found a book, tossed it on the bed as incentive.
Still not ready for bed. The image of a dark-eyed goddess in an ivory-coloured sundress flashed through his mind, closely followed by an image of her lying in his bed with no ivory-coloured sundress on at all.
Now he’d never get to sleep.
So she wanted nothing more than a light hearted romp. Was this a bad thing? No. Light hearted romps were his speciality.
So he’d wondered, briefly, about a relationship that involved a little bit … more. Clearly not a good idea. He’d get over it. Was over it. A short-term relationship was fine. Just fine.
Fidelity he could do.
As for discretion. Pete thought back to the kisses they’d shared and chuckled as he stripped the towel from his body and ran it over his hair.
Heaven help them both.
* * *
Breakfast the following morning was a revelation. Serena had rapped on the bedsit door at seven and told him that breakfast was available in the kitchen if he wanted it. Ten minutes later he made his way over there, showered, shaved and ready for whatever lay ahead as far as light hearted, short-term, discreetly exclusive relationships were concerned.
And then he stepped through the kitchen doorway and she stopped grinding fresh coffee beans and smiled at him and every rational thought he’d had about her left his head.
She wore modest shorts and a bright pink T-shirt— Pete recognised it as her Vespa hire attire—and had pulled her hair back into a pony-tail. Nothing overtly seductive about any of it—no slinky sleepwear or artfully tousled hair, and still her innate sensuality punched into him like a fist.
‘What would you like for breakfast?’ she asked as she loaded up the breakfast bench with far more food than he could possibly eat.
‘You don’t have to do this, you know,’ he said as he relieved her of the orange juice and gestured towards the bench. ‘I can get my own cereal.’
‘All part of the service.’ She stifled a yawn and padded over to the kitchen sink, leaning over to open the window above it. ‘You want anything cooked? Sausages? Bacon and eggs?’
What he wanted was to drag her back to bed and make love to her until the sleepiness left her eyes and satisfaction took its place. What he wanted was to ask her what she had planned for the day and then rearrange his own schedule to fit in around hers so he could see her again later. What he said was, ‘No, thanks. This is fine.’
‘So … ‘she poured herself a cup of coffee and cradled it in her hands as she leaned back against the kitchen counter and studied him ‘… what do you usually talk about at breakfast?’
‘Usually I’m by myself.’
‘When you’re not,’ she said dryly.
He tried to think. Couldn’t. Not when she strolled over and settled into the chair opposite him and her scent wrapped around him like a promise. ‘Work. We talk about work. What that person is doing with their day. That sort of thing. ‘
‘Oh,’ she said. And with another one of those lazy, loaded smiles, ‘What are you doing with your day, Pete Bennett?’
‘Well …’ He wished his mind would return from wherever he’d dropped it. It was probably somewhere over by the door. ‘First up is Corfu to drop passengers, then Cyprus to pick up some cargo, then back to mainland Greece. I’ll overnight in Athens.’
‘Skite,’ she muttered. ‘I’m going to the Vespa shed. I’ll be there until five.’
‘I’ll think of you.’ Nothing but the truth.
‘What else do you talk about?’
‘Anything. Everything. Except for home improvements. A woman starts talking home improvements and I start to get nervous.’
‘Really?’ she said archly. ‘So you don’t think this kitchen needs a bigger window? I think it needs a much bigger window. I mean, look at that view! It’s just begging to be taken advantage of.’
‘It doesn’t work when you talk about improvements to your home,’ he told her smugly as he reached for the cereal. ‘It only works when the house in question is mine.’
‘Ah. I should have guessed.’
‘You should be grateful,’ he told her. ‘You don’t want a man who’s looking for a woman to improve his home, remember?’
‘Not yet, anyway,’ she murmured.
‘So … you do want one eventually?’ This was interesting.
‘Well, yes,’ she said with a toss of her head. ‘Eventually. But now is not convenient.’
‘Why not?’
‘I want to travel for a while. Concentrate on my career. Be free of family for a bit. Family commitments are messy. They confuse things.’
‘So … you’re streamlining.’ Pete looked around at the mass of food, remembering the easy way she dealt with Nico and with Sam, with everyone who crossed her path, and stifled a grin.
Serena’s eyes narrowed. ‘Something amusing you?’
‘If I had to hazard a guess I’d say you liked life a little messy and complicated.’
‘Maybe in the past,’ she said. ‘Maybe for another few weeks. But in a month’s time life is going to be sleek, career-focussed, and ever so slightly narcissistic.’
‘Hence our rules for this relationship.’
‘Exactly. I knew you’d understand. More coffee?’
Pete kept his expression deadpan as she breezed her way through the breakfast ritual. Toast, animated discussion of a story in the newspaper, a grocery list for Nico. He ate his cereal, watched her put a load of Nico’s work clothes in the washing machine, and wondered afresh at humankind’s capacity for self-delusion. The fresh-brewed-coffee goddess didn’t have a narcissistic bone in her body. Oh, she might have looked the part, but beneath all that blatant sensuality lay an innate regard for the welfare of others that he doubted she’d ever shake.
No matter what kind of plans she’d made for the future.
His watch told him it was time to fly. His stomach told him there was no reason to linger over breakfast any longer. Sighing, Pete stood and took his breakfast bowl and coffee-cup over to the sink.
‘You’re right. You do need a bigger window here,’ he said as she came to stand beside him.
‘I knew you’d see it my way.’ Serena smiled and leaned back against the counter, her hands either side of her as he stepped in closer, effectively trapping her between himself and the counter. Her smile widened.
‘Maybe instead of dinner next time, we could do something your honorary
