to have once been a competitive swimmer.
Intrigued, Georgia grabbed her kickboard and began kicking her way down the pool, keeping her chin tucked in the water to try to hide the fact that she was watching Nikos.
She liked that he wasn’t paying her any attention. She enjoyed just looking at him, studying his muscles and the way they bunched and tightened as he sliced through the water. From his tanned skin it was obvious he swam often, and he kept swimming for the next thirty minutes.
Georgia gave up, though. She found it too distracting to have him there. She was heading for the steps when Nikos suddenly appeared at her side.
“All done?” he asked.
She sat down quickly on the middle step, the warm water lapping at her shoulders, hiding her figure. She wasn’t usually prudish, but she felt almost naked in the suit, which was difficult when your body no longer felt like your body. Her breasts were so much fuller. Her belly was rounded. Every inch of her skin prickled, sensitive. “Yes.” She was nervous, and she didn’t even know why. “Do you swim daily?” she added, trying to fill the silence.
“I try to. I like that it’s something I can do year-round.”
“You’re good.”
“I’m calmer after a swim. I find it’s good to work off aggression and tension.”
She studied his profile. She was beginning to realize that he was always careful to present her with the side of his face that wasn’t scarred. That made her feel a pang of sorrow. He was so aware of how he looked to others, so aware that his scars must be unpleasant to others.
“Were you always...aggressive?” she asked, using his word, not sure if it was truly the right word for him. The more she got to know of him, the less aggressive she found him. He struck her as a man who was protective and prideful, but what man wasn’t?
“No.” He flashed white teeth. “I was quite shy as a boy. Painfully introverted.”
“What changed you?”
He opened his mouth to answer and then changed his mind, giving her a shrug instead.
“Something must have happened,” she persisted.
“I grew up. Became a man.”
She wanted to reach out and turn his face. She wanted to see the pink scars, see where they disappeared into his hairline, and how they changed the hairline, and how they curved over his ear. She suspected he wore his hair loose and long to hide as much of the scars as he could.
“If your son inherits your good looks, he will be very lucky,” she said with a smile.
Nikos frowned and looked at her quickly, his expression shuttered. “Is that a joke?”
She blinked in surprise. “No. You’re very, very good-looking, Nikos—”
“You are pulling my leg.”
“I’m not.”
“I know what I am.” His dark gaze met hers. “I know what you called me. Lykánthropos.” The edge of his mouth curled up. “That was a first, but it fits.”
“I don’t know what you just said.”
“Werewolf.” He was still smiling, but the smile hurt her. It was so hard and fierce and yet behind the smile she sensed a world of pain.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she whispered, feeling a pang of guilt and shame. “It had nothing to do with your scars.”
“It’s okay. As I said, it fits.”
“That’s not why I said it.”
“I’ve heard worse—”
“Nikos.” She could barely say his name. Her heart hurt. “It wasn’t your face. It’s not the scars. It’s the way you were hanging on my door, filling the space up. Your energy was just so big, so physical. You are so physical...” Her voice faded as she could see he wasn’t even listening to her. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Now you know why I swim. I have a lot of energy. I’ve been told that I come across as very physical, and it’s unpleasant for others. I don’t want to be unpleasant for others. I wasn’t raised to make women uncomfortable.”
For a moment she couldn’t speak or breathe. Her eyes stung, hot and gritty. Her heart felt impossibly tender. Somehow everything had changed between them. Somehow she felt as though she were the aggressor and she was hunting him, chasing him with a pitchfork...
“I have a feeling you’ve been labeled unfairly,” she said when she was sure she could speak. “I don’t know that you are as aggressive as you think you are. In fact, I would say you are more protective than aggressive.”
“That’s because you don’t know me well.”
“What do you do that is so aggressive?”
“I have a forceful personality.”
“This is true. But what specifically do you do that warrants the label? Do you yell...hit...punch...shake? Do you threaten women—”
“No! None of that. That is terrible.”
“So what do you do? Are you hostile towards people? Antagonistic?”
“I try to avoid most people. That’s why I live here. Works out better for everyone.”
“And yet even here, you have to swim to manage your aggression and tension?”
“Maybe I should have said that swimming helps me burn off excess energy.”
“That does sound better than aggressive.” The wind blew across the pool and Georgia slid lower under the water to stay warm. “You and I have clashed, and I don’t agree with some of your rules, including recommended footwear, but I wouldn’t describe you as a hostile person. I’d say you’re assertive.”
“But in English, are they not the same things—aggressive and assertive?”
“For me, they are different. Assertive means being direct and strong, and, yes, forceful, but in a commanding sort of way, whereas I view aggressive to be far more negative. Aggressive can imply a lack of control, as well as unpleasantly hostile.”
His mouth quirked. “Based on your definition, I would prefer to be assertive instead of aggressive.”
She was thinking hard now on the word, and the various ways it could be used in the English language, and aggressive wasn’t always negative. In fact, in medicine, an aggressive treatment was often the best treatment. “You know, aggressive can mean dynamic. In battle, you want to be aggressive. When dealing with cancer, you need an aggressive plan of attack.”
“Sounds as if you are giving me permission to be aggressive.”
She pushed at the water, creating small waves. “If it’s for the right reason.” She gave another push at the water, sending more ripples
