‘I like to imagine, Kay, you lying naked next to me, in bed. I’d start by kissing your lips then down your neck. I’d taste your skin, explore the dent at the hollow of your throat, feel you sigh beneath me when I took your nipples into my mouth. I’d spend so long adoring your breasts, making them hard, tight points of need.’
I tugged the gold ring, and it slid over the joints of my finger, leaving a circular indentation on my flesh. It had sat there for so long, my hand looked naked without it. But it was time to start afresh. I had moved on. I’d made my peace with the loss of Thomas. I’d never be okay with it, never think it fair that he didn’t get to grow old, but I knew he’d want me to find happiness again and not live out the rest of my life alone.
And the person I was hoping to spend it with was Sullivan. He knew I had baggage, and he didn’t need me to wear the ring like a badge stating that I had once belonged with someone else.
My purse had a small compartment in the lining with a zip, so I put the gold band in there for safekeeping. Perhaps I’d buy a chain to keep it on—but maybe not.
I pushed my shades more securely into place and pulled in a deep breath. Sullivan. Yes. Now was all about my time with Sullivan, the sexy American who had seduced me with his charm, humor and gentleness. I only hoped he liked what he saw when he met me.
We entered the small port of Fiscardo. The taxi wound down a narrow lane lined with homes that had the doorsteps sticking out onto the cobbled pavement. Terracotta pots containing pink and blue flowers filled every available surface around the windows and on balconies. A few locals sat in chairs on the pavement, chatting and passing the time of day.
I leaned forward and studied the harbor at the base of the road. It appeared busy, stacked full of boats, and as we rounded the corner, I could see it was surrounded by bars and restaurants, brimming with people enjoying drinks and Greek food.
The colors were stunning—brilliant white, azure blue and cerise pink. The yachts, without exception, were all impressive, even with their sails strapped to their masts.
I scanned the bobbing boats, eager to catch my first glimpse of Sullivan. He’d sent me a link so I could see the type of boat we’d be sailing. It was a Beneteau, a thirty-two-footer, white with a navy Bimini. The Bimini, he’d told me, was the strip of canvas that provided shade over the table and the helm. We’d need that here in Greece in July. The sun was scorching.
“Here, Fiscardo,” the taxi driver said, drawing the vehicle to a halt.
“Thank you.” I unclipped my seatbelt and scrabbled in my purse. I counted out thirty euros and passed the notes to him.
“Have nice holiday,” he said, smiling and displaying his last few top teeth.
“I’m sure I will.” I grinned and stepped out of the car, pulling my soft bag with me. Sullivan had told me not to bring a suitcase, as there would be nowhere to store it on the boat. A canvas holdall that could fold up was the best thing to use.
The taxi pulled away, leaving me on the quay edge.
The heat wrapped around me like a fire-warm blanket, and the air, despite the sea breeze that lifted my hair from my shoulders, was baking hot.
I could see several boats that matched the description Sullivan had given me. The one nearest me had a couple sitting at the table beneath the Bimini. They were eating cheese and bread and drinking wine. It looked idyllic.
Hoisting my bag into the crook of my arm, I started to walk around the small harbor. The pathway, like the lane, was cobbled, and I was careful where I put my feet as I moved past the ends of the moored boats.
The restaurants on the other side of the path were hives of activity, people laughing and chatting and waiters rushing around. But I hardly noticed any of this, I was looking for our boat, for Sullivan.
I passed several large yachts, scanning the next one each time as it came into view. Another Beneteau rocked gently, tugging on its rope, but this wasn’t ours, either. It had someone’s laundry flapping from the boom, adult’s and children’s clothes—the owners likely enjoying late afternoon food and drink in one of the bars.
I carried on walking. Perspiration was pricking the skin on my cleavage. I was running out of boats. There were only about six left. Three were motorboats, and the other two weren’t white.
But the last one was another Beneteau and my heart fluttered when I realized it must be ours, unless of course, Sullivan had decided to take our vessel out for a test run, and he wasn’t here at all.
Halting at the end of the boat, which was set away from the last restaurant by about twenty meters, I read the name.
Dolly Bird
. I smiled, she sounded like fun. I hoped she was to be my home for the next week.
A gust of wind made the ropes clank against the mast. I looked at the folded sails. My excitement plummeted. This wasn’t our boat, either. Standing on the highest part of the deck was a young man wearing black and orange, flowery swim shorts. He looked like a surfer dude with sun-bleached hair that was a little long around his nape and the tops of his ears. He wore a thin leather necklace and several matching bracelets.
He was hoisting on a rope that appeared to be tightening something against the mast. For a moment, I admired the way the muscles in his arms and back bunched and tensed beneath his golden skin. Suddenly, he turned to me, his mouth cracked into a smile and he shoved his shades onto the top of his head, brushing back his fringe.
Damn, he was gorgeous. If there were still Greek gods around, I would have been convinced I’d just met one.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I said, shielding my eyes from the glare of the sun, “but I’m looking for a boat like this one. Is there another harbor here in Fiscardo?” I gestured to the other side of the port, thinking perhaps I’d only seen half of the town and more boats lay beyond the restaurants.
He jumped down from where he’d been standing and into the small area with two fixed benches and a table. “No, this is it.” His grin was still in place, and his eyes matched the rich navy of the Bimini he’d just ducked underneath.
Now that he was a bit closer, I could see his chest held a light sprinkle of brown hair that matched that on his jaw line and lower legs. He was barefoot and looked every inch like he’d be perfectly at home skimming over the waves and seeking out the adrenaline rush a speeding yacht could give.
“Oh, okay.” I nibbled on my bottom lip and glanced back the way I’d come. Perhaps I’d missed a Beneteau and missed Sullivan. Damn, after all of this time, I was stumbling in the last few minutes. I’d tried to be brave, coming all this way on my own, to Greece, but now…now I wasn’t so sure.
“Kay,” he said.
I turned to him, surprised that he knew my name. “Yes?”
“I’ve been expecting you.” He walked down a slim plank of wood that connected the boat to the harbor, then stood before me. “I thought you’d be here an hour ago. Was the airport busy?”
“No, it was fine, and that’s great that you’re expecting me.” My heart lifted as I looked up at his handsome face. This
was
our boat. It must be if this man was expecting me. Perhaps he worked for the hire company and was helping Sullivan by sorting out the sails. “That’s good news. I was beginning to think I was spectacularly lost.” I laughed. “Which wouldn’t be that unusual for me. I do that sometimes, you know, get lost. When I first moved to Oxford, I went round and round in circles, trying to find my way about. It’s like I have no sense of direction…” I was rambling, I knew I was, it was hard not to when I could smell him now. Sweet, fresh sweat mixed with the scent of the ocean, perhaps some lingering cologne, too. My body responded. A flush traveled over my chest, and the hair at the base of my scalp prickled. Damn, if I’d been fifteen years younger, he’d have been just the sort of guy I’d have made a beeline for.
“Yes, you told me about your appalling sense of direction.” He reached out and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.
The overly familiar touch shocked me. I took a step backward with my cheek tingling from the brush of his finger.
“What?” I asked.
“Kay,” he said, frowning slightly. “It’s me, Sullivan.”
Chapter Two
I stared up at him. What the hell was this stranger talking about? He wasn’t Sullivan—that was ridiculous. I’d know Sullivan if I saw him. Okay, so there was something about his appearance he hadn’t wanted me to see, hence the shadowed photograph. Maybe he was going a little silver around his temples or a bit portly from his sedentary day job. Not that I minded. It wasn’t his looks I’d fallen for. It was his personality, the way he made me feel.
But where the hell was he?
Turning, I clutched my bag tighter. He’d be here any minute, I was sure of it. He’d likely been chatting to this teenager earlier in the day about our backstory and told him to expect me.
“Ha, ha, very funny,” I said, shoving my shades to the top of my head and squinting in the bright Greek sunlight. “Where is he?”
My arm was tugged and I saw that he was taking my bag from me. “Hey,” I protested.
“Let me take that, it looks heavy,” he said.
“No—”
“Kay.” A pained expression crossed his face. “Please…”
“Please, what?” I released my bag.
He took it, placed it on the floor by his feet, then held out his hands, palms up. “It’s me,” he said. “Really.”
“But…?” I wafted my hand in his direction. “No, it’s not. You’re so…so young.”
“Is that a problem?”
I stared at him, words piling up in my mouth but not coming out. Was he seriously still trying to carry on with his little joke? “Not if I was eighteen, no, it wouldn’t be a problem.” I laughed to try to lighten the atmosphere. “You’re cute as a button.”
“Well, gee thanks, I think.”
Damn, he was good. He even had an American drawl—the ends of his words elongated, the vowels lazily rounded—and his voice was low and sexy just like Sullivan’s…
I studied him some more. He was frowning—his eyebrows pulled down and his lips pressed together.
“Sullivan?” I said quietly.
“Yeah, it’s me. Honestly.”
A heavy weight landed in my stomach. He
was
being serious. This gorgeous young man was the person I’d fallen in love with. How could I have been so stupid? I’d behaved like a naïve middle-aged woman and believed I’d met someone online who was perfect for me.
Online!
Of course that never happened. Perfect didn’t exist, and it seemed my happy ever after didn’t, either.
He took a step closer.
His large shadow engulfed me as I stood there, dumbly looking up at him.
“I’m sorry if my looks surprised you,” he said quietly.
“Er, yeah, they—I mean you—certainly did that.”
Again he reached out and touched a lock of my hair—he took it between his finger and thumb and rubbed gently, spreading the strands apart and studying their fanned shape.
“No, don’t,” I said, stepping backward. “Don’t touch me.”
“Why are you mad?” A flash of pain crossed over his face, and he dropped his arm to his side.
“Why the hell do you think?” I gripped the strap of my handbag, my knuckles aching with the force with which I squeezed the leather.
He shook his head. “Because I’m younger than you thought?”
“Yes, because you’re younger than I thought.
Much
younger.” I had the urge to stamp my foot in frustration but resisted. Unlike him, I was an adult.
“Why is that a problem?” he asked.
He didn’t know? Bloody hell, I had decades on him. He’d be better suited to Brenda’s teenage daughter, not me.
“It’s the person, Kay,” he said, “not the age or profession or continent they live on. You’ve said that before yourself.”
“Well, yes but…bloody hell. How old are you? Please tell me you’re old enough for phone sex.” Damn, those conversations had been packed with dirty words and certainly spicy hot, and we’d listened to each other…plenty of times. I held in a wince of shame.
“Of course I am.” He didn’t take his gaze from me, nor did he answer my question.
“Sullivan.” I braced for it. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.” The tilt of his chin was almost defiant.
I blew out a long, low breath. Defiant or not, he was so much younger than I was.
“And you’re forty-two, I know that.” He took a step closer, and a small muscle flexed in his cheek. “And I don’t think fourteen years difference needs to matter at all.”
Irritation swarmed over me. What did he know? “Of course it matters, and what’s more, you knew it would matter to
me
. Why else would you have sent me a photograph that barely showed your face? Why else would you have fooled me like this?”
“I didn’t mean for it to be like that, genuinely I didn’t.”
“What rubbish. You tricked me. I asked you how old you were early on when we were chatting, and you said, ‘old enough to know better but young enough to still misbehave’, then you laughed.”
He rubbed at his temple. “I’m sorry. I was falling for you. I didn’t want you to just brush me off as a horny, young guy who had a crush on you.”
“Well, it would have been easier to brush you off over the phone or in an email than to come all the way to Greece to do it.”
He shook his head and reached for me.
“No,” I said, taking a step back.
“Watch it.” He grabbed my arm and yanked me forward.
I gasped and glanced downward at the water I’d been about to fall into.
“Be careful,” he said, pulling me against the length of his body. “The water in the harbor is deep.”
I pressed my palms against his sun-warmed skin and looked up.
“It’s me,” he said, winding his arms around my waist and settling his hands on the small of my back. “The guy you’ve been talking to and emailing for months. The guy you’ve been making plans with and having fun with—sexy fun with. What’s age? It’s just a number. It’s still me. I haven’t changed because you’ve seen me.”
“You don’t understand,” I said. “We can’t be together.”
“Of course we can.” He gave me a confident smile, flashing perfectly straight, white teeth.