Page 77 of Memories of Santorini

After kissing her softly on the lips and murmuring comfort words, he left her on the sofa. The refrigerator revealed a bag of salad. Under other circumstances, he would have laughed. With all the fresh produce on Santorini, they’d bought bagged salad. He discovered fresh tomatoes and a tub of marinated olives, setting them out for salad. He found dried pasta, and with the milk, fresh cream, and scraps of cheese, he made a creamy sauce. With everything cooked and the salad prepared, he carried it all to the kitchen table.

Angelika was still curled on the sofa, and he knelt beside her, stroked her hair. “Eat.” It was a soft order.

She said yet again, “I’m not hungry.”

“You’re exhausted. You need sustenance.” He helped her to her feet, walking her to the kitchen table as if she were an old woman. Emotion and fear exhausted her, and she slumped at the table, eating as he’d ordered.

“This is good,” she said, as if obligated.

They didn’t talk about Sienna. They didn’t talk about themselves or the emotions that had drained her completely. But they sat close, thighs touching, body warmth comforting each other.

Finally, she pushed away the half-finished plate. “I’m tired.” And though the sun hadn’t set, he helped her up the narrow stairs. He tugged off her shoes, toed off his own, tucked her beneath the covers, and climbed in fully clothed.

It was dark when he woke again. She’d woken long enough to undress, and he stripped down now, crawling back in beside her, sleepless. Holding her, he kissed her hair, her cheeks, her shoulder. He stroked her arms, comforting her as she slept. Until finally she turned, seeking the comfort of his lips.

He hadn’t intended it, but as her need to forget grew, so did the ferocity of her kiss. Her fingers roamed his body, reaching for him, squeezing him to life and unbearable need. He rolled her to her back and slid deep inside her, holding her as she wrapped her legs around him.

Until she clutched his buttocks, urging him to move, and he stroked deep inside her. It wasn’t the frenzied sex of that first afternoon or the seductive dance on the lounge chair. It was exquisitely slow lovemaking, a melding of mind and body, an attempt to soothe each other’s soul. They sought oblivion, a place where there was no fear, no loss, no pain.

Her tears fell silently, sliding down her temples. He came with a grimace, she climaxed with a spasm around him, and they held each other as if neither would ever let go.

And yet their future together was in terrible jeopardy.

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