and delicate flaky pastry.
“I thought we’d save them for lunch,” he said, reaching into the bag and selecting one. “But they’re far too tempting.” He broke the slice of baklava in half, then handed her half.
She wasn’t able to get her half into her mouth without making a mess.
Nikos watched her, amused. “You have honey all over your fingers.”
“Not for long,” she answered, grinning and then licking the tip of her sticky finger. She saw his dark eyes spark as she sucked on her finger, and suddenly her pulse quickened and she felt suspiciously breathless.
“I’d offer you a taste,” she said, “but I’m not sure if that is appropriate.”
“You love to torture me.”
Her lips lifted. She smiled up into his eyes, wondering why she took such pleasure in provoking him. “Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“It’s fun.”
He groaned and took her arm, steering her from the bakery’s front steps and away from the women entering the shop, their dark gazes all so curious. “It’s not fun,” he said, keeping her arm as they walked up the narrow street, the road cobbled. “I can barely keep my hands off of you as it is.”
She flashed another smile up into his face. “So I’ve noticed.”
“We are here to get away from all that.”
“All that is you and me.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do. But all that is us, together, and it goes wherever we go. It’s not Kamari.” There was laughter in her voice. “But it would be funny if the energy and magic was Kamari.”
“Why would that be funny?”
“Because it’s not a particularly romantic island. It’s an arid rock.”
“It’s not supposed to be romantic. It’s my home.”
She laughed. “You sound so grumpy right now. What’s wrong with you?”
He stopped walking to face her, his hands on her shoulders. “All I want to do is tear your clothes off of you and touch every inch of you, and you’re making it almost impossible to forget how much I want you—”
“So don’t.”
“Georgia.”
“Find us a room somewhere and make love to me. Maybe once it’s out of your system, you’ll feel much better.”
“Stop it,” he growled.
“What? I’m trying to help you.”
“You’re not helping. Because making love to you once won’t get it out of my system. It won’t satisfy me. It’ll just make me hungry for more.” His hands pressed into her shoulders. “If you wanted to help, you’d ask me the age of the church we passed on the corner. You’d want to know why there are so many windmills on Amorgós. You’d want to know how they make the whitewash on the stucco buildings.”
“But I don’t want to know about whitewash or the stucco. I want to know about you.”
“Georgia.” Her name was wrung from him, a low, hoarse groan of sound, before his head descended and he was kissing her, the kiss of a man drowning, dying.
There was so much heat and need in the kiss. His mouth was hard, and it slanted over hers, forcing her lips open. His tongue found hers, probing, seducing.
She shuddered and pressed herself to him, loving the feel of him—hard, muscular, all male.
An old woman passing by muttered a rebuke, and Nikos lifted his head, ending the kiss. His expression was rueful as he stepped back.
“What did she say?” Georgia asked, touching her lips, which felt tingly and sensitive.
“That we needed to get a room.”
Georgia giggled. “I told you so.”
“Hmph.” Nikos took her arm again. “We’re here to sightsee. We’re going to sightsee. And you’re going to enjoy every little church and interesting view, and in an hour or two we will have lunch, and after our lunch we will return to Kamari, where I’ll lock you up for your own safekeeping.”
Georgia just laughed again.
He glared down at her with mock fierceness. “I’m serious.”
“I know you are, which just makes me like you all the more.” She patted his arm. “When you’re not growling and issuing orders, you’re a very nice man and very good company.”
“Don’t soften me up.”
“Too late.” She flashed him another smile. “It’s already happening. You, my dear Nikos, are putty in my hands.”
“A gross exaggeration.” But he was smiling and she felt her heart turn over because when he looked at her like that, she felt as if she’d somehow won the lottery.
* * *
Georgia was right, he thought later, as they sat in the back of the small taxi that he’d hired to take them all over the island. She’d gotten under his skin and was working some kind of magic on him, and God help him, he liked it. Liked her.
She made him feel things he didn’t think he’d ever feel again, and he loved her smiles and her laughter and how she seemed to radiate sunshine even on a gray, windy day.
And while he enjoyed looking at her, he enjoyed talking with her even more. She was intelligent and witty and not afraid to stand up to him. Maybe he loved that most. She wasn’t scared of him and didn’t run away when he was impatient or frustrated. She held her own. She even pushed back, teaching him manners.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
She noticed. “You’re smiling,” she said, slipping her hand into his in the back of the taxi.
He glanced down at their hands and how she’d so naturally linked them. “What are you doing?”
“Pretending you’re my boyfriend.”
“Why?”
“It’s fun.”
“We’re here to get distance.”
“Kind of hard when we’re smashed together in a car the size of a sardine can.”
He grinned ruefully. She had a point. It was refreshing. She was refreshing. She made him feel young and hopeful, as if he were but a boy with his whole life ahead of him. “You enjoyed lunch, though?”
They’d explored the north end of the island during the morning, stopping at Tholaria and
