Czytaj książkę: «Paradise Nights»

Sexy, flirty, sizzling!

Soaking up the sun by day … something a little more wicked after hours …

Paradise Nights

Scorching seduction as the sun sets!

Three fabulous, flirty romances—holiday flings have never been so much fun!

Paradise Nights

TAKEN BY THE BAD BOY

Kelly Hunter

BAREFOOT BRIDE

Jessica Hart

BEHIND CLOSED DOORS

Anne Oliver

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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TAKEN BY THE BAD BOY

Kelly Hunter

Praise for Kelly Hunter

“Hunter’s emotionally rich tale will make readers

laugh and cry along with the characters.

A truly fantastic read.”

—RT BOOKreviews on Revealed: A Prince and a Pregnancy

“This story starts out on a light, fun and flirty

note and spins into an emotional and heartfelt

tale about coming to terms with the past

and embracing the future.”

—RT BOOKreviews on Playboy Boss, Live-In Mistress

About the Author

Accidentally educated in the sciences, KELLY HUNTER has always had a weakness for fairytales, fantasy worlds, and losing herself in a good book. Husband … yes. Children … two boys. Cooking and cleaning … sigh. Sports … no, not really—in spite of the best efforts of her family. Gardening … yes. Roses, of course. Kelly was born in Australia and has travelled extensively. Although she enjoys living and working in different parts of the world, she still calls Australia home. Visit Kelly online at www.kellyhunter.net

Kelly’s novel Sleeping Partner was a 2008 finalist for the Romance Writers of America RITA® award, in the Best Contemporary Series Romance category!

CHAPTER ONE

THERE was a lot to be said for spending a day sitting beneath a striped blue and white beach umbrella on a little Greek island. Serena Comino, however, had been sitting beneath this particular beach umbrella every day for five months now—renting fifty cc motorbikes to tourists— and there wasn’t a lot to be said about it any more.

The view never changed, as glorious as it was. The faces of the tourists changed with each docking ferry but their desires stayed the same. Get wet, lie on a beach, rent a Vespa, eat … Nothing ever changed.

Five months. Only one more month to go until she returned to Australia and the Greek-Australian arm of the family, or better yet didn’t return home to the family bosom at all. Serena leaned back in the rickety director’s chair until the front two legs left the ground, her eyes shaded by sunglasses, her head tilted towards the vivid blue sky beyond the umbrella. Maybe it had grown somewhat more interesting in the last five minutes. A passing cloud, a bird, a plane.

Superman.

Nope.

‘Who suggested this?’ she muttered.

‘Your father,’ said an amused voice from the direction of the goat track behind her. The track started at the edge of the village and meandered up the hillside, past her grandparents’ rambling whitewashed cottage, and on to the road above, where Serena and the Vespas spent the better part of the day.

‘Sad, but true.’ She turned her head, a minimal movement, and offered up a smile for Nico, her cousin on her father’s side, which meant the Greek side. The details weren’t important, they were related. And it was their turn to pull carer duty for their eighty-two-year-old grandparents, not that they needed nursing care, for they were in remarkably good health. No, truth was, she and Nico were here to run the business enterprises Pappou refused to surrender. Nico’s working day started at four a.m. on the fishing trawler and finished around lunchtime. Serena’s started at nine, finished at five or six, and didn’t involve fish. She still thought she had the better deal. ‘Lunchtime already?’

‘If you wore a watch you’d know.’

‘I can’t wear a watch any more,’ she countered. ‘Once upon a time when I had places to go and things to do I wore a watch. Now it’s just too depressing. What’s for lunch?’

‘Greek salad, calamari, and Gigia’s pistachio baklava.’

Okay, so there were some advantages to small Greek islands after all. She sat up, the front two legs of her chair hitting the dirt with a thud, and looked around to see why Nico hadn’t taken his usual seat in the chair beside her.

He wasn’t alone. A tall black-haired man stood beside him with the body of a god and a smile guaranteed to make any woman look twice. Serena only looked once but made up for it by taking her time. Not Superman, she decided finally. Superman was square of jaw and neat as a pin. Wholesome.

This man was what happened when Superman took a walk on the wild side.

‘Do you fly?’ she asked him.

‘Yes.’

‘I knew it. Women can sense these things.’

‘What’s she talking about?’ he said to Nico. He had a great voice. Deep. Dreamy. Amused. Australian.

‘Does it matter?’ she countered. ‘Are we caring about that?’ She sent him a smile she knew damn well could make a man tremble. He countered by removing his aviator sunglasses to reveal eyes as bright and blue as the sky above. Impressive. She stared at him over the top of her sunglasses to see if the tint was making them brighter than they actually were.

Nope.

‘Rena, this is Pete Bennett. Pete, my cousin Serena. Her heart is pure. Much to the family’s dismay, the rest of her is pure sin.’

‘Serena.’ Pete Bennett’s smile was lazy, very lazy, his eyes appreciative without being bold. Superman-for-bad-girls knew women. Knew how to woo them, knew exactly how to play them. Always a bonus. ‘That’s quite a combination.’

Serena felt her smile widen. ‘So I’m told.’

Sighing, Nico shoved the lunchbox in her line of sight and when that didn’t draw her attention away from the delectable Pete Bennett he stood in front of her and blocked the view completely.

‘Thank you,’ she said begrudgingly as she reached for the lunchbox.

‘You’re welcome,’ countered Nico dryly, everything about him telegraphing a warning about flirting with handsome strangers, even ones he’d just introduced.

Nico was all Greek and wholly protective of the womenfolk in the family. Serena was half Australian and born and raised in Melbourne, and his protective streak rankled even as it amused her. ‘So …’ Given that the flying one wasn’t here for her entertainment he was probably here for business. She put the lunchbox beside the chair, got to her feet, and set about taking care of it. ‘Care to rent a Vespa, Pete Bennett?’ He looked like a man who appreciated a lick of speed. Not that a fifty cc two stroke was going to provide a great deal of that. ‘It just so happens I can let you have the second fastest bike on the island.’

‘What happened to the fastest bike?’

‘That would be my ride.’

‘He’s not here for a bike,’ said Nico.

‘Then why is he here?’

Pete Bennett answered the question himself. ‘I’m looking for a room.’

‘Tomas’s room,’ added Nico.

Tomas was the grizzled old charter helicopter pilot who had first claim on the bedsit at the back of her grandparents’ cottage whenever his customers elected to overnight on the island. ‘Tomas’s helicopter landed first thing this morning and hasn’t left yet,’ she countered. She knew this on account of her close personal relationship with the sky. ‘What happens if he wants to stay over?’

‘Tomas is in hospital with his leg broken in two places,’ said Pete. ‘I’m filling in for him for a time.’

‘Oh.’ Serena felt a slow smile begin to spread across her face again, she couldn’t help it. ‘You really can fly. As in forty-five minutes to Athens. Five hours to Rome. I’m very impressed. Why didn’t you say so earlier?’

‘I did,’ he said, and to Nico, ‘How long has she been here?’

‘Too long.’ Nico eyed her narrowly. ‘And she doesn’t always stay in the shade.’

Pete Bennett’s lips twitched and Serena favoured both men with a narrow eyed glare of her own. ‘The shade is the size of a postage stamp. This island is the size of an envelope. You sit here for five months solid and see how well you cope.’

‘I offered to swap,’ said Nico. ‘I offered to mix it up. A day on the boat here and there, but no …’ He shook his head sadly. ‘The daughter of a Melbourne fishmonger with family holdings that include three trawlers, six seafood outlets, and two restaurants, and she doesn’t like fish.’

‘You don’t eat fish?’ asked Pete Bennett.

‘Wash your mouth out,’ she said. ‘I just don’t like catching and preparing fish, that’s all. Gutting them, scaling them, boning them, that sort of thing. Nothing wrong with eating them. We do a lot of that around here.’ But back to business. ‘So you want the same deal as Tomas?’

‘That’s the plan,’ he said. ‘If it’s all right by you, that is. Nico wanted to run it past you before he agreed.’

‘Fine by me.’ Serena slid her cousin a sideways glance. ‘You didn’t need to ask.’

‘He’s younger than Tomas,’ said Nico with a shrug.

True.

‘And single,’ said Nico.

Serena felt her lips tilt. The good news just kept coming.

‘Might set tongues wagging, what with the grandparents away and me leaving for work so early in the mornings,’ said Nico next.

There was that. But she was feeling rebellious when it came to the gossip mafia. She’d done nothing but behave since coming to the island and still the gossips watched her every move as if she were about to run amok at any minute. ‘Let them wag.’ She eyed Pete Bennett speculatively. ‘Although we may need to tweak the deal somewhat to preserve my honour and accommodate your youth. I usually make Tomas’s bed up for him. You can make your own.’

‘Oh, that’s cruel.’ Pete Bennett shook his head and turned to Nico. ‘I thought you said she had a good heart?’

‘I lied,’ muttered Nico. ‘Take it as a warning. Women are cruel, as cruel as the sea and twice as unforgiving. Sirens all of them, luring innocent men to their doom.’

Definitely not Nico’s usual take on the world. Usually Nico embraced the notion that women were there to be cared for. He had a sweet streak a mile wide, did Nico. Thoughtfully, Serena studied her cousin. He looked much the same as usual. Same kind brown eyes, strong handsome face, and sinewy body. The unhappiness lurking within those eyes, however, ran deeper than usual. ‘You’ve been arguing with Chloe again,’ she deduced finally. Chloe ran the island’s largest hotel and was the bane of Nico’s otherwise peaceful island existence.

‘Did you hear me argue?’ Nico asked Pete. ‘Did I make any comment whatsoever that could be construed as an argument?’

‘Nope,’ said Pete with a shake of his head. ‘You did not.’

‘Uh-huh,’ she said. ‘So what exactly weren’t you arguing about?’

Nico scowled. ‘The usual.’

Which meant they’d been arguing about Chloe’s nephew, Sam. No quick fixes there. ‘How bad was it?’

Nico looked away, looked out to sea. ‘Breeze is picking up. Figure I’ll take the catamaran out this afternoon. Don’t wait dinner for me.’

Bad. ‘I’ll save you some,’ she told him. ‘And make sure you eat it when you come in.’

Nico looked back at her and this time his smile did reach his eyes. ‘Tomorrow I’ll bring you another beach umbrella. A bigger one.’

He would too. ‘And dinner with pilot Pete here? Shall I feed him or send him down to the village?’ Tomas usually ate with them. Pilot Pete might have other ideas.

‘I trust him.’ Nico shot a warning glance in Pete’s direction. ‘A man of honour would not abuse my hospitality.’

‘Are you a man of honour, Pete Bennett?’ she asked him.

‘I can be,’ he said with another one of those lazy grins that made breathing a challenge.

‘I’ll dress platonic,’ she told him. Honourable or not, she was looking forward to his company at dinner.

‘Appreciated,’ he murmured.

‘Dinner’s at seven,’ she said as a pair of likely customers rounded the bend of the road and headed towards them. ‘The kitchen door’s the one on the other side of the courtyard, directly opposite your door. The picnic table in the middle of the courtyard’s the dining room.’ She slid him a parting smile and started towards the tourists, trying to gauge where they were from. Their top-of-the-line Mercedes-quality sandals and backpacks were a dead giveaway. ‘I’m thinking German,’ she muttered.

‘Dutch,’ countered Superman, sotto voce.

They’d soon find out. ‘Yassou, Guten mittag, Goede middag,’ she said cheerfully.

‘Goede middag,’ they responded with wide white smiles, Dutch all the way to the tips of their Germanmade sandals.

Bugger.

Pete Bennett settled into the granny flat out back of the little white cottage on the hill with the ease of someone with wanderlust in his soul and no fixed address.

He’d been born and raised in Australia and he still called it home, no question. It was home to childhood memories, good and bad. Home to working memories too, some of them uplifting and some of them downright tragic. Not that it was the memories that had driven him away from Australian shores. No, he wouldn’t say that.

He preferred to call it exploring his options.

Pete showered away the dirt of the day beneath a lukewarm drizzle from an ancient showerhead and dressed casual in loose khaki trousers and a white T-shirt. If the goddess could dress platonic then so could he. Besides, it was the only change of clothes he had. He checked his watch, not quite seven, grabbed his damp towel from the bed, and stepped outside, heading for the single strand of washing line strung between two poles.

Movement at the edge of the grassy garden area warned him that he wasn’t alone. A small boy with black hair, big eyes, and a narrow, pinched face stood at the edge of the garden. The same boy Nico had taken under his wing down at the fishing dock earlier that day until the fiery-eyed Chloe had come for him. ‘Nico’s not here,’ he told the boy.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ said the boy with a shrug, finding a home for his hands in the pockets of his ratty board shorts. ‘Looking for you.’

Pete slung his towel over the line and reached for a peg, wondering just why the kid would be looking for him. The boy would get around to revealing what he wanted sooner or later. That or head back to wherever he’d come from. ‘You’ve found me.’

‘You saw what happened earlier,’ said the kid after an awkward pause. ‘I thought maybe you could talk to my aunt.’ The last word was dragged from his mouth as if he resented the family connection with every fibre of his being. ‘You know.’ added the kid when he stayed silent. ‘Chloe. It’s not as if wanting to work on a fishing boat is a bad thing. She oughta be glad I want to pay my own way.’

‘How old are you, kid?’

The boy scowled. ‘Eleven.’

Small for eleven. But the eyes were older. Pete thought of the luscious Chloe, who’d torn strips off Nico’s hide earlier that afternoon when she’d caught the boy helping him unload the day’s catch. Thought of the way Nico had listened in stoic silence, his silence giving the boy hope and his eyes promising Aunt Chloe retribution in the not too distant future. ‘Why would your aunt take any notice of me?’ Why for that matter was she riding herd on him instead of his parents? ‘I’m a stranger here.’

The kid shrugged. ‘She might.’

‘Why not ask Nico to talk to her? He knows you. Hell, he knows you and your aunt.’ And all the politics involved. ‘I’m assuming it’s Nico’s boat you want to work on?’

The kid nodded. ‘She won’t listen to Nico. All she does is fight with him.’

He’d noticed.

‘But you … you got no percentage either way.’

‘Exactly.’

‘She’d listen to you without getting angry about other stuff.’

Pete ran a hand around the back of his neck and looked to the sky for inspiration. The boy reminded him of his younger brother just after their mother’s death. He had that same mix of defiance and vulnerability about him and it got to him, caught at him, and tugged at memories best forgotten. ‘The way I figure it, you still have a few years of schooling left before you can leave. The way I figure it, going to school is non-negotiable.’

The boy’s scowl deepened.

‘Doesn’t mean you can’t try and strike some sort of deal with your aunt when it comes to your free time though. A kid like you knows how to deal, right?’

‘Maybe.’

‘So you tell her you’ll go to school next week—no nicking off at lunchtime to meet the boats—if she’ll let you work for Nico next weekend. If he’ll have you. You tell your aunt you haven’t talked to Nico about it yet, got it? Maybe you’ll save him some grief.’

‘Got it,’ said the boy.

‘On the other hand, Nico can probably fend for himself so don’t sweat it if she does skip straight to thinking this was his idea. He might enjoy telling her it wasn’t.’ There, he’d done as much as he could for both Nico and the boy. Got way more involved than he ever intended to.

‘Yeah, well …’ The boy looked away. ‘Thanks.’

‘No problem.’

Pete watched as the boy lit off down the hillside towards the village, half sliding, half striding down the rocky track. ‘Hey, kid …’ The boy skidded to a halt and looked back at him wary and waiting and so damn vulnerable it made his heart ache. ‘I’ll be around some, these next few weeks. Let me know how it goes.’

The boy nodded, once, then he was gone.

Pete was three strides away from the bedsit door before he felt Serena’s eyes on him. Two before he spotted her standing just inside the kitchen doorway, half hidden by the fly-screen door. ‘You can come out now,’ he said, cocking his head in her direction. ‘You could have joined us before, come to think of it.’

‘What? And interrupt all your good work? I don’t think so.’ She emerged smiling and unrepentant, a vision of sensuality from the tips of her bare feet, up and over her white gypsy skirt and sleeveless pink stretch top that revealed more creamy skin than it covered, to the glorious tumble of chocolate-coloured curls that fell to her waist. Pete Bennett knew women, lots of women. Beautiful, funny, intelligent women, but not one of them could even come close to the one standing in front of him for undiluted sex appeal and staggering impact on a man’s senses. She sauntered—clearly there was no other word for it— over to a small silver coloured garden tap and started filling the bucket beneath it before sliding him a sideways glance from beneath long, dark lashes. ‘His name’s Sam.’

Pete filed the name away for future reference and regarded the goddess of buckets and sensuality curiously. ‘Where’s his father?’

‘The wording on his birth certificate says “Father: unknown”.’

‘His mother?’

‘She died in an Athens boarding house nearly a year ago of hep C. As far as anyone can gather, the only person looking after her was Sam.’

Rough. Damn rough on a kid. ‘Is the Chloe who came down to the harbour to find him this afternoon his real aunt?’

‘Yeah.’

‘So where was she when her sister got sick?’

‘You sound a touch judgemental.’

‘Feels about right,’ he said mildly. Given the picture she was painting.

‘I do like a man who’s in touch with his feelings.’

‘Let’s not get carried away,’ he said dryly.

Serena turned off the tap, picked up the bucket and strolled towards a cluster of herbs by the kitchen door. ‘Chloe was right here, running the hotel. She hadn’t heard from her sister in over a year and a half.’

‘Close family.’

‘You’re being judgemental again,’ she told him.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘I like that about you.’ A tiny smile played at the edge of her lips. ‘Where was I?’

‘Aunt Chloe.’

‘Oh, yeah. According to Chloe, her sister lit out for Athens some twelve years ago, defiant, disowned, and three months pregnant. She was sixteen. Chloe was thirteen at the time and tried to play peacemaker. She failed. Her parents were unmoveable and her sister didn’t want either Chloe’s pity or the savings she sent her. The family fractured.’

‘How’d the boy end up here?’

‘Chloe’s sister named her next of kin.’ Serena shrugged. ‘Chloe loves Sam, but she can’t handle him. Sam’s carrying a lifetime of rejection and an ocean of resentment around on his shoulders. He’s fiercely independent. Chloe’s fiercely overprotective. She’s determined not to fail him. They clash.’

‘So where does Nico fit into all of this?’

Serena chuckled, her expression lightening as she gave each clump of herbs a drink. ‘Smack bang in the middle; between a boy who desperately needs to feel worthy and a woman he’s crazy in love with.’

Pete shuddered. ‘No wonder he’s gone sailing.’

‘You underestimate my cousin, flyboy. My money’s on Nico claiming them both before summer’s out.’

‘It’s a pretty picture to be sure.’ So was she. ‘Tell me,’ he drawled. ‘What would you have been wearing if this hadn’t been a purely platonic evening meal?’

‘Lipstick for starters.’

She didn’t need it.

‘And probably a dress.’

‘Strappy?’

Definitely.

‘Short?’

‘No. Something demure. Just above the knees. A first-date dress.’

‘What colour?’

‘For you? Blue. So that when you looked at me you’d think of something you already loved. The sky.’

‘Oh, you’re good,’ he said in admiration.

‘Yes, I am.’ Her accompanying grin rammed that particular point home. ‘Now you. If this wasn’t a strictly platonic dinner deal where would you have taken me?’

‘For you?’ He didn’t have to think hard. ‘The Trevi Fountain in Rome. I’d buy you a gelato and give you a bright new penny so you could toss it into the fountain and make a wish. And then we’d walk wherever our feet took us—a sidewalk trattoria or a bustling restaurant— and everyone in the room, myself included, would say a heartfelt prayer of thanks for beautiful sirens in sky-blue dresses.’

‘Oh, you’re very good,’ she said wistfully.

‘Thank you. I aim to please.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ she murmured as she slid the bucket back beneath the tap. ‘You interest me, flyboy, I’ll give you that. There’s just one thing I can’t quite figure out. Something that doesn’t quite fit your carefree and extremely appealing image.’ She smiled archly and sent a shaft of heat straight through him. ‘What you said to Sam … the way you listened to him, helped him … the way you told him to get back to you.’ She turned and headed for the door with a sway to her hips that was truly distracting. ‘It was nice.’

CHAPTER TWO

NICE? Nice? Pete Bennett had been called a lot of things by the women who sauntered through his life, but nice had never been one of them. It didn’t feel like a compliment. Okay, so he could, on occasion, be nice. Nothing wrong with that. But what if nice mutated into caring? What if caring morphed into really caring? Then where would he be?

Nope. Better to disabuse the bucket goddess of all nicehood fantasies immediately. Rolling his shoulders back for good measure, and with the spell she’d woven about him still clouding his mind somewhat, he headed across the courtyard after her.

The kitchen in the whitewashed cottage consisted of a fridge, a sink, a wall full of shelving laden with fresh food and a square central bench that doubled as a table. Simple, cosy, and, to Serena’s way of thinking, all about the food. She’d put a chicken—liberally seasoned with garlic and oregano—in the oven earlier, along with half a dozen salt-licked potatoes. A loaf of crusty bread and the fixings of a salad sat on the bench waiting to be sliced, diced, and tossed into a bowl just before serving. Serena came from a family of cooks, chefs, restaurateurs, and foodies. Cooking might not have been her first love, or even her second, but in her family there was no excuse for poor cooking.

Pete had followed her into the kitchen and now stood leaning against the doorframe. Judging by the dangerous gleam in his eyes, he’d used up his daily quota of nice on Sam. Serena didn’t mind a bit.

Nice was a bonus, certainly, but sexy, playful, and thoroughly entertaining would do just fine.

‘Call me curious,’ he said, ‘but if renting Vespas to tourists isn’t your lifelong ambition, why do it?’

‘Family,’ she muttered, taking a chunk of feta from the fridge and setting it on the bench alongside a wickedly sharp cutting knife. ‘All the grandchildren do a six-month stint helping out here. It’s my turn.’

‘What happens when all the grandchildren have had a turn? Does it rotate back to the beginning?’

‘Theoretically, that’s when the great-grandchildren step up. Unfortunately, the oldest great-grandchild is currently six and Nico and I are the last of the grandchildren. I think everyone was hoping one of us would fall in love with the lifestyle and offer to stay on indefinitely. Nico might,’ she said thoughtfully.

‘But not you?’

‘No. One more month and I’m gone.’

‘Where?’

“Well, now, that will depend on the jobs going at the time.’ And her chances of landing one of them. ‘I’m a photographer by trade. When it comes to education I majored in languages, with a slice of international politics on the side.’

He didn’t look as astonished as some. The ones who thought that, with a face like hers, she was far more likely to be on the other side of the camera. The ones who thought that, with a body like hers, brains were an unnecessary extra. ‘Right now I’m working on a postcard series for the Greek tourism authority but as soon as I finish my stint here I’ll be chasing a photojournalism slot, preferably with one of the global media groups.’

‘You’ll do well,’ he said.

‘I will?’ She couldn’t quite hide her astonishment. Not the usual reaction when she told someone her plans.

‘Yeah. Your looks will get you noticed, your intellect will tell you when there’s a story to chase, and your people skills will get you the information you need. It’s a good choice for someone with your particular skill set.’

Serena sliced the bread, sliced the cheese and stuck them together before holding it out to him with a smile. ‘Just for that you get an appetiser. Possibly even dessert.’

He took the sandwich with a grin. ‘I hear it’s a very competitive field. You’ll need ambition as well. How bad do you want it, Serena?’

Bad enough to have queried every major global newspaper and some not so global ones about upcoming positions every month for the last five months. ‘Trust me, I’ve got the ambition thing covered. Maybe in the past I’ve let family commitments keep me from pursuing this type of career, but not this time. This time I’m determined to get where I’m going.’

‘Just as soon as you get off this island,’ he said with a hint of dryness that she chose to ignore.

‘Exactly.’

‘So technically speaking, apart from the Vespas, the postcard photography, and keeping an eye on your grandparents, you’re a free agent this coming month.’

‘That’s me.’ Damn but he was appealing. ‘And my grandparents are visiting both sides of the family on the mainland at the moment. They left this morning, so you can count them out of the equation for a couple of months. You?’

‘I’ll be flying these skies until Tomas recovers the use of his leg. Six.eight weeks. Maybe longer.’

‘And then?’

He shrugged. ‘There’s an offer from an Australian mining company to run a charter-flight operation for them in Papua New Guinea. It’s a good offer.’

‘Yes, but is it ethical?’

‘What they’re doing or what I’d be doing?’ he countered with a quick smile, and Serena figured she had her answer.

‘So you flit,’ she said dryly. ‘From one flying job to another.’

‘I like to think there’s a big-picture plan somewhere in amongst it all,’ he said mildly.

‘Ever thought about settling down?’

‘You mean some place permanently or with a woman?’

‘Either.’

‘No.’

Serena closed her eyes, muttered a prayer. As far as potential short-term romantic interludes were concerned, the man was utterly, mouth-wateringly perfect.

‘Did you just whimper?’ he said, eyeing her closely. ‘I thought I heard someone whimper.’

‘No whimpering here.’ Much. ‘What can I get you to drink? Water, wine?’ She gestured towards the glass of white wine already on the bench. ‘I’m already set.’ She didn’t wait for an answer, just headed for the fridge. She thought it best to keep busy, keep that whimpering to an absolute minimum. Water, wine, she grabbed both and set them in front of him. ‘Help yourself.’

He did, reaching for a couple of tumblers on the shelf nearby before pouring water for them both. He snagged another glass, a wineglass this time, and filled that too, his fingers long and lean around the neck of the bottle … fingers that looked as if they could deliver anything a woman could possibly want, from a feather-light stroke to firm and knowing pressure in all the right places.

‘There it goes again,’ he said. ‘That sound.’

‘Could be the tabby cat hereabouts. She’s very noisy.’

Pete looked at the curled and sleeping cat over in the corner of the kitchen, her head firmly tucked beneath one paw. ‘You mean that cat?’

‘Yes.’ She said it with an utterly straight face and Pete’s admiration for her rose immeasurably. ‘That cat.’

They ate from the picnic table in the courtyard, with the cottage nestled into the hillside behind them and the sea spread out before them like a promise.

‘So how many brothers do you have?’ Pete asked between bites of truly divine roast chicken. Chicken like this could quite conceivably make a man change his mind on the issue of not wanting a woman to come home to each night.

Serena held up two fingers and he smiled. Two brothers and an overprotective cousin wasn’t so bad.

‘I saw that smile,’ she said darkly. ‘And if you figure you can handle them you’re wrong. They’re half Greek. And if you’re talking extended family—and with my family you should—I also have two brothers-in-law, a father, three uncles, and half a dozen male cousins my age or older. Nico is the most liberal-minded of the lot.’

‘Ah.’ That was quite a list of protective males. Doubtless she’d driven them insane during her teenage years. ‘Bet your first date went well.’

‘You have no idea,’ she muttered. ‘I thought he’d be all right. He had a very cool car and a bad-boy reputation. A smile that promised heaven. They were waiting for him out in the front yard when he came to pick me up. My father and my uncle.’ Her eyes flashed with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. ‘They’d brought home a fish from the morning’s catch and were gutting it when he pulled up. With ten inch boning knives.’

‘Sounds reasonable,’ said Pete. ‘Although I can see how you might consider the knives a touch melodramatic.’

‘It was a six-foot shark.’

‘Oh.’ He felt a smile coming on.

‘And don’t you dare laugh!’

‘No, ma’am. But I am impressed.’

‘We didn’t even get to the cinema. The poor boy took me to a burger drive-through, fed me hot chips and a sundae, and had me home within half an hour. He’s probably still running.’

‘Just for the record, I’d have bought you a burger as well.’ He topped up her wineglass, reached for another slice of bread. ‘I have three brothers, a father, and one sister. Hallie’s the youngest.’

‘No mother?’

‘Nope. She died when I was a kid. My father took it hard, pulled back. My brothers and I took over the raising of Hallie. You’d like her. You could swap stories. My youngest brother could get downright creative when it came to deterring her more persistent suitors. He works for Interpol these days. He’d have loved a shark as a prop.’

‘Are you sure you don’t have any Greek ancestry in you?’

‘Not a drop.’

‘What’s your position on trust and honour?’

‘As in Nico trusting me not to hit on you?’

She nodded.

‘It’s damn near killing me.’

Her smile sliced through him, wicked with challenge. ‘But you are sticking to it.’

‘Barely.’ The meal had more than satisfied Pete’s appetite for food, and dusk was warming up the crowd for the coming of night. The air lay heavy with the scent of jasmine and he was self-aware enough to know that if he didn’t leave soon his honour wouldn’t be worth a drachma. ‘Close your eyes,’ he told her. ‘Think back to that bad boy with his own car and a smile like a promise.’

‘Why?’ But she did as he asked, her back to the table, her elbows resting behind her, and her head tilted back a fraction as if to catch the moonlight.

‘Work with me here,’ he murmured. ‘You’ve been to the cinema and you’re on your way home. The car stereo’s blaring, the windows are down, the wind is in your hair, and your bad boy has forgotten all about your father’s shark-carving skills. He’s young and reckless, and so are you.’

Her lips curved. ‘And then?’

‘He pulls up outside your front yard.’

‘Does he stop the engine?’

‘No. He’s not insane. He’s planning on a quick getaway.’

Her eyes were still closed. ‘Where’s the shark?’

‘Your father and uncle are hauling the last of it into the freezer. The timing’s perfect.’

‘For what?’ she whispered.

‘This.’ He brushed his lips over hers, a fleeting touch, nothing more, and pulled away. He planned to end it then, to say goodnight and get the hell out of temptation’s way, but her eyes were still closed and before he knew it his lips were on hers again, questing, cajoling, because this time, this time he wanted a response.

He got one.

Serena had played his game because she wanted to. Because she was curious as to what this man with his come to bed eyes and go to hell grin could bring to an evening, a moment, a kiss.

He brought plenty.

A taste so wild and delicious she shuddered. A mouth so firm and knowing she responded instinctively, following his lead with lips and with tongue in a dance as old as time. She wanted more, slid her hand to his cheek, to the nape of his neck in search of it, taking the kiss deeper as she sought the recklessness in him, that piece of him that courted danger, revelled in it, and came back for more. She found it.

And the kiss turned wild.

He murmured something, a deep-chested rumble that sounded like a protest but felt like surrender, and took her under.

Her mind had clouded over by the time the kiss ended, the rapid pulsing of her blood at odds with the languid slide of her hand from around his neck. She leaned back, elbows on the table, and watched as he struggled to surface, clawing his way out of the kiss in much the same way she had, and not bothering to hide how hard he found it.

She liked that about him. She liked it a lot.

‘Damn but he’s gonna break some hearts, kissing like that,’ she murmured.

‘So are you.’

She made a small hum of pleasure. ‘Tell him to kiss me again.’

‘No. If he does he’ll be lost and he doesn’t want that. Besides, the porch light has just come on and it’s way past time to be leaving.’

‘Does he come back?’

‘Try keeping him away. It’s your first kiss, maybe his third, but from that moment on there’s a part of him that’ll always be yours.’

She smiled, enchanted by his whimsy.

‘Thank you for the meal,’ he said softly. ‘Serena?’

‘What?’

‘I’ll honour Nico’s trust in me tonight, but next time I see you I’ll be asking you out to dinner. I’ll be holding you at the end of the evening. I’ll be around these next few weeks. I’ll be taking up some of your free time.’

She liked his high-handedness. She liked it a lot.

‘And Serena?’ He stood and looked down at her, looking for all the world like a dark angel fallen straight from the sky. ‘I don’t give a damn how big the shark is.’

CHAPTER THREE

PETE BENNETT lived to fly. Nothing could change that. Nothing ever had. It was simple fact that he was at his happiest with one hand on the throttle and the other on the joystick of a helicopter that responded to his slightest touch. Oh, he had his favourites, everyone did, and luckily old Tomas’s Jet Ranger was one of them. She was no Seahawk—equipment-wise she was a purely civilian fit—but she had a light touch and he was close to the sea, and for now that was enough.

And if at times skimming low across the water put him in mind of other far more dangerous flights and missions, well, that couldn’t be helped. A man like him did his damnedest to ignore the insistent knocking of the past in favour of whatever else was in front of him.

A man like him took great pains to ensure that whatever was in front of him had a certain basic appeal.

Island-hopping with a cargo of two tourists looking to overnight on a sleepy Greek island, for example, had enough basic appeal in the shape of meeting up with Serena again to drive every unwanted memory from his body.

He touched down at Sathi, Varanissi’s picturesque seaport, just on three in the afternoon, unloaded his passengers, and herded them towards the hotel, their bags slung over his shoulder with his own.

The fiery Chloe was nowhere to be seen as he saw them checked in and arranged to meet them again at nine the following morning. He wasn’t as lucky when it came to the boy, Sam. The kid had appeared in the foyer as he’d arrived and had been hovering ever since. When Pete made to leave, young Sam ventured forward.

‘You’re not staying here?’ he said.

Pete shook his head. ‘I’m staying up at Nico’s. In Tomas’s room.’

‘Oh.’ Sam paused, as if weighing his options. ‘I’m heading up that way too. To see Nico. I could show you a short cut if you want.’

He knew the path the boy was talking about. He’d taken it before, with Nico. And opened his mouth to say so.

But Sam had already read him. Pete watched, eyes narrowing, as bleak resignation flashed across the kid’s face, just before he lifted his chin and looked away. How the hell did a kid get to be so streetwise and still be so soft? He didn’t know. But it got to him. ‘Fine,’ he said, perversely pleased by Sam’s surprise. ‘I figured I’d head on up to the Vespas and say hello to Serena after that. Join me if you want. I could use the company.’ This much was true. He’d be far less tempted to reach for Serena within moments of seeing her if he had Sam with him.

Given the wildness of his fantasies about her, that was probably a good thing.

* * *

Four days. Four endless summer days. That was how long Serena had been waiting for that damn helicopter to fly over and land on the island and even then she waited another hour for the pilot of the cursed machine to put in an appearance at her brand-new blue beach umbrella by the rusty Vespa shed. By that time Serena had replayed the memory of Pete Bennett’s kisses at least a thousand times and every cell in her body was screaming for more. The man was a genius.

But he wasn’t alone. Sam tagged alongside him, wary and silent but nonetheless there. So much for wrapping herself around Superman right then and there.

Make that evil genius.

‘Hey, sailor,’ she said, smiling at Sam who’d finagled a morning out on Nico’s boat tomorrow. Tomorrow being Saturday, and that being the deal he’d made with Chloe if he went to school all week. ‘Got a message for you. Nico said he’ll swing by on his way down to the dock at around four-thirty a.m. Speaking from experience, you’d better be ready because the tide waits for no man and neither does Nico. Wear a jumper and a hat and don’t worry about gloves. He’s found some for you that’ll fit.’

Serena watched as Sam’s face lit up like the sun, a fleeting grin, gone almost as soon as it had arrived but she’d caught it nonetheless, along with a hefty dose of hero-worship for her cousin. ‘Meanwhile, there’s a Vespa been coughing and spluttering and I need someone to take it around the paddock a few times to see if it gives any grief.’

‘What’s in it for me?’ said Sam.

‘Experience,’ she said dryly, handing him a helmet.

‘It just so happens that the bike you’ll be trialling could well be the second-fastest bike on the island.’

‘So Aunt Chloe went for it?’ asked Pete as they watched Sam fasten the helmet, start the bike and ride slowly along the fence line. ‘That’s the second-fastest bike on the island?’

‘Well, no. Not any more. Maybe thirty years ago.’ Right now, it was the slowest ride she had. ‘And Chloe caved two days ago after two more trips to the principal’s office on account of our friend here’s somewhat disquieting habit of disappearing from school around mid-morning and failing to return.’ The bike coped with the downhill run easily enough, but coughed and groaned all the way up the hill. ‘I think it needs a new spark plug.’

‘That or a decent burial,’ muttered Pete.

‘We don’t discard our old around here. It’s just not done,’ she told him. ‘And it’s about time you showed up.’

Pete Bennett smiled. ‘Miss me?’

‘Maybe. Did you miss me?’

‘Of course. How many goddesses of buckets and sensuality do you think I know?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Never mind. I tried to get back here earlier,’ he murmured. ‘Unfortunately, not many people know about this place. It’s a hard sell. Maybe you should hurry up with those postcards.’

‘Maybe I will.’ She eyed his carryall speculatively, wondering how Sam had found him so fast, wondering exactly how long he was staying this time. ‘Are you staying overnight?’

He nodded. ‘What time do you finish up here?’

‘The last of the bikes should be back by five, give or take half an hour,’ she told him. ‘Why? What did you have in mind?’

‘I’m thinking of taking a stroll up the hill.’

‘What hill?’ She followed his gaze to the mountain looming behind them. ‘Oh. That hill.’ She’d climbed it before. It wasn’t easy. ‘That’s a big hill.’

‘Sam says there’s a path to the top.’

‘Well, yes. There is. If you’re a goat.’

‘And that you can see the entire island when you get to the top.’

There was that.

‘Bring your camera. You might catch the sunset.’

She’d been here for five months, four days, and counting. She’d photographed everything more times than she cared to remember, including the sunset. ‘I’ll need more incentive than that.’

‘It’s good exercise.’

‘Boy, do you have a lot to learn about women and incentive.’

‘C’mon, Rena. Haven’t you ever wanted to touch the sky?’

He had the soul of a poet. The smile of a devil. Serena couldn’t resist either. ‘All right. I give in. We’ll walk to the top and touch the sky.’

His smile promised more, much, much more, and she knew for a fact he could deliver. ‘You won’t regret it,’ he murmured.

‘I never do.’

* * *

It was half past five before the last of the bikes were locked away for the night and Serena had shooed Sam home. Closer to six by the time they’d taken her cooler and the cashbox down to the cottage. There was enough daylight left for getting up the hill. Not nearly enough daylight for getting back down. Serena picked up a small canvas bag and went in search of a torch and a couple of bottles of water before slinging it over her shoulder. ‘Ready?’

With a gesture that came as automatically to him as breathing, Pete removed the bag from her shoulder and slung it over his. ‘Lead on.’

She led him behind the cottage and across the bitumen road to where the goat track began. If there was one thing she’d become used to on Varanissi, it was walking up hills. Her body had grown quite fond of it; her legs no longer gave protest. She was healthy. Fit. And still she had the feeling that if necessary, Pete Bennett with his lazy stride and easy breathing could have taken the slope at a dead run. She picked up the pace, figuring that if she had to exercise she might as well make it worthwhile.

Half an hour later they reached their destination, a desolate plateau dropping away sharply on three of its four sides, but what the rocky, barren plateau lacked in visual appeal it more than made up for with its panoramic view of the village and harbour below.

The island had charm; she’d give it that. And the people on it were as good as you’d find anywhere. Maybe better.

But the world was bigger than this, and so were Serena’s dreams. Pete Bennett knew how to dream big too. She could see it in the way he looked to the sky, sense the restlessness in him, a burning need to keep moving, keep going … to run, and to fly. ‘You love it, don’t you? Being up here.’

‘Yeah,’ he said simply, looking skyward. ‘It’s the next best thing to being up there.’

‘Why helicopters?’ she asked. ‘Why didn’t you choose to fly planes?’

‘I’ve flown both,’ he said. ‘But helicopters are more sensitive, more tactile machines than planes. Planes are all about power. Helicopters are about finesse.’

‘You fly planes too?’

He flashed her a grin. ‘Serena, I fly everything.’

‘Have you always wanted to fly?’

‘Ever since I was old enough to sit on my sainted mother’s knee at Richmond RAAF base and watch the pilots practise their touch and gos.’

‘I’ll take that as an always. What’s a touch and go?’

‘You bring the plane in, touch down, and then take off again, all in the same run. What about you?’ He gestured towards the camera around her neck. ‘Has it always been photography for you?’

‘Not always. I’ve done lots of things. Managed restaurants, designed their interiors, done the branding work for the family seafood outlets, written articles for magazines. But I keep coming back to my camera and the stories a picture can tell.’ She took a mouthful of water. Watched as Pete did the same, slaking his thirst the same way he’d climbed the hill: effortlessly and with every appearance of enjoyment. ‘So you spent a goodly portion of your childhood hanging over the fence of the local RAAF base. What then? How did you become a pilot?’

‘I was all set to join the Air Force but somewhere along the way I got to stand on a deck full of Navy Seahawks and that was it for me. Nothing else would do.’

‘You joined the Navy?’ It didn’t seem to fit with his carefree bad-boy image. ‘What about the discipline? All those rules and regulations? Dedication to duty?’

‘What about them?’ He shot her a quizzical glance.

She figured she might as well give it to him straight. ‘You don’t seem the type.’

‘Look harder,’ he offered, his voice noticeably cooler.

Good idea. Excellent idea. She slipped the cap from her camera and studied him through the lens. ‘Okay, I’m seeing it now.’ But only because he was letting her see. This was a part of himself that playboy Pete Bennett preferred to keep hidden. She took the shot, and then another. ‘So how long were you in the Navy?’

‘Regular squadron? Seven years.’

‘And then?’

‘Then I transferred to air-sea search and rescue helicopters for a while.’

‘For how long?’ There was something about his expression that didn’t invite questions.

‘Eight years.’

He looked away, all shut down, but not before she’d caught with her camera a hint of pain that ran deep. She wondered at it, wondered why a man who’d spent fifteen years in service to others was currently flying tourists around these islands and contemplating hauling cargo around PNG. A man didn’t walk away from the kind of work he’d been doing for no reason. Did he? ‘Do you miss it?’

‘Miss what?’

‘The howling winds and heaving seas. The adrenalin rush that’d come with battling the elements and saving lives. It’s pretty heroic stuff.’

‘I’m not a hero, Serena. Far from it. Paint me as one and you’ll be in for disappointment,’ he said quietly.

‘Thanks for the warning,’ she countered dryly. ‘You know, my father is a fourth-generation fisherman. My brothers are fishermen. My cousins are fishermen. I know who they look to for miracles when the sea turns ugly and a vessel goes down. I know what you used to do.’

‘I don’t do it any more.’ The reckless charmer had disappeared, and in his place stood a complex warrior. The rogue had been irresistible enough. The warrior was downright breathtaking. ‘Take your photos,’ he said, but she already had and they wouldn’t be appearing on any picture postcard.

‘C’mere,’ she said softly and he looked towards her, wary and wounded for reasons she couldn’t fathom, his dark glare daring her to probe and prod for answers he didn’t want to give only she was done with questions for now. First rule of interviewing was to read your mark and when you’d pushed them as far as they’d go, pull back and come at them later from a different direction.

He stepped up in front of her, big and brooding, his hands in his pockets and his expression guarded. ‘Closer,’ she said, and set her hand to his chest and lightly bussed his lips. ‘That’s for stepping up to protect your country—even if you were seduced into it by a bunch of Navy helicopters.’ She set her lips to his again and let them linger a fraction longer, watching as his eyes darkened. ‘And that’s for putting your life on the line to save others, day in, day out, for eight years.’ She slid her hand to his shoulder and this time her kiss was more than a whisper. She felt his response, saw with satisfaction the heat of the kiss chase the shadows from his eyes.

‘What was that for?’ he muttered.

‘Dinner,’ she said, sauntering away towards the southern edge of the plateau. ‘You are taking me to dinner, aren’t you?’

He took her to dinner. To the little restaurant high in the hills where the fish stew was reputed to taste like ambrosia and the air was thin enough to have him breathing deep whenever Serena looked at him. She wore a cream-coloured dress, low cut, square necked, with delicate shoulder straps. It had little buttons all the way down the front, buttons that drove a man to distraction whenever he looked at them, and she knew it, her smile told him so and her eyes dared him to call her on it. ‘That’s quite a first-date dress.’ His lips brushed her hair as he saw her seated. ‘But it’s not blue.’

‘You were expecting the blue?’ she said and her eyes were laughing.

‘I was looking forward to it,’ he said. ‘With a great deal of anticipation, I might add.’

‘Sorry to disappoint.’

‘You haven’t. I’ll continue to look forward to it.’

‘I’m saving it,’ she said.

‘For what?’

‘The Trevi Fountain.’

Good call. He knew this game of seduction well. He loved the playing of it, the hunt and the chase. Loved it when his quarry provided a challenge. And heaven help him the woman sitting opposite knew exactly how to do just that.

‘Unfortunately my chances of venturing that far afield are somewhat limited at the moment,’ she added with a sigh. ‘And I suspect you’re tied to Tomas’s charter operation as well. Fortunately for you I’ve had another idea.’ She leaned back in her chair and smiled. ‘It involves no fountain and no blue dress whatsoever, but it does involve water.’ He was all ears. And damned if she didn’t smile and change the subject. ‘Tell me about your family.’

‘I’ve already told you about them,’ he said.

‘Tell me more.’

He usually didn’t. But this time, in this place, he relaxed into his seat and offered up more. ‘My father lives in Sydney. He’s an academic—a scholar of ancient Chinese pottery. My sister is married and lives in London. She inherited our father’s passion for pots. Then there’s Tristan, who works for Interpol. He got married at Christmas and is back living in Sydney.’ Pete shook his head at the wonder of that particular notion. ‘Then there’s Luke. He’s older than Tris, younger than me. He’s a Navy SEAL.’ Pete toyed with his bread and butter knife, would have left it at that, but Serena wasn’t chasing a career in photojournalism without having mastered the finer art of persistence.

‘You said you had three brothers,’ she prompted him with a smile. ‘There’s one more.’

‘Jake.’ Thoughts of Jake always came with a serve of guilt. That he hadn’t helped him out more when their mother had died. That he hadn’t shouldered more of the responsibility. ‘He’s a couple of years older than me and runs a handful of martial arts dojos in Singapore.’

‘So your family is scattered all over the globe.’

‘More or less.’

‘My immediate family live in Melbourne. All of them. I can’t imagine them living anywhere but in each other’s pockets.’

‘Is this a bad thing?’ he asked curiously.

‘Hard to say.’ She shrugged. ‘Everyone always knows what everyone else is doing. Whether that’s a bad thing tends to depend on whether they approve of what you’re doing. If they don’t …’ She shrugged again.

‘And do your family approve of your plans for the future? The photojournalism career? The endless travel away from the family bosom?’

‘Let’s just say they don’t quite understand,’ she said lightly, but her eyes told a different, darker story.

‘Maybe one day they will.’

She smiled and leaned back in her chair. ‘You’re a nice man, Pete Bennett. Idealistic, but nice.’

There was that word again. Nice. She really should stop bandying it about. It made a man uncomfortable. ‘You do know that nice isn’t really on this evening’s agenda?’ he told her softly. ‘That would be the wrong notion to be carrying around altogether.’

Her smile held equal measures of wickedness and delight. ‘I’d be very disappointed if it was.’

A weathered old man appeared beside the table, glaring at him from beneath thick grey eyebrows and over a strongly hooked nose. ‘You’ll order now,’ he said.

Pete looked to Serena and raised an eyebrow. ‘Care to order?’

‘My usual, Pappou Theo. The fish stew and the salad.’

‘Pappou Theo?’ he murmured.

‘Honorary grandfather,’ she said. ‘One of my grandfather’s pinochle partners.’

That explained the scowl. ‘I’ll have the oysters and then the fish stew,’ he said. ‘Serena tells me good things about it.’

‘No oysters for you!’ said the old man emphatically. ‘Greek salad with many onions. You’ll like.’ The old man turned to Serena again and surveyed her critically. ‘Does Nico know you’re here?’

‘Yes, Pappou.’

‘And when does he expect you home? At a reasonable hour, I hope.’

‘Yes, Pappou. Very reasonable.’

The old man muttered to himself beneath his breath and turned back to Pete. ‘Drinks?’ he barked.

‘Some white wine?’ Pete looked to Serena.

‘No!’ said the old man. ‘No wine.’

‘Raki?’

‘Pig swill,’ he said.

‘Beer?’

‘Not for you. I’ll bring the water over,’ said the old man, and stalked away.

Pete stared after him. ‘That went well.’

‘I did warn you,’ she said. ‘I told you there’d be sharks. You told me you could swim.’

‘I can swim.’ And he was enjoying the challenge of getting past her guardians. He watched as the old man ambled towards the kitchen with their order. ‘I’m just rethinking our next evening meal. I have a plan.’

‘Is it a cunning plan?’

‘It involves travel off the island. For you.’

‘I like it,’ she said. ‘Simple yet effective.’

‘How far away do you think we’ll have to get before you run out of relatives?’

‘Three or four islands over,’ she said breezily. ‘Five at the most. Or we could play it really safe and go to Istanbul for the evening. That’d work.’

‘You don’t have any relatives in Turkey?’

‘None we admit to.’

‘So … ‘He began to think of more immediate options. ‘What would a man have to do to earn your family’s approval to court you?’

‘You want to court me? I’m thinking courtship comes under the heading of nice again.’

‘I’m speaking theoretically.’

‘Well, theoretically, it’d help if you were Greek and owned a shipping line.’

‘How about Australian and co-owner of a small charter airline?’

‘I’d have to check. Tell me … are you of Greek Orthodox religion?’

‘Catholic,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Lapsed.’

‘You might want to keep that to yourself,’ she said.

‘You should probably stick to talk of undying devotion to me, an exceptionally large income, a huge wedding, and your longing to help produce half a dozen children in very short order.’

‘How many children?’ he spluttered.

‘Oh, okay, five then. But that’s my absolute minimum.’

‘You want five children? In very short order? Are we sure about this?’ She didn’t look all that sure. ‘Two,’ he said firmly. ‘Two’s a good number. Any more than two and we won’t all fit in the helicopter.’

‘Four,’ she countered with a grin. ‘And we’re definitely going to need a bigger helicopter. Something roomy and safe. Family-minded. A Volvo of a helicopter.’

‘Oh, that’s harsh,’ he murmured. ‘Anyone would think you didn’t want a man to consider a serious relationship with you.’

‘They’d be right.’

‘God, you’re perfect,’ he said. ‘I swear you stand a very good chance of ruining me for all other women.’

‘That’s quite a compliment,’ she countered. ‘But I really don’t want to ruin you for anyone. I just want to play a while.’

‘Utterly and irrevocably perfect,’ he said on a sigh. ‘Hell, Serena, you might just ruin me anyway.’

Their meal arrived and they ate it. Sinfully rich stew with a smattering of easy conversation on the side. Pete knew the game of seduction very well and played it with a skill that left her breathless and more than a little intrigued as to what would come next. A rakish smile or a challenging question? A sidestep here, advance, or retreat? He kept her guessing. Kept her amused and entertained.

She was a curious woman by nature, but he did a remarkable job of making her want to know more of him. Like what it was that had put the shadows in his eyes, and what he was doing here, flying tourists around the sky, when every instinct she owned told her there was so much more to him than this.

‘Coffee?’ he suggested as Theo cleared their plates away. ‘Dessert?’ Theo opened his mouth as if to refuse them that as well. Pete eyed him coolly. ‘Of course, if there’s nothing available here I’d be happy to take you somewhere else.’

They got their coffee and dessert. They also got a taxi without having to order it. It was leaving within the next five minutes, Theo told them. It’d be a good idea if Serena were in it. She didn’t disagree.

Pete looked amused but neither did he.

They were back at the little whitewashed cottage on the hillside by a quarter to ten. Serena waited in silence as Pete paid the taxi driver and, stepping back, looked towards her front door. ‘No sharks,’ he said. ‘There’s a surprise.’

‘Nico’s pretty easygoing,’ she said dryly. ‘I can’t see him objecting too much to our having dinner up at Theo’s.’

‘Can’t you?’ There was that soul-stealing smile again. ‘I can.’

Nico had left the outside light on for them, but before she could decide how to end the evening, whether to invite him in, cut and run, or try and figure out something in between, the door opened and Nico stood there glaring at them both.

‘You’re still awake,’ she said, surprised. Nico usually bedded down far earlier than this. All that getting-up-before-dawn business.

‘Have you any idea how many phone calls I’ve had about you tonight?’ he demanded.

‘Er … more than you wanted?’

‘One was more than I wanted. I’ve had four. Four! Two from Theo, one from Marianne Papadopoulos, and one from your mother! And don’t ask me how she knew you were out on a date, because I have no idea. Anyone would think you were making love on the tabletop.’ He eyed them narrowly. ‘Were you?’

‘No!’ Serena’s hands went to her hips and her temper slid up a notch. ‘We were trying to have a meal, and a restricted one at that. When was the last time you went out to dinner and Theo refused you oysters and alcohol?’

Nico’s lips twitched.

Serena narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t you dare laugh.’

‘Not laughing,’ he said, and then spoiled it by grinning hugely as he turned away and stalked back down the hall. ‘This isn’t Australia,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘It isn’t even Athens. What did you expect?’ He spared a lightning glance for Pete. ‘You’ve got five minutes. I need my sleep. Anything happens to Sam on board that boat tomorrow and Chloe’ll skewer me with a fish-hook. Anything happens to Serena in the next five minutes that’s not entirely circumspect and I’ll skewer you. That’s the way it works around here. Welcome to Sathi.’

‘All right,’ she said with a sigh as she closed the door on Nico’s retreating form and turning to study the man at her side. ‘So I could have been slightly wrong about Nico not worrying about our dinner together—although, to be scrupulously fair, he probably wasn’t the one doing the worrying. Others did it for him. How do you feel? Alarmed? Afraid? Threatened?’

‘Nah.’ Far from looking worried, Superman looked to be thoroughly enjoying himself. ‘He gave me five minutes. He likes me.’

She liked him. And that was proving more of a problem than she’d thought it would be. ‘Walk with me, Pete Bennett. I’ll show you my favourite place in the garden.’ She clasped her arms around her waist and walked around the side of the cottage, to the edge of the garden to stare out over the moonlit sea. She did some of her best thinking just sitting there staring out to sea.

She needed to do some very serious thinking about what she wanted from this man right about now.

She’d looked at him a few days back and seen a pleasant diversion. A charming playmate with no strings attached. She looked at him now and saw something far more dangerous. A man with a generous heart, and a guarded one. A man with the potential to captivate her as well as charm her, and she didn’t want that. No, she couldn’t have that.

Not when for the first time in her life she could see a time up ahead with no commitments and no family ties. Her time. Time for chasing long-held dreams for a career she could be proud of.

‘I’ve enjoyed your company,’ Serena said at last.

Nothing but the truth in that statement. ‘I’d like to enjoy it some more. But we’re going to need some rules.’

‘I love rules,’ he said. ‘What kind of rules?’

‘We keep this light-hearted,’ she said firmly. ‘No falling in love.’

‘Check.’

‘And brief. We’ll both be leaving here soon enough. We should make that the end of it. Clean break. Happy memories.’

‘Mature of us,’ he said. ‘Anything else?’

‘I know we’re talking a brief and in no way serious relationship here, but I’m thinking exclusivity is a must.’

‘You’d better be,’ he said curtly.

‘There is one more thing.’

‘You’re pushing your luck, Serena.’

He looked tough, forbidding, and Serena wondered afresh whether she was insane to think she could handle this man. He walked his own path, made his own rules. But this last rule was important. ‘We need to be discreet.’ Otherwise it would reflect badly on her family, and she didn’t want that. ‘It’s this place … ‘she said with more than a little frustration.

Pete laughed at that, and the rich dark sound of it slid along her skin like water.

‘You’re right,’ he murmured. ‘We’ll be discreet.’And then his lips were on hers, hard and seeking, and all her carefully thought out rules shattered beneath the weight of her desire.

Pete’s body betrayed him the moment he reached for her. He’d known it would. The searing heat. The outrageous, all-consuming need to possess that which he held and, in doing so, offer up a part of himself. She was all luscious curves, made for a man’s hands, his hands, as he curled his fingers around her buttocks and brought their lower bodies into languid and intimate contact. He could be discreet. If that was what she wanted. He’d do it. He would.

Soon.

Just as soon as he’d finished feasting on her mouth.

She dug her hands in his hair and her lips turned ravenous, but he was ready for the staggering hunger of her kisses this time and he ate them up, spun them round, and served them straight back at her.

Serena had thought she was prepared for the passion this man brought to lovemaking, but she wasn’t prepared for this. It was like a meeting of souls, locked in a kiss, and she feared it … heaven help her she feared it … even as she gloried in it. Whatever she wanted, however she wanted it, he had it in him to give. And she wanted it all.

Shuddering at the sensations threatening to overwhelm her, she dragged her lips free of his kiss and set trembling fingers to his mouth instead. A barrier, a slowdown, only her fingers had a mind of their own, exploring his upper lip, the strong shapely curve of it, before dragging the sensitive pad of her forefinger across the sculpted fullness of the rest.

Serena watched as those perfect lips curved into a smile; a smile for her attempts to regain control maybe; and then she was urging his mouth open and replacing fingertips with lips and with tongue for a kiss so staggeringly potent she clear forgot to breathe.

Whatever she wanted, she thought helplessly as his tongue duelled delicately with hers. Just the way she wanted it, as his fingers tightened on her butt and he surged against her, and with a ragged groan spun them into the maelstrom again.

His eyes were black, as black as sin and deep enough to drown in, when finally, finally, they stood apart.

‘Discreet.’ He ran a hand around the back of his neck. ‘We might have to work on that one,’ he said raggedly. And then he was gone.

CHAPTER FOUR

NICO scowled at her when she staggered into the kitchen. Serena ignored him and headed for the sink, filling a tall glass to the brim with tap water and downing it in one long swallow. ‘So … ‘she said, finally turning to face her cousin. ‘How was your night?’

Nico’s eyes narrowed. ‘I said five minutes.’

‘It was five minutes.’

‘It was ten minutes, your mouth’s all swollen, and your hands are shaking.’

Oh.

‘You can’t take a man like that seriously, Serena.’

‘I don’t intend to.’

‘I mean, what do we know about him? Apart from the fact that he was able to pack up his life in an instant and come out here when Tomas called. Seriously, what does that say about a man?’

‘That he’s a good friend to Tomas?’

‘He’s a drifter. A man with no responsibilities.’

‘You should ask him what he used to do for a living,’ she said wryly. ‘It’s quite illuminating.’

‘He’s trouble. I thought you could handle him or I’d never have introduced you.’

‘I can handle him,’ she snapped. She’d had enough of Nico’s and everyone else’s well-meaning interference. ‘I know damn well he’s trouble. I don’t need you to tell me that. I know it wouldn’t work out. I don’t want it to work out. All right?’ Her voice broke but the rest of her stood tall as she glared across the table at Nico and dared him to take her to task for a passion she couldn’t control. ‘I know.’

Pete was fresh out of a cold shower in the little bedsit, a towel slung around his waist and his hair still dripping water, when he took it in his head to call his older brother. In Singapore.

‘‘Lo.’ Jake’s voice sounded raspy, sleepy.

‘Jake? What time is it there?’ He did the maths, winced a little at the early morning hour. ‘I, ah, didn’t interrupt anything, did I?’

‘Not unless you count sleep as something. Which you should.’

‘Never mind. I’ll call back later.’

‘You in trouble?’ asked Jake.

‘Not really.’

Jake said nothing. Jake was really good at waiting in silence while the other person squirmed and tried to put feelings into words. Something to do with inner stillness and meditation. He’d never quite managed to get the hang of it, himself. ‘All right, so I could have a slight problem.’

‘Define “slight”.’

‘There’s this woman.’

Dead silence at that. Fraught silence. Not a lot of inner stillness in that silence at all. And then, ‘Why me?’ said Jake, his voice long-suffering. ‘I live a frugal life. I keep to myself. I pay my taxes. Why?’

‘Is this a bad time to call?’ he said. ‘Because I can call back later. When you’re making more sense.’

‘Is she terminally ill?’

‘No.’

‘Are you terminally ill?’

‘No.’

‘Is she married to a Mafia Don who wants to cut off your balls?’

‘She’s not married at all.’

‘So there’s no bodily danger to you at this particular point in time?’

‘No.’ It was his soul he was worried about. ‘My body thinks it’s found heaven.’

‘Colour me envious,’ said Jake, ‘but what the hell is your problem?’

‘She doesn’t want to be tied down.’

‘So? Neither do you. The minute a woman starts getting serious, you’re gone.’

‘This one’s kind of interesting.’

Silence.

‘You’ve fallen for her,’ said Jake finally.

‘I have not!’ he said indignantly. ‘I did not say that. I was just wondering what the next step up from a strictly casual relationship might be. You know … casual yet slightly meaningful. Comes before commitment. But I can’t remember what it’s called.’

‘Self-delusion,’ said Jake dryly. ‘Run.’

‘That’s your advice? Run?’

‘Yep.’

‘Any other advice?’

‘Nope.’

‘You are no help whatsoever.’

‘Not in this,’ said Jake with grim humour. ‘Call Tris,’ he said, and hung up.

No way, thought Pete as he shoved the phone back in his bag. No way was he calling anyone else in his family tonight. One delusional phone call an evening was enough. He towelled his hair, found a fresh pair of boxers in his carryall and looked at the bed.

He was nowhere near ready for bed.

He found a book, tossed it on the bed as incentive.

Still not ready for bed. The image of a dark-eyed goddess in an ivory-coloured sundress flashed through his mind, closely followed by an image of her lying in his bed with no ivory-coloured sundress on at all.

Now he’d never get to sleep.

So she wanted nothing more than a light hearted romp. Was this a bad thing? No. Light hearted romps were his speciality.

So he’d wondered, briefly, about a relationship that involved a little bit … more. Clearly not a good idea. He’d get over it. Was over it. A short-term relationship was fine. Just fine.

Fidelity he could do.

As for discretion. Pete thought back to the kisses they’d shared and chuckled as he stripped the towel from his body and ran it over his hair.

Heaven help them both.

* * *

Breakfast the following morning was a revelation. Serena had rapped on the bedsit door at seven and told him that breakfast was available in the kitchen if he wanted it. Ten minutes later he made his way over there, showered, shaved and ready for whatever lay ahead as far as light hearted, short-term, discreetly exclusive relationships were concerned.

And then he stepped through the kitchen doorway and she stopped grinding fresh coffee beans and smiled at him and every rational thought he’d had about her left his head.

She wore modest shorts and a bright pink T-shirt— Pete recognised it as her Vespa hire attire—and had pulled her hair back into a pony-tail. Nothing overtly seductive about any of it—no slinky sleepwear or artfully tousled hair, and still her innate sensuality punched into him like a fist.

‘What would you like for breakfast?’ she asked as she loaded up the breakfast bench with far more food than he could possibly eat.

‘You don’t have to do this, you know,’ he said as he relieved her of the orange juice and gestured towards the bench. ‘I can get my own cereal.’

‘All part of the service.’ She stifled a yawn and padded over to the kitchen sink, leaning over to open the window above it. ‘You want anything cooked? Sausages? Bacon and eggs?’

What he wanted was to drag her back to bed and make love to her until the sleepiness left her eyes and satisfaction took its place. What he wanted was to ask her what she had planned for the day and then rearrange his own schedule to fit in around hers so he could see her again later. What he said was, ‘No, thanks. This is fine.’

‘So … ‘she poured herself a cup of coffee and cradled it in her hands as she leaned back against the kitchen counter and studied him ‘… what do you usually talk about at breakfast?’

‘Usually I’m by myself.’

‘When you’re not,’ she said dryly.

He tried to think. Couldn’t. Not when she strolled over and settled into the chair opposite him and her scent wrapped around him like a promise. ‘Work. We talk about work. What that person is doing with their day. That sort of thing. ‘

‘Oh,’ she said. And with another one of those lazy, loaded smiles, ‘What are you doing with your day, Pete Bennett?’

‘Well …’ He wished his mind would return from wherever he’d dropped it. It was probably somewhere over by the door. ‘First up is Corfu to drop passengers, then Cyprus to pick up some cargo, then back to mainland Greece. I’ll overnight in Athens.’

‘Skite,’ she muttered. ‘I’m going to the Vespa shed. I’ll be there until five.’

‘I’ll think of you.’ Nothing but the truth.

‘What else do you talk about?’

‘Anything. Everything. Except for home improvements. A woman starts talking home improvements and I start to get nervous.’

‘Really?’ she said archly. ‘So you don’t think this kitchen needs a bigger window? I think it needs a much bigger window. I mean, look at that view! It’s just begging to be taken advantage of.’

‘It doesn’t work when you talk about improvements to your home,’ he told her smugly as he reached for the cereal. ‘It only works when the house in question is mine.’

‘Ah. I should have guessed.’

‘You should be grateful,’ he told her. ‘You don’t want a man who’s looking for a woman to improve his home, remember?’

‘Not yet, anyway,’ she murmured.

‘So … you do want one eventually?’ This was interesting.

‘Well, yes,’ she said with a toss of her head. ‘Eventually. But now is not convenient.’

‘Why not?’

‘I want to travel for a while. Concentrate on my career. Be free of family for a bit. Family commitments are messy. They confuse things.’

‘So … you’re streamlining.’ Pete looked around at the mass of food, remembering the easy way she dealt with Nico and with Sam, with everyone who crossed her path, and stifled a grin.

Serena’s eyes narrowed. ‘Something amusing you?’

‘If I had to hazard a guess I’d say you liked life a little messy and complicated.’

‘Maybe in the past,’ she said. ‘Maybe for another few weeks. But in a month’s time life is going to be sleek, career-focussed, and ever so slightly narcissistic.’

‘Hence our rules for this relationship.’

‘Exactly. I knew you’d understand. More coffee?’

Pete kept his expression deadpan as she breezed her way through the breakfast ritual. Toast, animated discussion of a story in the newspaper, a grocery list for Nico. He ate his cereal, watched her put a load of Nico’s work clothes in the washing machine, and wondered afresh at humankind’s capacity for self-delusion. The fresh-brewed-coffee goddess didn’t have a narcissistic bone in her body. Oh, she might have looked the part, but beneath all that blatant sensuality lay an innate regard for the welfare of others that he doubted she’d ever shake.

No matter what kind of plans she’d made for the future.

His watch told him it was time to fly. His stomach told him there was no reason to linger over breakfast any longer. Sighing, Pete stood and took his breakfast bowl and coffee-cup over to the sink.

‘You’re right. You do need a bigger window here,’ he said as she came to stand beside him.

‘I knew you’d see it my way.’ Serena smiled and leaned back against the counter, her hands either side of her as he stepped in closer, effectively trapping her between himself and the counter. Her smile widened.

‘Maybe instead of dinner next time, we could do something your honorary protectors don’t object to quite so much. We could go sightseeing.’ He brushed her lips with his. ‘Swimming.’ Another kiss, just as fleeting. ‘Something.’

‘When will you be back this way?’ she murmured, leaning towards him and lifting her mouth towards his for a kiss rich with promise and in no way fleeting. His mind had fogged and he was a whisper away from taking things further when finally she drew away.

‘Soon.’

Just over one week later, Serena sat at the desk in her grandparents’ tiny sitting room that doubled as an office and waded through her latest batch of job applications. She’d commandeered one of Nico’s fishing crew to run the Vespa hire business for the afternoon so she could get this latest lot done and on their way. Trouble was, she was doing more daydreaming than working and her pile of completed job applications didn’t seem to be getting any bigger. Time was wasting. Flying.

Wrong word. Serena scowled and tried very hard not to think of other things that might be flying, a particular person who might be flying for example, although he certainly hadn’t been flying her way of late.

He’d said he’d be back soon. One week did not qualify as soon.

When it came to life on the island, one week bore a startling resemblance to eternity.

‘Nico said I’d find you here,’ said a deep voice from the doorway and Serena caught her breath at the sudden rapid pounding of her heart. She turned slowly, her brain wrestling her wayward body for control of her next actions. Her body was all for launching itself into his arms and getting frantic fast. Her brain wanted something a little more demure and nonchalant. Something composed.

She settled for leaning back in her chair and swirling round to face him, chin high in silent defiance of the effect he had on her body. She could control this. She could. ‘You’re late,’ she said darkly, drinking him in, those startling good looks, the smile in his eyes and the way his lips tilted at her words.

‘How goes the job hunting?’ he said.

‘It’s probably best if you don’t ask about the job hunting right now.’

‘That bad, huh?’

‘Let’s just say there’s not a lot here that makes my heart go pitter patter.’ Apart from the obvious.

‘So can I persuade you to take some time out to go for a Vespa ride or a swim?’

With a smile like that he could doubtless persuade her to do anything. Not that he needed to know that.

‘I can probably spare a few hours. Distractions aren’t all that common around here. When they arrive we tend to make time for them. It’s just the island way.’ There. Nonchalant had been well and truly nailed. Who said she had no control around this man? She looked at the carryall at his feet. ‘Are you staying overnight?’

‘Two hours.’

‘That’s it?’ Her nonchalance headed south, never mind the nails.

‘I have a pick-up in Santorini later this afternoon. Business is booming.’

Bummer. She stacked her papers into a pile and shut down her laptop. Two hours was still two hours. No point wasting it. ‘I hope you have a towel in your bag. And swimmers.’

‘Happens I do,’ he said.

Hers were in her room. ‘I’ll meet you in the courtyard in three minutes. Help yourself to some food from the kitchen on the way.’

Three minutes later she stood by the fastest Vespa on the island—which wasn’t saying much—with Superman beside her munching an apple as she contemplated their next step. ‘What would you rather do first? Swim or sightsee? There’s a good swimming cove nearby. Some pretty little churches up in the hills. Do you like churches?’

‘They have their uses. But I’d rather swim first and repent later,’ he said with a decidedly unangelic smile.

‘I like your thinking.’ Such a good catholic. She looked at the Vespa, looked back at Pete. ‘Who’s driving?’

His lips twitched as his gaze met hers. ‘Now there’s a question.’

‘I’m the one who knows where we’re going,’ she said reasonably.

‘True,’ he said with a sigh, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring dejectedly at the bike for good measure. ‘There’s no arguing with that.’

Serena rolled her eyes at the pitiful image of male self sacrifice before her. ‘Or we could go past the shed and get another Vespa. Then we could both be in the driver’s seat.’

‘A marginally better idea,’ he said. ‘If you discount the wasted fuel.’

They stared at the bike some more.

‘You could always give me directions,’ he said.

‘Can you take directions?’ she asked sceptically.

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘There doesn’t need to be a reason.’ Clearly he’d never been in the car with her parents.

‘Not only can I take directions, I also have an equal opportunity plan of attack for this particular dilemma,’ he said. ‘Me being a thoroughly modern man and all.’

Serena snorted. ‘Let’s hear it, then.’ He wasn’t quite as traditional in his thinking as her father and brothers when it came to womenfolk and their place in the world. But he wasn’t that far off it.

‘I’ll drive us to the beach, you can drive us to the church,’ he said with a grin. ‘We’ll start tossing coins after that.’

‘My hero.’ Wonders would never cease.

He handed her his carry bag and straddled the bike. She slung the bag over her shoulder, next to her own, and slipped onto the bike, her hands at his waist and her sundress riding high on her thighs so that when she settled into place behind him her bare thighs nudged the lightweight cotton material of his trousers and the tightly muscled buttocks beneath. Maybe there was something to be said for not being in the driver’s seat after all. This was very nice. Very … liberating. Perfect, in fact.

But wait. She’d wrinkled his shirt and she couldn’t have that. So she let her hands roam all over that wide muscled back; a wrinkle smoothed here, a wrinkle made there. Really, there was just no getting rid of them.

‘Serena—’ His voice was husky, more than a little strained.

‘Hmm?’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Ironing.’

‘Well, can you do it later?’ he muttered. ‘I’m trying to concentrate here.’

‘Oh.’ She slid her hands beneath his shirt and set them to his waist, set her feet to the footpegs, her knees tucking in behind his and bringing her thighs into even closer contact with the back of his. ‘Sorry. Ready when you are.’

‘Serena—’ He sounded long suffering, his voice a deep delicious rumble that started in his chest and carried all the way to the tips of her fingers as well as her ears. There was just no end to the sensory delights to be found on the back of this bike. ‘The directions—’

‘Oh. Right.’ Serena grinned as he started the bike. ‘Turn left and drive. The road follows the coastline. I’ll tell you when we’re there.’

‘That’s it?’ he said. ‘Those are the directions?’

‘They’re good, aren’t they?’ she said and settled back to enjoy the ride.

Serena took him to a secluded cove with white sand, clear blue water and a swimming cave she knew damn well he’d want to explore. Sure enough his eyes lit up when he saw it and he wasted no time stripping down to his board shorts. He wore clothes well, no denying it. But he wore next to no clothes better. He was all lean and sculpted muscle, not an ounce of fat on him. Sheer perfection, but for a thin, wicked-looking scar that started high on his back and headed up and over his left shoulder.