My Greek SEAL (4 page)

“No, wait. You shouldn’t sit until I do.”

Still sitting, I lean forward and push my elbows into my thighs, giving him my worst get serious stare. “I don’t take orders, especially from annoying men.”

“Oh, I see.” He pauses and brushes a fingertip over his thick upper lip. He shakes his head and then speaks again. “You have very big problem. Always assuming men are bad, controlling people when that’s not true. I’m sure that is what they mean when they say women have baggage.”

Too loud words fly from my mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. I see it in those beautiful brown eyes. They tell many stories of sadness. But we can talk about this later. I am sure we will be spending a lot of time together during this week.”

When hell freezes over, I want to shout. Is this Eros a psychologist? And if so, did I ask him to psychoanalyze me? I think not. I swivel around on the beanbag so I can look out at the water. Our boat, the
Ionian Goddess
, is slowly motoring from our original anchor point toward the mouth of the bay. Everywhere, there are boats. There are hundreds of them in the harbor. Some are slick and shiny. Some are constructed of wood that’s been battered and weathered from many days at sea like ours. Who wouldn’t want to own a boat here? Everywhere there are islands and brilliant blue Ionian Sea.

“Please, Miss Maya. There is something we can fix if you will stand up for a second.”

I turn back around to face him. I push my right buttock deeper into the beans, trying to adjust my lopsided position. These things aren’t as comfortable as I they look. “What’s that?” He probably wants to shake my hand for another truce, which will only serve to light up all my erogenous zones again and make it difficult to hate him even though his personality definitely warrants it. I’m not falling for it.

“Last year I learned something very important about these bean bag chairs.”

I don’t care if his cousin sewed them herself and his grandmother painted the tour company logo on them after that. “Why do I have to stand to hear about it? Does this thing have a leak? Are beans falling overboard that might kill the fish?”

Eros shakes his head and gives me a questioning look. “Please, Maya. If you stand up and we count to three and drop into the beanbag at the same time, the spot where you sit won’t be lopsided. You will be much more comfortable.”

Damn. That’s all there is to this? I guess I really need to lighten up. “I see. We have to count to three.”

“Yes, that’s right.” He reaches for my hand and without waiting for me to rock my way upward from the too-low position, the muscles in his shoulders bunch and flex and he pulls me up like I’m a sack of feathers. I’m sailing straight toward his chest. Holy crap.

The hot tingles of electricity racing up my arm were already distracting as hell. Falling into his bulging, muscular arms and being surrounded by his hotness would be too much to bear. I imagine his steely biceps bracketing my shoulders, the protective grip of his large, sinewy hands behind my back.

Maybe we’d be so close I’d be able to sense his arousal. Or maybe holding me wouldn’t excite him at all. I’m instantly irritated with these random thoughts. This is the worst possible time for a hot man obsession.

I jerk my weight back to stop the imminent impact. I’ve halted the inertia, but not by much. He’s standing so close, his hot breath tickles my cheek and I can smell his spicy aftershave that is a mingling of cinnamon and ginger and manly sweat. “Okay, now what?” My voice sounds raspy, breathless, unfamiliar. As if I haven’t had a sip of water for hours or just smoked a cigarette. I try to be subtle as I shuffle inch by inch away from him.

His gaze wanders down the length of my body. Now it is my turn to play psychologist. I see raw sensuality in the depths of his dark eyes. The gold flash I see makes me think of a roaring lion or other wild beast about to attack. I’m more afraid than ever. Afraid he will know I’m far from immune to his raw sensuality and afraid that I will be lured into a situation of no-turning-back vulnerability.

His gaze continues to roam indiscreetly. I try to deduce what he’s imagining. Tying my hands and feet to the bedposts so he can have his way with me or licking chocolate sauce off of my bare abdomen, perhaps? Heat rushes to my face as these visions unfold.

He waves a hand in front of my face. “If I could have your attention for a moment?”

“Yeah, what?”

Eros takes a step back and turns his back to the beanbag, bending his legs and sticking his butt out as he’s about to drop down to sitting. “Ready to count and drop down beside each other in the chair?”

“All righty then.” This bizarre sitting lesson has attracted the interest of Maryann, her husband Randy and everyone else on the bow deck. Maryann gives me a suggestive wink.

“ One, two...”

“Three,” I say with him as we drop down. The beans inside the chair crunch loudly from our sudden, forceful landing. Unbelievably, his silly plan worked. Instead of the lopsided position I landed in before, I sit level and comfortable, neatly embedded in the sack of beans.

A self-satisfied grin spreads over Eros’ face making sexy dents appear at the corners of his deliciously thick lips. The man looks like he’s just indulged in great sex or finished off a decadently good piece of chocolate. “Isn’t that much better?”

I try to wipe the vision of melted chocolate around the rims of his sumptuous lips from my mind. My mind’s eye sees chocolate streaming over the ridges of his abdomen and then dripping down on his well endowed... extremely well endowed... Oh, my God, stop! Why am I reading lewd things into a simple facial expression? Maybe he wears this same expression after he finishes a trip to the grocery store or pays his bills?

“You were about to say something, I think?”

I clear my throat. “Oh, yes, it’s much better. Sitting like this. Thank you.” I grab my dry bag like it’s a life preserver. I need a distraction. Any distraction. I unfasten the clip that seals the top to keep water out and unroll it. I dig around in the depths of my bag to make myself look busy.

“You got all your luggage inside there?” His head bumps gently against mine as he attempts to peer inside the depths of the bag.

“No, just stuff I need,” I say in a defensive tone before I jerk the bag away. “Sunscreen, camera, money, rain parka, wet suit in case the water’s too cold. Oh, and an outfit to wear when we go to lunch.” It seemed like a reasonable amount of stuff to pack for a day trip until I hear myself calling out every item. Now I suddenly feel like I’m declaring to everyone in the vicinity I’m super high maintenance.

“An outfit for lunch? Did you bring jewelry and a pair of high heels to go with that?”

I scowl at him. “Of course not. This is a swimming vacation, not a fashion show.” I shrug my shoulders, trying to look casual as I justify myself. “I just threw in a little dress to slip on over my suit during lunch. It wouldn’t be proper to go into a restaurant wearing just a wrap.”

“This is Greece, Maya. Not the United States. You don’t have to wear shoes, a shirt or a tie to get served here. Rules and regimens aren’t our style. They seem to be an epidemic in your country. Along with being uptight.”

“We aren’t uptight. We’re very relaxed.” I clear my throat. “About some things.” Once again, my words have taken me straight over the edge of a cliff. I just said I was relaxed with a clenched jaw and while digging trenches into my palms with my fingernails. The smirk on Eros’ face gives away the fact that he’s seen the absurdity of what I just said.

“Ah, yes, very relaxed indeed. Perhaps we should move on to a less controversial subject?” He points toward the other side of the wide bay. “Over there is Nidri Town.”

The
Ionian Goddess
has been gliding past the town and I’ve been too distracted by Eros to notice. Stucco buildings with tile roofs line the shore and olive trees cover the arid hillsides, which have been painted pink by the rising sun. We’ve nearly reached the mouth of the bay. Beyond a wide swath of sea sits a row of hazy mountains. The Greek mainland, I presume.

We’re headed out to the Ionian Sea. There’s no escape. I’m way too far from the hotel to dive overboard and swim back. I’m sitting on a beanbag chair beside a hot Greek guy who has just insulted my country and everyone who lives there. I won’t stand for this. I’ll set him straight once and for all so that he understands that he can’t get away with this shit.

CHAPTER FIVE

I clench my fists and glare at him. “Thank you for the geography lesson, but going back to what you were saying about Americans. There’s something else I’d like to add. That I don’t app—”

Libby’s shrill voice cuts in with a, “Quiet everyone. I need your attention.” Her body casts a shadow across my sun-warmed skin.

“But, wait, I’m—“

Libby pats me on the shoulder like a toddler. “Shush now. You’ll have to wait a bit to get back to that love fight you’re having there. We must get on with the briefing.”

Love fight? “But...” I stop, realizing any protest will only make it more obvious I’m confused over this mix of irritation and lust I feel for Eros.

Libby pushes past me toward the center of the deck, crouches down and unfolds a map. Everyone clusters around her, blocking my view, so I stand up and look over Maryann’s shoulder. I sense Eros is close before I crane my neck and see he’s leaning right over my shoulder. His spicy scent tinges my nostrils. Why does he have to stand so damn close to me?

Directing my gaze at the map, I try not to think about the hot jolts of electricity ricocheting through my body. I don’t want to find his masculine scent intoxication, to give in to this ridiculous, out-of-control attraction. I want to put him in his place and stay as far away from him as possible the rest of the week.

“As you know, mates, your hotel is situated on Lefkada Islandi in Geni over here.” She points to the now distant place along the bay before drawing her finger toward the map and pausing on a spot with a town name spelled out in Greek letters. “We just passed this little fishing village called Nidri. We will take you there for a shopping trip later this week.”

A few of the women clap and cheer. Randy glances at Maryann and frowns. “I suppose all my money will be going there, then.”

“Right now we’ll boat around the point to a small beach called Desimi. There you’ll do a test swim for four hundred meters. It’s important that you swim at a pace you could stay with for three to five kilometers, the distance of most of our swims. We’re using this practice swim to assign you to a group of swimmers that will be close to your speed. After that, we’ll take some time to video each of you swimming so we can give you some feedback on your stroke this afternoon after we get back to the hotel. Any questions?” A puff of wind ruffles Libby’s short blond hair, blowing a lock in her face. She shoves it away from her face with a stubby finger and cranes her neck so she can see every one of the gathered swimmers.

“No, I think you covered everything,” says Randy.

The boat glides through the mouth and along the shoreline. While the Greek mainland off in the distance appears brown and largely void of vegetation, I’m surprised at how lush Lefkada and some of the other small islands nearby appear. Inside the rocky perimeters of the islands are olive trees, cyprus trees, and even thick, flat-topped fir trees.

“What’s the water temperature?” I ask. “Will I need my wet suit?”

Libby shakes her head. “It’s been a mild summer. The water’s 28 degrees.”

People moan and groan about the possibility of the water being too hot. I recall my little formula for temperature and conclude the water must be warmer than eighty degrees. Just perfect, in my opinion.

“Celsius won’t mean much to her since she’s from America,” says Eros.

One or two people laugh.

My face burns hot with anger. Why can’t I keep a low profile for even two minutes without him saying something completely annoying? “I understand just fine. It’s good to know I won’t need a wet suit.”

Eros nudges me on the shoulder. “What’s twenty eight in Fahrenheit?”

The skin-to-skin contact strikes like a sensual lightning bolt making my nipples harden. I struggle to reshuffle my thoughts. The man’s a pain in the ass, remember? I know thirty degrees Celsius is eighty-six Fahrenheit. I shrug. “About eighty one or eighty two.”

“Blimey, would you stop hassling the poor dear?” says Margie. Her fair, translucent skin is dotted with freckles and her dark hair is pulled back in two long braids.

As much as I hate being referred to as poor dear, I whirl around and glare at Eros. Damn. Why does he have to look so good? I draw my brows together and clench my fists. This is why I steer clear of gorgeous men. They are inevitably egotistical jerks. “Why can’t you stop?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. I just thought you needed help with the convers—

“That is duly noted. Now for your information, I don’t need your help with conversions or with anything else for that matter. And I definitely don’t need to hear any more of your biased opinions of Americans. The only thing I need for you is to leave me al—“

Libby clears her throat. “Crikey, that’s enough cheeky talk. We are just about at our swim site. We’ll suit up right quick. Let me know if you want me to rub a little lube under the shoulder straps of your swimming costume to stop the straps from rubbing. Once Dmitri drops anchor, we’ll set up the swimming course right quick so you can be on your way.” As if reading my mind, she directs her gaze my way. “Remember, this isn’t a blooming race. We need to know your pace for the long distance swims to put you in the proper group.”

She didn’t say this four hundred meter swim isn’t a grudge match even though that’s exactly what it’s become for me. I have no intention of jumping into the sea and swimming at a controlled pace. I have every intention of sprinting until my shoulders and lungs burn like hell if that’s what it takes to out swim Mister Can’t-Keep-His-Trap-Shut-For-One-Second.