, which she’d topped with a cropped delicate cashmere sweater that revealed her bump.
“In summer there are crowds,” he added as the taxi pulled over to the side of the parking lot to let them out. “But we are lucky that it is relatively quiet today.”
It was a long, steep climb up dazzling white steps. “Is it a museum now?” she asked as they began the climb to the church.
“No. It is still a monastery, but the monks are quite welcoming. They do have rules about visitors—no short skirts, bare midriffs or shorts on men—but we’re dressed appropriately and I trust you know how to behave in a church, so we shouldn’t have a problem.”
They ended up spending an hour in the church and adjoining rooms. Nikos could tell from Georgia’s rapt expression that she very much enjoyed the visit. The interior of the church was quite austere but there was a calm inside that was profoundly sacred.
Georgia knelt at one of the rails and prayed.
Nikos stood back, wanting to give her space, and yet also determined to keep an eye on her.
Later, as they left the church, she was quiet and somber.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. I was just thinking of my family.”