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‘Costas, is everything all right?’ Closer now, Sophie’s voice came from just beside him. Her hand settled on his sleeve, feather-light, tentative, and immediately fire sparked in his blood stream. He clenched his fists to prevent his instinctive response: to cover her hand with his own and keep it there.
He turned to find her looking up at him. The sun caught the highlights in her hair, illuminated the purity of her classically beautiful features. But they were nothing to the impact of her gold-flecked eyes. She returned his gaze openly, with such candour and sympathy, that he felt the warmth of her compassion like a caress.
How had he ever, even for an instant, thought she looked like Fotini’s mirror image? There was no comparison between the two.
Fotini had been so alive, so full of passion, but there’d been precious little generosity in her. She’d been too wrapped up in herself. She’d been vivacious, but never, not once, had she connected with him the way Sophie did with just this single, heartfelt look.
A shudder rippled up his spine, a presentiment of destiny drawing close.
No! He didn’t believe in such things.
Sophie didn’t understand him. How could she? He barely understood his
own feelings. There was no connection.
He thrust away the desire to lean down and draw whatever comfort he could from her. She tempted him to forget how fickle women could be. However sweet the illusion, experience had taught him well.
Yet it disconcerted him to realise how much he wished the illusion were real.
‘Yes, everything is fine,’ he said, surprised to find his voice had dropped to a gravelly murmur. He stepped back, felt her hand fall, and knew it was better that way.
‘The doctor said he’d ring as soon as he could with the results,’ she said. ‘It won’t be a long wait.’
Costas experienced a sudden, futile wish that the results might be delayed. What would he do if the news was bad? If a transplant wasn’t possible? How would he face Eleni? The thought of it scared him as nothing else had.
He needed to get away, do something to fill the next few hours, he suddenly decided. Waiting here for news would drive him crazy.
‘It’s almost time for Eleni’s lunch,’ he found himself saying. ‘Then she has a long nap. Would you like to do a little sightseeing? Or are you too tired from the journey?
He watched her intently, waiting for her response.
He wanted to spend time with this girl, he acknowledged. Despite the way she got under his skin, challenging his composure and his expectations. Despite the turmoil, the confusion he experienced whenever they were together, something about her drew him every time. And it wasn’t just sex.
Maybe, if he got to know her, he could work out what it was—that indefinable something that set her apart from other women he’d known.
‘Thanks,’ she was saying, not quite meeting his eyes. ‘I’d like that. If you’ve got the time.’
‘Of course.’ He’d already put in several hours’ intensive work this morning on the phone and the email. An afternoon off wouldn’t hurt. ‘It will be my pleasure.’
An hour later he strode out of the house. Eleni was tucked up in bed, asleep after a story on his lap. He’d postponed his afternoon teleconference and he was eager to get away.
Just a sightseeing drive, he told himself. Simple, uncomplicated. A host’s duty. But that didn’t prevent the sizzle of anticipation he experienced as he remembered Sophie’s warm gaze meshing with his. The subtle temptation of her body when she stood close.
He slid on his sunglasses and turned towards the garages. Strange that Yiorgos didn’t have the limousine waiting at the front door as instructed.
Her voice alerted him first. Automatically his step quickened. Sure enough, there she was, deep in conversation with his driver. The pair had their heads together over a map spread on the bonnet of the limo. Yiorgos was tracing a finger along some route, all the while leaning closer than necessary towards the woman at his side.
But Sophie didn’t mind. She was laughing, flicking her hair back over her shoulder in a gesture obviously designed to encourage the driver’s attention. Déjà vu.
It slammed into him with nauseating brutality.
In the shadows of the garage it could have been Fotini standing there, flirting. That siren’s smile, the provocative angle of her head, the ripple of laughter. The two women were so alike in that moment.
Fotini had never done more than flirt with anyone else after their marriage—he’d made sure of that. But when the mood was upon her she’d found a perverse delight in flaunting herself with other men, teasing Costas with the sight of her sharing an emotional intimacy she denied him.
A cloud blocked the sun and Costas registered a sudden chill in the sea breeze.
Yiorgos said something and Sophie leaned forward, peering over the map. The movement stretched her jeans taut, emphasising feminine curves in a way that made the muscles in Costas’ belly spasm tight and his throat dry. His hands itched to reach for her.
