The Santorini Bride

“Here?” she said warily. “In this house?”

“In this room,” Theo clarified.

Which meant, in his bed.

There was only one bed in the room. She looked at it now. Theo’s gaze followed hers. It was a big bed with crisp white sheets and a Mediterranean-blue coverlet.

As if he read the direction of her thoughts, he began, “I don’t expect—”

But Martha was getting an idea of her own. “Those magazine articles—” she began, heart quickening.

“What about them?” Theo snapped.

“Were they true?”

“What?” He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“I was just wondering how they knew?” she gave him a speculative look. “I mean, did they do research? Ask women? How did they decide you were the world’s sexiest sailor?”

“How the hell should I know!” Theo threw his hands in the air. “Are you insane?”

Maybe, Martha thought. But she didn’t intend to admit it. She chewed her lip, thoughts roiling, making her brain buzz.

“You don’t have to worry about it,” Theo said abruptly. “I expect you to stay in my room and sleep in my bed. But I don’t expect you to—” He broke off, and Martha was surprised to see something that might have been a flush climb up his neck.

She cocked her head. “Have a no-strings affair with you?”

He nodded curtly.

“What if I want one?”

Jaw dropping, he stared at her. “What!”

“I said, what if I want one,” Martha repeated brazenly. “If you’re the world’s sexiest sailor, if hordes of women are, by your own testimony, trying to get into your bed, well, why shouldn’t I want in, too. I’d be a fool not to.”

He shook his head. “You are nuts.”

“Maybe I am,” she said recklessly. “So what? What’s it to you? You don’t want to get involved with me. Fine. I don’t want to get involved with you, either. No relationship, like you said. Just fun and games, that’s all. I’m on the pill. So, no consequences. So—” she lifted her chin in determined challenge “—why not?”

Theo Savas didn’t say a word. He just stared at her.

In the face of his unrelenting stupefied silence, Martha found her bravado cracking.

Was she that unappealing? Was she so appallingly awful that he couldn’t even imagine making love. Having sex, she corrected herself quickly—with her?

Now she was the one who felt hot blood rise in her cheeks. They burned fiercely, but she’d said the words so she made herself stand her ground.

What else, after all, could she do? She couldn’t afford to leave.

“Those are my terms,” she said baldly. “Take them or leave them.”

Still he didn’t speak for so long that she considered picking up the lamp and bashing him over the head with it. Then at last he flexed his shoulders and straightened just a little.

“Let me get this straight.” His voice was a drawl now. “I let you stay here for the week and in exchange you want a no-strings affair?”

“That’s right,” Martha said firmly. “Except I want to stay three weeks.”

A dark masculine eyebrow hiked into the fringe of his hair.

“It’s the least you can do. I told you. My flight leaves in three weeks. I want to stay that long. And,” she added recklessly, “I want some mind-blowing sex in the meantime.”

Thank God her vigilant parents, her overprotective brothers and all the other guardians of her virtue couldn’t hear her now!

But she almost wished bloody Julian could! He was the reason she was saying this. He had driven her to it.

But she knew it wasn’t just about Julian. It was about her, too.

She was twenty-four years old, but she’d been cosseted, protected and coddled her entire life. And everything in that life had, until yesterday, gone according to plan.

Yesterday—the memory of Julian naked in the shower with some faceless, nameless woman, someone who was Not Her—had proved to Martha that her dreams were no more than that. They had no substance. They were airy fluff.

She had always assumed that she would find the deep lasting love her parents had—the love that had so far eluded all her siblings, especially her sister Cristina who used to go through men like Martha went through tubes of cadmium blue. She had always been determined not to be another Cristina. So when she’d met Julian, when he had teased her, charmed her, flirted with her, she’d dared to hope he would be The One.

“Of course I’m the one,” he’d agreed the first evening they’d met, his grin devastating, his pale-blue eyes dancing. “Let me show you.”

That was the first time he’d tried to get her into bed.

But Martha had declined. She wasn’t even close to ready for intimacy like that. She wanted it, certainly. But only if she was sure. Then she would commit. Love and sex were all part of the same fabric in her mind. And over the past five months she’d held out—until she was sure.

And what a mistake that was!

She’d been an idiot. A blind naive idiot.

Obviously sex and love had nothing whatever to do with each other! Just ask Julian.

So, fine. She could learn from her mistakes. And in the meantime she would learn from the world’s sexiest sailor. Though to be honest, Theo Savas looked less sexy than stunned as he stared at her.

Martha stared back, resolute and implacable.

Theo’s eyes narrowed fractionally, as if assessing her resolve and, perhaps, something else. But finally he nodded and a slow smile lifted the corners of his supremely kissable lips—the lips whose kiss had inspired her outrageous demand in the first place.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart. Three weeks, no strings. Mind-blowing sex. No Agnetta and no Cassandra and no manipulating mother,” he said with supreme satisfaction. “I think we’ve got ourselves a heck of a deal.”

“She’s not exactly your style, is she?” Agnetta edged a little closer so that if Theo turned away, leaning on the wall of the roof and watching the sunset, his arm would brush her breasts.

She had made the move with mathematical precision, and Theo found himself admiring her perseverance and determination even as he displayed his own and kept his gaze determinedly on the swiftly sinking sun.

He probably shouldn’t have let her finagle this jaunt to the rooftop after dinner. He knew damned well why she was begging to see the view—and it had nothing to do with the sunset.

But he had thought to give Martha a bit of a breather. She’d been a trooper, feeding them all with some sort of seafood stew she’d miraculously concocted from the staples in the cupboards and the vegetables and fish he’d fetched from the market, chatting cheerfully and firmly declining all help with the dishes.

Not that the other two women’s offer to dry had been all that sincere. Cassie had been itching to get down into the center part of town where there were bars and clubs and men. And Agnetta had said she would love to see the view from the roof—if Theo didn’t mind.

He figured if he left her to dry dishes she’d spend the time doing more mischief, telling Martha stories about their so-called affair that she had no need to hear. Taking Agnetta to the roof—and imparting a few home truths—seemed preferable.

So he’d dutifully led her up the stairs and pointed out the sights, which were indeed memorable, all the while keeping his own carefully calculated space between them.

“Martha?” he responded to Agnetta’s question now with a smile that he didn’t even have to force. He’d actually enjoyed her during dinner. She hadn’t been silly like Cassie or sultry and demanding like Agnetta. She’d been bright and funny and charming, reminding him a bit of his kid sister, Tallie, or the proverbial girl next door.

Definitely not his usual style.

“No, she’s not,” he agreed readily, then slanted a slightly mocking glance Agnetta’s way. “That’s why I like her.”

Agnetta’s beautiful mouth formed a pout, and she gave his arm a playful shove. “Ah, you are just playing, then.”

“Don’t I always?”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line at memories best left untouched. “Does she know that?”

“Yep.” The absolute unvarnished truth. And Martha’s idea to boot.

Agnetta’s brows lifted in surprise. “She does? And she agreed?”

“Of course. We understand each other.”

Agnetta gave him a long narrow-eyed gaze. “Do you? I wonder.”

Theo frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You need to be careful,” she told him. “She is not like me.”

“There’s a blessing.”

Agnetta made a face at him. “You’re not still holding a grudge because of my little mistake.”

He didn’t say he knew it hadn’t been a mistake. “I’m not holding a grudge. I don’t give a damn.”

She looked nettled, but shrugged. “Well, I’m only warning you. You could hurt her.”

Theo shook his head. “Nope.”

“You’re a heartless bastard, you know that, Theo?”

“No. I’m a realist. And so is Martha. You don’t need to worry about her. Now—” he shoved away from the wall he had been leaning against “—if you’ve seen all you want to see, we should be getting downstairs. It’s getting late.” He glanced pointedly at his watch.

“Late?” Agnetta blinked, then waved a hand at the twilit city below. “It’s not even completely dark yet. The guidebooks say life doesn’t begin on Santorini until midnight!”

“I wouldn’t know,” Theo said.

Agnetta stared at him in disbelief. Then she laughed. “You are playing with me. Come. We will see how much life there is.” She smiled and moved to hook her arm through his.

But Theo stepped away before she could. “No, thanks. But you go right ahead. Enjoy it.” He turned his back and headed for the stairs. Martha had had enough of a breather. It was time to call out the reinforcements. “I’ll give you a key.”

“A key?” Agnetta hurried after him. “But you are coming, too, surely. I mean, you and Martha, too, if you must, but—”

“We won’t be coming, too. We have other plans for this evening.” He reached the bottom of the stairs, then turned and smiled at her.

“What sort of plans?” Agnetta looked distinctly annoyed.

Theo lifted a brow and gave her his best wolfish grin. “I’m sure you can guess.”

What were they doing on the roof?

Not that she cared, really, Martha thought as she banged the last clean pan down on the stove and hung the dish towel on the hook by the stove. But you’d have thought, if Mr. Sexiest Sailor really wanted to avoid the Stunning Swedish Pursuer, he wouldn’t have agreed quite so readily to her very obvious ploy for a rooftop rendevous.

But he had.

Agnetta had flirted for Sweden all during dinner, and while Theo had not responded in kind, as soon as the meal was over and Cassie had dashed off to get a head start on the night life, Agnetta had batted her lashes and asked him to show her the view from the roof.

And stupid fool that he was, Theo had agreed.

He could have suggested she help with clearing the table or doing the dishes. He could have not dismissed Agnetta’s vague offer to help. He could have helped himself! Martha thought, banging the cupboard shut.

But he hadn’t.

He’d said, “Sure we can go up to the roof. We’ll just get out of your way, then,” he’d added with a mere glance in Martha’s direction.

So were they getting it on up there? Martha banged the cupboard shut again for good measure. Jerk!

Well, the hell with him. Let him have his way with Agnetta—or let her have her way with him. There was no way she was going up on the roof and defending his honor!

If he ended up in bed with Agnetta, that was his problem! Although he needn’t think he was going to bring Agnetta to bed as long as Martha was there, too!

And he needn’t think if he succumbed to temptation he was going to be able to throw her out on her ear because he didn’t need her anymore, either. Martha was damned if she was leaving. So there.

Now she yawned widely and flexed her shoulders, still feeling the kinks of her trans-Atlantic flight. She wanted a shower and a good night’s sleep. The nap she’d had while Theo was out sailing had been interrupted far too soon by Agnetta and Cassie turning up on the doorstep.

For a few seconds she looked longingly up the stairs toward her former bedroom. But that was where Theo had deliberately put Cassie and Agnetta’s suitcases. At the same time Martha’s own duffel bag had disappeared. It was in Theo’s bedroom where he had put it while she’d been making dinner.

There was a bathroom in that suite of rooms. She could take a shower there. Chances were she would be sound asleep by the time he came down with Agnetta. If he came down.

Maybe they’d spend the night on the roof, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Martha shot a disparaging glance toward the stairs that went to the roof, then stalked into Theo’s bedroom. “Have fun,” she muttered under her breath.

Like Theo’s bedroom, the bathroom held no trace of her parents’ former occupancy, either. The tiles on the vanity were still the small obsidian squares she remembered, but the pink walls her mother had favored were long gone. The rest of the room was stark white and unadorned, except for the towels, which looked new and were a deep sea blue. Martha rubbed an approving hand over one of them, looking forward to wrapping her body in it after her shower, then turned on the water to warm while she stripped off her clothes and let them fall on the floor.

The naked body she saw in the mirror was nowhere near as toned and polished as the one she was sure that Agnetta was flaunting for Theo’s enjoyment at this very moment. Martha’s hips were wider, her breasts were fuller. She didn’t wear a size four like Agnetta and Cassie. Or even a size six. Or eight, which was probably about the size of the woman who had been sharing the shower with Julian.

And damn it, she didn’t want to think about that.

Abruptly she turned away from contemplating her shortcomings in the mirror and drew back the shower curtain and stepped in.

A spray of warm water welcomed her. Accustomed to the uneven spurt and trickle of the shower upstairs, she was startled. A closer look told her that the showerhead was new—obviously another of Theo’s improvements.

She would have to tell him she approved, though she doubted if he would care. No matter. Enjoying the shower for the sheer pleasure of it, Martha ducked her head under the soft warm spray, then stood perfectly still, letting the water cascade over her.

For the first time in twenty-four hours—ever since she’d walked into Julian’s and saw her dreams shot down in flames—she began to feel the tension seep out of her. She rolled her shoulders to loosen them and felt relief as her muscles eased and loosened. She let out a breath that seemed as if she’d been holding it for hours. Then she plucked the soap from the windowsill at eye level and began to wash.

She moved quickly at first because experience told her that, however new the showerhead was, there was never enough hot water. But even as she expected the stream to cool, it remained steady and strong and warm.

She washed her hair and rinsed it, and still the water stayed warm. Theo must have had a new hot water heater put in, too. She shut her eyes and smiled blissfully, wondering how long she could stand here just basking in the soothing warmth of the spray. But just as she wondered, there was a sudden slight coolness, a faint stirring of the air.

Ah well, all good things had to come to an end. Reluctantly Martha reached out to turn off the water.

“Not yet.”

She yelped and spun around, slipping on the porcelain as she found herself staring into the black eyes of a very tanned, very male, very naked Theo Savas!

Smiling, he caught her and steadied her on her jellylike knees.

“W-what are you doing here?” She was shivering, but not with cold. In truth she was growing hotter by the second—and grew even hotter as Theo stepped into the shower with her.

“I thought we could get a start on that mind-blowing sex.” His voice was husky, and white teeth flashed in a quick grin. But beyond the grin there was something dark and intense in his eyes.

Martha swallowed. Her heart hammered a thousand miles a minute. “Uh,” she said. “I, uh…ahhhh.” The vowels changed as Theo splayed his hands on her hips.

For an instant in her mind’s eye Martha remembered Julian’s hands on the woman in his shower. The memory gave her a kick right where she needed it most.

She took a deep steadying breath, and managed a determinedly sultry smile of her own, then lifted her hands and splayed them on Theo Savas’s hard chest, as she tried to ignore the hammering of her heart against her own. “Why not?”

She expected to remain detached, to study, to make mental notes on the world’s sexiest sailor’s powers of seduction. She expected to analyze, to scrutinize, to evaluate and assess the experience the way she did when she studied someone else’s painting.

It was how you learned, after all.

You didn’t get swept away.

You certainly didn’t moan at the feel of Theo’s soap-slick hands sliding up your sides, caressing your back. And you definitely didn’t tremble as they traced and drew circles, then dipped and slipped down over your backside and all the way down your legs!

Dear heavens! What was he doing to her?

Martha tried to memorize the technique, but within moments she was lost in the slippery pressure of his fingers working their magic. She was enchanted by the brush of his hair against her thighs as he knelt in front of her, carefully washing each foot in turn.

“Theeeeeo.” His name hissed through her teeth.

“Shh. Just feel,” he murmured. Then slowly and sensuously, his fingers began to work their way back up her legs, stopping to swirl against the sensitive skin at the back of her knees, then moving higher, stroking the insides of her thighs. She trembled as they inched their way up and still farther up.

If she bent her head, she could look down on the top of his, could watch as he moved closer, could feel the heat of his lips against her abdomen—and lower.

Oh, help, yes, lower. Even as his fingers moved higher.

“Oh!” Martha couldn’t stop the exclamation escaping the moment Theo’s fingers found her, touched her at last. She jerked. Her legs wobbled, not even jelly now. More like water. Desperately she reached out for something to hang on to, some way to stay upright—and found herself clutching his shoulders.

He tipped his head back to look up at her, a slight smile on his face, but his heavy-lidded gaze still intent, watching her.

Once more his fingers moved, caressed, teased and tested.

Martha trembled and shifted her feet, gave him greater access. Couldn’t help it. Couldn’t get enough of his touch. She bit her lip, tried to stay still, but her body had other ideas. It responded to Theo’s ministrations. And even when she did manage to get two or three brain cells and a bit of resolve in working order long enough to protest, “But you—” he cut her off.

“Mind-blowing,” he muttered, rising to his feet and covering her mouth with his. He made it sound like a challenge he was determined to meet, a standard he was obliged to reach.

He reached it. With room to spare.

Mind-blowing didn’t begin to cover the sensations he was evoking in her with his hands and his mouth. The word was too tame, too narrow. Too—

Suddenly Martha had no words at all.

The sensations were too strong, the pleasure too great, the need too intense. Martha’s fingernails bit into his hips as she shattered—and shuddered—and sagged against him, spent.

She should have felt self-conscious, irritated at her loss of control, at having, almost literally, been putty in Theo Savas’s hands. But she didn’t.

She felt warm, cosseted, safe. Well loved.

Loved? No, she knew there wasn’t any of that. And she didn’t expect any.

She would have expected it with Julian, had she ever shared such intimacy with him. But she had learned her lesson. Sex was sex. And it could be mind-blowing. She smiled a little and shifted in Theo’s arms.

He didn’t let her go but held her gently in the circle of his embrace. His hands stroked over her whole body, smoothing down her back, tangling in her hair. Slowly he eased back so he could look into her face.

One black brow arched. “So? Mind-blowing?” A self-satisfied grin touched his lips.

Oh, yes. But Martha knew instinctively that Theo Savas didn’t need any more arrogance than he already possessed. “Not bad.”

Both black brows went up, then down. “Not bad?” He was clearly indignant.

Martha grinned. “All things considered,” she said. “Yes, it was quite good.”

“Right,” he growled. “Let’s see you in action then. Come on.”

And he reached around her and shut off the water, then pulled back the shower curtain and stepped out onto the bath mat. Somehow the less-confined space made Martha even more aware of his lean athletic body, of flat planes and sharp angles and very obvious arousal. She tried not to notice. It was like trying to pretend it wasn’t snowing in the middle of a blizzard.

She was still gaping—and trying to look as if she weren’t—when he wrapped a towel around her and began to dry her off.

“I can do that,” she said quickly.

“No doubt,” Theo brushed her off. “But I intend to. And then you can return the favor.”

“I can? I mean—” she tried to sound both blasé and sultry “—of course.”

Theo slanted her a grin, as if he knew she was anything but. Then as he continued his task, his grin faded and the intent, absorbed look reappeared in his gaze.

She thought she felt a fine tremor in his fingers through the soft terry of the towel. He stroked gently and thoroughly, though her body was dry almost before he touched her. The heat generated from within could have evaporated every bit of moisture in a matter of seconds. And the thought that she was soon going to be drying him only added wood to the blaze.

“My turn,” she said abruptly before she ignited from spontaneous combustion. And she grabbed the other towel from the rack, then began to stroke his shoulders and upper arms. The towel was a vibrant sea blue and against his skin it seemed to deepen his already dark tan. It was soft and rough where his shoulders seemed hard and smooth. He stood still under her ministrations, his chest rising and falling shallowly as she moved the towel lower. Soft yet slightly wiry hair spread across his chest and arrowed down his abdomen. She followed it.

He swallowed. His muscles tensed.

Something heady and powerful coursed through her as she watched his reactions to her merest gentle touch. She had never done this with Julian. Had, oddly, never even thought about it.

Now slowly and deliberately she dried Theo’s sides and turned him around so she could dry his back.

“I can do that.” His voice was ragged.

“Huh-uh.” She clutched the towel and pushed his arm so he would comply. “You dried me. Now it’s my turn.” She wasn’t giving this up for anything on earth.

The look Theo gave her promised something she wasn’t quite sure she understood, but it made her both hot and determined at the same time. She gave him an expectant look, tapped her foot and waited.

A corner of Theo’s mouth twitched, but at last he turned. His back was broad and deeply tanned. He had no tan line at all which was intriguing. There was a lot about Theo Savas that was very intriguing indeed.

Martha rubbed the towel across his back, down his spine, over the hard curve of his buttocks and down his legs. They were as strong and hard-muscled as his arms.

She could understand now why any magazine reporter just looking at the physical Theo Savas would call him “the world’s sexiest sailor.” He would only have had to bare his body and the contest was won. Was that what he had done? Had they seen him nude? Her heart caught in her throat.

She crouched down and ran the towel down hair-roughened legs, then up again along the backs of his thighs. Down and up. Up and down. He shifted his feet. She ran the towel along the insides of his thighs.