Page 18 of Love on the Rocks
The sun had already begun to set behind the distant temple. As usual, I’d lost all sense of time as I cooked. Another night in the cottage was looming before me, and now that the sun was going down, it was getting chilly and a little creepy. The wind blew long strands of my hair across my face and made the chimes cling together in a frantic melody.
“You’re not going anywhere tonight, right?” I asked the dog, who yawned back in reply. “I might have something to convince you to stay.”
As I poked through the various jars and other preserved foods I’d purchased earlier, searching for a can of tuna in olive oil—dogs ate fish, didn’t they?—a nervous bleating sounded out back followed by rocks clattering against the window. The dog bounded up, barking ferociously, and I grabbed my sharpest knife, heart pounding. I saw a flash of a blue football jersey and heard a childish giggle.
“Hey!” I yelled, charging around the corner to find that my shaggy friend had cornered a dirt-streaked boy against the wall. Two other boys were running away in the distance, shouting and making funny faces.
The cornered boy pushed at the dog, yelling the one Greek word I recognized, “malaka,” the equivalent of “wanker.” Not only was he insolent, the kid had a death wish.
His eyes widened when they fell on my knife—my prized Japanese carving knife that Levi had given me for my birthday. He steepled his hands together, whispering a litany of Greek words. Only then did I notice that his entire right arm was in a cast.
I sighed and lowered my knife. “Relax, kid. I’m not going to hurt you.”
His eyes widened. “English?”
“Let me guess,” I muttered, “you speak English too?”
He nodded, dark hair tumbling over the scratch on his forehead. “The doctor teach me.”
Okay, good to know there was an English-speaking doctor on the island, in case I had a mental breakdown in the next few days, which seemed like more and more of a possibility. “Did he also teach you that you shouldn’t spy on people in the dark?”
“Is not dark.” I raised my knife again and he held up his palm. “Okay, is a leedle dark.”
“What are you doing here? Who sent you?” I had an idea that these boys might also be in cahoots with the big, broody bully.
“No one. We saw light. We thought . . . themagissa, she’s back.”
“Magissa?”
“Yes, you know.” He hooked a finger over his nose and cackled.
“A witch?”
“Yes, yes, a weets. She lived here many years.”
Huh, so the place was haunted by the spirit of an old witch. For some reason, instead of scaring me, the knowledge made me feel like I had some magical presence looking out for me. I nodded and smiled knowingly. “Ah, well, guess what?”
I leaned in a little closer and he eyed me warily. “What?”
“The witch is back!” I cackled and held my knife up again. He screeched and took off as fast as he could, kicking up rocks behind him.
“Tell your friends that the Kitchen Witch is here to stay!” I yelled after him, laughing diabolically as he disappeared into the gathering night.
The dog stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “What? You’re the one who bared your teeth at him.”
I walked back inside, thankful for my one working oil lamp in the kitchen and the stash of candles I’d bought earlier. For all my big talk, I shivered and breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the dog’s nails tapping against the stone floor. “You’re not going anywhere tonight, buddy.”
Chapter 8
Angelos felt the sting of her small hand across his cheek.
“Bastard!” she cried, her eyes no longer glittering with lust, but with cold hatred. He was used to women insulting him, but it was usually after he grew bored with them after a few nights of hot sex. He reached for her, but she darted away into the darkness.
“Who is she?” he demanded, gripping the arm of the blonde woman who had interrupted them.
She shook him off, rubbing at the red mark he’d left on her skin. “Mia Morgan, the daughter of the man you ruined.”
“Morgan?” he repeated. The owner of the first company he had seized.
