Page 8 of Modern Romance October 2025 5-8
‘Excuse me, is this the ferry to Avra?’
He glanced up briefly, blinked, then rose to his full height to stare down at her. For forty seconds she just stared back at the most handsome man she’d ever seen. When he finally cocked his head and quirked an eyebrow, she awkwardly remembered herself, stammered a repeat of the question before nerves made her babble a fast and incoherent explanation he didn’t need and quite possibly didn’t even understand. She twisted the bangle on her wrist, heat filling her face until he finally glanced at his watch and she fell silent.
‘We will leave shortly,’ he muttered.
She blinked. ‘Really? Are you sure?’
He turned his back to release the rope. Not wanting to miss the ride, she stepped aboard. Her pulse didn’t settle and her brain ceased to function. She just stared. His grey tee shirt was worn and hugged his shoulders, the linen shorts looked equally old and soft but everything visible above and below was perfection—long limbs, fine muscles, and the most beautiful blue-grey eyes she’d ever seen. Desperately she sipped the last of the water from her small plastic drink bottle, melting from not just the heat but the vision before her.
She was unable to stop herself staring at the grumpy Greek god for the entire crossing. He knew of course. She was hardly surreptitious. Every so often he’d glance back at her. But there was no smile, no break in the grumpy demeanour. He was silent the whole time and she was too bowled away by his looks to think properly. So she didn’t compute that it wasn’t a huge ferry, that he’d not asked her for payment nor that there were no other passengers. She was just...utterly brainless.
When they finally arrived she jumped ashore to catch the mooring line and secure it to the cleat on the dock. She caught surprise in his eyes but then he looked her up and down and made her feel more self-conscious. She caught her breath as he stepped close. He took the empty water bottle from her limp fingers, then moved to the back of the boat while she dragged in a recovery breath. He returned only a few moments later and handed back her bottle—refilled with fresh water. He then put a wide-brimmed hat on her head. Stunned, she didn’t know what to say.
‘The village is tiny,’ he said in accented, but perfect English and her body responded as if it were the sexiest thing it had ever heard.
‘There’s no transport,’ he added. ‘So you have to follow the path, walk up the hill.’
She swore she saw doubt in his eyes and defensiveness flared. She might be curvy and a bit limp in the heat, but she would be fine. ‘I’m fit enough.’
His sensuous mouth curved. ‘I’m very aware how fit you are.’
It was the lightest flirtation but she blushed madly and almost tripped over her own feet. A full smile broke on his face—a beam of genuine amusement that utterly bowled her over. She fell—intensely and irrevocably. But they’d docked and presumably he needed to depart and she’d been a dork already so she stammered her thanks and started her slow trek up the narrow path to the village, refusing to turn back for another look at him. She’d embarrassed herself enough.
It took her more than twenty minutes to get to the top. The first thing she saw was a small taverna with a stunning view of the sea below. At that early hour there was only the one customer seated at one of the tables outside. A man. Bethan stopped. Stared. Two bottles were in front of him. How had he gotten there ahead of her? But he flashed that tantalising smile and she was sunk.
‘Need something refreshing?’ He jerked his chin towards the bottles. ‘Try this.’
At the cool amusement in his eyes, the challenge, something flared within. Bethan, who’d been shy and withdrawn for so long, refused to run away from this.
She unscrewed the cap of the elegant glass bottle and sipped thelemonada—infused with a particular tree extract, native to only one Greek island, it had zing and a distinctly different aroma. It was deliciously refreshing.
‘That wasn’t the ferry, was it?’ She eventually smiled at him. ‘And you’re not a ferryman.’
‘How’d you work it out?’ His smile flickered.
‘You didn’t ask for payment.’
He met her gaze directly. ‘Maybe I’m asking now.’
‘What’s it going to cost me?’
‘A little of your time...’
Chapter Three
Ares barely slept, tormented by memories of the day they’d met. Her ridiculous, endearing assumption that he was the ferryman; the naïveté with which she’d readily stepped aboard his outboard. She’d been an absolute innocent abroad with a guileless belief in the goodness of others meaning she seemingly had no consideration for her own personal safety. He’d said yes to protect her from the less honourable assholes who would flock given half the chance.
He scoffed at his self-indulgent pretence.He’dbeen the predator. He’d taken one look and wanted her and by the time he’d gotten her across the water—aware not only of her gaze on him, but of her unfettered appreciation of the sun and sea—he’d been ruthlessly determined. Then he’d discovered she really had been an innocent. A virgin of all things and on her first overseas trip. He’d enjoyed educating her in the beauty of Greece and the heat of the bedroom. Her enthusiasm had been intoxicating, the pleasure of her so heady he’d actually thought her a stunningly novel solution to the relentless pressure of the family he loathed. She’d been sweet, so easy to please, he’d thought their arrangement would be perfect. Massive mistake. Because she’d met that family, listened to their poison and the fantasy had ended within hours.
He hated thinking of that moment. Their betrayal, he’d expected. Hers, he’d not. Now they sat side by side in the car again, physically close yet more distant than ever. She was dressed in black trousers and a black blazer, he could see a black tee beneath. Covering up with the most businesslike attire he’d ever seen her in. If her intention was to maintain professional distance and keep them on a cool footing, it wasn’t working. She looked more desirable than ever.
Fifty minutes later he led her across the tarmac. She stared at the plane with a bitter expression.
‘Figures,’ she muttered scathingly.
Yeah, she’d only been in the boat and the helicopter. Not his jet. For reasons he still didn’t understand, Bethan genuinely wasn’t interested in his wealth. Something that had made her amusingly unique in his world. He watched her board ahead of him. Her loose hair gleamed in the morning sun—such a rich brunette—as luxuriant and abundant as the rest of her. But her face was pale, shadows clung beneath her brown eyes as if she’d not had a deeply restful night. She sat in one of the large chairs and immediately pulled something from the side pocket of her overnight bag. Knitting needles. Of course. Now he remembered how her pretty, dexterous fingers were rarely still. In those days together she’d always been working on something—when he hadn’t been distracting her and helping her discover how phenomenally good she was with her hands in other ways... She would poke him in the eye with the needle if he tried to ‘distract’ her now.
She’d told him she’d learned knitting and other crafts from her grandmother. She’d lived with her while her father was at sea. A navy man who’d taught her every knot as well as how to navigate, how to handle a wheel... Her love of the water was in her blood, as it was his.
