Niko's Stolen Bride (5 page)

She laughed as he’d hoped she would, her tense facial features relaxing into a smile. “If you don’t mind,” he continued, keeping his tone casual, “I’d like to come with you today. I was raised in Miami and have spent many weekends in the Keys. I’d like to see it again.”

“Elaina mentioned that it’s been a couple of years since you lived in the States.”

He nodded. “I moved to Greece to learn more of my father’s business. It’s been a good experience to live close to the rest of my family.”

“I suppose you’ll live there permanently?”

He wondered at the uncertain sound in her voice, then shrugged. “My mother still lives in Miami. It is home.” That wasn’t quite true, but he wouldn’t admit it to her and certainly not to his mother. He had stopped in to visit her before coming on to Sanibel. It had been touching that she’d been so happy to see him. She’d always been so tied up in work and the brilliant social scene of a fashion model that he hadn’t realized she’d miss him so much. Perhaps she hadn’t known either.

After his parents’ divorce, he’d spent his summers in Greece with his father and his half-brother and sister. When their father wasn’t working, they’d sail among the islands or drive to the villa in the country. Living there was familiar and comfortable, but he’d expected some deeper connection from an extended stay. He’d expected it to feel like home. That it didn’t had not disturbed him until he’d returned to Miami and realized he was not as comfortable there as before. Something was missing, and he knew in his gut what it was. It had slipped away in a moment he seldom spoke about.

“I’d better go change,” Kara murmured.

Reaching, he clasped her calf with one hand, feeling her jerk in reaction. He smoothed his palm down the soft, sun-warmed skin, circling one ankle in a tender vise, holding her next to him. “You’re already overdressed.”

“What?” The surprise in her tone was echoed in the sudden tenseness around her mouth.

“For Key West,” he added quickly. Who was he kidding? For him. He tilted his head as he felt the change in tempo as the engines were throttled back. Eduardo was waiting on him to pilot the yacht into the harbor. Again, something was dragging them apart. He should accept the hand that fate was dealing him, but it was easy to disregard the signs with the softness of her skin under his fingertips and the fragrance of her hair drifting between them.

“It’s blazing hot this time of year and it’s common to see women walking around in only a bikini.” He released the grip on her ankle with slow reluctance and stood. “I’m going to change into shorts myself after we dock. Just be sure to bring a shirt for the restaurant and a comfortable pair of shoes. We’ll be doing a lot of walking.”

“Oh, good tips. Thanks.”

Her gaze traveled up his body as he stood over her. The look was so intense that he could feel it as a physical thing. For a moment, he imagined the heat of her palms splayed against his shirt, pulling the material up as she slid her fingers across his ribs. It would feel good to have her against him again. Too good.

Reaching down, he held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. Under his fingertips, he felt the jump of her pulse and was not surprised at the answering leap in his own veins. He had found her on the dance floor as Elaina asked, but once he’d pulled her into his arms it had been all about them. The way she moved against him, her skin almost melting into his, the blaze of awareness in her hazel eyes, the softness of her lips under his for that instant of contact. He hadn’t wanted to let her go. His fingers tightened on hers, and he felt a brief answering curl of her hand against his before she tugged her fingers from his hold.

It gave him no comfort that she was as aware of him as he was of her. If anything, it made it harder. This was a relationship that would wither before it ever had a chance to bloom, doomed to its pitiful end at midnight tonight. Unlike Cinderella and her Prince, there would be no second chances. No happily ever after.

He would do the right thing today. He would treat Kara with the respect that she deserved. Perhaps they could make a few pleasant memories to replace the disastrous ones of last night. Suddenly he was fiercely glad that her idiot fiancé had succumbed to the wiles of some barroom broad.

He would, at the least, have today.

The yacht created quite a stir among the tourists along the dock. They turned to stare, pointing and nodding their heads in smiling admiration.

Kara stood in the bow while Niko maneuvered the ship into the narrow slip between two white yachts roughly the size and shape of whales. He was using a set of controls that he had flipped out from a hidden compartment on the side of the ship, near the railing, as well as calling instructions in rapid fire languages she couldn’t begin to comprehend. Since yachts were a common sight in Key West, she wasn’t sure whether the attention was centered on the sleek lines of the black ship or the attractive male crew. George Partheris was the focus for the younger females. Though he’d been born in Athens, his features were more refined than Niko’s and his skin tone more yellow than olive. He had a military air about him with his white uniform and his hair cut severely short, yet his easy smile made him approachable.

They were docking steps away from the famous pier on which crowds gathered every evening to watch the sunset. Even now, couples and families strolled among the temporary booths, watching the artists as they painted, eating fried plantains or meat pies flavored with Jamaican jerk spices. The smell of cooking drifted to her, almost overriding the raw odors of gasoline and decaying seaweed. Above her, sea gulls wheeled and dived, while a few meandered among the humans, looking for dropped crumbs. Their cries mingled with the steel drum band that played on the edge of a nearby restaurant’s balcony and rivaled the rock music blaring from a yacht further down the dock.

She loved Key West already.

When she looked over at Niko, she saw he was turned her way. His expression was hidden behind his sunglasses, but she smiled and threw him a quick wave to let him know she was all right.

She
was
all right.

She acknowledged it to herself with a hint of surprise. Not excited, but calm and ready for the adventure the afternoon would bring. For a moment, she wondered how she could feel this way when she would have expected to be depressed about the dashed hopes and spoiled dreams today represented.

Niko flashed a wide, white smile in return, then turned his head to shout something at George. The younger man looked up from where he was attaching ropes from the boat to the pier. He swung his head to track the progress of a well-endowed young woman in a bright-pink string bikini, obviously the subject of Niko’s comment. George pursed his lips and gave a long wolf-whistle. The girl acknowledged his tribute by increasing the sway of her generous hips as she strutted.

Kara laughed and shook her head. Men, they never grew up. Suddenly that seemed just fine. Shouldn’t life be full of laughter and enjoyment rather than regrets? It was something to think about, to aim for in the future. Perhaps she had already taken steps in that direction.

Her gaze followed Niko’s movements as he stood at the controls with his legs spread for balance and his dark hair shining in the bright sunlight. He looked so competent, as if he’d done this all his life, which he probably had.

The man was everything a woman could ask for in a companion. His smile was compelling, and his softly accented voice was smooth as silk, rolling across her nerves like a soothing balm. When he looked at her, he was focused, as if she was the most important thing in his world at that moment. Still, spending the day with him made her nervous. As long as she remembered that he was here at Elaina’s bequest, keeping her out of the woman’s hair while she spun who knew what yarn about the botched marriage, she could make it through.

Once they crossed the gangplank onto shore, Niko took charge.

He was adamant that they must start on the far end of Duval Street then make their way back to the center of the tourist activity near the pier. He flagged a passing rickshaw-style buggy, just big enough for two people. A painted beach scene featuring a skimpily-clap girl in a grass skirt decorated the vehicle’s side panels. It was powered by a shirtless young man on a bicycle who had thighs the size of tree trunks and a tan to rival Niko’s.

Traffic was congested as it was late Friday morning and people were no doubt moving into the hotels for the weekend. Niko placed one arm across the top of the rickshaw cage, just above her shoulders and leaned close to point out the sights. He had changed into shorts and a tee-shirt in a shade of light blue that reflected in his eyes, making them more the azure of the sea than their normal gray-blue. His leg pressed against hers as he moved in the confining carriage.

The soft scrape of hair on his calf against her bare legs distracted her from what he was saying. She shifted to avoid the contact, hoping that he hadn’t noticed. When he drew his arm down from where it rested against the top of the buggy, she suspected that he had. Not much got by the man.

Near the harbor, newer buildings with brightly painted stucco prevailed. As they moved further along the famous street, they reached a section of older homes with wood siding and wide, curving front porches. Many had advertisements on the front lawn indicating they had been converted into Bed and Breakfast inns. Here and there were tokens of the previous season’s hurricane activity: missing tiles on the roofs, scars on the trees where huge limbs had once shaded the road and fences that had not been repaired. It was a sobering reminder that nature was not always as kind as she was today.

The rickshaw driver let them out at the huge cone that marked the southernmost point of the United States. It stood near the edge of the seawall with the sun-tipped waves of the Gulf of Mexico dancing behind it. Painted in alternating bands of red, black and yellow, it was topped with the triangular emblem of The Conch Republic along with the information that it was only ninety miles to Cuba.

They stood for a moment, watching laughing families who waited for their turn to be photographed in front of the monument. Each person in line seemed to accept that it was their job to take the photo for the group in front of them. When it was their turn, with many gestures and smiles, they would indicate how their own camera worked and give it to the stranger behind them. It was a miracle of cooperation, especially since some people didn’t speak the same language.

As a woman snapped a quick photo for the young couple in front of her, a toddler detached himself from her grasp. He was a determined little child with a thatch of red hair and short legs that covered the ground at an amazing speed. He headed straight for the guardrail at the edge of the ocean. Made of round metal pipes, it was sturdy, but there was a large gap near the ground and a long drop to the rocks below.

With a muttered oath, Niko raced to intercept him. He bent, sweeping him up in his arms and swinging him high in the air. The child laughed with delight and Niko smiled up at him. Kara felt an answering smile curve her lips at the picture the two made.

Clasping the boy close to his chest, Niko returned him to his anxious mother. He waved off her thanks and strode back to Kara’s side.

“Shall we?” Niko gestured toward a wide side street that paralleled the ocean.

Kara turned her head for a last glimpse of the line of tourists. It was a shame that she didn’t have a camera; she’d have liked a photo to recall the bright colors and cheery atmosphere.

Grasping her arm, Niko led her away from the crowd. The houses on the side street were smaller and newer than the ones on Duval Street, but the trees had been allowed to grow tall and wide near the edges of the lawns, providing the cool relief of deep shade.

“Do you have children?” Kara risked a side glance at his features which were tight with tension. Elaina hadn’t mentioned any kids, but she didn’t speak of her family often. Niko appeared to be in his late twenties, old enough to have a toddler of his own, and he was certainly comfortable with them.

“No,” he said shortly. “I thought once—” He ran a hand through his hair in a gesture she was beginning to recognize as frustration. “It wasn’t to be.”

At the grim finality of his tone, she stopped walking and placed a hand on his arm. She knew he had been married and that it had ended unpleasantly. Suddenly, she was aware of the heat of his skin under her fingertips. The rigid set to the muscles warned her that he didn’t welcome her concern or her touch. She let her hand drop from his arm, curling her fingers and rubbing their tips with her thumb as if she could erase the feel of him on her skin.