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Perhaps he was getting bored with life. That would explain why he was currently zipping through Moraitika, intending to show this stranger a slice of his life. She still hadn’t mentioned her brother beyond the fact that she was in Corfu with him. She had, however, taken a picture of Nico’s license plate and emailed it to herself and her best friend, Jules, in case he “tried anything funny.”
Nico pulled up in front of his house and killed the engine. After they exited the car, he motioned for them to head down to a narrow, shrub-lined path that ran along the side of his property. As they approached the beach, the sound of gulls and the soothing back-and-forth swish of the ocean settled over him.
“Wow,” she breathed. “It’s magnificent.”
This picturesque slice of his world never failed to please him, either. Breathtaking blue stretched out for miles, capped by views across the Ionian Sea of the mountains of Epirus and Albania. This was the home he’d dreamed of as a little boy, confined to the Greek Orthodox monastery where his orphanage was housed. Every night he’d shut his eyes and conjured this—the blue and gold, the freedom. Though back then his childish heart had sketched other people into this picture. A wife. Children at his feet. A family.
Nico had survived a lot. Unfortunately, he could not say the same for his dreams.
“Shall we?” He removed his shoes and socks, and paused to roll up the bottom of his suit pants.
She bent down to slip off her sandals, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders. “Did you grow up in Corfu?”
“I did.” He watched as she swung the sandals from one finger and dug her unpainted toes into the sand. “Though I’ve spent extensive time overseas. London, Paris, Rome.”
But he always came back. Corfu was the bad habit he couldn’t shake.
“You’re like a Greek James Bond,” she said with a laugh. “Mysterious businessman travelling all around the world.”
“How do you know I’m a businessman?” he asked.
Was this the moment where she’d trip up?
“Everyone knows Rolex means money.” She pointed to his watch.
“I could come from old money. Or I could be a prince.”
“If you were a prince, you’d have an entourage.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And yes, I guess you could be from old money, but I don’t see it.”
More likely, it was because she knew far more about him than she was letting on.
They walked toward the ocean, the impressions of their footprints becoming clearer and crisper as they walked from the dry part of the beach to the densely packed sand at the water’s edge. A salt-drenched breeze ruffled her long hair and scattered the strands around her shoulders, whipping her white dress against her fair legs. Right there, backlit against the bright blue sky and the fat globe of the sun, Nico wondered if perhaps he’d underestimated Daniel Halsey and his sister.
Maybe the awkward innocence was all an act. A ploy to lull him into a false sense of security. Because right now, Bianca or Marianna—or whatever the hell he was supposed to call her—looked positively luminous.
“We should go for a swim,” she said, turning suddenly. “It’s the perfect temperature.”
This section of the beach wasn’t as busy as the area close to the resorts and hotels and boat rentals further up the island. But they were far from alone. A child skipped along, a spade and bucket in crayon-bright colors swinging from his chubby hand. His parents followed along a few paces behind, hands entwined.
“I don’t suppose you have a stack of spare towels at your place?” she added hopefully.
“You’ve got a swimsuit?”
She nodded.
“Then I’ll get changed and bring us some towels.”
He wasn’t about to let her into his house. Not yet, anyway. When he’d mentioned the private beach access and how peaceful and calm this stretch of Corfu was, she’d jumped at the chance to see it. Which made it a perfect play if her idea was to get into his house.
Okay, now you’re being a paranoid asshole. What could she possibly want with your house?
“Make yourself comfortable here, and I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said. “I’m sure you’re dying to know what’s going to happen next in your book.”
Her eyes widened, and her nostrils flared. It was dangerous, that expression. So innocent but with a hint of excitement. The kind of look that would bring a man to his knees.
The only way you’re getting down on your knees is if you’re pulling her bikini bottoms off.
The illicit image roared to life in his head, but he immediately tamped it down. He wouldn’t be doing anything of the sort while there was still such a big question mark hanging over their heads.
By the time he returned to the beach, a pair of board shorts hanging low on his hips and a bundle of towels in his hands, Marianna was sitting on the sand, reading. She looked up at him as he walked up beside her.
“Well, this is first-class service if I ever saw it.” She grinned.
Just wait until she saw the picnic he’d asked his chef to bring down to the beach. Given she’d sunk a generous amount of tsipouro at the bar without any food, he wanted to make sure she was fed. And there weren’t any food outlets on this stretch of the beach.
