“It would appear that you and I have two interests in common.”
“Two?”
“Classic cars and...” His smile could have melted a glass and made it clear what that other interest was. She smiled in return and hoped the laughter that followed came off as worldly rather than the sort fueled by giddiness and nerves.
“Let me take your bag,” he said.
The Porsche had a rear engine, meaning its trunk was in the front. When Nick opened the compartment, Darcie eyed the small space.
“Gee, maybe it’s just as well the airline lost one of my bags. I don’t think both of them would fit in here. I guess when you own one of these babies you have to travel light to travel in style.” She glanced at Nick, a question forming. “Where’s your luggage?”
The left side of his mouth rose. “On a plane bound for New York.” At her puzzled expression, he added, “I was planning to fly back today.”
“Why did you change your mind?”
“I decided I was being rash.”
“So you missed your flight and offered assistance to a perfect stranger instead,” she replied dryly. Talk about rash...and flattering. Just wait until she told Becky that. Her friend was going to hyperventilate. As it was, Darcie’s breathing was a little uneven.
“A stranded stranger,” Nick corrected. His smile was full-blown this time and very effective. “One who is also very beautiful.”
Her heart fluttered and she blinked. “Oh.”
“You are blushing.”
“I, um...” She waved a hand, not certain how to reply.
“Surely, you have been told before that you are beautiful?”
“Of course I have.” She rolled her eyes. “All the time, in fact. We’re talking daily. It gets old.”
The truth was no, at least not in the past several years. Tad wasn’t one for compliments. Even during the courtship phase of their relationship, pretty words had been few and far between. After he’d slid an engagement ring on her finger? Forget about it.
“You know how I feel about you, Darcie. That should be enough.”
Maybe it should have been. But it wasn’t. Every now and then, especially when she was PMSing and feeling bloated and unattractive, a compliment would have been nice.
And then there was his mother. Evil Evelyn, as Becky had dubbed her. The older woman was quick with thinly veiled digs about Darcie’s appearance, including her good “birthing hips.”
“You are beautiful,” Nick said again. “And your blush only makes you more so.”
This time, Darcie accepted the compliment with what she hoped was a gracious smile. Beautiful. Why not? Wasn’t beauty in the eye of the beholder? And what a beholder.
Nick opened the car door for her before heading around to the driver’s side. It was another small courtesy that made her feel like she’d stepped into some sort of fairy tale.
“Shall I put up the top?”
“No,” she told him. “Leave it down. I can use the fresh air after all those hours in a stuffy airplane.”
And, okay, in her fairy tale, a ride in a Porsche convertible only added to the romance.
He was seated behind the wheel now. “Even if it means tangled hair?” He reached over and coiled the end of one lock around his index finger. If he wound it any tighter, she would be forced to lean closer to him.
While their gazes held, she blindly plumbed the depths of her oversized purse until her fingers encountered an elastic band. Pulling it out with the same verve a magician uses to produce a white rabbit, she announced, “I believe I have a solution for that.”
Nick eyed the elastic band a moment before uncoiling the lock, and she hastily tugged her hair into a ponytail.
“Very clever, but you missed some.”
This time, he made contact with more than her hair. His fingertips were warm against her cheek as they corralled the wayward strands and tucked them behind her ear. The gesture might have been construed as friendly if not for the gleam in his dark eyes or the Richter-scale-worthy effect it had on her pulse.
A car horn blasted behind them. Its driver yelled something in Greek. Nick yelled something back in the same language, but his tone was more circumspect than annoyed, and his expression could only be described as pleased.
To Darcie, he said, “People are in too much of a hurry. I prefer to take things slowly. Rushing is no good.”
With that, he turned the key in the car’s ignition. The Porsche’s powerful engine growled to life and they were off.
Nick wasn’t familiar with the hotel listed on her itinerary, but he plugged the address to The Santor into his cell phone and downloaded directions as he merged into traffic.
“It should take about forty minutes to get there,” he said as they left the airport behind.
Darcie settled back in her seat, determined to take in the sights along the way. Not only was this her first time in Greece, but it was also her first trip abroad. Indeed, other than a couple of weekend jaunts to Toronto with Becky, she’d never been outside the United States. Despite the passing scenery, however, she remained almost painfully aware of the man seated next to her, and her gaze kept returning to his profile. God, he was handsome and he’d made it plain that their attraction was mutual. This might not be a fling exactly, but it was awfully damned flattering to have such a good-looking man paying attention to her.
When he turned and caught her staring, she blurted out, “Were you always so buff? I mean, a car buff. Were you always a car buff?”
“Car buff?”
“Interested in cars,” she clarified, relieved that her slip of the tongue hadn’t made it past the language barrier.
He nodded. “My uncle raced them for a time, and the summer I turned sixteen, I traveled with him on the European Grand Prix circuit.”
“That sounds exciting.”
Nick smiled in agreement. “It was. Very.”
“Did you ever race?”
“I considered it at one point, but no.” He shrugged. “Ultimately, I was more interested in the cars—that is to say their overall design—than how fast they could travel on a closed course. So, when I was eighteen, I bought a 1957 Porsche Speedster I found advertised in the newspaper.”
“Wow. Nice first car.” Hers had been her grandmother’s ancient sedan. It was the size of a small country and guzzled fuel like a college student guzzles coffee while studying for final exams. Darcie had happily traded up to the decade-old compact she still owned.
Nick was chuckling. “Not really. It needed a lot of work, which is why I could afford it. I spent the entire summer tracking down all of the parts to rebuild its engine.” His smile was both nostalgic and proud.
“And you were hooked,” she guessed.
She’d felt that way the first time she’d composed an article for her high school’s newspaper. Three paragraphs on changes to the lunch menu and she’d known what she wanted to be when she grew up. Now, eight years after earning a degree in journalism, she could barely claim to be a journalist.
Nick was saying, “Hooked. Yes, I was. Especially after I decided to sell the Speedster at auction in Kalamai two summers later. Collectors came not only from all over Greece, but from other parts of Europe to bid on it. I loved the excitement. So, I used the money from the sale to buy another car, fix it up and auction it off. Later, I decided I did not want to go to the auctions, I