Читать книгу The Love Islands Collection - Jane Porter - Страница 18
ОглавлениеTHEY TOOK A motorboat to Amorgós two days later.
On the way, Nikos told her that there was a devastating earthquake on July 9, 1956, just north of Amorgós, between Amorgós and Santorini. The earthquake registered 7.8 on the Richter scale, and a second 7.2 earthquake followed thirteen minutes later. Intense aftershocks occurred for weeks, lasting through the summer.
Fifty-three people died on Santorini alone, and villages were destroyed on many islands. Quite a few people left the islands.
“I would think the earthquakes would have created a tsunami,” she said.
He nodded. “Thirty-foot waves were reported all along the coast. And as difficult as this was, it’s always been part of our history. The volcanic arc stretches from Methana—” He broke off, seeing she didn’t know where that was. “Methana is a town on the eastern coast of the Peloponnese, built on a volcanic peninsula. And that volcanic arc extends from Nisyros Island in the west, to the coast of Turkey in the east. The arc is filled with dormant and active volcanic islands.”
“There are some still active?”
“Absolutely. Milos, Santorini, Nisyros.”
She of course had heard of Santorini but wasn’t familiar with the other two. “Fascinating, as well as a little bit scary.”
“Santorini always breaks my heart just a little bit,” he said. “The Minoan culture was beautiful and sophisticated. And it was all wiped away. One day you should go there, visit the excavation of Akrotiri on Thera. There’s a museum of found objects and some of the most stunning frescoes ever created. Many people believe that Akrotiri is the basis for Plato’s story of Atlantis.”
“I’d love to go there.”
“It’d be a shame to miss. Perhaps in June you can travel for a while before returning to the US.”
“You know I have the exam, so maybe you should take me there. Make it our next outing.”
“We’re not having more outings.”
“Don’t say that. Please. I still have three more months here. You can’t bring me all the way to Greece and keep me on your rock.”
“I don’t go to Santorini.”
“But you just said it’s amazing.”
“And it is. For others. But I don’t go. I won’t.” He looked away from her, gaze fixed on the shadowy island ahead of them. “And before you push and push and spoil the day before it’s even begun, I’ll tell you—it’s where my wife died. So I don’t go there. Ever.”
Georgia swallowed hard. It was the first time he’d brought up his wife, and there had been no tenderness in his voice, just ice. And grief.
They traveled the rest of the way in silence, but Georgia didn’t mind. She welcomed the sun on her face and the wind tugging at her hair and she used the silence to think about what Nikos had told her...not about Greece but about his late wife.
She wanted to know more but knew that this wasn’t the time. She didn’t want to upset him or spoil their outing. It felt wonderful to be off Kamari, and she was excited about having a new experience. They might be traveling only twenty-some kilometers but it felt like an adventure, and she didn’t care if they did nothing on Amorgós but walk around the little town and then up through the few houses before returning to the boat.
But as it turned out, there was plenty to do in the village of Katapola, Amorgós’s biggest harbor. True, there weren’t many shops, but Georgia just enjoyed exploring the town. Because everything was new to her, and it was her first real taste of a Greek village; she found it endlessly fascinating.
With Nikos at her side, she explored the pretty bay, dotted with fishing boats, white windmills and the traditional blue-and-white houses. Small cafés and taverns spilled onto the sidewalk facing the water, and on a side street they popped into a bakery so Georgia could admire all the different breads and pastries.
Georgia saw the woman behind the counter give Nikos a cold look, but he seemed not to notice, ordering one of each of the cookies so Georgia could try them all. She was about to ask him about the woman’s odd behavior when Nikos opened the paper bag, drew out a cookie and popped it into her mouth. “Well?” he said. “Good?”
She wiped the crumbs from her lips and smiled. “Delicious,” she said around the mouthful of almonds and honey and delicate flaky pastry.
“I thought we’d save them for lunch,” he said, reaching into the bag and selecting one. “But they’re far too tempting.” He broke the slice of baklava in half, then handed her half.
She wasn’t able to get her half into her mouth without making a mess.
Nikos watched her, amused. “You have honey all over your fingers.”
“Not for long,” she answered, grinning and then licking the tip of her sticky finger. She saw his dark eyes spark as she sucked on her finger, and suddenly her pulse quickened and she felt suspiciously breathless.
“I’d offer you a taste,” she said, “but I’m not sure if that is appropriate.”
“You love to torture me.”
Her lips lifted. She smiled up into his eyes, wondering why she took such pleasure in provoking him. “Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“It’s fun.”
He groaned and took her arm, steering her from the bakery’s front steps and away from the women entering the shop, their dark gazes all so curious. “It’s not fun,” he said, keeping her arm as they walked up the narrow street, the road cobbled. “I can barely keep my hands off of you as it is.”
She flashed another smile up into his face. “So I’ve noticed.”
“We are here to get away from all that.”
“All that is you and me.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do. But all that is us, together, and it goes wherever we go. It’s not Kamari.” There was laughter in her voice. “But it would be funny if the energy and magic was Kamari.”
“Why would that be funny?”
“Because it’s not a particularly romantic island. It’s an arid rock.”
“It’s not supposed to be romantic. It’s my home.”
She laughed. “You sound so grumpy right now. What’s wrong with you?”
He stopped walking to face her, his hands on her shoulders. “All I want to do is tear your clothes off of you and touch every inch of you, and you’re making it almost impossible to forget how much I want you—”
“So don’t.”
“Georgia.”
“Find us a room somewhere and make love to me. Maybe once it’s out of your system, you’ll feel much better.”
“Stop it,” he growled.
“What? I’m trying to help you.”
“You’re not helping. Because making love to you once won’t get it out of my system. It won’t satisfy me. It’ll just make me hungry for more.” His hands pressed into her shoulders. “If you wanted to help, you’d ask me the age of the church we passed on the corner. You’d want to know why there are so many windmills on Amorgós. You’d want to know how they make the whitewash on the stucco buildings.”
“But I don’t want to know about whitewash or the stucco. I want to know about you.”
“Georgia.” Her name was wrung from him, a low, hoarse groan of sound, before his head descended and he was kissing her, the kiss of a man drowning, dying.
There was so much heat and need in the kiss. His mouth was hard, and it slanted over hers, forcing her lips open. His tongue found hers, probing, seducing.
She shuddered and pressed herself to him, loving the feel of him—hard, muscular, all male.
An old woman passing by muttered a rebuke, and Nikos lifted his head, ending the kiss. His expression was rueful as he stepped back.
“What did she say?” Georgia asked, touching her lips, which felt tingly and sensitive.
“That we needed to get a room.”
Georgia giggled. “I told you so.”
“Hmph.” Nikos took her arm again. “We’re here to sightsee. We’re going to sightsee. And you’re going to enjoy every little church and interesting view, and in an hour or two we will have lunch, and after our lunch we will return to Kamari, where I’ll lock you up for your own safekeeping.”
Georgia just laughed again.
He glared down at her with mock fierceness. “I’m serious.”
“I know you are, which just makes me like you all the more.” She patted his arm. “When you’re not growling and issuing orders, you’re a very nice man and very good company.”
“Don’t soften me up.”
“Too late.” She flashed him another smile. “It’s already happening. You, my dear Nikos, are putty in my hands.”
“A gross exaggeration.” But he was smiling and she felt her heart turn over because when he looked at her like that, she felt as if she’d somehow won the lottery.
* * *
Georgia was right, he thought later, as they sat in the back of the small taxi that he’d hired to take them all over the island. She’d gotten under his skin and was working some kind of magic on him, and God help him, he liked it. Liked her.
She made him feel things he didn’t think he’d ever feel again, and he loved her smiles and her laughter and how she seemed to radiate sunshine even on a gray, windy day.
And while he enjoyed looking at her, he enjoyed talking with her even more. She was intelligent and witty and not afraid to stand up to him. Maybe he loved that most. She wasn’t scared of him and didn’t run away when he was impatient or frustrated. She held her own. She even pushed back, teaching him manners.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
She noticed. “You’re smiling,” she said, slipping her hand into his in the back of the taxi.
He glanced down at their hands and how she’d so naturally linked them. “What are you doing?”
“Pretending you’re my boyfriend.”
“Why?”
“It’s fun.”
“We’re here to get distance.”
“Kind of hard when we’re smashed together in a car the size of a sardine can.”
He grinned ruefully. She had a point. It was refreshing. She was refreshing. She made him feel young and hopeful, as if he were but a boy with his whole life ahead of him. “You enjoyed lunch, though?”
They’d explored the north end of the island during the morning, stopping at Tholaria and then Lagada, where they’d had a light meal, and were now heading south again, approaching the monastery outside of Chora, Amorgós’s principal town.
“Very much so!”
He told her they were on the way to Hozoviotissa Monastery, and he mentioned that there was a dress code, but she was fine in her long, slim skirt and lace-trimmed peasant-style blouse, which she’d topped with a cropped delicate cashmere sweater that revealed her bump.
“In summer there are crowds,” he added as the taxi pulled over to the side of the parking lot to let them out. “But we are lucky that it is relatively quiet today.”
It was a long, steep climb up dazzling white steps. “Is it a museum now?” she asked as they began the climb to the church.
“No. It is still a monastery, but the monks are quite welcoming. They do have rules about visitors—no short skirts, bare midriffs or shorts on men—but we’re dressed appropriately and I trust you know how to behave in a church, so we shouldn’t have a problem.”
They ended up spending an hour in the church and adjoining rooms. Nikos could tell from Georgia’s rapt expression that she very much enjoyed the visit. The interior of the church was quite austere but there was a calm inside that was profoundly sacred.
Georgia knelt at one of the rails and prayed.
Nikos stood back, wanting to give her space, and yet also determined to keep an eye on her.
Later, as they left the church, she was quiet and somber.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. I was just thinking of my family.”
They were descending the stairs, and they were taking their time as the stairs down felt even steeper than the climb up. “Did you say a prayer for them?” he asked.
“Yes. I always do. But I also said a prayer for you.”
“And what did you ask for?”
“Just that God will take care of you, and the baby.” She drew a breath and blinked. “He will, too. You just have to trust him.”
Nikos shot her a swift glance, but her expression was serene and she was focusing on the steps.
Halfway down she paused to glance back at the tall white face of the monastery built against the cliff. “I love places like that,” she said. “They always remind me of my parents.”
“Because they were missionaries?”
“They loved their faith and their work. And they loved each other. They were happy.”
“But when they died, they left you and your sister penniless.”
She shrugged. “Money doesn’t make people happy. It just pays for things.”
His brow furrowed. “And what will make you happy, agapi mou?”
“Doing something meaningful with my life.”
“Like being a doctor?”
She nodded. “And loving my family. That will make me happy.”
They reached the taxi, and Nikos opened the back passenger door for her, but Georgia hesitated. “Do we have to get back in the car?” she asked. “Can we just walk for a bit?”
“Chora is not far. We were going to visit the town and then head back to the harbor. Did you want to walk there?”
“How long would it take?”
“Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty.”
“Let’s do it. It feels good to stretch our legs. I think I was getting a little carsick on the way from Lagada.”
Nikos spoke to the taxi driver, but the driver shook his head and pointed to his watch. Nikos shrugged and pulled out his wallet, handing over a number of bills.
“He had to take his mother to the doctor,” Nikos explained. “But he said there are always drivers at the tavern. It shouldn’t be a problem getting a ride back to Katapola.”
“You’re not worried about having to find a driver?”
“No. And I agree—it’s good to be out. It’s a nice day. You can feel spring in the air.”
They set off, and Georgia tucked her hand through his arm. “I feel like I’m finally in Greece.”
“I’m glad you’re happy,” he said, and he meant it.
“Let’s stay overnight here. Let’s not go back.”
“We have to.”
“Why? You’re the boss. You make the rules.”
He’d never seen her like this, not in the nearly two weeks she’d spent on Kamari. All day she’d seemed lighter...warmer and happier. She’d been thoughtful when they’d left the church, but she’d brightened again as they talked. “But we’re only an hour from home,” he said. “Too close not to go home.”
“But that’s what makes it fun. We’re having a mini-holiday...and now we can make it a bigger adventure.”
“And where would we stay?”
“I’m sure there are plenty of hotels—”
“It’s off-season. Most would be closed—”
“I bet we can find one that’s open.”
“And if we did, you’d be disappointed. They are not going to be luxurious. The rooms would be small and simple. Quite Spartan compared to anything you’d find at a resort.”
“Or like your house?” she teased.
“Or like my house,” he agreed.
“You just don’t want to stay.”
“I prefer the comfort of my bed,” he agreed. “And the privacy.”
“But doesn’t the routine ever get to you? Don’t you want a change?”
“Clearly you do.” But he wasn’t annoyed; he was charmed. It was impossible not to be drawn to her with the sunlight making her glow and staining her cheeks pink.
He desired her more than he’d ever wanted any woman, and yet he didn’t want to hurt her, break her.
And he couldn’t.
She was pregnant. He couldn’t take any risks with her, not just for his son’s sake but for her sake.
She mattered. She mattered a great deal.
He’d thought she was cold when she’d arrived. Cold and beautiful. But he was wrong. She wasn’t cold at all. She was intelligent and complex. There were so many layers to her. She could be fierce, as well as fiercely funny. It still amused him how she’d deliberately tried to provoke him outside the bakery. It’d been impossible to resist her when she’d smiled at him, her expression so warm, the light in her eyes teasing and sexy.
How could a man resist sunshine and honey?
And yet he couldn’t have her.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t ache for her. He craved her touch and taste, her soft skin and ripe curves calling to him...
To fight the throb of his erection, he drew her attention to the ruins on the hill ahead of them. “The Venetian castle,” he said.
“A Venetian castle in Greece?”
“There are dozens and dozens of them. Venice played a role in Greece’s history for a thousand years. There are still Venetian fortresses and fortified villages scattered through the mainland and islands.”
“I had no idea.”
“All the windmills we saw today, those can be attributed to the Venetians, as well. The Venetians introduced the windmills for milling wheat—an essential form of income for hundreds of years—but the windmills fell out of use in the middle part of the twentieth century.”
They were nearing the base of the hill with the castle. Georgia stared up at it, nose wrinkling. “It doesn’t look like much,” she said.
“There isn’t much left,” he agreed.
“We don’t have to climb up there, do we?”
“It’s dangerous. I wouldn’t let you go up there even if you wanted to.”
“Does that mean we have to go back to the harbor?”
“We can get a snack in Chora and then return.”
“Or, can we see if we can find a hotel...?”
“Georgia.”
“I’ve never stayed in a Greek hotel. I’ve never eaten in Greek restaurants.”
“You did at lunch.”
“We had olives and a salad and a delicious cheese-and-spinach thingy—”
“Spanakopita. Greek spinach pie.”
“And I loved it, but I want more than just that little pie. I want to try more food and see more things. This is Greece.”
“I know.”
“It’s exciting, Nikos. You’re giving me a good memory to take home with me.”
He knew she didn’t mean back to Kamari, but back to Atlanta in June. His gut tightened. His chest felt heavy.
He didn’t want to think of June, didn’t want to think of her leaving.
For a long minute he said nothing, just stared out toward town with its brilliant white buildings and bold blue accents.
“We’ll get two rooms,” he said.
“We don’t have to get two rooms,” she answered. “Not if you’re worrying about money.”
“Not worrying about money.” His lips compressed. “And we need two rooms. For your safety.”
“I trust you.”
“That’s nice, but I don’t trust myself.”
She laughed.
* * *
Nikos found them rooms at a small hotel in the center of the town that advertised itself as Beautiful Villa. It was neither particularly beautiful nor luxurious, but it was neat and clean, and what Nikos said was typical of hotels on the smaller islands.
There was little to do after check-in as they had no luggage, and Nikos and Georgia dutifully inspected their individual rooms. Georgia was happy to note that they were close together. Not adjoining, but just a couple of doors down the narrow hallway from each other.
They left the hotel and walked to a nearby restaurant. It was quite early still, and the restaurant was deserted.
“They will think we are American tourists,” he grumbled as they were seated by the window overlooking the town square.
“Well, I am an American tourist, and you can pretend to be a Greek tourist.”
“No.”
She grinned. “You don’t want to be a tourist?”
“No.”
Georgia couldn’t stop smiling.
Nikos noticed. “What’s happened to you? You are all giggles and laughs today.”
“I’m having a good time.” She reached across the table and captured his hand. “And I hope you are, too.”
He attempted a scowl. “You’ve become overly affectionate, as well.”
“I think somewhere in your hard little heart, you like it.”
His jaw shifted, expression easing, and his dark eyes glinted. “Maybe just a little bit.”
She squeezed his hand. “I thought so.”
Over dinner of grilled lamb and fish and flavorful salads they talked about what they’d seen that day and the austere but mystical monastery. Georgia shared that she loved all the bright blue accents—the doors, the windows, the church cupolas—that turned simple Spartan villages into charming postcards.
“We know I’ve had a great time,” Georgia said. “But have you?”
“I have, actually. I enjoyed the day.”
“And you don’t resent me for forcing you to have an adventure? I know how much you cherish your time on Kamari.”
“And now I think you’re trying to provoke me.”
“Keeping it exciting,” she said.
“Mmm. A rebel, aren’t you?”
She mulled this over, then nodded. “I guess I am. No, I know I am. But in the end, it’s what saved my life. Leaving my family, leaving Africa. If I hadn’t insisted on returning to the States, I would have died with them. Savannah, too.”
“You weren’t worried about going to a big university in America?”
She shook her head. “I wanted a big American school and wanted to do all the things I’d only read about. College football games, parties, movies, dates, fun.”
“And was it fun?”
She nodded. “I loved it. So much. And I pushed Savannah to do the same. I told her she could always go back to Africa, but she owed herself the chance to be just a normal American girl for four years. Take four years, experience what everyone else your age experiences, and then decide what you want to do for the rest of your life.” Georgia looked away and exhaled slowly, remembering the day she’d heard about the attack that took place at the church, at the end of a Sunday service. She’d heard it on the news, not even realizing that the missionaries killed were her own family until hours later when Savannah got ahold of her.
The day everything changed.
She changed.
Her inner rebel, that wild, free spirit, died the day her family did, and she matured overnight, becoming the person Savannah needed. Someone strong and fearless. Someone confident and focused. Georgia promised Savannah that everything would be okay. She promised her sister that they’d make it through, assuring the eighteen-year-old that there was no reason to worry about anything but graduating from high school, because Georgia would take care of the rest...and Georgia had.
She’d found an apartment for both of them to live in near the high school Savannah would attend. Georgia paid bills—which often meant using her credit card for everything, putting them deeper into debt—but she wouldn’t tell Savannah or deny Savannah what was left of her adolescence.
“I became a donor because I thought it was the right thing to do,” she said quietly, filling the silence. “I knew it would be hard, but it seemed to be the most practical way to provide. It’d pay the bills, and there were a lot. But surrogacy...that’s something else.”
“Tell me.”
She shook her head. “Let’s talk about something else. I’m getting sad. I don’t want to be sad. This is supposed to be a holiday. Let’s focus on happy things, okay?”
