‘Yes, you should have,’ she said, making a half-hearted effort to push away from him. But he held her up regardless, his arm like a vice around her waist, offering support that, in fact, she did feel she needed.
‘Then let me tell you now.’
‘Fine. Tell me.’ She tilted her face to his defiantly, but his eyes shifted over her shoulder, towards the door. She turned to look in that direction to see a middle-aged couple walking down the street.
‘Can we go to your room?’
‘No way, buster. Tell me this isn’t some kind of inter-island booty call.’
‘It’s not,’ he muttered.
‘Tell me here.’
‘No.’ He looked around, then let out a rough breath. ‘Come with me.’
She shook her head. ‘Not until you tell me where we’re going.’
‘For lunch. You need to eat, and I would prefer not to have this conversation in the middle of a hotel foyer.’ His eyes bored into hers, as grey as the stormy ocean, and she lost herself for a moment in their depths. She thought she might actually agree to anything he asked of her, if she wasn’t careful.
‘Fine. I know a place nearby.’
She could see that he didn’t like that. Nikos, she suspected, was very used to calling the shots. But Genevieve had been in a relationship like that, and it had nearly been the death of her. She arched a single brow, silently challenging him to argue, but he didn’t.
‘Fine. I presume it’s close?’
‘Just next door.’
‘Show me.’ He kept his arm around her waist as they walked from the hotel, offering her support. She wasn’t sure she needed it now the shock of seeing him had passed, but she didn’t say as much to him. Not when it felt so good to be held close to his large, strong body. Besides, what was the harm? They were on the other side of the world from Washington—thousands of miles from her ex-husband’s sphere of influence. He would never find out about this.
The waiter who’d led them to a table was little more than a child, fourteen or fifteen at most, and he’d shown more interest in his mobile phone than he had in his guests, so for once, Nikos wasn’t recognised when he arrived at a restaurant. ThankChristos, because the last thing he needed was for this to go out of order.
The more he’d thought about it, the more he’d realised how much of himself he’d kept locked away from Genevieve. Strangely, though, he’d told her many of the most important details of who he was. Away from the glitz and wealth of his success, he’d told her about his father and his upbringing, his values and his life on the island. To say she didn’t know him wouldn’t be accurate.
Not entirely.
They were seated at a table in the back of the restaurant, and Nikos chose to face the wall, ostensibly to give Genevieve a better view. It had the added advantage of giving him a greater chance of not being recognised.
As they sat down, he ordered pitta bread and dips, and a bottle of local wine, before turning his attention on Genevieve. She was regarding him with an air of mistrust. He couldn’t blame her. Not after what she’d been through with her ex-husband, particularly.
‘So?’ she prompted, toying with the napkin in the same way she had his sheets, reminding him suddenly of bed, with her, and the way their limbs had tangled as they’d made love, each as frantic as the other to be together, as though their lives depended on it.
He looked away quickly, swallowing, trying to control his body’s immediate reaction to that thought.
‘You were going to tell me about your wife?’ Genevieve said, voice slightly rushed.
He jerked his gaze to hers, nodding. ‘Yes. Isabella,’ he said, clearing his throat afterwards. He hadn’t mentioned her name to anyone besides his father-in-law in a long time.
‘You’re divorced?’ Genevieve prompted.
The waiter appeared then, placing the bottle of wine down, removing the cork, which he shoved into his apron pocket at the same time he removed his phone.
Nikos poured two glasses then sat back in his chair.
‘Well?’ Genevieve asked impatiently as she reached for her wine and took a sip.
‘I’m not divorced, no.’
All the colour drained from her face. ‘Nikos.’ His name was a plea. At first, he presumed she’d intuited what he was struggling to say, but then he connected the dots and remembered what her loser ex had put her through, with his affairs. ‘I can’t—’ she whispered, taking another huge sip of wine before standing up and looking around desperately, then stepping away from her seat, as if to leave the restaurant.
