Dede.
My mind had drifted to her more times than I cared to admit over the past three weeks. The American woman with rich brown skin and curves her romper had done nothing to hide.
I’d hoped she was at least in her early thirties. At forty-four, the thought of being attracted to someone young enough to be within five years of my son, Chrysanthos’s age, made my stomach revolt.
But no, there was a maturity in her bearing, a confidence that came only with years of living. Not a woman entering adulthood, but one fully formed and formidable.
My son would laugh if he knew his father was lamenting over a woman he’d known for less than twenty minutes. The same son who threw himself into danger on racetracks across the world, encouraging me for years to live a little. Usually while recovering from his latest crash, bandaged and grinning as though mortality were a trifle.
I’d convinced myself I’d never see her again.
Yet here she sat, close enough to touch, head tilted toward the man beside her. Too close beside her.
The man, younger than me by perhaps a decade, was tall with an athletic build, and American by the sound of him. He gestured animatedly while she laughed at whatever inanities he spouted.
Something dark and possessive unfurled in my chest. Irrational. She wasn’t mine. One rescue in an alley didn’t constitute a claim. Yet every instinct I possessed screamed otherwise.
I turned to leave. This unwelcome surge of territorial aggression toward a woman I’d met once required distance.
“Aris?” Her voice carried across the sand, stopping me.
She remembered my name. After three weeks, she remembered.
I turned slowly, giving myself time to arrange my expression into nonchalance. “Dede.”
She waved me over. “What a coincidence!”
Farther up the beach, my men stopped as if admiring the water. I approached the pair, acutely aware of my appearance. Sweat-dampened shirt clinging to my torso and shorts, the complete absence of the polished veneer I maintained.
Yet her eyes traveled over me with unmistakable appreciation. It was satisfying.
“This is Greg, my neighbor here while in Athens,” she said as I reached them. “Greg, this is Aris. My knight in shining armor.”
Greg extended his hand. I shook it because manners required it, but I couldn’t muster enthusiasm for the gesture.
“Dede told me about the alley incident,” he said, maintaining that irritating smile. “Good thing you were there. Athens can be sketchy if you don’t know where you’re going.”
“Indeed.” I kept my gaze on Deanna, noting the flush still visible on her chest from her run. Her sports bra and shorts revealed every curve I’d spent three weeks trying not to imagine. Those breasts were designed specifically to torment me. I wanted her on my lap, my hand beneath that fabric, my thumb circling her nipple to discover whether she was a screamer or a moaner. “One must be careful.”
The American’s smile had faded, his posture shifting from relaxed to uncertain. He stood quickly, brushing sand from his shorts. “I’ll, uh, leave you to it.”
Good. He possessed more intelligence than his persistent hovering suggested.
“Thanks for the run,” Dede called after him. When she turned back to me, her eyes had narrowed. “You scared him off.”
“I have done this?”
“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “You practically marked your territory.” She patted the space Greg had vacated. “Wanna join me? Since you chased away my companion.”
I sat beside her, letting my thigh rest against hers. Her floral scent mixed with clean sweat and salt air filled my lungs.
She didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned into the contact. “You run here often?”
“Not here. But I do run in the evenings, yes.”
She smiled at that. “No wonder we haven’t crossed paths. I usually jog before the sun rises. Slept in today.”
Her phone buzzed. She pulled it from her pocket, and I watched her expression soften as she read whatever message had arrived. Her fingers moved quickly across the screen, typing a response.
