so easily distributed, then?’ He could be grateful, but she wouldn’t make it easy on him. He had a small test to pass first. ‘Do you even know my name?’ She had her pride. He might stoke her curiosity, but not enough for her to settle for being nothing more than an interchangeable part in his scheme to resist Katerina’s plans.
His blue eyes glinted with mischievous satisfaction as he rose to the challenge. ‘Patra Tspiras,’ he announced. ‘I’ve seen you in the village, at the market. You buy Konstantine’s fish on Wednesdays.’
Patra was glad for the darkness. She could feel a flattered blush start, hot on her cheeks. He’d noticed her. He’d asked about her. The idea that she found pleasure in knowing he’d sought out that tiny piece of information about her was a silly, girlish reaction.
It was the way he smiled when he said it that made it seem personal, important. It was how he said it, too. Together, it was a most potent combination that did all sorts of things to her pulse against her will. It reminded her she was Patra Tspiras, not simply Dimitri’s widow, as if her marriage and her husband were all that defined her person. She would always be Dimitri’s widow, it was part of who she’d become but not the sum. Sometimes she wanted only to be Patra, to simply belong to herself, to her wants and desires instead of what others required of her whether they knew it or not.
He made a small bow, his hand on his chest. ‘I’m Brennan Carr.’
She cut him off with a laugh. ‘I know. Everyone knows.’
He laughed, too, grinning as he offered his arm. ‘In that case, introductions are concluded. I promised Konstantine I would see to your cheer. Would you do me the honour of a dance?’ He leaned in close once more and she caught the scent of his soap. ‘I think it would ensure the authenticity of my escape, don’t you?’
And hers, too, Patra thought, taking his arm, even if he was unaware of the favor he did her. For a few minutes she would make her wish come true. For a few minutes, she would simply be Patra. Surely there was no harm in that.
Safe was the first word that sprang to mind as Brennan manoeuvred them on to the crowded dance floor. Patra Tsipiras was safe. She expected nothing from him beyond the moment because she, too, had been looking for an escape. He’d seen it in her eyes when their gazes had brushed. They took up their positions. He fitted his hand to her waist. She placed hers on his upper arm and Brennan leaned in, breathing the comforting scents of lavender and sage. He flashed her a cheeky grin. ‘Be warned, I mean to change your mind.’
‘About what?’ She laughed up at him, her dark eyes sparking as they considered him, and Brennan had the distinct impression she was flirting, a realisation that took him somewhat by surprise. She was a sober sort in the market. He couldn’t recall ever having seen her smile.
The music began and Brennan took them into the first steps of a fast country gallop, his eyes never leaving hers. He might have been unprepared for her bold response, but by Jove he would answer it with boldness of his own. He called her out with a friendly wink and a smile. ‘You don’t want to be here.’
She blushed at the truth, but her gaze held as he took them through a fast turn. ‘Was it that obvious?’ She laughed again, this time a little breathless, her hair starting to fall in a becoming caramel spill that softened the angles of her face.
Brennan’s smile broadened. ‘Not as obvious as shoving baklava under a bush.’
‘Oh, no, you saw!’ She groaned with good humour.
‘Don’t you like baklava?’ Brennan joked.
‘Not three plates of it.’ She laughed again and he swung her through a turn that left her gasping. If there was one thing he was good at, it was dancing. Actually, there were two things he was good at. One usually led to the other, although it wouldn’t tonight. Patra Tsipiras was safe, he reminded himself. She was a quiet widow devoted to her late husband’s memory. But he was having a hard time reconciling what he knew to the woman in his arms.
There was nothing quiet about this woman, everything about her was alive—her eyes, her body, her throaty laughter—and it spurred him on. He took the turns hard to feel her body come against his, he cut a sharp pattern through the centre of the dancers, dragging her close to do it and she matched him step for step, a live, burning, beautiful flame.
How had he not noticed before, all those days in the fish market? How had he not seen the dark fire of her eyes? Not heard the innate sensuality of her laugh? Not felt the thrum of life that emanated from her? Probably because he hadn’t been looking and she hadn’t made it easy. There’d been no reason for either of them to have done otherwise. But tonight was different. Tonight, they needed each other.
The dance ended, the musicians flowing into a reel he loved. Patra turned to go. He saw her hesitate when he made no move to escort her from the floor. Brennan closed a hand about her wrist, his voice low and insistent. ‘One more dance, Patra. Please.’ He didn’t wait for an answer, merely moved them into position and let her happen to him all over again.
‘We’d better stop at two,’ Patra suggested, breathing hard at the end of the reel, the voice of wisdom when he would have stayed on the floor with her. This wasn’t London, after all, and there was no hard-and-fast rule about a two-dance limit. ‘I think we can safely assume you’ve satisfied authenticity’s needs.’
Probably more than satisfied it. He might have exceeded it, if the looks Katerina Stefanos was directing his way were any indicator. Patra noticed it. ‘Katerina doesn’t look pleased. Perhaps you’d better go back and reassure her of your affections.’
Brennan shook his head, adrenaline still fuelling him. ‘How could I do that when you’ve asked me to escort you home?’ It was a bold gambit. They had not spoken of such plans. Would she refuse? Would she think leaving with him stirred a larger scandal than staying? But she was caught up in the euphoria of the dance, too.
‘Oh, I have, have I?’
Brennan pulled a mockingly serious face. ‘You have, most definitely. There’s a rock in your shoe that is wreaking havoc with your foot.’
She arched incredulous dark brows. ‘A rock? How about we settle for a pebble?’ Then she added with a sly smile, ‘for authenticity’s sake of course.’
For her part, Patra did a credible job manufacturing a slight limp while Brennan made their excuses to Konstantine. They were under way within minutes. There was no drama in slipping off, no covertly delivered messages with complicated instructions for a private meeting. He’d simply left with her.
Safe was turning into fun. So much fun, in fact, Brennan was in no hurry to see the evening end. Who would have thought the small event of strolling down a dirt road, Patra’s arm tucked loosely through his, could be so enjoyable? Overhead the stars were out, even brighter now that they were away from the party lights. Brennan knew exactly where he wanted to go. They’d reached a fork in the path, the left leading up a hill towards one of his favourite places. The right led to her home, although he’d never been there. It was something everyone in a small town knew. Everyone knew where everyone lived. If he took her there, it would lead to the end of the evening. Patra turned to the right. He made no attempt to follow her or to release her arm. It was decision time.
She tossed him a quizzical look, her eyes dropping to the light grip he had on her arm.
