Page 8 of Seasons of Sin

“No.” Thad’s answer was swift and definitive. “No,” he softened the tone of his voice. “You’re busy. So am I. I … I will tell you, Rocco, if I need you.” He paused. Gratitude, though he felt it deeply, did not translate to words easily. “I appreciate your concern.”

Far in the distance he could see a fishing trawler pulling its nets in. It was late in the day; too late to be catching. Perhaps they’d hit an unexpected clutch of scampi.

“What’s it like?”

“What?” Thad didn’t immediately understand his friend.

“Being on the island without him.”

His breath was a long, slow contemplation. “Strange,” he admitted for the first time. “Aristotle is everywhere I look.” He shifted, so that his back was to the beach and his eyes could roam the mansion. “He is in the trees I used to climb; the ocean I used to swim in; the steps I used to run. I lived with him here for sixteen years. How can I be back and accept …” He shook his head decisively. “But he is gone.”

Rocco nodded. He understood his friend’s pain. “You had your reasons for staying away.”

Thaddeus squeezed his eyes shut. “Such good reasons,” he agreed with a chill tone to his voice. “Until he died. And then I was left wondering why I let stubborn pride waste so much of our time?”

“Stubborn pride?” Rocco repeated. “There was no stubborn pride in your rift.”

“There was no rift in my rift,” Thad corrected angrily. “Aristotle would have made his peace with me at any time I chose. But no; I was determined. He had cut my father out. My mother too. And he had raised me in ignorance of that.” Heshook his head. “If it had not been for my father’s will, I would never have known …”

“And you would have continued to love Aristotle as a father.”

Thad sighed. “I do love him as a father. Anger does not negate love.” He dragged a hand through his hair and tugged at its black ends until it hurt. “He loved me and so he erred. He feared losing me and so he lied. He forgot his scruples because he found his heart.” Thad shrugged. “I would not make those mistakes, and yet I understand them.”

Rocco stared at his laptop screen without seeing. “What a waste.”

He noticed her first from the periphery of his vision. Saphire emerged, wearing casual clothes and spiked heels, her shining dark hair shimmering about her shoulders, and her lips a bright, cherry red. The color, then, was natural too, like her curves, her hair, her thick black lashes.

He wanted to forget Aristotle, and here she was. His perfect vehicle for memory lapse; the one single woman who had managed to obliterate his ever-active consciousness and plunge him into a state of ‘present’ living.

“I’ll have to call you back,” he muttered, disconnecting the call to his oldest friend without a second thought. He straightened and slipped his phone into his back pocket. “Something much more important has come up.”

CHAPTER 3

“I’ve been thinking,” she said as she approached, her smile truly breathtaking.

“Have you?” He waited for her to continue; Saphire came to stand before him and put her hands on his chest. He loved the way that felt; she connected to his heart and his core.

“I don’t want to know the rest of your name. I like Mr Konstanides. Or, I was thinking, MK for short.”

He arched a brow. “Why? Would knowing my name offend you?”

The slightest hint of color marked her face. “No, not at all. But this is just one of those temporary things,” she said with an attempt at careless whimsy. “Knowing your name makes it weird. Not knowing makes it … crazy.”

His silence was a weight, urging her to continue.

She sighed. “I can just say, one day, when I’m old and grey, that I met this beautiful, sexy stranger. My grandkids will say, ‘That’s so romantic! What was his name?’ and I’ll laugh and say, ‘I don’t really know.’”

Thad grinned. “You have grandkids?”

“I might. One day.” Her smile was lopsided. Jordan and she had agreed on having children. They were waiting a year or two, but Saphire had always known she wanted kids.

She wasn’t wearing a bra. He could see the outline of her breasts through her shirt; he regretted having given her something white to wear. It was way too distracting. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “Breakfast is this way,” he waved towards a table on the corner of the expansive balcony. Saphire hadn’t noticed it.

“Did you book out this area for our private use?” She queried as she moved with unconscious grace towards the setting.

He pulled a chair backwards for her. “I have a confession to make.”

“You didn’t want to know my name either?” She teased, for he’d already referred to her as Saphire. As she sat, he placed a kiss on the top of her head. It was a gesture of such familiar affection that her heart flipped achingly in her chest