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Carter led her to the Church of the Panagia Paraportiani, left over from the days of Byzantine rule. Scarlett wanted to go into the arched bell tower and was disappointed to find the only entrance, a door on the side, locked. “It is rarely open these days,” said Carter. “Vandals have done too much damage.”
There were almost seven hundred churches on Mykanos, and Carter took her to see several more, including the cathedral Panachrantos, St. Kyriaki, and St. Eleni. “Why are there so many churches?” Scarlett asked as the left St. Eleni.
“In the old days, family members were often buried in the walls of the churches. Some families built a new church each time a family member died.”
“So there are dead bodies in the walls?” Scarlett asked with horrified fascination. Carter nodded and suggested they go to the museums.
They went through the Archaeological Museum, where Scarlett admired the Trojan vase from 670 B.C., then on to the Folk Museum, where artifacts of everyday life were displayed. Scarlett’s interest in museums waned with the Nautical Museum, and they stopped for a late lunch.
They chose a pub with tables lined up in front of the tiny restaurant and ate freshly caught seafood, grilled in olive oil and capers. Scarlett cautiously sipped the ouzo, but found the fresh water from Tria Pagadia more to her likin
g.
“Would you like to spend the rest of the afternoon on the beach?” Carter asked after settling the check.
“Sounds wonderful,” Scarlett agreed. “My feet are killing me, especially my ankle.”
“We’re close to Psarou, if that’s all right with you,” Carter suggested.
“As long as I don’t have to walk very far, I’m game.”
They walked a short distance, until they came to the warm brownish-white sand of the Psarou. There were a few merchant stands and a beach bar that ran year round, despite the decline in beachgoers during winter.
It was another warm day, and there was a good turn-out. Carter rented two sand chairs from a merchant, and they staked out a spot. He showed her where to change, and disappeared to change too.
Scarlett emerged from the cubicle dressed in a modest one-piece. Carter was waiting for her, wearing Bermuda style swim trunks. Finally, she could get a good look at his rippling muscles. But when he turned around, she saw that scars that lined his back, and extended around the side of his body to the arm he had showed her. She quickly averted her eyes, but knew he’d seen her looking. Her heart stirred, and she wondered once more how he’d been exposed to acid.
“If it was summertime, you could learn to wind surf or water-ski,” Carter offered as they waded into the water.
“I know how to water ski, but I’ve never been wind surfing. Do you know how?”
“I’ve done it a few times.”
She lost herself in swimming for a time before exhaustion won, and she returned to shore, joining Carter.
She skipped the chair in favor of her towel, spreading it on the warm sand before sitting down. She rummaged in her bag for sunscreen and applied it generously to all the areas she could reach. Biting her lip indecisively, she finally asked Carter, “Would you put sunscreen on my back?”
He rose from the chair and joined her on the large towel, taking the bottle of lotion from her.
Scarlett sighed as his hands settled on her back, relaxing as Carter rubbed the lotion in deeply. She tensed a little as his hands went lower, a warmth spreading between her legs, but he stopped at the edge of her swimsuit. His hands remained on her back for a long moment before he drew them away.
Rolling over, Scarlett gave in to a wicked impulse. “I’d better put some on your back too,” she suggested. “It’s probably been awhile since you were exposed to the sun to this degree.”
“Good idea,” he said huskily, lying down as she sat up on her knees. When her smooth hands settled on his back, she felt him tense, perhaps waiting for her to comment on the scars or go out of her way to avoid them. Instead she smoothed the lotion over the scarred areas in the same manner she did the untouched flesh—slowly so she could touch him for as long as possible. She felt his strong back muscles as he groaned when hands hit his waist band and she removed them from his body. “Thanks,” he said in a rough voice.
“Sure.” Scarlett lay down beside him on the towel. “You seem to love it here.”
“I do,” he agreed. “I was born on Mykanos.”
“How did you end up in San Francisco?” Scarlett asked as she smothered a yawn in the crook of her arm.
Carter hesitated so long that she thought he was either asleep or not going to answer. Finally, he said, “My father was a great man as I’ve told you, but he was not a hard worker. He had many jobs when I was little, and none were to his liking. It was never his fault that he lost the job,” he said with a hint of mocking. “When I was ten, my father decided to move us to the United States, hoping his luck would improve there.”
He fell silent again, and Scarlett nudged his calf with her toe. “Go on.”
“My mother did not want to leave Greece, but they had a very traditional family. She was responsible for the house and for raising the children, but ultimately, my father made the decisions. He took our family to America.”
“Was it better for your father?” asked Scarlett.
