Page 9 of Love on the Rocks
Yiannis’s brown eyes widened, and he stood. “I am Yiannis.”
“Oh, good. You speak English.” She held out her hand and he stared at it. “I’m with The Greystone Group. I believe you were expecting me?”
Yiannis blanched and threw us a helpless glance. But I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
“She’s from Greystone,” he repeated in Greek as if we hadn’t all understood. There was a general grumbling about what this meant for our plan. Sensing our confusion, she tensed and threw her chin up until she was practically looking down her nose at us.
When her eyes locked with mine, I refused to look away; and so did she. Only when Yiannis started speaking did she avert her gaze.
“We were expecting a man,” he explained, flustered.
I didn’t think it was possible for her to grow even stiffer, but she did. And then her expression softened and she lowered her eyelashes. Her ruby lips opened slightly, emphasizing their fullness. She looked at Yiannis like he was some sort of simple-minded puppy, and said, “I’m afraid themencouldn’t make it. They sent me instead. I hope you’re not disappointed.”
“Oh no, not disappointed,” he hedged and looked back at us. Her expression changed again. She drew her lips into a tight line and turned her attention to her bag, digging around for her phone—the latest iPhone of course—and cursed under her breath.
“I still don’t have reception here. Is there somewhere with good Wi-Fi?” she asked.
Yiannis shrugged. “This is the best spot.”
“Great,” she mumbled. Our eyes met again, and she arched a shapely eyebrow. I slumped even farther back against the wall, the corner of my mouth turning up in a silent challenge. Her eyes ran over the tattoos on my bicep and forearm, lingered there, and then she turned away abruptly.
As she took in her surroundings, I imagined how she must have seen it: the small taverna that hadn’t changed since the ’70s, the fishing boats bobbing in the small port, and the circle of old men huddled around the other table playing backgammon and clicking their worry beads. They kept throwing glances her way and sniggering. Now, normally, I would have told them to watch it, but she needed to see exactly what she was up against. And from the barely disguised disgust on her face, we’d made a hell of a first impression.
Yiannis leaned over to me and whispered, “Can we talk?”
I made a sign with my head and, my eyes never leaving her, I stood and gestured for Panos to follow. Once we’d moved away, Yiannis put his hand on my shoulder and whispered, “They sent us a girl!”
“Not a girl,” I corrected. “A woman.”
And one that was making my blood boil, and not just with anger. I wanted to throw her up against the wall and kiss my way down her luscious body. I hadn’t had a reaction like this to woman in a long time, and it pissed me off that this was the woman my dick had decided to get hard for.
“Maybe we should reconsider,” added Panos. “It wouldn’t be right to go through with our plan. We thought it was going to be a man.”
I glanced back to find her staring at us through narrowed eyes. Now, I’d spent a lot of time in hospital emergency rooms, and I was pretty good at reading people. And I knew this wasn’t just any woman they’d sent us.
They’d sent us a killer.
“No, we go on as planned. They’re trying to fuck with us. They think we’ll soften our stance if they send us a beautiful woman.” I laughed. “But this is a game of chess. And they made the mistake of sending in the queen too early.”
“Ah, well, then you do it,” Panos whispered. “My mother will murder me if she finds out.”
“Fine. Let’s go back, she’s getting suspicious.”
We walked back into the taverna where the owner, Takis, had served his new guest a shot of mastiha. She hesitated before tapping her glass against his, repeated, “Yiamas,” and then downed the glass. For once, her face lost its guarded quality. Her eyes flashed with genuine delight. “Delicious, what’s it called again?”
“Mastiha.” He gestured to the mastic tree etched on to the bottles, the source of the resin that made the liquor.
“Ah, it comes from that tree?” Her smile disappeared as we approached.
Yiannis cleared his throat and gripped his hands nervously. “When you are ready, we will show you your house.”
“Oh, good. I’m exhausted after spending the entire day on boats. Is there Wi-Fi there?” she asked hopefully.
“Eh . . .” Yiannis shrugged.
“Okay, I’ll take that as a no.” She shoved her phone in her bag, one of those designer bags my ex-wife had hanging in her walk-in closet. “I’ll just get my things.”
She strutted away, heels clicking on the cobblestones, her hips swaying temptingly. I imagined digging my fingers into them, pulling them flush with mine.
