“So what did you think of your first day at sea?” he asked, taking a sip from a bottle of water.
“It was amazing. Thank you. I never thought I’d enjoy it so much or be so close to dolphins.”
He smiled and slotted his shades on the top of his head so they sat over his bandana.
His eyes were the same color as the sea at its deepest point—a rich, soulful blue—and seemed to get darker as the sun had lowered.
“Are you getting hungry?” he asked.
“Yes, must be all the fresh air.”
“We’re nearly there. The port is tucked just behind this next outcrop.”
I turned, lifted my legs up and hugged my knees as we got closer to Spiglia and headed into the bay—our home for the night. What a freeing feeling it was to cross open water, pass ridges of land rising from the sea then find a place to sleep. It made me feel nomadic, youthful, as though the materialism of life in a big, cosmopolitan city was a distant memory. Not just in the physicality, but also in my head.
As we turned past the headland, I saw that Sullivan had been right—Spiglia was a tiny place. No more than twenty or so houses, all painted white, and only half a dozen boats lined up in the harbor. There appeared to be only one restaurant with chairs and tables lined up against the edge of a small, sloping sandy beach. A handful of diners sat at them, and the squat candles with flickering flames in the center of the tables cast buttery shadows over their faces.
“Can you throw the fenders over?”
“The what?”
“The fenders. Those white and blue, long ball things that stop the boat from bumping hard against anything it might touch in port.”
“Oh, yes, okay.” I stood and went to the first fender Sullivan pointed at. It was tied on with a short length of rope, and I flipped it to the other side of the rail. It banged lightly against the hull.
“That’s it,” he said. “All the way around. There’s more.” He ducked his head and studied a gauge.
I hurried to do as he’d asked, enjoying the fact that I had a job. I was becoming more at home moving around the top surface of the boat, felt surer in my footing and more confident with what I could and couldn’t use as support. Also, the boom was now strapped down, which made me feel braver.
As I threw the last fender over, Sullivan brought Dolly Bird into dock with her stern against the short, rickety pier.
“Grab the wheel,” he called. “Keep it steady.”
I hopped down and took a hold.
He quickly went to the bow and dropped the anchor.
I could feel people watching us, diners, a couple standing on the pier and a boy with a fishing net who was poking around the slats.
Sullivan was so competent and professional and managed with ease. I watched him expertly handling the large vehicle. I wondered if he had any idea how amazing he looked or if he knew that he was most women’s ideal. Tall and tanned, strong and sexy—what was not to admire?
Were the few female diners looking at him and imagining what he was like in bed? Looking at me and thinking I was lucky to have him?
Have him?
I could if I wanted to.
I could drag him up to the hotel, and we could fuck till we were both exhausted and satisfied.
If I wanted to.
Or did they wonder what he saw in an older woman? Perhaps they thought I was rich—that this was my boat and he was a toy boy. Maybe they presumed he had a life of Riley and didn’t have to work as long as he kept me, the one with the money, satisfied in bed.
“Kay,” he called.
“Mmm, what?”
“Do you want to go get your overnight stuff before we disembark?”
“Yes. Okay. I’ll do it now.”
I ducked below deck.
I grabbed my washbag, nightwear, clean knickers and shorts and a T-shirt for the morning. I also stopped and picked up a white dress that was printed with small pink flowers. Perhaps I’d wear it to dinner tonight.
I scrabbled at the bottom of my holdall and found the soft leather sandals to go with the dress and put them on. I then picked up my makeup and jewelry purses, and as an afterthought, a cerise shawl in case it got cool when the sun went down completely.
Emerging back on deck, I saw Sullivan was securing Dolly Bird with ropes to the pier. There was no need for a gangplank here. The jetty was the same height as the back of the boat, and we were flush against it.
“Here,” he said, holding out his hand. “Watch yourself.”
I was glad of his support as I stepped onto the jetty.
“This is lovely,” I said, looking around.
“Yes, it’s special. I always try and stop off here. Come on, I’ll show you to Athena Hotel.”
“Athena Hotel, that sounds grand.”
“It isn’t.” He laughed. “But it is clean and comfortable and run by an old friend of mine.”
We walked past the restaurant. The smell of cooking—spices, herbs, garlic—made my stomach rumble.
“It’s just here,” Sullivan said, gesturing to a skinny white building with a balcony overlooking the harbor. Winding around the rails of the balcony was a dense, ivy-like plant covered in pale blue flowers with petals that appeared as thin as tissue paper.
“Wow, that is close.”
He grinned and took my bag. “An easy stagger home from dinner.”
We went inside. A lamp was on and the room was cool.
“Ah, Sullivan. You are here.”
“Hello, Greta,” Sullivan said.
An old woman, wearing a black headscarf and a burgundy dress, rose from a chair. She was short and wide and had swollen ankles. She walked up to Sullivan and pressed a kiss onto both of his cheeks.
“How are you?” he said.
“My back aches, my feet ache, and my hips ache, but other than that, I am well.”
Sullivan turned to me. “Greta this is Kay. She’s staying here tonight.”
“Yes, I expecting you,” Greta said with a smile and a nod. Her skin was weathered into lines that crisscrossed vertically and horizontally over her face.
“The first time I sailed here,” Sullivan said to me, “I ran into engine trouble. I ended up staying with Greta while I sorted it out. Each time I took the boat out again, the same problems occurred. I had to have new parts delivered from the mainland. I stayed here, at the Athena, for over two weeks.”
“And I miss you when you went,” Greta said, pressing her hand onto Sullivan’s arm.
“Which is why I always come back to say hello,” Sullivan said, resting his palm over hers.
“I am glad.” She nodded and held up a key. “I will let you find your own way up to the room. My knees ache so bad today I cannot do stairs.”
“Is it the front room?”
“Of course. Only the best for my Sullivan.” Greta nodded again then gave me a conspirator-style grin. “Have fun.”
Chapter Nine
My room at the Athena was delicate and pretty. The walls were white and held small pictures in dark frames—portraits, landscapes, sea animals and mythical creatures. The bed was made of rich, chocolate-brown wood and had fussy, white lace sheets. Next to it stood a table covered with a frilly cloth. Poised atop was a lamp, the base shaped like a shell, with a large, pale green shade. Also a book, in Greek, that appeared to be about the local area.
The doors to the balcony were open, letting in the gentle sounds of the restaurant and the sea stroking the small, shingle beach.
Sullivan placed my bag on a low, pale pink chair. “I’ll leave you to it. Shall we meet at the restaurant in an hour?”
“Yes, that’s fine.” I walked to the balcony and looked out over the harbor. I could see Dolly Bird resting against the pier.
Click.
I turned.
Sullivan had gone.
My heart sagged a little. I hadn’t expected him to race away. The view was so lovely from here, I’d thought he’d come and enjoy it with me.
I curled my hands over the slim rail that surrounded the balcony and felt the breeze press my T-shirt against my swimsuit. The leaves of the ivy fluttered, and a petal swirled over my knuckles.
Movement caught my attention and I glanced downward. It was Sullivan striding from the shadowed doorway of the Athena.
His top half was still bare, and his shoulders looked stiff and tense, a little bowed forward, too. He was moving with purpose and walked quickly past the restaurant and onto the wooden pier.
As I watched in the fading light, my stomach tensed and a nauseous feeling tugged at my guts.
What on earth was I doing to him?
Yes, he’d been wrong not to tell me his age before my arrival in Greece. It had been a hell of a shock for me. But he’d seemed genuinely surprised that I was so put out. Had he really thought I wouldn’t mind?
Perhaps not. Men’s minds worked in mysterious ways at times.
And he was a man. Despite my first thoughts, there was nothing boyish about Sullivan. He was a mature executive who was accomplished, confident and capable—so it seemed—in anything he chose to do.
I watched him climb onto Dolly Bird. He fiddled with something on the boom then disappeared below deck.
It hurt my soul to think that I’d caused him pain by refusing to fall into his arms as we’d planned. But I hadn’t been able to, couldn’t. Not then.
He re-appeared on deck with a stumpy bottle of beer. He sat at the table, facing me, took a swig, then discarded his shades and the bandana. He rubbed his hand over his temple.
He carried on rubbing, as though he had a headache, then he squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and sat like that. He was some distance away, but his silhouette was sagged, as though he was exhausted.
Fuck. Had he been putting on a brave face all day? Pretending he was cool with it all, yet breaking down inside?
That thought tore a piece from some place deep in my chest, because I knew what the answer was. He’d worn his heart on his sleeve. I knew exactly what he wanted from me, and it was the whole shebang. He loved me, or so he’d said. He wanted me.
Suddenly, I hated myself for hurting Sullivan, for demanding to go home and telling him that there was nothing between us, never could be.
My arms ached to hold him. My body tingled with the need to be next to him. I felt empty without him by my side.
Sullivan was the man who I’d come to know and adore and love over the last year. He’d been my reason for getting up in the morning, for rushing for the telephone and logging on to my emails at ungodly hours.
A sudden, sweeping knowledge came over me as I looked at him sitting with his head in his hands.
Our age gap needed to become a smaller part of our relationship.
At least for tonight.
I had to be brave and see if there was an
us
and if there was anything left of the hopes and dreams we’d shared, despite those pesky fourteen years that had revealed themselves. Maybe it
was
just a number. Perhaps it didn’t matter at all.
Renewed energy flooded through me, and I breathed deep, pulling in the scent of the flowers and the salt-laden air.
I’d shower, dress up nice for him then, if he still wanted me, we’d come back here, together. One night. One night of Sullivan and Kay, as we’d always planned.
* * * *
I dashed through the shower but then spent time over my hair and makeup. My new dress was low at the front, showing off a hint of cleavage, above which I settled a small silver butterfly pendant. I added a spritz of sexy, spiced perfume, gathered up my shawl and stepped into my sandals.
One last glance out of the balcony doors told me that Sullivan was no longer sitting on Dolly Bird. He’d either headed to the restaurant or was still getting ready for dinner below deck.
I closed the door to my room and locked it. I felt lighter. My decision to explore my relationship with Sullivan was like a weight off my shoulders. The knee jerk reaction in Fiscardo yesterday, I now realized, had been exhausting for me and him.
After navigating down the narrow, stone staircase, I saw Greta sitting on a camping chair in the doorway of the hotel. She had a folded newspaper on her lap.
“Ah,
Ómorfi
̱
kyría
,” she said, clasping her hands at her chin. “You are beautiful. I am so happy for Sullivan that he find you.”
“Thank you.” I smiled.
“He alone too much. Always alone when he come here. He need good, strong woman in his life.”
“Yes, I agree.”
“To keep him happy and satisfied and have adventures with him.”
“I suppose so.”
“And that is you,” she said, nodding. “I can tell by the way he looks at you. There is only you in his heart, forever.”
“Well, I—”
“I am glad. Very glad. It makes me happy in my soul to know he isn’t lonely anymore.”
I touched my pendant and smiled again before walking outside.
It seemed odd that someone like Sullivan could be lonely, yet he’d told me it was an emotion that used to take him over before he met me.
“Hey.” He stepped out from between a car and a building.
“Oh. Hi.” He’d made me jump.
“Sorry, I was just waiting,” he said, “to walk with you.”
“It’s only there,” I said, laughing.
“I know, but a lady shouldn’t have to walk alone on the streets at night.”
“It’s no more than fifty meters away.”
“Semantics,” he said with a grin and holding out the crook of his arm.
I linked mine with his. He wore a short-sleeved, white shirt and dark denims and smelled of fresh cologne, something citrus and clean, like the waves and limes and a hint of vanilla.
“You look lovely,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“And you smell gorgeous, too.”
“So do you,” I said.
“I can only try.”
“You’re doing great.”
He looked at me, his eyebrows raised. “I am?”
“Yes.” I moved a little closer to him, and my breast grazed the back of his arm. “Yes, you are. I’ve had one of the best days ever, after the shock of being kidnapped and taken across the high seas, that is.”
“I think we established that was womannapped.” He grinned.
“Mmm, yes.”
“And I always fancied being a pirate and sailing away with a beautiful damsel to have my wicked way with.”