Читать книгу Paradise Nights - Kelly Hunter - Страница 11

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.

She stepped closer and traced its path with gentle fingers. ‘What’s this?’

‘A reminder,’ he said gruffly. ‘And you’re under-dressed.’

She took care of that, stripping down to her bikini before rummaging through her shoulder bag for some sunscreen. She smoothed it over her shoulders and down her arms, noting with some satisfaction that she’d managed to divert his attention from the cave. She slid her hand behind her hair and lifted it forward, over her shoulder, and handed him the sunscreen before presenting her all but bare back to him. ‘Do you mind?’ she murmured. She wanted his hands on her. She wanted her hands on him. She’d been dreaming of it.

Pete stood back and surveyed the vision splendid in front of him with the appreciative eye of a true connoisseur. So many curves, all of them lethal. And they were his for the coating. Pete tried to remember when life had last been this good.

Nope. Nothing.

Life had never been this good.

‘Nice day for a swim,’ said a voice beside him, and he turned his head to find an elderly Greek woman standing beside him wearing a scary black one-piece swim suit. Sturdy body. Thighs. And a white bathing cap covered in plastic yellow flowers. ‘Marianne Papadopoulos,’ she said briskly. ‘I run the local bakery. We haven’t met.’

Serena tilted her head, one hand still holding the bulk of her hair. ‘Hello Mrs Papadopoulos.’ Serena sounded amused. Resigned. ‘This is Pete Bennett. He’s filling in for Tomas. But you probably already know that.’

‘Of course,’ said Marianne, deftly removing the sunscreen from Pete’s grasp and squirting a generous amount into her palm before sending the bottle of sunscreen over Serena’s shoulder and tapping her none too gently with it.

‘Thanks.’ Serena’s voice was dry, very dry, as she reached up to take it back.

‘You can’t be too careful about sun damage these days,’ said Marianne, rubbing her hands together before slapping them down onto Serena’s back and moving them about with vigour. White streaks began to form; a criss-cross of streaks on a canvas of glorious golden skin. Picasso would have been impressed. Pete wasn’t so much impressed as resigned. They really did need to get off this island and onto another one.

Tahiti sounded nice.

‘Will you be staying overnight?’ asked Marianne.

‘No, ma’am,’ he told her politely. ‘I’m only here for a couple of hours.’

‘Just enough time for a swim and maybe a trip up into the hills before we head back to Sathi,’ said Serena, turning round and squaring up to Marianne Papadopoulos with admirable aplomb.

But Marianne was undeterred. ‘I noticed you only brought one bike,’ she said.

‘Pete’s very fuel-conscious,’ countered Serena. ‘For a pilot.’

‘You should take two bikes next time. Your grandfather would not mind.’ She looked meaningfully towards him and Pete stifled the urge to reach for his clothes and start pulling them on. ‘Your grandfather would prefer it.’

‘I might just … swim,’ he said, seeking escape, finding a likely avenue in the crystal-clear water of the cove.

‘Good idea,’ said Marianne. ‘Swim. Cool off. I’ll come too. It’s not good to swim alone.’ And she headed majestically towards the water.

‘Another one of your grandfather’s pinochle partners?’ he muttered.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Frightening.’

‘You have no idea.’

‘Maybe I’ll just swim on over to the cave and you can swim with Marianne.’ Sharks he could handle. White bathing caps with plastic yellow flowers were way beyond his sphere of experience.

‘Leave me alone with her and you’re a dead man,’ she muttered.

Pete contemplated his options. There was really nothing for it but to take Serena with him. He grabbed her hand and raced towards the water, Serena giggling helplessly as they sped past their latest chaperon, kicking up spray as feet met water, before finally getting far enough into the water to plunge beneath it.

He surfaced a fair way out, with Serena right beside him, and turned back towards Marianne, who clearly preferred a more leisurely entry into the water. ‘We’re just heading over to the cave. We’ll be right back.’

Marianne’s hands went to her hips. Pete grinned and set off for the cave at a fast crawl with Serena matching him all the way, agile as a seal and just as sleek.

‘I’m ruined,’ she said with a reckless smile.

‘But you haven’t done anything,’ he argued. Nor had he. Yet.

‘You’re right.’ She gave Marianne a wave. ‘Maybe I’m only partially ruined. If we stay within her sight and you stay, oh.’ she gestured about a body length’s distance with her hands ‘… about this far away from me, we might even manage discreet.’

Oh, yeah. Discreet. Vaguely platonic. He’d forgotten about that. ‘Do we need to manage discreet?’ he queried. ‘Is it really essential?’

‘This is Sathi,’ she said. ‘It’s a necessity.’

So he played by the rules and they dived for shells in the shallows and stayed within sight of Marianne and finally swum back to her and floated about and made small talk about the various sights to be seen on the island. By the time they left the water and had dried off an hour had passed and there was no time left for sightseeing anyway.

‘I’d better be heading back.’ He slung his towel in his carryall, watched with a sigh as Serena slung a dress over all those glorious curves and twisted her hair back into a pony-tail.

‘You can drive,’ she said, picking up her carry bag and heading across the sand towards the bike.

‘Are you sure?’ he said, deftly catching her bag and slinging it over his own shoulder. He didn’t much like riding shotgun but he’d said he’d do it. Fair was fair.

‘Very sure. Go ahead.’ A tiny smile played about her lips. ‘I insist.’

Three days later, Serena sat on the little beach at the water’s edge, paintbrush in hand as she touched up the name on her grandfather’s prize fishing boat. Not changed it, mind. The name of a fishing boat never changed once it had been bestowed, but touch-ups were allowed, and the free flowing black scrawl was sorely in need of it. The boat was called Plenty, and Serena was trying very hard to convince herself that that was exactly what she had.

Nico had decided that she needed another break from the Vespas and had organised one of his fishing crew to cover for her for the day, so one thing she had was plenty of time. He’d convinced her to come down to the beach beside the fishing-boat docks and repaint the name on the boat while he rolled out the nets and set to repairing holes. Sam had found them not long after they’d beached the boat, Chloe had found them not long after that, but instead of ordering Sam home she’d sat down and started repairing the holes in the net too, with a deftness that spoke of previous experience. Technically, thought Serena, she had plenty of company.

In just under two weeks her stint on the island would be up and she’d be free to do whatever she wanted.

Plenty to think about there.

It was a crying shame that the only thing she had been thinking about lately was a laughing, complicated man with the smile of a rogue, the soul of an eagle, and a heart that seemed to beat in time with her own.

‘Fool,’ she muttered.

‘There she goes again,’ said Sam, looking up from his inspection of the net and shooting Nico one of those man-to-man looks. ‘Talking to herself.’

‘Let it be a lesson to you, Sam,’ murmured Nico. ‘Wear a hat.’

‘How do you know I’m not talking to you?’ she said to Nico, reloading her brush with paint before spearing him with a dark glare. ‘It’s possible. Extremely possible.’

Nico rolled his eyes at Sam. Sam grinned back. ‘I saw that,’ she said darkly.

‘She’s been twitchy for days,’ continued Nico with a sigh. ‘Moody. Some might even say pining. One might even hazard a guess as to what she’s been pining for.’

‘Oh, good. A man with a death wish,’ she said with a toss of her head. ‘And I am not pining for anything. I’m just … contemplating the universe.’

And then a helicopter appeared on the horizon where sea met sky, heading towards them low and fast.

‘Look! It’s Pete,’ said Sam, and Nico sniggered.

The chopper drew closer. Close enough for Serena to see Pete and two passengers. Sam leapt to his feet and waved. Chloe waved too. Even Nico looked up and grinned.

Serena gritted her teeth and turned her attention back to the Greek word for Plenty.

‘Can I go see if he’s staying over?’ asked Sam as the chopper headed for the landing pad behind the hotel. ‘He might want to come and mend nets too.’

‘If he’s staying,’ she muttered. ‘Sometimes he doesn’t.’ Sometimes he just dropped by to torture her.

‘If he is staying he’ll probably be after a room at the hotel,’ Nico told Chloe.

‘You banished him?’ said Chloe.

‘You banished him?’ demanded Serena.

‘Had to,’ he said. ‘By order of Marianne and Theo. They fear for your virtue.’

‘Quite right,’ said Chloe. ‘A girl can’t be too careful. Not on this island. You have no idea how people gossip.’

‘We went swimming,’ said Serena. ‘That’s all we did.’

‘That’s not what I heard,’ said Chloe dryly. ‘Marianne had to save you from total ravishment at the cove. She got there just in time. One second later and he’d have had his hands all over you. That’s her story and she’s sticking to it.’

‘It’s a good story,’ said Serena with a wistful sigh. ‘I even vaguely recognise some parts of it.’ She turned to Nico and eyed him narrowly. ‘Exactly when did you banish him?’

‘The day you went swimming,’ he said amiably. ‘I phoned him and explained the situation and he offered to bunk down at the hotel straight away. Said he had his reputation to think about. And yours. Mentioned the word discreet a few times. Mentioned something about a whale shark and a yellow-flowered bathing cap.’ Nico shuddered. ‘I didn’t want to know.’

Serena sniggered.

‘So he’s staying at the hotel?’ Sam asked Nico, his eyes bright.

Nico nodded. ‘Most probably.’

Sam took off across the beach with an unguarded enthusiasm Serena envied, only to halt abruptly some ten metres away. Serena watched as he turned back, not towards her or Nico this time, but towards Chloe. It was the first time he’d paid her the slightest attention all morning. ‘What room can we give him?’ he asked her. ‘The big one? Number seventeen?’

‘Provided no one’s in it,’ she said, looking up at him from her spot on the sand, her hands full of fishing net as she considered his question. ‘Otherwise he can have number two. That’s another one we sometimes use for upgrades. Tell Reception to put it through at the discount rate.’

Sam left at a run and Chloe watched him go, her face alight with happiness. ‘Did you hear that?’ she said in wonder. ‘Sam said we. As in him and me. He didn’t even think about it. He just said it.’

‘You give the pilot your best room?’ demanded Nico. ‘At a discount rate? For what?’

‘I like him,’ she said, pleasure easing to puzzlement.

Nico glared at her.

Serena glared at her too.

‘Well, I do,’ she said defensively. ‘He’s nice to Sam. He talks up the hotel to his passengers … ‘

‘Yeah, but what else do you know about him?’ muttered Nico.

Chloe’s eyes took on a decidedly teasing gleam. ‘He’s handsome, polite—?

‘Almost penniless, not Greek, a lapsed Catholic …’ added Serena, although the penniless bit was probably a stretch. Not if he co-owned an air-charter business. ‘And, oh, yeah, he’s running from something. Don’t forget to factor that in.’

‘How romantic.’ Chloe slid her a sideways glance. ‘What do you think he’s running from? A tragedy? A world full of injustice? A woman?’

‘A life of crime?’ muttered Nico. ‘Come on, Chloe.

He’s not a saint. He flies tourists around the sky, for heaven’s sake.’

‘And before that, he used to fly air-sea rescue helicopters,’ said Serena.

Nico stared at her in silence. So did Chloe.

‘All right,’ her cousin said finally. ‘So he hasn’t always been a penniless drifter. That’s quite a job. Some women might even think it sounds romantic—although they’d be wrong.’ He glared at Chloe. ‘But can he fish?’