My rescuer said something low and threatening in Greek, making the thief’s eyes go wide with terror. Without breaking eye contact with the cowering man, he jerked his head toward the alley’s exit.
The thief scrambled away, clutching his chest and throwing venomous looks over his shoulder as he disappeared around the corner.
I was still buzzing with adrenaline. “Damn, I wanted to get a few more hits in.”
“You are not hurt?” My rescuer’s dark eyes swept over me critically before shifting to frank male appreciation.
My pulse quickened, and I smoothed down my beige romper. “I’m fine. Thanks for jumping in. But you should have let me kick his ass.”
He was tall and broad, wearing regular jeans and a Henley. Intricate black tattoos wound up both arms and disappeared under his rolled-up sleeves, making me wonder how far they went.
There was silver in his dark hair at the temples, so he was probably older than he looked at first glance. Mid-forties, maybe, and unlike the smooth-talking brothas I usually went for.
“This purse, it is not worth your safety,” he said. “You should have released it.”
“I wasn’t about to get stranded in this country with no ID or way to call anyone.”
The tiniest smile played around his mouth. “A fair point.” He held out his big, tanned hand. “I am Aris Christakis.”
“Dede,” I said back, using a name nobody had called me in forever.
His hand was warm and rough around mine, sending an unexpected jolt through my whole body.
I pulled away. “You know where I can find the Elysian Café?”
“Of course. You will follow me, yes?” The way he said it, with that bit of humor, made it sound less like a question and more like that’s just what would happen.
I wasn’t asking to be led, but I followed. Something about him drew me in. And I am not a woman who was usually attracted to non-Black men.
We emerged into the late-May daylight and fell into step. The streets here were vibrant with life. Women gossiped from balconies, and children kicked a soccer ball against the stone walls covered in bright bougainvillea.
A pair of burly men walked a few yards behind us, maybe just pedestrians headed the same way. Still, when Aris and I turned a corner, they turned too.
I glanced back at them again. “Those guys following us, or is it me being paranoid after almost getting mugged?”
“They are with me,” Aris said. “My security detail.”
I stopped walking and stared at him. “Security detail? Are you part of the royal family or something?”
A low laugh rumbled from his chest. “Greece has no monarchy, thankfully. We abolished it in 1974.”
“Then why do you need bodyguards?” I asked, starting to walk again but eyeing him differently now.
He shrugged while smiling. “Perhaps I will tell you sometime.”
I let that sit for a second. Security details weren’t for regular people. They were for politicians, celebrities, or folks with enough money—or enemies—to need protection. And this man in his jeans and Henley didn’t exactly scream money or politician.
But I’d learned a long time ago that sometimes you got more information by coming at things sideways.
“Do you make a habit of rescuing tourists?” I asked.
“No, not usually.” Amusement flickered across his features, softening the hard angles of his face. “But today I was fortunate to pass by. I forget the hours when working.”
We paused at a narrow intersection to let a motorbike buzz past. The driver shouted a greeting to Aris, who raised a hand in acknowledgment. Clearly, he was known here.
“What kind of work?” I asked as we continued walking.
“I work with cars.” The slight hesitation told me there was more to the story. But before I could probe deeper, he stopped and gestured toward a building ahead. “The café, it is just there.”
