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CHAPTER SEVEN
SOPHIE LEANED BACK against the trunk of an old pine tree and felt her body relax, muscle by muscle. It was so peaceful here, so quiet. She didn’t ever want to move.
Only Costas’ presence, so temptingly close, marred her contentment. He was silent, absorbed in his own dark thoughts, staring up at the snow-covered peaks where Mt Ida caught the clouds.
He couldn’t see how hungrily she followed the crisp line of his profile against the sky. The angle of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the lean strength of his broad shoulders.
If only he’d … what? Turn and talk to her? Share his thoughts?
Or look at her again the way he sometimes did—so that her blood seemed to thicken in her arteries, beating slower and harder as excitement dried her mouth.
She needed to get a grip, cultivate some distance from the man. That was what common sense told her. But if she was honest with herself she’d admit common sense had little to do with the growing feelings she had for Costas Palamidis.
She’d seen him battling fear and despair. His elation when that first test had shown positive and she’d gone to hospital for a bone-marrow sample. The demons of doubt that rode him now, days later, as he waited for news. She’d seen him so heartbreakingly gentle with Eleni and couldn’t help wishing he’d share some of that tenderness with her.
She had no business wanting more from a man who’d recently lost his wife. But she did.
These past days in Crete Sophie had let herself be lulled into hoping something … meaningful was developing between her and Costas.
Each afternoon, while Eleni slept, she and Costas drove out, exploring the countryside. These trips were a source of secret anticipation and
intense disappointment. Sometimes she felt as if she and Costas connected in a way she never had with anyone. There was a warmth of shared understanding, a spark of something special between them, that made her blood sing and the shadows fall away. And then, in the next instant, it disappeared. She could feel his withdrawal.
Did she imagine their growing understanding? Sometimes she’d swear it was real. And others …
The one constant was the undeniable thread of simmering attraction that bound them. Even when Costas’ expression was dark, almost disapproving, the magnetism drew them, like polar opposites, together.
He threatened her peace in ways no man ever had. Her mind turned to mush if ever his suddenly hot gaze trawled over her face, or he drew so close she could inhale his scent. Awareness, expectation, excitement were a constant throb in her blood whenever he was near.
Nothing had prepared her for it. Her one intimate relationship hadn’t been even a poor reflection of these intense feelings.
How she wished her mother were here to advise her. To share her experience and wisdom. But Sophie was on her own.
Abruptly she turned away. Perhaps if she stared at the ruins spread out before her she could imagine it as a thriving city. Anything to take her mind off Costas and this see-saw of emotions.
But ancient Phaestos stubbornly remained a confusion of stone foundations. Not nearly as fascinating as the man beside her.
‘Have you thought any more about your grandfather?’ he asked so suddenly that she jumped. She felt her eyes widen as she swung round to meet his gaze.
Of course she’d thought about him. How could she not when she knew he was so close, on this very island? She nodded.
‘But you’re not willing to let the feud go?’
‘It was his feud, not mine!’ She felt the familiar, instant surge of hot fury. ‘It was up to him to end it.’ Her chest rose and fell with her angry breathing. ‘And I did try, remember? I rang him and never got a response.’
She read sympathy in his expression and something else. Something that made the hairs rise on her nape. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I think perhaps he does want to end it.’
‘What do you mean?’ Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
‘I’ve heard something that may change your views.’ He paused. ‘According to his housekeeper, Petros Liakos intended to call your mother.’
A jolt of something—shock? Disbelief?—slammed into her.
‘You mean that’s what he says now?’ So he’d changed his tune now it was he who lay in a solitary sick bed.
Costas’ expression grew severe. ‘No. He hasn’t spoken about it. When the housekeeper told him of your call, he asked her to bring the letter from your mother. Apparently when she first wrote he instructed his staff that any mail from her should be set aside and not delivered to him.’
