The Fallen Greek Bride\At the Greek Boss's Bidding (26 page)

“Monday is just days away,” Kristian said, his voice hard, increasingly distant.

“I know. It is sudden.” She took a quick breath, feeling a stab of intense regret. She wished she could reach out and touch him, reassure him, but it wasn’t her place. There were lines that couldn’t be crossed, professional boundaries that she had to respect, despite her growing feelings for him. “You know you don’t need me, Kristian. I’m just in your way—”

“No.”

“Yes. But you must know I’m in awe of you. You said you’d walk in two weeks, and I said you couldn’t. I said you’d need a walker, and you said you wouldn’t.” She laughed, thinking back to those first two intense and overwhelming days. “You’ve made a believer out of me.”

He said nothing for a long moment, and then shook his head. “I wish I
could
make a believer out of you,” he said, speaking so quietly the words were nearly inaudible.

“Monday is still three days from now,” she said, injecting a note of false cheer. “Do we have to think about Monday today? Can’t we think of something else? A game of blindman’s bluff?”

Kristian’s jaw drew tight, and then eased. He laughed most reluctantly. “You’re a horrible woman.”

“Yes, I know,” she answered, grateful for humor.

“Most challenging, Cratchett.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Then you take it wrong.”

Elizabeth smiled. When he teased her, when he played her game with her, it amused her to no end. Moments ago she’d felt so low, and yet she was comforted and encouraged now.

She loved his company. It was as simple as that. He was clever and sophisticated, handsome and entertaining. And once he’d determined to return to the land of the living, he had done so with a vengeance.

For the past week she’d tried to temper her happiness with reminders that soon he’d be returning to Athens, and marriage to Cosima, but it hadn’t stopped her heart from doing a quick double-beat every time she heard his voice or saw him enter a room.

“I’m not sure of the exact time,” Kristian said, “but I imagine it’s probably close to five.”

Elizabeth glanced at her silver watch. “It’s ten past five now.”

“I’ve made plans for dinner. It will mean dressing now. Can you be ready by six?”

“Is this for dinner here?”

“No.”

“We’re going
out?
” She gazed incredulously at the valley far below and the steep descent down. Sure, Pirro traveled up and down once a week to work with Kristian. But she couldn’t imagine Kristian bumping around on the back of a mule or in a donkey’s cart.

His expression didn’t change. “Is that a problem?”

“No.” But it kind of
was
a problem, she thought, glancing at the dwindling light. Where would they possibly go to eat? It would take them hours to get down the mountain, and it would be dark soon. But maybe Kristian hadn’t thought of that, as his world was always dark.

Kristian heard the hesitation in Elizabeth’s voice and he tensed, his posture going rigid. He resented not being able to see her, particularly at times like this. It hadn’t been until he couldn’t see that he’d learned how much he’d depended on his eyes, on visual cues, to make decisions.

Why was she less than enthusiastic about dinner?

Did she not want to go with him? Or was she upset about something?

If only he could see her face, read her expression, he’d know what her hesitation meant. But, as it was, he felt as though he were stumbling blindly about. His jaw hardened. He hated this feeling of confusion and helplessness. He wasn’t a helpless person, but everything was so different now, so much harder than before.

Like sleep.

And the nightmares that woke him up endlessly. Or, worse, the nightmares he couldn’t wake from—the dreams that haunted him for hours when, even when he told himself to wake, even when he said in the dream,
This is just a dream,
he couldn’t let go, couldn’t open his eyes and see. Day or night, it was all the same. Black. Endless pitch-black.

“If you’d rather not go...” he said, his voice growing cooler, more distant. He couldn’t exactly blame her if she didn’t want another evening alone with him. She might say he didn’t look like Frankenstein, but the scar on his face felt thick, and it ran at an angle, as though his face had been pieced together, stitched with rough thread.

“No, Kristian. No, that’s not it at all,” she protested, her hand briefly touching his arm before just as swiftly pulling away. And yet that light, faint touch was enough. It warmed him. Connected him. Made him feel real. And, God knew, between the darkness and the nightmares and the grief of losing Andreas, he didn’t feel real, or good, very often anymore.

“I’d like to go,” she continued. “I want to go. I just wasn’t sure what to wear. Is there a dress code? Casual or elegant? How are you going to dress?”

He pressed the tip of his cane into the ground, wanting to touch her instead, wanting to feel the softness of her cheek, the silky texture that made him think of crushed rose petals and velvet and the softest lace edged satin. His body ached, his chest grew tight, pinched around his heart.

“I won’t be casual.” His voice came out rough, almost raw, and he winced. He’d developed edges and shadows that threatened to consume him. “But you should dress so that you’re comfortable. It could be a late night.”

* * *

In her bedroom, Elizabeth practically spun in circles.

They were going out, and it could be a late night. So where were they going and exactly how late was late?

Her stomach flipped over, and she felt downright giddy as she bathed and toweled off. It was ridiculous, preposterous to feel this way—and yet she couldn’t help the flurry of excitement. It had been a little over two weeks since she’d arrived, and she was looking forward to dinner out.

Knowing that Kristian wouldn’t be dressed casually, she flipped through her clothes in the wardrobe until she decided she’d wear the only dress she’d brought—a black cocktail-length dress with a pale lace inset.

Standing before the mirror, she blew her wet hair dry and battled to keep her chaotic emotions in check.

You’re just his nurse, she reminded herself. Nothing more than that. But her bright eyes in the mirror and the quick beat of her pulse belied that statement.

Her hair shimmered. Elizabeth was going to leave it down, but worried she wouldn’t appear professional. At the last minute she plaited her hair into two slender braids, then twisted the braids into an elegant figure-eight at the back of her head, before pulling some blonde wisps from her crown so they fell softly around her face.

Gathering a light black silk shawl and her small handbag, she headed for the monastery’s library. As she walked through the long arched hallways she heard a distant thumping sound, a dull roar that steadily grew louder, until the sound was directly above and vibrating through the entire estate. Then abruptly the thumping stopped and everything was quiet again.

Elizabeth discovered Kristian already in the library, waiting for her.

He’d also showered and changed, was dressed now in elegant black pants and a crisp white dress shirt, with a fine leather black belt and black leather shoes. With his dark hair combed and his face cleanshaven, Elizabeth didn’t think she’d ever met a man so fit, strong, or so darkly handsome.

“Am I underdressed?” he asked, lifting his hands as if to ask for her approval.

“No.” Her heart turned over. God, he was beautiful. Did he have any idea how stunning he really was?

Kristian moved toward her, his cane folded, tucked under his arm. He looked so confident, so very sure of himself. “What are you wearing...besides high heels?”

“You could tell by the way I walked?” she guessed.

“Mmmm. Very sexy.”

Blushing, she looked up into his face, glad he couldn’t see the way she looked at him. She loved looking at him, and she didn’t even know what she loved most about his face. It was just the way it came together—that proud brow, the jet-black eyebrows, the strong cheekbones above firm, mobile lips.

“I’m wearing a dress,” she said, feeling suddenly shy. She’d never been shy around men before—had never felt intimidated by any man, not even her Greek former husband. “It’s black velvet with some lace at the bodice. Reminds me of the 1920s flapper-style dress.”

“You must look incredible.”

The compliment, as well as the deep sincerity in Kristian’s voice, brought tears to her eyes.

Kristian was so much more than any man she’d ever met. It wasn’t his wealth or sophistication that impressed her, either—although she did admit that he wore his clothes with ease and elegance, and she’d heard his brilliant trading and investments meant he’d tripled his family fortune—those weren’t qualities she respected, much less admired.

She liked different things—simple things. Like the way his voice conveyed so much, and how closely he listened to her when she talked to him. His precise word choice indicated he paid attention to virtually everything.

“Not half as incredible as you do,” she answered.

His mouth quirked. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

He held out his arm and she took it. His body was so much bigger than hers, and warm, the muscles in his arm dense and hard. Together they headed through the hall to the front entrance, where Pano stood, ready to open the front door.

At the door Kristian paused briefly, head tipped as he gazed down at her. “Your chariot awaits,” he said, and with another step they crossed the monastery’s threshold and went outside—to a white and silver helicopter.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A
HELICOPTER
.

On the top of one of Taygetos’s peaks.

She blinked, shook her head, and looked again, thinking that maybe she’d imagined it. But, no, the silver and white body glinted in the last rays of the setting sun.

“I wondered how you got up and down the mountain,” she said. “You didn’t seem the type to enjoy donkey rides.”

Kristian’s deep laugh hummed all the way through her. “I suppose I could have sent the helicopter for you.”

“No, no. I would have hated to miss hours bumping and jolting around in a wood cart.

He laughed again, as though deeply amused. “Have you been in a helicopter before?”

“I have,” she said. “Yes.” Her parents had access to a helicopter in New York. But that was part of the affluent life she’d left behind. “It’s been a while, though.”

The pilot indicated they were safe to board, and Elizabeth walked Kristian to the door. Once on board, he easily found his seatbelt and fastened the clip. And it wasn’t until they’d lifted off, heading straight up and then over, between the mountain peaks, that Elizabeth remembered that the worst of Kristian’s injuries had come from the helicopter crash instead of the actual avalanche.

Turning, she glanced into his face to see what he was feeling. He seemed perhaps a little paler than he had earlier, but other than that he gave no indication that anything was wrong.

“You were hurt in a helicopter accident,” she said, wondering if he was really okay, or just putting up a brave front.

“I was.”

She waited, wondering if he’d say more. He didn’t, and she touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. “You’re not worried about being in one now?”

His brows pulled. “No. I know Yanni the pilot well—very well—and, being a pilot myself...”

“You’re a pilot?”

His dark head inclined and he said slowly, “I was flying at the time of the crash.”

Ah. “And the others?” she whispered.

“They were all in different places and stages of recovery.” His long black lashes lowered, hiding the brilliant blue of his eyes.

She waited, and eventually Kristian sighed, shifted, his broad shoulders squaring. “One had managed to ski down the mountain to a lower patrol. Cosima...” He paused, took a quick short breath. “Cosima and the guide had been rescued. Two were still buried in snow and the others...were located but already gone.”

The details were still so vague, and his difficulty in recounting the events so obvious that she couldn’t ask anything else. But there were things she still wanted to know. Like, had he been going back for his brother when he crashed? And how had he managed to locate Cosima so quickly but not Andreas?

Thinking of the accident, she stole a swift side-glance in Kristian’s direction. Yes, he was walking, and, yes, he was physically stronger. But what if he never saw again?

What if he didn’t get the surgery—or, worse, did have it and the treatment didn’t work? What if his vision could never be improved? What then?

She actually thought Kristian would cope—it wouldn’t be easy, but he was tough, far tougher than he’d ever let on—but she wasn’t so sure about Cosima, because Cosima desperately wanted Kristian to be “normal” again. And those were Cosima’s words: “He must be normal, the way he was, or no one will ever respect him.”

How would Cosima feel if Kristian never did get his sight back?

Would she still love him? Stay with him? Honor him?

Troubled, Elizabeth drew her shawl closer to her shoulders and gazed out the helicopter window as they flew high over the Peloponnese peninsula. It was a stunning journey at sunset, the fading sun painting the ground below in warm strokes of reddish-gold light.

In her two years of living in Greece she’d never visited the Peloponnese. Although the Peloponnese was a favorite with tourists, for its diverse landscape and numerous significant archeological sites, she only knew what Kristian had been telling her these past couple weeks. But, remembering his tales, she was riveted by three “fingers” of land projecting into the sea, the land green and fertile against the brilliant blue Mediterranean.

“We’re almost there,” Kristian suddenly said, his hand briefly touching her knee.

She felt her stomach flip and, breath catching, she glanced down at her knee, which still felt the heat of his fingers even though his hand was no longer there.

She wanted him to touch her again. She wanted to feel his hand slide inside her knee, wanted to feel the heat of his hand, his palm on her knee, and then feel his touch slide up the inside of her thigh. And maybe it couldn’t happen, but it didn’t make the desire any less real.

Skin against skin, she thought. Touch that was warm and concrete instead of all these silent thoughts and intense emotions. And they were getting harder to handle, because she couldn’t acknowledge them, couldn’t act on them, could do nothing but keep it in, hold it in, pretend she wasn’t falling head over heels in love. Because she was.

And it was torture. Madness.

Her heart felt like it was tumbling inside her chest—a small shell caught in the ocean tide. She couldn’t stop it, couldn’t control it, could only feel it.

With an equally heart-plunging drop, the helicopter descended straight down.

As the pilot opened the door and assisted her and then Kristian out, she saw the headlights of a car in front of them. The driver of the car stepped out, and as he approached she realized it was Kristian’s driver.

Whisked from helicopter to car, Elizabeth slid through the passenger door and onto the leather seat, pulse racing. Her pulse quickened yet again as Kristian climbed in and sat close beside her.

“Where are we?” she asked, feeling the press of Kristian’s thigh against hers as the driver set off.

“Kithira.”

His leg was much longer than hers, his knee extending past hers, the muscle hard against hers.

“It’s an island at the foot of the Peloponnese,” he added. “Years ago, before the Corinth Canal was built in the late nineteenth century, the island was prosperous due to all the ships stopping. But after the canal’s construction the island’s population, along with its fortune, dwindled.”

As the car traveled on quiet roads, beneath the odd passing yellow light, shadows flickered in and through the windows. Elizabeth couldn’t tear her gaze from the sight of his black trouser-covered leg against hers.

“It’s nice to be going out,” he said, as the car began to wind up a relatively steep hill. “I love living in the Taygetos, but every now and then I just want to go somewhere for dinner, enjoy a good meal and not feel so isolated.”

She turned swiftly to look at him. There were no streetlights on the mountain road and she couldn’t see his face well. “So you
do
feel isolated living so far from everyone?”

He shrugged. “I’m Greek.”

Those two words revealed far more than he knew. Greeks treasured family, had strong ties to family, even the extended family, and every generation was respected for what it contributed. In Greece the elderly rarely lived alone, and money was never hoarded, but shared with each other. A father would never let his daughter marry without giving her a house, or land, or whatever he could, and a Greek son would always contribute to his parents’ care. It wasn’t just an issue of respect, but love.

“That’s why Cosima wants you back in Athens,” Elizabeth said gently. “There you have your
parea
—your group of friends.” And, for Greeks, the circle of friends was nearly as important as family. A good
parea
was as necessary as food and water.

But Kristian didn’t speak. Elizabeth, not about to be put off, lightly touched his sleeve. “Your friends miss you.”

“My
parea
is gone.”

“No—”

“Elizabeth.” He stopped her. “They’re gone. They died with my brother in France. All those that perished, suffocating in the snow, were my friends. But they weren’t just friends. They were also colleagues.”

Pained, she closed her eyes. Why, oh why did she push? Why, oh, why did she think she knew everything? How could she be so conceited as to think she could counsel him? “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know.”

“But I thought... Cosima said...”

“Cosima?” Kristian repeated bitterly. “Soon you will learn you can’t believe everything she says.”

“Even though she means well.”

Silence filled the car, and once again Elizabeth sensed that she’d said the wrong thing. She pressed her fists to her knees, increasingly uncomfortable.

“Perhaps I should tell you about dinner,” Kristian said finally, his deep chest lifting as he squared his shoulders. “We’re heading to a tiny village that will seem virtually untouched by tourism or time. Just outside this village is one of my favorite restaurants—a place designed by a Greek architect and his artist wife. The food is simple, but fresh, and the view is even better.”

“You could go anywhere to eat, but you choose a rustic and remote restaurant?”

“I like quiet places. I’m not interested in fanfare or fuss.”

“Have you always been this way, or...?”

“It’s not the result of the accident, no. Andreas was the extrovert—he loved parties and the social scene.”

“You didn’t go with him?”

“Of course I went with him. He was my brother and my best friend. But I was content to let him take center stage, entertain everyone. It was more fun to sit back, watch.”

As Kristian talked, the moon appeared from behind a cloud. Elizabeth could suddenly see Kristian’s features, and that rugged profile of his, softened only by the hint of fullness at his lower lip.

He had such a great mouth, too. Just wide enough, with perfect lips.

To kiss those lips...

Knots tightened inside her belly, knots that had less to do with fear and more to do with desire. She felt so attracted to him it was hard to contain her feelings, to keep the need from showing.

What she needed to do was scoot over on the seat, put some distance between them—because with him sitting so close, with their thighs touching and every now and then their elbows brushing, she felt so wound up, so keenly aware of him.

She looked now at his hand, where it rested on his thigh, and she remembered how electric it had felt when his hand had brushed her knee, how she’d wanted his hand to slide beneath the hem of her dress and touch her, tease her, set her on fire...

That hand. His body. Her skin.

She swallowed hard, her heart beating at a frantic tempo, and, crossing her legs, she fought the dizzying zing of adrenaline. This was ridiculous, she told herself, shifting again, crossing her legs the other way. She had to settle down. Had to find some calm.

“You seem restless,” Kristian said, head cocking, listening attentively.

She pressed her knees together. “I guess I am. I probably just need to stretch my legs. Must be the sitting.”

“We’re almost there.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“I didn’t think you were.”

She forced a small tight smile even as her mind kept spinning, her imagination working overtime. She was far too aware of Kristian next to her, far too aware of his warmth, the faint spice of his cologne or aftershave, the formidable size of him...even the steady way he was breathing.

“You’re not too tired, are you?” he asked as the car headlights illuminated the road and what seemed to be a nearly barren slope before them.

“No,” she said, as the car suddenly turned, swinging onto a narrow road.

“Hungry?”

She made a soft sound and anxiously smoothed the velvet hem of her dress over her knees. “No.
Yes
. Could be.” She laughed, yet the sound was apprehensive. “I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He reached out, his hand finding hers in the dark with surprising ease. She thought for a moment he meant to hold her hand but instead he turned it over and put his fingers on the inside of her wrist, checking her pulse. Several seconds passed before his mouth quirked. “Your heart’s racing.”

“I know,” she whispered, staring at her wrist in his hand as the lights of a parking lot and restaurant illuminated the car. His hand was twice the size of her own, and his skin, so darkly tanned, made hers look like cream.

“You’re not scared of me?”

“No.”

“But maybe you’re afraid to be alone with me?”

Her heart drummed even harder, faster. “And why would that be?”

His thumb caressed her sensitive wrist for a moment before releasing her. “Because tonight you’re not my nurse, and I’m not your patient. We’re just two people having dinner together.”

“Just friends,” she said breathlessly, tugging her hand free, suddenly terrified of everything she didn’t know and didn’t understand.

“Can a man and a woman be just friends?”

Elizabeth’s throat seized, closed.

The driver put the car into “park” and came around to open their door. Elizabeth nearly jumped from the car, anxious to regain control.

At the restaurant entrance they were greeted as though they were family, the restaurant owner clasping Kristian by the arms and kissing him on each cheek. “Kyrios Kristian,” he said, emotion thickening his Greek. “
Kyrie
. It is good to see you.”

Kristian returned the embrace with equal warmth. “It is good to be back.”

“
Parakalo
—come.” And the older man, his dark hair only peppered with gray, led them to a table in a quiet alcove with windows all around. “The best seats for you. Only the best for you, my son. Anything for you.”

After the owner left, Elizabeth turned to Kristian. “He called you
son?”

“The island’s small. Everyone here is like family.”

“So you know him well?”

“I used to spend a lot of time here.”

She glanced out the window and the view was astonishing. They were high on a hill, perched above a small village below. And farther down from the village was the ocean.

The lights of the village twinkled and the moon reflected off the white foam of the sea, where the waves broke on the rocks and shore.

The restaurant owner returned, presenting them with a gift—a bottle of his favorite wine—pouring both glasses before leaving the bottle behind.