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CHAPTER TWO
SOFIEWATCHED DARIUSwalk towards the house, struck anew by how tall he was. How big. She didn’t feel intimidated, though. She felt jittery. On edge. Especially after that car journey. She cringed inwardly now to think of how ridiculously inappropriate her car was for a man like him. He belonged in a sleek sports car, or an SUV that could accommodate his height and build.
Being in such close proximity to him had been almost overwhelming. The scent of the man still clung to her. Woodsy and masculine. Sensual. And he’d been in a hospital for days! It hadn’t dented his appeal.
For a moment just now he’d looked conflicted, as if wondering if he had any other options. Her heart contracted at the thought of how traumatic it must be to remember nothing of who you were. To be at the mercy of total strangers.
As he came closer, Sofie focused on that. Anything to avoid noticing the sheer physicality of the man. But it was hard when he had to duck his head slightly to come in the front door. Into the hall. She wondered what it looked like through his eyes. An old house, it was clean as a pin, but nothing could really disguise the lovingly worn décor, about twenty years out of date. Her parents, bless them, hadn’t cared all that much for aesthetics, and they hadn’t had much to leave Sofie in the way of funds to do it up as she’d have loved to.
Feeling slightly defensive about her home, even though the man was looking around with no discernible expression other than mild curiosity, Sofie said, ‘I’ll give you a quick tour.’
She showed him into the spacious living room with its couches and armchairs, its walls lined with bookshelves, a TV in the corner. He went over to the fireplace and looked at a photograph of Sofie as a teenager with her parents. Her face burned to think of how young and innocent she looked. Still innocent. Her face burned even more, and she was glad he had his back to her.
‘How old are you here?’
‘About thirteen.’
‘No brothers and sisters?’
He turned around and Sofie willed the heat to die down. She shook her head. ‘No. My mother... There were complications during her labour with me and afterwards she couldn’t have any more children.’
The stark explanation hid the almost palpable cloud of grief and sorrow that her parents hadn’t been able to fulfil their dream of having a big family. They had both been only children, and when they’d married they’d pledged to have a big family to fill the gap that they’d felt growing up.
Sofie knew it was irrational, but she’d always somehow blamed herself, and that had fed into her sense of responsibility towards them—especially when they’d been ill in the years before their deaths. As if she owed them. As if maybe if it hadn’t been her who’d been born—if it had been another baby—then things might have been different...
She turned jerkily. ‘Let me show you the rest of downstairs.’
He followed her dutifully into the dining room that she explained wasn’t really used except for special occasions, and then into the large and homely kitchen with its Aga and massive wooden table. Automatically Sofie felt herself relax slightly. The kitchen was the heart of the house and where she’d always felt safest. It was where she’d done her homework down the years, and where she curled up in a chair near the Aga to read her favourite romance novels.
She said, ‘I’ll make some lunch soon, but if you’re ever hungry just help yourself to anything you’d like from the fridge, or pantry...’
Darius made a sound that might have been assent. Sofie wasn’t sure. She moved on, taking him out of the kitchen and back into the main part of the house and up the stairs that brought them to the first floor.
She led him down a corridor with doors off each side. She thought quickly about which room would be best for him and opened one door, going over to the window to open it and let some air in. It was a nice room, in spite of the worn carpet and slightly threadbare curtains. Muted colours. It had always been the main guest room as it had an en suite bathroom with a shower and a bath. The height of luxury in a house like this.
Darius followed her into the room, which suddenly felt claustrophobically small. ‘I’ll make up the bed.’ She gestured towards the bare mattress. ‘We—’ She stopped, faltered. ‘That is, I haven’t had guests here for a while.’
And certainly never one like this.
Sofie thought of the various distant relatives and paying guests who had come and stayed down the years during peak tourist season. All fairly normal mortals. No one who had possessed proportions close to a Greek god’s.
That made her think of something. ‘They said in the hospital that the language you can speak...it’s Greek. So you’re... Greek?’
He looked at her, those dark green eyes far too mesmerising. ‘It would appear so.’
Sofie became self-conscious under that intense gaze. It was as if he was searching her for answers. Answers she didn’t have. She saw him holding the small plastic bag. His only possessions.
She said, ‘I have a bag in the boot of the car—clothes that staff in the hospital donated for you.’
At his quizzical look she clarified, ‘You only have one set of clothes.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Why don’t you come downstairs and I’ll fix lunch? You must be hungry. The hospital isn’t exactly renowned for its culinary expertise.’
‘I’m starving.’
Sofie felt a frisson of something very hot go through her blood and then she cursed herself. He didn’t mean starving for her. Was she so desperately in thrall to this man that everything he said sounded like an illicit suggestion? She backed out of the room quickly, before he might see something of his effect on her.
She tried to put all inappropriate thoughts out of her mind as they went back into the kitchen and she pulled a container of soup she’d made out of the fridge. She said over her shoulder, ‘It’s just some soup and bread and salad, if that’s okay?’
‘I’m sure it’ll be a vast improvement on the hospital fare.’
He said that with such a withering tone that Sofie looked at him, amused. ‘Maybe that’s a sign that you’re used to a far higher standard of food?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Please, sit down...make yourself at home.’ Sofie realised then that she couldn’t exactly fall back on small talk because Darius didn’t know anything about himself.
Then he surprised her, saying, ‘I’ve been dreaming about coffee. Real coffee. Good coffee.’
She turned around. ‘Ah, now, that I can definitely help with.’
She went over to her state-of-the-art coffee machine. Probably the most expensive thing in the house. Sofie’s love of decent coffee was legendary on the island. She made a small cup for Darius and handed it to him where he sat on the other side of the table. At a safe distance.
He took it and looked suspicious. Sniffed it, and then took a sip. What could only be described as a look of pure appreciation came over his face. He closed his eyes. Sofie’s pulse tripped. She’d never seen anyone exude such effortless sensuality.
His eyes opened again, and he lifted the cup towards her. ‘This is perfect, thank you.’
Pluto ambled into the kitchen and went over to sniff at Darius. Sofie held her breath for a second. When he’d first seen the dog he’d had an arrested look on his face. But now he put out a hand and ruffled the dog’s fur. Pluto’s tail wagged vigorously. Sofie could sympathise.
She turned away and busied herself with heating the soup and tossing the salad, taking the bread out of the oven at the last minute. She placed soup in a bowl in front of Darius and put the salad and bread between them. ‘Help yourself. There’s no ceremony in this house.’
He took some bread, ripping it apart before dunking some in the soup and taking a bite. He made an appreciative sound that once again connected directly with Sofie’s pulse.
‘This is good, thank you.’
