My Sexy Greek Summer

“Great.” Now that they had a plan, Emma made her way to the bar and ordered a white wine for herself and red for Cara. Cara waved to her from the corner booth she’d claimed.

“Now what?” Emma asked after a few sips.

Cara shrugged. “Toss your hair, cast a few meaningful looks around the room. I suppose you could lick your lips seductively, but that might be a bit obvious.” Just as she had licked her lips for Vespa-Boy.

“Not that. Besides, I think my outfit takes care of the obvious part.” Cara had to agree. Emma wore a low-cut white halter top with a matching miniskirt and backless white shoes with a kitten heel. “Not to belabor the point, Cara, but maybe you should go to another of these boutiques for a more fun dress.”

“You think this dress isn’t fun?” Cara put on a hurt look, but burst into laughter at Emma’s worried face. “Okay, okay, maybe this isn’t the fanciest dress ever.” That was an understatement. Her dress was a sleeveless black tunic with no discernible waistline, and she wore the same plain sandals she’d worn to the beach.

“There have to be some clothing boutiques around here. You need something that doesn’t come from the sackcloth-and-ashes store. It’s not like you’re one of these Greek widows.” Emma checked around the taverna and sipped her wine.

Cara blinked a couple times and looked down at her dress. Sew some sleeves on it, and she would look like an elderly widow. Many of them wore black for the rest of their lives after their husbands died. Athena did most of the time, and Athena’s mother had worn nothing but black, if Cara remembered correctly. But they were decades older than she was—Athena in her seventies and her mother had pushed one hundred.

Although Cara felt ancient sometimes, she was only twenty-eight. Too young to dress in widow’s clothing. “Emma?”

“Hmmm?” Her friend pulled her attention away from where the band was setting up.

“Do I wear a lot of black?”

“Aside from that dress and your one-piece swimsuit?”

Cara’d forgotten about her old-lady suit, but that was proving Emma’s point. “I mean in general. Like back home in Michigan.”

Emma furrowed her brow. “Come to think of it, you do. It’s nice black clothing, like your cashmere turtleneck you loaned me and that really warm, long, wool skirt, but yeah, lots of your wardrobe is black.”

“I had no idea.” Cara mentally sorted through her closet at home. Aside from some warm-weather T-shirts and shorts, she did have a ton of black clothes.

“You look great in black, Cara,” her friend reassured her. “It’s a very cosmopolitan look, almost European.”

Oh, boy. She’d been dressing in widow’s weeds, to coin a British phrase from one of her literature classes. Mourning her marriage? Atoning for its painful ending? She knew Con wouldn’t have wasted any time on regrets or recriminations, especially since he had considered everything to be all her fault.

Suddenly, her shapeless clothing offended her. Why should Con have any more say in what she wore? “Emma, this dress sucks.”

Emma choked on her wine, sputtering a couple drops on her sleek white outfit. Cara passed her a cocktail napkin. “Oh my gosh, Cara,” she said after regaining her ability to talk. “You shouldn’t startle me like that. Good thing I’m not drinking red wine.”

“But you agree.”

“Well…not in so many words, but yes, it could do with a good bonfire.”

Cara laughed. “How about my old black one-piece swimsuit?”

“That, too. But it has so much padding and synthetic stretch fabric I think we might get arrested for air pollution if we did try to burn it.” Emma drummed her fingers on the table. “How about we throw it all away and start fresh? Not to be indelicate, but your lingerie could use some spiffing up, as well.”

“It’s a plan.” She’d stop in the swimsuit boutique tomorrow and ask that clerk Niki about the best places to shop. She drained her wineglass and set it down. “You want another glass of wine, Emma?”

“That would be great.”

Cara’s trip to and from the bar took a bit longer than before. The place was starting to fill up with mostly locals as far as she could tell. Cara knew she stood out as an obvious foreigner, but no one paid her much attention aside from a few stares from the men. They’d need X-ray vision tonight to guess what her body looked like.

Cara turned the corner and stopped. Their cozy booth had just become a bit cozier. Emma was sitting between two Greek guys, her blond hair in stark contrast with their black. Unsure if her friend had invited them to sit or if they needed running off, Cara approached cautiously.

Emma spotted her. “There you are! Come meet Nick.” She gestured to the man practically sitting in her lap, a guy with short black hair and dark brown eyes. “And this is his friend…” She was having trouble with the second guy’s name, so he supplied it.

“Yannis.” He turned to look at Cara. Despite his lack of sunglasses, the poor lighting and the fact that he wasn’t straddling a scooter in tight jeans, Cara recognized him right away. Vespa-Boy. And he had the bluest, bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Wow. Good thing he’d kept his sunglasses on while they argued that afternoon, or else she might have licked more than just her lips.

“Yannis! I knew it was something like that. What is that in English?” Emma giggled. Cara reluctantly set her white wine down in front of her. Emma didn’t have much alcohol tolerance.

“John,” Cara and Yannis answered simultaneously and looked at each other.

He smiled slowly. “You speak Greek?”

“Not really,” Cara fibbed. Fortunately Nick was doing his best to charm Emma so she wasn’t paying attention.

“A clever American girl like you should be able to pick up Greek during your stay. I’ll teach you some if you sit with me.” Yannis gestured to the small slice of booth next to him. She’d practically have to sit in the guy’s lap to avoid falling on the floor, which was probably the whole idea. And a bad idea. Right? A very bad idea.

“I’m afraid I need more room than that.”

He looked disappointed but gave her more space. She sat cautiously and sipped her wine, unsure of what to do next.

Yannis had no uncertainties. “You never did tell me your name.”

She swallowed her wine. “Cara.”

“Cara? Just Cara?”

“Cara Sokol.”

“And I am Yannis Petrides. Born on Aphrodisias, grew up here—I even learned how to drive here. Not on Apollonias.” He lifted one black eyebrow in amusement.

Cara burst into laughter, remembering her insult regarding his driving skills.

“Ah, much better, Cara Sokol. I am sorry I almost ran you down today. All I can say is that your beauty stunned me so much I forgot how to stop my scooter.”

She laughed even harder. “Oh, come on. In that outfit I could have been your grandma.”

“My grandmother doesn’t have eyes blue as the sea or hair as red as the sun when it drops into the ocean.” He didn’t touch her with anything but his words and his gaze, but that was more than enough.

Again at a loss, Cara glanced away. Really, she needed to get a grip. She was no blushing virgin ready to fall at the feet of a smooth-talking Greek charmer. And please, just because his blue eyes sparkled in his handsome bronzed face was no reason to go all stupid over the man. He was probably a total dud in bed.

After all, who wanted to sleep with a guy whose shoulders were wide from some kind of manual labor, whose hard thigh had pressed on hers, whose strong forearms would be more than able to hold his weight as he moved on top of her…. She drank more wine. “Oh, my, looks like I drank it all. I’ll just go get a refill.” She needed to catch her breath and stood, but he came out of the booth right after her.

He plucked her empty glass from her hand, his firm, callused fingers brushing hers. His white, straight teeth flashed in the dim light, his lips perfectly curved around them. “And what kind of Aphrodisian would I be if I let a lovely visitor get her own wine?”

For a split second, Cara thought he had said aphrodisiac. Oh, yes, Yannis Petrides was a potent aphrodisiac for her, judging from how her breathing had sped up and her nipples had tightened under the baggy black linen dress. She tossed a look Emma’s way, but she was engrossed in dark-eyed Nick.

Yannis seemed to pick up on her nervousness. “Will you still be here when I come back with your wine, Cara?” he asked quietly. “Or will you run like a frightened maiden from the pursuits of the Old Ones?”

He meant like the girls who tried to escape the amorous attentions of Apollo and Zeus in Greek mythology. Cara tipped her chin up at him. “Why? Are you going to turn me into a tree if I don’t return your attentions?”

He grinned again. “Ah, very good. You do know our stories.”

“Since I didn’t see Apollo’s sun-chariot parked outside the taverna, I think I’m safe. And I don’t run.” At least not anymore.

“Good. Although if you spend much time here, you’ll find Greek men enjoy the chase.”

“But do you know what to do once you’ve caught your prey?” she retorted, annoyed yet aroused at the idea of him chasing her.

Yannis gave her a long sweeping look from her feet to her rapidly heating face. “I can’t say for other men, but yes, I definitely do.”

YANNIS BLEW OUT a long breath as he stood at the bar waiting for Cara’s red wine. He’d planned to go out for a few drinks with his old friend Niko Theodoridis, listen to some live music, and maybe talk about the latest football matches. But he’d never expected to meet the girl he’d almost run down earlier. He felt a bit guilty, speeding down a narrow alley and then shouting at her for not paying attention. She hadn’t understood his Greek, but had sure understood his message, giving it back to him in full measure.

He grinned. When he’d seen her beautiful blue eyes and the fiery red hair poking out from her ugly beach hat, she could have called him the son of a motherless goat and he would have just stood there and nodded.

Why was redheaded Cara here and not at an obnoxious tourist bar? Niko had tried to convince him to go to one of them since Niko had a thing for blondes, but Yannis had not wanted the lights and noise tonight.

Not to say he hadn’t planned to find Cara. He had seen her shopping bag from the store where his cousin Niki worked and would have asked Niki about her tomorrow.

“Yannis!” Niko thumped him on the shoulder and ordered two white wines, what the blond girl had been drinking. While the bartender poured, Niko leaned his back on the bar and rested his elbows on top. “You’re a great friend, man.” His grin spread from ear to ear.

“What for?”

“For picking such a great place tonight.”

They’d both been there dozens of times. “Glad I could find you your blond girl.” Not really. Niko put too much store in looks. “It’s been, what? A couple weeks since the last?”

“Yeah, Monika went back to Sweden in May. I’ve been lonely ever since.”

Yannis shrugged. Niko liked the tourist girls because one, they left for home before things got awkward; two, they weren’t related to him as half the girls on Aphrodisias were; and three, his mother was certainly not going to pressure him to marry some foreigner from Scandinavia, Great Britain, or God forbid, America.

The bartender passed them the wineglasses, and the men paid. Niko took a sip from his white and grimaced. “Give me a beer anytime.”

“So get a beer.” That actually sounded good to Yannis, so he ordered one.

Niko shook his head. “No, the girls like it if you drink the same thing they are. Makes you look more compatible.”

“Whatever.” Yannis reached into his pocket to pay for his beer, but Niko tossed some euros on the bar.

“This one’s on me—as a thanks for distracting that redhead so I can get a little alone time with Emma.”

“What?” Yannis set his bottle down on the bar with a decided thunk. “You think I’m talking with her as a favor to you?”

“Why else? It’s not like you can see her body under that awful dress, and her hair’s so red and pulled into that braid thingie.” Niko made a face.

Well, if Niko couldn’t see anything but blatant charms, Yannis wasn’t about to point out the generous curves of Cara’s breasts and hips that even that dress couldn’t hide. And as for her hair…it was the color of the sun as it set over the western coast. Loose, it would drape over her pale shoulders like the painting of Aphrodite rising from the sea that he’d seen on a trip to Florence.

Yannis picked up his beer and Cara’s wine. “Let’s get back to the ladies, shall we? They might think we’ve ditched them and left.”

Niko’s look of alarm was almost amusing enough to distract him from his lustful thoughts of Cara. Almost, but not quite.

“WOW, CARA, you really picked a great place tonight.” Emma had stars in her eyes. “This Nick guy is so-o-o-o cute.”

“Great.” This was not what Cara had planned. None of it. Vespa-Boy had a name—Yannis Petrides.

Cara listened halfheartedly while Emma chattered about Nick’s manly charms. “Don’t you think that sounds fun, Cara?”

“What?” Cara dragged her thoughts away from Yannis and focused on her friend.

“Double-dating. Maybe if tonight goes well, we can go out with Nick and his friend again. Nick seems fun, and Ya—Ya—”

“Yannis,” Cara supplied.

“Whatever his name is, he sure seems into you.” Emma giggled. “With him around, you can forget about that hippie hiker you were eyeing earlier.”

Cara fought the urge to tell her that Greek men wore sandals, too, and usually despite extremely hairy feet, as well. “I just don’t want to get involved with a Greek guy, Emma. They have the home field advantage, and they don’t go home at the end of the week. I’d rather not spend the rest of the summer ducking down alleys to avoid running into the guy again. Too awkward.”

Emma waved a hand negligently. “Who cares? Move on to the next guy.”

Cara shook her head. Emma just didn’t understand how a small Greek island worked. “All these guys grew up together and half of them are related to each other. It would be like dumping a guy and then dating his brother or cousin.”

“I’m the one going home at the end of the summer, so who cares what the guys think? Besides, if Nick turns out to be as hot as I think he is, I won’t need to look any further.”

“As long as you have a plan,” Cara commented drily.

“You should seriously consider following the same plan. What happens on Aphrodisias stays on Aphrodisias. Oh, look, here they come.”

Cara hadn’t needed Emma to tell her that. Her guy-dar had gone off as soon as Yannis was within ten feet of her.

He slid in the booth next to her. “Your wine, despinis,” he announced with the suavity of an experienced waiter. Across the table, Nick delivered a white wine to Emma.

Cute. He’d called her miss. “Thank you.” Cara took several sips while she thought of something to say. “This wine isn’t what I had before.”

“You like it? It’s one of the island’s vintages. The bartender usually saves it for the locals.”

Cara could already feel its headier buzz rushing through her veins and wondered if he was trying to get her tipsy. “I guess it’s okay.” She felt as if she’d kicked a puppy when Yannis’s face fell. “Well, you must not like it, since you’re drinking a beer.”

“I like it fine. My grandfather makes it from his vineyard.” His sentences were short and clipped.

“Oh.” Well, that certainly was an uncomfortable exchange. She toyed with the stem of her wineglass and looked anywhere but at Yannis.

Her gaze fell on Emma. Her alcohol intolerance was kicking in, and she gave a big yawn before snuggling on Nick’s shoulder.

Cara needed to draw this evening to a close. “Emma, time to go.” Her friend blinked a couple times and then shut her eyes.

“What?” Nick protested. “We just got here. The dancing hasn’t even started.” He wrapped an arm around Emma’s shoulders.

“We also just got here from overseas. Emma’s barely conscious thanks to the booze and jet lag.” Cara tugged her friend out from under his overfriendly embrace. “Besides, Greek men can dance with each other. You two should go for a spin.”

Nick gave her a blank look, but Yannis snorted and replied to his friend in Greek, “Look, Niko, they obviously don’t want to hang around with us.”

“But the blonde does—”

“Her friend’s right. She’s almost passed out. What fun is that?”

Cara broke in then, “Excuse me, please, Yannis.” She scooted into him, and her hip pressed along his. The long muscles of his thigh flexed at the contact, and she felt an answering pull. “Yannis?”

He shook his head and stood, letting her slide free. Emma fussed a bit, but straggled after her.

“You sure you can get her back to your hotel?” Yannis asked. “We can walk with you.” Nick was pouting into his wineglass and didn’t bother seconding Yannis’s offer.

“No, thanks. We’re not far.” Cara tugged Emma’s elbow.

“Nick, we’re at the Aphrodite Bay Villas, Apartment Three,” Emma announced loudly, unfortunately not drunk enough to forget their hotel information. “Call me.”

Nick raised his head and a grin erased his sulky expression. “How do you Americans say it? Oh, yes. Count on it.”

Probably too far into the busy season to find another hotel. Oh, well, Emma was a big girl, and hell-bent on getting her Greek groove on. In the meantime, Cara would try for a handsome tourist who’d be off to another island once the ferry arrived.

“Good night, then.” Yannis gave her a curt nod and sat next to Nick. He reached for her wine and raised it mockingly. “Yia sou.” He toasted her and drained the glass dry. “Ah, delicious. I’ll have to tell my pappous what a good job he did on this vintage. There’s a good reason we save it for ourselves and don’t waste it on tourists.”

She spun on her heel but forgot she was still holding onto Emma, who teetered dangerously on her flimsy shoes. Emma threw her arms around Cara’s shoulders for balance and Cara staggered a bit under the weight. “Come on, Em, straighten up,” she muttered, peeling Emma off her.

“Eh, it’s okay here for women to dance together, too, but most of them wait for the music,” Yannis called.

Cara tossed him a nasty glance and stalked off. The dignity of their exit was ruined, however, by Emma blowing a kiss to the men and giggling again.

Cara finally got them out the door into the warm Grecian night and steered Emma uphill to their villa.

“Cara, the blue-eyed guy likes you! Could be something special.”

Cara groaned. Since meeting Yannis Petrides for the very first time less than eight hours ago, he had almost run her down, she had chewed him out on the street, he had tried to get her tipsy and she had insulted his beloved grandfather’s wine. Special wasn’t the word that came to mind, but the other words that did would shock even a drunken Emma.

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