Читать книгу My Sexy Greek Summer - Marie Donovan - Страница 11

“IS THAT TRUE, CARA, what Athena said about Aphrodisias?”

Cara blinked as Emma’s voice penetrated the late-afternoon haze as they stretched out on beach towels on the warm, sun-drenched sand. “Hmmm?” She took off her floppy sun hat and raised her head from where she’d been cradling it on her forearms.

Emma had been lying on her back in a tiny lavender-purple bikini but she’d propped herself up on her elbows. “You know, about the island being a magnet for lovers?”

Cara gestured to the surrounding beach. “It’s a popular vacation spot. People either bring their lovers or find a new one here.” She and Emma were practically the only non-romantic couple there. Pretty girls were snuggling with men, from potential male underwear models to men who should have had their banana-hammock swimsuits confiscated by Greek border security before they even entered the country.

Cara winced at one particularly gray and hairy dude in a neon-orange bikini bottom, the color of a traffic hazard cone. Warning, warning, hazardous materials, stay away…

Emma continued, “Athena said there was more to it than just fun and sun. She said the old ways still hold sway here.”

“I suppose that’s fair to say of many of the islands. Like you asked me before, the blue paint on doors and roofs is to block the Evil Eye, and some of the old gods were folded into Christian customs. That’s probably what Athena meant.”

“Maybe. But while you were in the kitchen with Demetria making coffee, she said that those who have been unlucky in love would always find love on Aphrodisias.”

“What?” Cara rolled onto her side and sat up. “What does that mean?”

Emma shrugged. “Something about Aphrodite taking pity on losers in the game of love.”

Great. Not only was Cara a loser pitied by her friend Athena, but also pitied by an ancient Greek goddess. “Are you looking to get lucky in love here?” Cara sure wasn’t.

“Love?” Emma pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I think I’d settle for sex at this point.”

Cara gaped at her usually staid friend, who waggled a finger at her. “Don’t look at me like that. I just wrapped up one set of my Ph.D. exams and haven’t even been on a date for months. The only men I’ve had any contact with are my happily married academic advisor and a couple fellow students who either want to rip off my work or discuss the Freudenthal suspension theorem in loving detail. So I deserve a little personal time with a man who has more to offer than his perspective on advanced mathematics.”

“If that’s what you want, you won’t have any trouble. Like Demetria said, Greek guys love blond Americans.” Several of the men on the beach, accompanied or not, had noticed Emma reclining on her towel, her bikini a perfect foil for her creamy skin.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but what about you, Cara? Not that you’re unlucky in love—who hasn’t been?”

Cara muffled an ironic snort. Calling her unlucky in love was like calling the Titanic unlucky in seaworthiness.

Emma lifted her sunglasses and looked around. “But Aphrodisias certainly has a nice crop of men. If you don’t find one you like, wait for the next ferry to bring another. And when he leaves, look for a different one. We have the whole summer.”

Cara was momentarily speechless at her friend’s logical approach, and couldn’t help but tease her. “And if we don’t find suitable men here,” Cara went on, “we could always hop the ferry over to Naxos or Paros and search there. Or would leaving the island negate the Aphrodite Effect?”

Emma scoffed. “You’re still not getting into this place, are you?”

Cara shifted and rested her head on her arms so Emma couldn’t see her expression. “It’s lovely, and I don’t mean to rain on your vacation.”

“So don’t. You’ve needed to unwind ever since we’ve met, and this is your chance. Come fall, it’s back to the salt mines.”

Cara couldn’t disagree. She was signed up for a full course load, leaving no time for even thoughts of hot beaches and hotter men. “We’ll see about the men.” Maybe a nice, calm Brit or German would pass through to do a spot of bird-watching or nature photography. She could dip her toe in the water with a guy named Graham or Klaus.

“Although if you’re going to be lucky at love, you’ll need a hotter swimsuit than that.” Emma made a disparaging gesture at Cara’s white terry cloth cover-up and perfectly serviceable black one-piece suit. “Put a skirt on that thing and you’d look like my grandma going to her water aerobics class.”

Cara groaned. “Nice, very nice.”

Emma stretched her arms over her head. “I think I’ve had enough sun for the first day. Like you said, I don’t want to spend the summer crying on the couch from sun poisoning.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t have that problem with a swimsuit like mine.” Cara couldn’t resist the gibe.

“Smart off all you want, but we’re going to the swimsuit shop on our way back to the villa.” Emma sat up and reached for her shorts and sandals. “My treat.”

“You don’t need to pay for a swimsuit for me.” Emma was a typical cash-strapped grad student.

Emma stood and brushed the sand off her limbs. “Consider it a thanks for this incredible summer vacation.” She offered a hand up to Cara. “I insist.”

Cara started to protest, but changed her mind. Emma had her pride, and Cara understood pride. After all, how much could a bikini cost?

“ONE HUNDRED twenty-five euros? Are you nuts?” Cara yanked at the spaghetti straps of the turquoise string bikini. On reflection, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Any swimsuit store located half a block from a tourist beach was not going to be a bargain hunter’s paradise.

Emma lightly slapped her hands away from the neck ties. “Come on, Cara, this suit looks amazing on you. The color makes your eyes as blue as the ocean—”

“And my skin as pale as the sand,” Cara interjected.

“So you aren’t tanned to the consistency of saddle leather. I’m telling you, this is the suit for you and I won’t take no for an answer.”

“But—”

“The proper response is ‘thank you.’”

“Thank you, Emma.”

Emma pulled her into a hug. “No, thank you. I’m going to look at that hot-pink bikini while you change.” She left Cara in the small curtained changing room.

Cara studied her reflection. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d examined herself closely in the mirror. Once upon a time, she had done practically everything but measure herself with calipers to see how fat she’d been. Which was to say, not fat at all.

And she still wasn’t fat, despite how her former self would have fainted with horror to know how much weight Cara had gained over the past couple years.

Cara shook her head, glad to be past that craziness. Instead, she looked healthy. She pivoted to see her back in the mirror. Her butt looked full but not jiggly under the thin stretch material, and she even had a couple dimples at the base of her spine. She turned to see the front view and cupped her breasts to make sure the two triangles of fabric would be sufficient. Not that that really mattered since no one batted an eye at topless sunbathing. As she adjusted her breasts, her nipples tightened and poked against the fabric. She impulsively brushed one with her thumb and shuddered in pleasure. The suit was too tight, she should have realized. It rubbed all sorts of sensitive areas, her breasts, nipples, especially the strip between her legs.

“Cara? Are you ready?” Emma called. Cara started; she’d been about to slip her hand inside her suit bottom.

“Just a minute.” She hurriedly changed back into her heavy black swimsuit and white terry cloth cover-up. They felt like a muumuu in comparison to the sexy blue bikini. She burst out of the curtained cubicle, suit in hand. “I’ll take it.”

“I’m paying, remember?” Emma plucked it away and set it on the counter in front of the young, dark-haired girl.

Cara turned to the salesclerk. “Do you have it in any other colors?”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “I told you it was a great suit.”

The clerk ambled over to the racks and selected three suits—one black, one yellow, and the last a melon-orange. Emma shook her head at the yellow. “You’ll look like your liver’s acting up with that color. How about the black?”

“I like the melon color.” Cara held it up in front of her.

“You look very nice in that color—most ladies not so much,” the clerk offered.

“She’s right, Cara. It’s great with your hair and the gold trim on the cups and beads on the ties really make it shine.”

Cara took the black one from the clerk, as well. “The blue, the black and the orange.” She reached over to another rack. “And both of these crocheted cover-ups. I think the white one will look nice with the turquoise and the black with the black bikini, of course. And those three pairs of matching thong sandals in American size nine.” The woman scurried around, gathering up Cara’s selections. “Emma, what are you getting?”

Emma’s eyes had widened. “Cara, are you sure you should get all this? We’ll be here for longer than we planned moneywise.”

Cara stopped for a second. “Really, Emma, don’t worry about it. I built some shopping into my budget. You know how frugally I live.”

Emma laughed and visibly relaxed. “Frugally is right. Some might even call it cheaply. But shopping spree or no, the blue suit’s still on my bill.”

“Agreed.” But Cara noticed how Emma returned the hot-pink bikini that she’d been admiring to the rack.

Emma paid for the blue suit with a wad of euros and took the parcel. Cara caught the clerk’s eye and gestured for her to pull that hot-pink suit back out. The woman nodded. “Emma, why don’t you walk down to that café we passed and grab a sidewalk table for us? We should have an afternoon snack since dinner doesn’t start until about nine or ten o’clock.”

“You have a good idea,” the clerk chimed in. “The outdoor tables are always busy and they have excellent pastries, as well.”

“Sure!” Emma scooted out of the shop. She’d been eager to try different Greek desserts. Once she was gone, Cara quickly selected a matching cover-up and sandals for the hot-pink bikini. The total came to over six hundred euros, which Cara put on her platinum credit card without a second thought.

As the clerk was wrapping her purchases, a jewelry display under the glass countertop caught Cara’s eye. Definitely beach jewelry—various ankle bracelets, toe rings and belly button rings. She stopped and touched her own navel. Her piercing was still open, although she almost never wore anything but a plain tiny silver ring.

“Would the lady like to see the jewelry? We have a gold-and-pink ankle bracelet that would look lovely with your friend’s suit,” the clerk offered.

Cara cursorily eyed the bracelet. “Fine, add the matching toe ring, as well.” But she couldn’t take her eyes off the belly button rings. “What about the light blue stone?” It was large and the same color as the afternoon Aegean sky.

“Very high quality. In Greek is akouamarina—water of the sea. In English, nearly the same.”

“Aquamarine.” A stone named after seawater was a perfect choice for an island summer. Almost…destiny? Cara dismissed the echo of Athena’s words. “I’ll take it, as well.”

The clerk did a little half leap of joy but managed to restrain herself enough to tally up the second bill. Cara figured it was fitting to return some of her dough to the Greek economy, back from whence it came.

“You come back again, okay? You ask for me. My name is Niki, and I take good care of you.”

“Thank you.” Cara was royally ushered to the exit, where Niki held the door for her. The late-afternoon sun blasted her in the face, so she popped her hat and sunglasses back on.

The café Emma was waiting at was only about two or three blocks down the main road from the shop. Cara strolled down the sidewalk and walked in front of a narrow alleyway.

A screech of brakes made her stop dead in her tracks as a Vespa-type motor scooter skidded to a halt a foot from her legs. The sunglasses-wearing driver gave an angry shout in Greek that questioned her brains and skills of observance.

Cara fought the urge to tell him where to get off, using several pungent Greek verbs, and instead pulled her sunglasses off, giving the young, curly-haired guy her best freezing glare. “Why don’t you look where you’re going, you bonehead? Pulling out of an alley where you can’t see who might be walking in front of you—where’d you learn how to drive—Apollonias?” She figured that might twist the knife a bit. Apollonias was the nearest island and Aphrodisias’s fiercest rival for soccer matches and tourist dollars. She didn’t know if he’d understand much of her English tirade, but it felt good to get it off her chest. When in Greece, do as the Greeks, and they hadn’t been the silent, stoic type for several thousand years.

The guy’s jaw dropped, and instead of continuing their insult-fest, he began to laugh. “Woo, watch out for those American girls—they’ll straighten you out anytime.” He repeated his comment in Greek for the interested passersby, who all laughed.

Cara fought a smile, but the corners of her mouth must have given her away, because Vespa-Boy turned his charm in her direction. “And they don’t hold grudges, either, do they? Come for coffee with me, beautiful blue-eyed girl. Everyone knows Americans are so friendly.” He spoke English well, the hint of a Greek accent lending a sexy touch.

“I’m not that friendly,” she retorted, ignoring the curl of awareness running down her spine. “Try running over an Italian girl—they go for that sort of thing.”

He laughed again and adjusted his stance to balance the scooter. She couldn’t help notice how his strong thighs straddled the narrow seat, the denim pulling across his zipper. “But will she be as clever as you?”

Cara gave him a pull-the-other-leg look. “A guy like you doesn’t do cleverness.”

He leaned close to her, close enough for her to see the black stubble along his hard jaw and smell the tang of sun and sweat. “You’d be surprised what I do. And who I do it with.”

Wow. Suddenly her staid one-piece suit was rubbing the same places as the racy turquoise bikini had. She licked her suddenly dry lips, her face reflected in the lenses of his sunglasses. Vespa-Boy’s nostrils flared, picking up on her unexpected response.

He started to say something, but another scooter came up the alley behind him and the driver shouted for him to get out of the way. “I’ll see you around, clever American.” He made it a promise and zoomed past her.

Cara exhaled noisily and walked toward the café, mentally scolding herself. She was here to help Athena and take a break after her first year of college, not boink the first guy who had floated her boat in years.

Emma caught sight of her and waved from the café. Cara made her way through the maze of tables and set down her packages. “Good, you went ahead and ordered.” An assortment of desserts crowded the small table.

“I just pointed at a bunch of items on the menu and told the waiter to bring coffee, too. You’ll have to tell me what these all are.”

Glad for the distraction, Cara fell into tourist guide mode. “That custard with phyllo dough is galaktobouriko, the almond nut cake is amygdalopita, various cookies and the ubiquitous baklava.” She leaned over the table. “Purists insist baklava has Turkish roots, but the last person who claimed that out loud was run out of Greece.”

Emma laughed, drawing the admiration of the young waiter who’d just arrived with their coffee. He bowed. “Enjoy your sweets. I am at your disposal.” He tossed a meaningful look at Emma, who just smiled.

“A possibility,” she said, once he’d departed.

“A possibility for what?” Cara made a face. “He’s probably seventeen years old.”

“True,” Emma agreed. “I don’t want to find out the hard way the Greek penalties for fooling around with minors.”

“Believe me, you won’t have any trouble finding men who are old enough to stay up past curfew.” Cara shoved the passing thought of reckless motorscooter drivers out of her mind and remembered her plan for finding an even-tempered Northern European type to test the waters with. No drama kings for her.

She spotted a possibility of her own and leaned over the table to Emma. “Emma, do you see that blond guy a few tables away?”

Emma casually turned as if she were watching people passing by and turned back. “That guy? The one wearing the hemp-looking Peruvian hoodie and sandals?”

“Emma, it is perfectly acceptable for European men to wear sandals.”

“With woolen hiking socks?” Emma didn’t wait for a response, mostly because there wasn’t one Cara could think of. She gestured broadly. “All these Greek guys dying to meet American women and you’re looking at some yahoo who probably has five pairs of lederhosen and yodels on the weekend?”

“Maybe Greek men aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”

“And maybe we should conduct a scientific sampling of the population to prove or disprove your hypothesis.”

Cara lifted her hands in surrender. “Fine, sample away.”

“I intend to.” Emma broke off a chunk of nut cake and passed it to her. “Eat up. We’re going out tonight, and you need your strength.”

Cara accepted the cake and washed it down with her superstrong coffee. She flagged down the teenage waiter for another pot. She’d need the caffeine to keep up with Emma.

CARA HAD JUST FINISHED her shower and was toweling her hair dry in the bathroom when Emma knocked on the door. “Your cell phone’s ringing.”

“Oh, could you get it out of my purse and see who’s calling?” Only a handful of people had her number and they wouldn’t call just to chitchat. She hoped it wasn’t her brother, Rick, calling with bad news about their grandmother, who was elderly and a bit senile.

Cara grabbed her terry cloth robe and wrapped herself in it, following Emma into the living room.

Emma handed her the phone. “It’s a credit card company.”

She sat down on the sectional couch and answered, “Hello?” After answering a multitude of security questions, she assured them she was indeed on a Greek island and likely to make even more purchases with her card. “What’s my credit limit?”

She listened to the six-figure amount without blinking. “That should be fine.” She had more than enough in her money market accounts to cover her purchases, short of buying the entire island.

Emma was watching her closely throughout her phone conversation. Cara hung up and wasn’t surprised when Emma burst into questions. “Did you go over your card limit with all those suits? Do you need me to loan you some money?”

“No, no, I’m good, really—”

Emma paced back and forth over the marble floor. “Oh my gosh, Cara, I don’t want you to go broke on this trip. I know we’re both strapped for cash, and this trip out here must be costing you a fortune. Oh, I am so thoughtless. I have my teaching fellowship and living stipend, and you don’t have any scholarships at the university.”

“Emma, Emma, wait.” Cara held up her hands and her friend finally stopped. “Come sit with me, Emma. It’s okay.”

Emma plopped down on the couch next to her. Cara thought for a second, considering the best way to alleviate her friend’s worries. “Before I started college, I was married for a few years.”

Whatever her friend was expecting, it obviously wasn’t a confession of matrimony. “Cara, you were married? You never mentioned that before.”

“It turned out not to be a good fit.” That was the understatement of the century. “My husband was a bit older than I was and pretty set in his ways. I was young and naive and didn’t realize he and I were looking for different things from life.” Con had wanted a baby-maker, and she had wanted a faithful husband.

“Oh, wow.” Emma’s brown eyes widened. “Married. I just can’t imagine it. Where did you live?”

“We had a condo in Chicago.” Her brother had lived there for a brief time and then put it on the market for her when he moved out and got married. That alone had brought her a significant dollar amount. “When my marriage ended, I got a pretty good financial settlement, enough to send me back to school and allow for occasional trips.”

“Your ex, do you see him anymore?”

“No, never.” Cara heaved a sigh despite herself.

Emma must have picked up on her melancholy mood, because Cara found herself enveloped in a bear hug. “Thanks for telling me, Cara. I won’t worry about you moneywise anymore.”

Cara realized her lip was trembling. Aside from a couple people sworn to secrecy, she hadn’t told anyone that her supposedly fairy-tale marriage was straight out of the legends of the Greek Furies. “Believe me, money is not a problem.” She forced her expression into a determinedly cheerful one.

“Let’s list what you do need. Fabulous summer in Greece—check. Hot bikinis and great beach to wear them on—check. Sexy Greek boy toy to give the beach and bikinis a workout—nope, you need to add him to your list.”

“Back to the men again.” But Cara giggled, encouraging Emma to continue.

“Back to the men, front to the men, sideways to the men—any way you like to the men. Now go get dressed. Like that weaving of Artemis above the couch, we’re man-hunting tonight.”