Page 4 of Possessive Greek Chef

“You’re guess is as good as mine. My mom was a single mother.”

“I’m sorry,” he shakes his head.

“It’s not that uncommon. You don’t have to apologize.”

“No child should grow up without a father,” he says and I find his old-fashioned family values a bit endearing.

“Excuse me? Atticus, can I take a picture with you?” a busty blonde woman invades both our table and our conversation.

Atticus wipes his mouth on a napkin and stands beside the woman as her friend snaps the photo of them. I watch his body language. Other men might have put an arm around her but he folds his hands behind his back and keeps a few inches of space between them.

“Thank you,” she blushes and bites her lips seductively.

“Have a good evening,” he replies and turns his back to her.

He sits back down and shakes his head. “Sorry. Part of the business is keeping the tourists happy.”

“That’s alright. You’ve certainly earned your fame. You should get to enjoy it.”

“I don’t.”

We finish our meal and he stands up, holding his hand out to me. I take it and follow him to the alley behind the restaurant. He pulls a set of keys from his pocket and the lights flash on a red convertible sports car.

“Are you taking me home now?” I ask.

“No,” he replies. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

He drops the top on the convertible and drives to the Athens Riviera. He parks the car in a space with a view of the moonlight coastline and kills the engine. Something crackles in the air between us. The way he came to my rescue when he didn’t have to. How he gave me a job when he owed me nothing. I don’t remember feeling this safe with someone. And I’ve only just met him.

My heart races as he leans over and runs his fingers through my hair, my skin tingling at his touch. I turn to look at him and he leans downs and presses his lips against mine. Oh, God. It’s a long, slow, passionate kiss that lights a fire inside me. A fire I didn’t know existed.

When he releases his hold on me, I ask, “Why are we here? Did you want to take a walk on the beach?”

“That’s my place,” he points to the million-dollar beachfront property we’re parked beside. “You’re coming in for a nightcap.”

My body tenses from a sort of fearful excitement that courses through my veins. He’s made his respect for women very obvious so I don’t believe he’s going to assault me, but still, going home with a complete stranger is the kind of edgy and spontaneous move I’ve spent my adult life avoiding. I don’t want to lead him on but I don’t want to go home either, so I throw caution to the wind and step out of the car when he opens my door for me.

I don’t know where this will lead but I’d hate myself if I didn’t see it through. Things like this don’t happen to me. It could be the opportunity that I’ve been searching for and more.

3

GETTING ARIA COOKING

ATTICUS

“Ladies first,” I tell her and watch her hips sway as she mounts the narrow steps that lead from the beach to my patio. I imagine the fine legs and ass that are lurking beneath those baggy pants. There are some things that can’t be hidden.

“How long have you lived here?” she asks. The climb hasn’t winded her at all.

“Athens? Almost forty years. This house? I bought it a year ago. There was a huge drop in housing prices, and I couldn’t pass on the chance to own property on the Riviera.”

“It’s beautiful here. I don’t blame you,” she looks out at the horizon and smiles. “I’d like to own a place like this someday.”

We enter through the French doors and I motion toward the white leather sofa. She sits down and scans the room while I open a bottle of wine.

“What are your aspirations, Aria?” I ask as I pour us each a glass of Assyrtiko.

“What do you mean?”

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