going back there? Did she have family? Those answers dug up memories she didn’t want tonight, reminders of all she’d lost instead of focusing on all that she still had. ‘What about you? Where do you live?’ Perhaps if he talked about himself, he’d be less inclined to want to talk about her.
‘I’m from a place called Sussex, south-east of London.’ He seemed reluctant to say more. She understood. Places carried memories. She hadn’t meant to pry, only to distract. ‘I’m sorry, you don’t like to talk about it.’
Brennan shook his head. ‘No, it’s just that I’ve been gone for two years. It doesn’t seem like I’m from there any more. I’ve been travelling with friends. We’ve seen a lot of places and now I suppose I feel a little rootless.’
She’d not heard of the friends before. ‘Where are your friends now? Will they be joining you?’
‘No.’ Brennan chuckled, his eyes starting to spark again. ‘The funny thing is, they all got married. Haviland married in Paris, Archer in Siena and Nolan in Verona, although Nolan met his bride in Venice. They all asked me to stay with them, but I just wanted to keep moving.’
Patra played with the fringe of the blanket, twisting it between her fingers, daring herself to ask more personal questions, daring herself to satisfy her selfish curiosity. ‘So here you are. Kardamyli isn’t exactly a tourist destination.’
Brennan shrugged again, unbothered by her probing. How wonderful to be such an open book. ‘I like it here, though. I like being some place where there’s no other Englishmen, no one who might know me. Here, I can just be me.’ He let out a sound that was half groan, half laugh as if he was remembering something unpleasant. ‘You should have seen Rome. It was crawling with English. I could go days without seeing any Italians. It was awful.’
She laughed with him because his laughter was infectious and his stories heartfelt. One couldn’t help but be taken in by his sincerity. He was different than her, his life was different. He’d seen so much of the world while she had seen Kardamyli and the town she’d been born in. To her, the fifteen-mile journey between her town and Dimitri’s had been significant, important.
He gave her a lopsided grin. ‘If I wanted to see Englishmen, I would have stayed home.’
‘I wouldn’t know, I haven’t been more than twenty miles from here my entire life,’ Patra said softly. The disparity in their ages seemed to flip. She was thirty-five and yet, in some ways, she lacked his worldly experiences.
He considered her for a long moment, his eyes quieting, his gaze turning serious. His smile faded to be replaced by a small, almost rueful grin. His hand came up to stroke her hair, to cup her cheek. All she had to do was turn her head and kiss his palm. That was the wine talking. The bottle was nearly empty now and she knew she’d been responsible for a significant portion of it. If she kissed his palm, it would invite other kisses, kisses she’d promised herself to avoid.
His voice was soft when he spoke, too. ‘That’s a good sign. You mustn’t have anything to run from.’
How she wanted to argue! It wasn’t true. She had plenty to run from: memories of Dimitri, memories of the war, memories of the man who’d led Dimitri and other patriots to their deaths, who’d coaxed her into believing such sacrifice was worth it. But to argue would mean she’d have to prove it, she’d have to tell her stories, to expose herself.
Brennan tugged at her hand. ‘Come...lie down, Patra.’ And she did, because it was the lesser of two evils to lie down beside him and stare at the skies than to let the evening be overrun with memories of things she couldn’t change and people she couldn’t save.
‘What do you have to run from?’ She stretched out beside him, matching his pose, her head resting on her hand. She had not been this close to a man in ages, certainly not such a virile one.
‘Everything. Nothing.’ His blue eyes flirted with her quietly, the night and the stars adding their own layers of intimacy to this impetuous wine picnic. He would be intoxicating even without the drink. She had to be careful. She hadn’t broken her rule...yet, but she was dancing close to the fire. She was recognising in hindsight there were probably other promises she should have made herself. Don’t lie down with a man you don’t know, don’t stare at the stars with him and absolutely don’t drink wine with him.
‘There was no reason to stay in England, or Paris, or Venice, or Milan, or Siena.’ Brennan’s hand stroked her hair, pushing a strand behind her ear. It was becoming far too easy to let him touch her. It felt far too good.
‘And Kardamyli?’ The words were out of her mouth before she could think better of them. Reasons to stay were dangerous.
‘We’ll see. I like it here.’ The implied but hovered in the air. Oh, he was smooth, he knew all the right things to say: If a woman would give me a reason to stay, I might consider it. No wonder Katerina Stefanos had fallen for him. He could certainly bait a hook.
She decided to give him a dose of reality, and perhaps a dose for herself, too—a reminder that he was not for her...that she was merely looking for an escape from her friends’ well-meaning efforts. ‘There may be conditions placed on your ability to stay.’ Like taking a wife.
He merely gave one his shrugs, unconcerned about future consequences. ‘You’ve managed to remain unattached. I am sure I will, too. Maybe that’s something we could work on together.’ His hand drifted to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair, cradling it as he had done her cheek. His eyes dropped to her lips, his head angled slowly in fair warning, giving her time to choose her response and then he made his move, closing the gap between them with swift confidence, his mouth moving fast and sure over hers.
She let him. She wasn’t technically breaking her promise. He was kissing her, after all, and she couldn’t very well control his actions. It was a hastily done rationalisation, one she was probably going to regret...later. Right now, her lips, her body were too busy sinking into his to regret much of anything.
Good lord, he could kiss. His mouth was patient, savouring hers, seducing hers with its slow confidence. He was not in doubt about the conclusion of the interlude and in no hurry to get there. His tongue made a languorous perusal of her mouth, his hands running up her back, drawing her close to him on the blanket. Oh, how she wanted to be close, to feel the heat of him, the muscled press of his body. She had not realised how hungry she was for such contact and it had to stop. This could not happen, no matter how enjoyable. If he wasn’t able to see the ramifications of this, she would, for both of them. The village wouldn’t tolerate it, not when he’d been flirting with the eligible girls and doing heaven knew what else with them. Her pride would not stand it either. He couldn’t use her like this and then leave her. There were other reasons, too, but these were the most immediate.
Brennan’s hand was warm at her leg, sliding beneath her skirt, resting on her knee. She pushed gently at his chest and pulled away with a shake of her head. His blue eyes reflected his puzzlement, his disappointment. She tried to soften her words with a smile, but her voice was stern, leaving no quarter for argument. ‘I think it’s time to go home.’
‘Really?’ He wasn’t going to give up easily. His auburn hair, tousled from her fingers, and the smoulder of those blue eyes were nearly irresistible as he formed his one-word rebuttal, challenging her suggestion.
Distance. She needed distance. Patra stumbled to
