this evening.
He seemed to debate the wisdom of this decision with himself before relenting and sliding his dagger back into its sheath. ‘If you’re sure?’
‘I am sure.’ She smiled to persuade him. ‘I have a pistol and a dagger and I’m more than capable of using them.’
He gave her one of his disarming grins. ‘I’m sure you can. The point is that you shouldn’t have to. I’ll wait until I see you light a lantern.’ He let her walk away before his words brought her to a halt. ‘Patra, I lied earlier. I’m regretting leaving you already.’
It was a sweet thing to say, just the right note to end the evening on, a note that recalled the intoxicating energy of the dancing and the rather heated energy of their kiss. A woman of less fortitude would have turned back. But Patra kept walking. She could not afford to give him an inch. She let her words float back to him as she stepped inside. ‘Goodnight, Brennan.’
Brennan waited until he saw the light flare in the window, another idea flaring as he walked away. He’d deduced correctly she would not want his pity. She had her pride as much as any man. She might not want help, but she needed it. He understood now why she’d been so insistent on seeing herself home after a point. She’d requested twice that she go on alone. Did she think he would judge her? Did she think he hadn’t been here on the peninsula long enough to appreciate the rugged nature of life beneath the hot sun and the toll it took? She would be wrong on both of those accounts. His own home wasn’t much better, only larger.
She needed him whether she wanted to admit it or not and he needed her. He’d not been entirely joking up on the hill. Why not form an alliance? After seeing her home, there was even more reason for it. He was handy with tools and repairs. He’d done enough of them on his family’s home, his father too distracted to see to the hiring of that work himself. Brennan would gladly trade his services for hers. If they could convince the village he was genuinely interested in her, even sincerely courting her, it would save them both the hassle of fending off unwanted suitors. Then, at the last moment, whenever that was, six more months from now, a year from now, a few weeks from now, he’d cry off, claiming an emergency that required his attentions in England.
The village could rage at him, could support her in her sorrow over being deserted. They’d vilify him for using one of their own so poorly, but he’d be too many miles away to care. It seemed like an ideal solution. Tonight, with Katerina Stefano’s hand on his arm, he’d felt pressured to leave Kardamyli, but he wasn’t ready to go, not just yet.
Brennan began to whistle in the night. Things were definitely starting to look up. Now, he just had to convince Patra of that. If it was true the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, it was also true that the way to a woman’s heart was through a hammer. He had yet to meet a woman who could resist a man who provided for her needs in bed and out. Patra might have resisted him tonight, but that was just the beginning. She had yet to see Brennan Carr unleashed. This was turning out to be a challenge he was going to enjoy. After all, he didn’t want to win her heart, just her compliance and he knew just how to do it.
Ow! Bright light. Loud noise. Double ow! What was that pounding? Patra groaned and pulled a pillow over her head, jamming it down hard over both ears. Her tongue felt thick, her mouth tasted stale. Her head didn’t exactly hurt, but it was definitely fuzzy, consequences of too much wine right before bed. Patra groaned again, this time in remembrance. The latter part of the evening started to replay itself in her mind: the dancing, the hill, the stars, the kisses. Too much wine and too much Brennan Carr.
What had she been thinking to have let things get so far out of hand? Oh, never mind. It was a poor rhetorical question. She knew very well what sort of deals she’d made with herself to get what she wanted in the moment last night. Now, she would repent at leisure.
Only there wasn’t much leisure about it. The pounding persisted and she let out a loud, frustrated sigh. Good lord, where was that sound coming from? It seemed to be coming straight through the wall. As long as the noise kept up, there would be no leisurely anything. She had to go and see the cause of the commotion. Patra rolled over and gingerly got up, testing the quality of her legs. Unfortunately, they held. The last excuse to remain in bed was gone.
She drew back the white-lace panel covering the bedroom window and let out a startled yelp. Sweet heavens, there was a shirtless man outside her bedroom!
He leaped back, cursing and spitting out nails at her undignified scream. ‘Lucifer’s balls, woman, do you want me to swallow the nails?’
She had a full view of him now. This wasn’t just any man standing outside her window. It was Brennan Carr, half-naked, and gorgeously carved; the sculpted muscles of his shoulders and arms, hewn from months of hard work on the boats, the defined planes of his torso narrowing like well-manicured steppes to the waist of his foustanella, the journey highlighted by a thin trail of copper hair arrowing to parts lower. It was quite a sight to wake up to. ‘What are you doing?’ Patra managed to ask once her thoughts reconciled themselves. Gorgeous he might be, but he was also uninvited. Last night wasn’t supposed to have led to this. Having him here was the last thing she wanted.
Brennan held up his hammer and offered her a cocky grin. ‘I noticed your shutters were loose. I thought I might come by and fix them up.’ Part of her wanted to take his arrogance down a notch. It probably hadn’t even occurred to him she might throw him off her property. But the other part of her recognised this was an act of neighbourly kindness on his part if she would allow it. Could she?
She looked past him into the scraggly yard where panels of bright blue wood lay on the ground. ‘You’ve done more than nail up some loose shutters.’ He’d taken them down and painted them. They looked pretty and bright. Noticeable.
Brennan shrugged as if it were nothing. ‘Konstantine had some paint he wasn’t using. I thought they could use a little freshening. There was no sense in nailing them back up just to take them down and paint them later. Better to do them now.’ He nodded to a wagon parked on the edge of her yard, and the donkey grazing nearby with her goats. ‘I brought whitewash, too. I thought I might start on the house once you were up.’ He flashed her a smile.
She ought to refuse. She ought to say thank you for the shutters and send him on his way for multiple reasons. The more immediate one being, men who did favours never did them for free. The Englishman would want something in return. After last night, she thought she had a pretty good idea of what that was. If so, he’d be disappointed. She couldn’t possibly reciprocate no matter how many shutters he painted. ‘Mr Carr, I thank you for your efforts. They are much appreciated. However, I don’t want to take you away from your obligations.’ Whatever those might be. She had no idea how he spent his days beyond fishing with Konstantine and working Konstantine’s booth in the market.
He made an exaggerated show of looking around over his shoulder as if searching for someone. He braced his hand on the house wall and leaned in close to the window. His eyes sparked with mischief. ‘Mr Carr? Really, Patra, who is that? You had me thinking my father was here. Last night, you were perfectly content to call me Brennan.’
Patra felt herself smile in spite of the reserve she wanted to maintain. He was positively infectious, irresistible. She tried again, this time more bluntly. ‘I don’t know exactly what you want, but I have no intentions of sleeping with you in exchange for your services. Some widows might be free with their favours, but I am not one of them.’
He leaned close again, the nearness of him sending a tremor of excitement through
