He held up his other hand, revealing the prize he carried. He had grabbed it off a table as they’d left the party. ‘I’ve got a bottle of wine and the view at the top of the hill is spectacular.’ He grinned. ‘So, let me ask you again. Do you really want to go home?’
The question wasn’t meant to be difficult. She should want that, just as Patra knew what the right answer was: yes. She wanted to go home, wanted to be alone. That had been her original intent. She’d fulfilled her end of the bargain. She’d rescued him from Katerina’s possessive clutches. She had every right to claim her escape, and yet, that smile of his and those eyes on her face were the undoing of her. She wasn’t naïve. She knew what he wanted, what all young men wanted. She’d be a liar if she didn’t admit to being at least a little flattered he wanted some of her attention. She’d be a liar, too, if she didn’t admit her attraction to him. It was hard to be alone even when there was no other choice and she’d been alone so very long. She’d been good for oh, so very long, too—not calling attention to herself, living quietly on the edges of society in all ways, encouraging no one to take an interest in her. Now, here he was; tempting her with his good looks and his superb dancing. He tempted her with more than that. He was fun and he was kind. Those qualities were far more important than looks, she’d learned. Looks could be deceiving. Actions less so. She’d noticed tonight how he’d not wanted to embarrass Katerina and he would not force his attentions where they were not wanted. He was giving her the choice to climb the hill.
Or not. If she said no, he’d escort her home, wine unopened, view unseen. Kisses untasted, bodies untried. The last part rose unbidden in her mind. He might be willing to push those boundaries, but she was not. If she went up that hill, she needed some rules in place with herself. She was not kissing this bold English adventurer who had probably kissed half of Europe on his journey here. All right, no kissing. Other than that, why not? Why not climb that hill and look at the stars. Temptation beckoned. Surely one night would be safe enough. Who would know? Who would tell? And the Englishman wouldn’t be here for ever. If the matchmakers in the village didn’t take care of that, his own nature would. He was perfectly safe as long as it was just one night.
Patra cocked her head to one side, giving the impression of serious consideration. ‘You said you have wine?’
Brennan shook the bottle. ‘Are you in?’ He held out his hand. ‘Come on. It will be worth it, I promise.’
* * *
It had better be, Patra groused halfway up. The hill was steeper than she’d anticipated and dancing shoes weren’t ideal for climbing in the dark. If she hadn’t had a real pebble in her shoe when they’d left the dance, she most likely did now. Brennan reached out a hand for her and she gladly took it.
‘How are you doing? We’re almost there.’ She could hear the smile in his words, feel his enthusiasm, as he offered her encouragement. It struck her then that Brennan Carr was a little bit impetuous. People didn’t simply, spontaneously, climb hills in the dark. No, he wasn’t just a ‘little bit’ impetuous. She’d wager he was a lot impetuous. If he lived like he danced, he was probably in the habit of throwing himself headlong into adventure after adventure without thinking about the consequences until it was too late, like he had with Katerina Stefanos. What had started out as fun had quickly turned into something more serious.
Oh, this was bad, she didn’t want to be curious about him. Curiosity led to questions and questions led to answers and answers to familiarity. The less she knew about him, the better for them both.
The ground smoothed out and the shrubbery gave way, the path expanding to a wide, flat area. Brennan gave an exultant crow, ‘We made it! Just look at that!’
She had to concede the view was spectacular, well worth every pebble in her shoes. The sky seemed close enough to touch, the stars near enough to pluck with her fingers, while down below, she could make out the dark shape of boats bobbing in the harbour and the faint glow from Konstantine’s party. Down there, the crowd would be noisy, but up here, it was quiet and peaceful. There was no music other than the crickets and the night birds. Behind her, she could hear Brennan rustling in the bushes.
‘Here it is,’ he announced, pulling out a blanket. He shook it free of little pieces of twigs and dried leaves before spreading it on the hill. He patted the spot beside him. ‘Come and sit, Patra, and enjoy our view.’
She sat and he worked the cork loose on the bottle, pulling it the last bit of the way with his teeth. ‘I don’t suppose you have any glasses under a bush, too?’ she teased.
He gave a perplexed glance. ‘No, why would I?’
Patra shrugged, feeling silly for having asked. ‘I just thought, since you were so prepared...’
He grinned, unfazed by her implication. ‘I come up here almost every night to watch the sunset and sometimes to think.’ He jostled her with a friendly elbow. ‘You’re surprised. You thought I brought girls up here all the time.’ He passed her the bottle, letting her drink first. ‘You’re the only one and I wasn’t even sure you would come. It seemed presumptuous of me to bring glasses.’
‘Maybe you say that to all the girls,’ she pressed, testing only partly in jest. There wasn’t a girl in the village who wouldn’t climb this hill with him.
‘Well, I don’t.’ Brennan gave her a firm look. ‘You’ll just have to trust me.’ She’d like to, Patra realised. She supposed it was the inviting openness of his face. Women probably confided in him all the time. It had been a long time since she’d trusted anyone, confided in anyone. Her secrets were too dark for that. There was no one she could tell, no one she could burden with the evil that hovered on the fringes of her life. But hope hovered on those fringes, too. Maybe the evil was gone now. It had been four years since Castor Apollonius had last pressed his wicked suit. Perhaps this time he was gone for good, finally convinced she would never be his. Maybe, she could risk just a little.
‘Can you do without them? The glasses?’ Brennan asked.
During the war, she’d done without a lot more than glasses. Patra shot him a daring look and tipped the bottle back, taking a deep swallow of the rich red wine, feeling adventurous and decadent—for a moment, free. The wine tasted good after the dancing and the climbing. She passed the bottle back, watching him drink deeply and run his sleeve around the rim before giving it back.
Brennan stretched out, propping his head on one arm as he pointed to the sky. ‘Tell me what you know about the stars. There’s Cassiopeia, there’s Orion’s Belt.’ He gestured to the familiar arrangements.
‘There’s Gemini, the twins, there’s Draco,’ Patra added, scanning the sky. It was better to focus on the stars than to think too much about the very masculine body stretched out beside her in a pose of rather shocking familiarity, as if they were old friends or something more, two people used to one another’s bodies instead of strangers who had shared a dance and an escape. But he was not at all concerned about the intimacy of his pose or their proximity to one another.
‘You know a lot of them. I’m impressed.’ Brennan’s gaze shifted from the stars to her and she met his eyes, a most dangerous challenge.
‘When you grow up around boats and sailors you learn the stars early. Can’t afford not to.’ She reached for the bottle.
‘Have you lived here all your life?’ Brennan’s tone was soft, his fingers gentle as they closed around hers, taking back the bottle.
‘All of my married life. Kardamyli is my husband’s home. I came here as his bride.’ As an innocent eighteen-year-old, flushed
