Page 12 of Love on the Rocks
I noticed my vibrator sitting in its case on the floor. This really wasn’t the moment for a solo session, but then again, a little tension release was just what I needed. I closed my eyes and let the familiar buzz take me away. But instead of my sexy dream man, the face that filled my mind had a five o’clock shadow and a wicked sneer on his firm lips. Goddammit! I turned my vibrator off and tossed it aside. I refused to fantasize about that asshole.
Thoroughly turned on and frustrated, I rolled from the saggy mattress and went in search of the shower, remembering too late that there was no hot water.
“This day just keeps getting better,” I mumbled to myself. I had to find a solution and fast if I wanted to be on time for my meeting. There was a small storage closet just outside the kitchen patio. I tore through it and did a little happy dance when I found a hotplate and a small generator stashed inside. I didn’t know how to use a generator, but I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to figure it out.
After a lengthy struggle, I got the hot plate working and heated up a casserole of water for a very quick hand bath. I scrubbed my naked body while staring out at the temple in the distance, girding myself mentally for the day to come. Then I picked out another of my favorite dresses—a vintage Missoni that highlighted my good bits but was still very chic. I hesitated about wearing heels again and, in the end, decided to hike down the rocks in flats with my Louboutins stuffed in my purse.
When I opened the door, I nearly screamed. An enormous dog, almost a pony really, with shaggy gray hair and a long nose stared back at me. I had seen plenty of stray cats at the port, so I knew that strays were a thing here, but a dog this size? My heart pounding, I cooed at it, “Hello, there. Are you friendly? No, stay where you are!”
He stood on his gangly legs, his big pink tongue hanging from his mouth. It almost looked like he was smiling.
“Oh good, you’re less ferocious than you look.” I patted his head and scooted past him, taking off in the direction of the port. The dog followed at my heels until we reached the steps where he stopped and stood like a sentinel at the edge of the cliff.
Going down the stairs was much easier than the trek up. How had I managed all these steps in heels? I counted each step as I descended but gave up after 383. Whatever, it was alot of fucking steps. As I neared the port, I slid my heels on and surveyed the cluster of whitewashed buildings. My stomach growled. God, I was ravenous. Food would have to wait though. I didn’t want to be late.
The port was bustling with activity. Old fishing boats, with peeling blue paint and tangled orange nets, rocked in the harbor. The briny odor of the sea hit me as I walked past the fishermen selling the day’s catch: octopus hanging from clotheslines, small red mullet, scallops, and cuttlefish displayed in plastic containers. Already my head filled with possibilities for new recipes. It would be a challenge cooking on just my little hot plate, but I was up for it.
As I neared the end of the port, I spied the broad, muscular back that I’d been forced to stare at on the trek up the hill yesterday. The back that belonged to the man who had invaded my morning fantasies. As he turned toward me, I was struck by how magnificent he was in profile with his strong nose and cheekbones beneath heavy brows. Why did he have to look like a statue of a Greek god? I mean, could he be any more of a cliché?
When he spotted me, his dark eyes narrowed with blatant hostility. I immediately averted my own gaze, making a point of only greeting Yiannis, who stood next to him. “Good morning, Yiannis.”
Yiannis’s eyes widened. He should never play poker, that one; his anxiety was written all over his face. “Ah, you are here Miss Calista. How did you sleep?”
“Like the dead. I was exhausted.”
“Oh?” He seemed surprised.
“Yeah,” I chuckled, searching the port for the water taxi that would take me to my meeting. “So, where’s my ride?”
“Nikos will take you in his boat.” Yiannis flashed his white teeth and gestured to his broody buddy. My jaw tightened.
So hewasa fisherman. And he had a name. Nikos. He smirked at me, and I realized I’d been staring.
“You want me to ride in a fishing boat? To my meeting?” The last thing I needed was to smell like the catch of the day when I met with this mysterious government official.
“Yes?” Yiannis shrugged and gestured to the closest boat. It was smaller than the others, practically a rowboat, and it sure as hell didn’t look very comfortable with its narrow wooden bench and rusty metal railings. My eyes ran over its peeling blue exterior searching for holes.
What choice did I have but to get in? I let Yiannis help me aboard while the boat rocked perilously beneath my heels. Louboutins were clearly not made for balancing on small wooden boats. After wiping off the dirty bench, I sat patiently while Yiannis and Nikos exchanged heated words. When it seemed like their little dispute would drag on forever, I cleared my throat and tapped at my watch, earning myself another dirty look from Nikos. Whatever. If I was late for this meeting, I might as well say goodbye to my future restaurant. The Greystones would kill me.
After taking an eternity untying the rope from the yellow moorings, Nikos hopped into the boat. The boat tipped wildly in response, and I gripped the edge of the seat and clenched my teeth to keep from cursing. Only when we’d drifted away from the quay, did I notice Yiannis was still standing there waving goodbye.
“You’re not coming?” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice.
“I don’t swim!” he yelled back. Well, that wasn’t very reassuring.
Yiannis shouted something in Greek to Nikos who responded in a deep baritone voice that shot straight through me, warmingup parts of me that I’d left unsatisfied this morning. I clenched my legs together and pulled my purse onto my lap.
As I did so, Nikos’s dark eyes raked up my body so slowly that, by the time he met my eyes, I felt like he’d touched me everywhere. I tore my eyes from his and stared out toward the mountains at the other end of the island.
He made a grunting sound—as if I needed more proof that he was probably dumb as a rock—then he leaned over me to lower the propellers into the water. I closed my eyes as his scent invaded me: fresh and clean, like lemons and fresh-cut grass. Of course, he wouldn’t smell like sweat or old fish or something as unpleasant as his personality.
He sat at the wheel as the boat chugged into motion, and I shamelessly stared at the planes and ridges of that muscular back, fascinated. What would he do if I ran my nails over his shoulder blades? For a hot second, I imagined him throwing me down on the floor of the boat and pounding into me until we were both breathless and panting, tangled in his fishing net.
I gripped my hands between my legs to stop myself from doing something stupid and focused on the brownish-gray hills in the distance as we moved at a snail’s pace over the water. My heels tapped against the floor of the boat impatiently, and he shot me another irritated glare just as the noisy little engine behind me sputtered and died. Nikos cursed and leaned over me as I dodged to the right, dislodging my sunglasses into the Aegean.
“No!” I reached out toward the water in vain and when I turned back my face was inches away from the bronze skin and corded muscle of his neck. And dammit, how was it possible that he smelled even better now?
I closed my eyes while he tugged at the engine, grunting and cursing underneath his breath. Panic rose in my chest again. Okay, cool, cool. I checked my watch, relieved when he pulledout a small toolbox. He tapped the engine a couple times and, thank God, it started again.
