Captivated by the Greek

I had no idea that I’d be here only a couple of weeks later—here with the man I was meeting up with that night!

A sense of wonder went through her. And as she let her gaze settle on her reflection she felt wonder turn to gladness. She looked good.

She was wearing another find from her charity shop hunts—this time a sleeveless fine cotton ankle-length dress in a warm vermilion print, with a scoop neck that hinted at a décolletage without being obvious. Her jewellery was a simple gold chain, hoop earrings and a matching bangle, her footwear low-heeled strappy sandals comfortable to walk in but more elegant than flip-flops. She’d left her hair loose, held back off her face with a narrow hairband, so that it fell in waves around her shoulders. Her make-up was light, for she knew her face was flushed from the sun, protected though her skin had been all day.

Slipping her arms into the loose, evening jacket that went with the dress and picking up her bag, she headed out—ready for the evening ahead. Ready for all the evening would bring her—and the night that would follow...

When Nikos opened the door of his room to her soft knocking the blaze in his eyes told her that her efforts had been more than worthwhile, and she felt the blood surge in her veins. Her pulse quickened with her body’s response to him as she gazed in appreciation at his tall, lean figure, clad now in long linen chinos and an open-necked cotton shirt.

He guided her forward through the warm, balmy night, along the oleander-bordered path up towards the main section of the hotel, where they would be dining, and she could catch the spiced warmth of his aftershave mingling with the floral tones of her own perfume, giving her a quivering awareness of his presence at her side.

The same awareness of him remained with her all through dinner, which was taken on the same terrace where they had breakfasted. The tables were now decked in linen, adorned with tropical flowers, with silverware catching the candlelight and the light from the torches set around the perimeter.

She felt as light as gossamer, floating in a haze of happiness to be here now, like this, with this man, in this gorgeous place, eating food that was as delicious as it was rare, beautifully arrayed on the plate, melting in her mouth, washed down with crisp, cold wine.

What they talked about she hardly knew. It was the same kind of easy, casual chat they had indulged in all day. About Bermuda, the sights they would see as they continued their stay, its history... They talked about films they had seen and enjoyed, about travel, all the places Nikos had been to that Mel was eager to hear about. Easy, relaxed, companionable. As if they had known each other for ever.

Yet underneath, beneath their relaxed conversation, Mel knew that a current was running between them. Another conversation was taking place and it was signalled to her in every raised beat of her heart, every swift mingling of their eyes, every movement of his strong, well-shaped hands as he ate or lifted his glass.

She knew she was keeping that conversation beneath the surface of her consciousness—knew that it was necessary to do so. For otherwise she would not be able to function in this social space. Yet the knowledge that it was shared with him, that just as she was constantly aware of his physical presence—the way his open-necked white shirt framed the strong column of his neck, the way his turned-back cuffs emphasised the leanness of his wrists—so he was aware of her, too—of her physical being. The way the candlelight hollowed the contours of her throat, caught the glint of gold in her earrings, burnished the echoing gold of her hair.

They were both aware of the courtship being conducted—silently, continually, seductively. Aware, with a growing, subtle assurance, of just how that courtship must find its completion...that night.

And so it did.

As they rose from the table eventually—the candles burnt low, almost the only couple left out on the terrace—without thinking she slipped her hand into Nikos’s as they strolled back into the interior of the hotel. It seemed the right thing to do. The obvious thing.

His warm, strong fingers closed around hers and it felt right, so right, to let it happen. To walk beside him, closer this time, her shoulder sometimes brushing against his, her skirts fluttering around her legs, catching against him. From inside the hotel they could hear the low sound of a piano being played somewhere.

‘Would you like another coffee? Or a drink in the lounge?’

‘Only if you would,’ she answered, glancing at him.

His eyes caught hers. ‘You know what I want,’ he murmured. ‘And it isn’t to be found in the piano lounge.’

There was humour in his expression, in his eyes. But his voice, when he spoke next, was serious.