CHAPTER ELEVEN
DAWN ON THE best day ever! Kimmie dragged deeply on the scent of warm blossom and ozone as she threw open the shutters of her idyllic attic room overlooking the glorious sugar-sand beach.
She could still call it off.
Ridiculous. This was her wedding day! It was far too late to change her mind. Mike, Kimmie’s fiancé, was someone she’d known all her life. Much older than Kimmie and, as he’d told her himself, he’d be a steady hand on the tiller.
Or a control freak.
‘Go to bed early. Stay in your bed until I call you,’ he’d told her last night. ‘You need your sleep. Tomorrow is an important day,’ he’d added as if she didn’t know.
When did I become so biddable?
Tiny bits of her had been chipped away, so small she’d barely noticed them.
Kimmie frowned as she pulled away from the window. All brides got the jitters on their wedding day, didn’t they? A walk on the beach would sort her out. The sun was already warming the tiny Greek island of Kaimos, and Kimmie’s bridesmaid, Janey, was only down the corridor. They could both cool their feet in the sea and, hopefully, loosen up, in Kimmie’s case. But she couldn’t stop the thoughts coming.
Was Mike just a safe option?
He was the only option, and she had wanted to settle on a good man before the past put a stranglehold on her and turned her hard and cynical.
Did she love him?
If love was familiarity and the reassurance of never having to explain herself, then Mike fitted the bill perfectly. No one wanted to be alone. Not really.
Did Mike love her?
Enough questions! It was time to get dressed. Pulling on shorts and a top, she padded down the corridor to knock on Janey’s door.
‘Janey...? Are you awake? Can I come in?’
Hearing something that might have been Janey calling out, ‘Yes!’ she took a chance.
‘Sorry to wake you so early, but—’ Words froze in her mouth. There was no escaping the sight of Mike naked in bed, with Janey on top of him, riding him for all she was worth. Which wasn’t very much, as it turned out, Kimmie reflected numbly as she stumbled backwards out of the room.
HIS FIRST DAY on Kaimos was ruined. Arriving late last night, Kris had opted to stay on his yacht. He’d thought an energetic swim in the sea would wash the cobwebs of the city away but, having reached his favourite beach, he was confronted by a group of tourists, apparently oblivious to the fact that this stretch of sand was his private preserve.
Seawater drained off his body as he stepped out of the water and impatiently raked back his hair. He was immediately drawn to a woman at the head of the group. Great breasts, fantastic legs and the most eye-catching waist-length ebony hair streaked with purple. Wearing the tiniest bikini he’d ever seen, she was dancing down the dunes to the sound of an old beatbox one of her companions was carrying on his shoulder. She’d tied a brightly coloured chiffon scarf around her waist and it was decorated with something that flashed in the sun. Tiny bells attached to it jingled as she moved. There were so many strings of beads around her neck that if she went in the water, she’d surely sink. He liked quirky, but this was ridiculous, though her manner interested him as much as her looks. There was something wild, almost reckless in her behaviour, as if she had nothing to lose and was dancing to blot out some unpleasant incident. No doubt in on the facts, he guessed her friends were trying to show their support.
What the hell? His hackles rose as they started to light a bonfire. On his beach! Then someone produced a dress from a sack—it looked like a wedding gown. Did it belong to the quirky woman? Yes, he gathered as she refused to touch it and, pulling a face, stepped back, leaving her friends to place it on the funeral pyre.
Resentment clawed at his gut, but he was keen to see the drama play out. As the flames rose and the dress disintegrated, the woman remained motionless, watching. Her friends, having formed a protective circle around her, also remained still until the fire had guttered and gone out. With only ashes left, she stabbed at the embers with a stick, as if she had to be sure that every atom of the gown had been completely consumed. Dropping the stick, she walked to the water’s edge where, tugging a ring off her finger, she flung it into the sea. He watched it glint as it went out and glint again as a strong wave brought it straight back onto the beach again. The tide was working against her, though she had no idea that the ring had returned as she’d already turned away.
Wanting to meet her for some reason he didn’t examine too closely, he retrieved the ring and caught up with her before she reached her friends. Holding it out on the palm of his hand, he asked, ‘Is this yours?’
She stared at him in silence for a moment, and then her gaze dropped to his outstretched hand and she shuddered.
‘Take it, or I can toss it back,’ he offered.
* * *
Kimmie was in turmoil. Her heart was jumping in her chest. Not only had she survived the shock of her life this morning, and then tried to make things good for her friends, she was now confronted by a Titan who might have stepped straight out of myth and legend. And he was holding out the ring, expecting her to take it.
She guessed he was around thirty years old. Huge and brutally masculine, he was the last thing she needed today. A piercingly intelligent stare that wouldn’t let her go, and hard, rugged features that looked as if they’d been hewn out of stone completed a picture she had no wish to see. His wild mop of thick, inky-black hair was still damp from the sea, and had caught on his sharply etched cheekbones thanks to the thick shading of black stubble that suggested he hadn’t shaved today. Tough enough to be a roustabout from the docks, she guessed he might be a local fisherman. Deeply bronzed by the elements, his body could have been sculpted by Michelangelo.
‘You found it,’ she said lamely, finding her voice.
‘Evidently,’ he confirmed.
‘But I don’t understand.’ She frowned. ‘I just flung it out to sea.’
‘And the tide brought it straight back again. I thought you’d want to know,’ he remarked in perfect English. His voice was deep and husky, and only faintly accented—Greek, she thought, having recognised the familiar intonation. So he was a well-travelled roustabout.
‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, shading her eyes to stare up at him.