Bound to the Greek (17 page)

Now she felt both a little self-conscious and refreshingly relaxed, the sun warm on her face, her hair curling in the heat. She had not blow-dried it that morning into her usual sleek, glossy bob.

‘So where are we going?’ she asked Jace as he struck out down the dirt track that led in the opposite direction they’d come the night before. ‘Where
is
there to go on this island?’

‘I thought I’d show you the sights,’ Jace replied easily. ‘As few of them as they are.’

They walked in companionable silence for a quarter of an hour, the only sound the rustle of wind in the olive trees that lined the track and the shoosh of the surf on the rocks below them. Then they rounded a curve and came face to face with a goat.

Eleanor skidded to a halt, an uneasy alarm creeping over her that was a step or two down from pure panic. Jace, who had kept walking, stopped when he realised she hadn’t kept up. He glanced behind him, his eyebrows arching as he saw her frozen stance.

‘Eleanor… you’re not scared of a goat?’

‘Not scared precisely,’ she corrected him stiffly. ‘I’m a city kid, Jace. Most animals I see are safely behind cages.’

‘These goats are harmless,’ Jace assured her. ‘I promise.’ As if to contradict him, the goat bleated loudly. Eleanor jumped. She’d never thought a bleat could sound so menacing. ‘Just walk past her,’ Jace assured her. ‘She won’t even care.’

‘How do you know it’s a she?’

‘Her name is on the bell.’ He pointed to the tarnished bell hanging around the goat’s scruffy neck. ‘See? Tisiphone.’

‘Tisiphone? Isn’t that one of the Furies?’

‘Spiro likes Greek mythology,’ Jace said quickly. He sounded earnest, but Eleanor could see he was trying not to smile. ‘Honestly, it’s no more than that.’

‘And not the fact that these goats might be bad-tempered?’ Eleanor countered. ‘Like you told me this morning?’

‘Only when on boats.’

Eleanor laughed, the sound rising from within her, freeing her somehow, loosening all those tightly held parts of herself. She wasn’t
really
afraid. Well, maybe only a little. But with Jace standing just a few feet away, smiling, relaxed, his eyes warm and steady on her, she felt as if she could do anything. She could certainly walk past a goat.

Taking a deep breath, Eleanor marched rather quickly past the animal, her head held high. She let out her breath in a long shaky shudder as Jace put his arm around her shoulder.

‘See? Not so bad.’

‘Not so cute, either,’ she muttered, and he gave out a shout of laughter, pulling her close to his side.

The contact, the intimacy, both physical and emotional, stole the breath from her lungs. She had missed this so much. This closeness, this connection. This was what being known was all about: letting another person see all the silly and stupid and sick parts of yourself, as well as all the wonderful and beautiful things. All of it, everything, out there, exposed, accepted. She craved it, and yet still it scared her.

‘We need to climb now,’ Jace told her, sparing her sneakers a single, dubious glance before he led her off the dirt road and straight into the scrubby hills dotted with lavender bushes and the twisted, gnarled trunks of olive trees. ‘Careful. You can sprain your ankle on one of these loose rocks.’

Nodding, Eleanor picked her way carefully across the tumbled boulders. She stumbled once, and Jace was there in an instant, his hand holding hers with firm tenderness. Even when she’d righted herself he didn’t let go.

They walked through the hills for another quarter of an hour before Jace stopped in what appeared to be nothing more than a rock-strewn meadow and nodded in approval. ‘Here we are.’

‘What—?’

‘Look,’ he said softly. ‘Do you see?’

Eleanor looked around, taking in the scrubby bushes and twisted trees, the rocks lying in neat rows… and then she saw. Out of the wilderness there was order, the crumbling foundations of a house—many houses—hidden among the scrub.

‘It was a village,’ Jace said quietly. ‘Two thousand years ago.’ He walked over to a low wall and touched one of the ancient stones. ‘I’ve done a little amateur archaeology, and found a few bits. Clay pots, a broken pipe. Fascinating stuff.’

Eleanor walked between two rows of walls, realising after a moment she was actually walking down a street. It was beautiful, eerie, and a little sad. ‘What happened?’ she asked as she stepped in the gap between two walls: a doorway. ‘Why did it all fall to ruin?’

Jace shrugged. ‘A flood, a famine, plague or pirates? Who knows? Something happened that forced them to flee—but I did a little research to find out where they all went.’

Eleanor turned around. ‘They went somewhere?’

He nodded, smiling. ‘Yes, there’s an archaeological dig on Naxos that shows some of the same pieces of pottery and
sculpture that were here. Historians think it’s likely that they took a boat over there and started again.’

‘Just like the goat.’

‘Exactly.’

They lapsed into silence and Eleanor gazed at all the ruined houses, now no more than lines of stone in the dirt. She could make out an entire village now, a whole society, and she felt a strange pang of sorrow. ‘And they never came back?’ she asked, hearing a wistful note in her voice.

Jace glanced around at the ruins, bemused. ‘So it would appear.’

‘I suppose they learned you can never go back,’ Eleanor said. Her words sounded heavy, too heavy, and she wondered what she was really talking about.

Jace glanced at her sharply, clearly aware of the double entendre. ‘No, you can’t,’ he agreed. ‘But you can always go forward. Like they did.’ He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. Eleanor let him, let him lead her back down the hillside. ‘And forward is better,’ he continued lightly. ‘You should see the ruins at Naxos. Now those are amazing.’

Eleanor laughed, glad the moment had been defused. She didn’t want to feel sad or worried or afraid. She just wanted to enjoy being with Jace.

And she was. That was the wonderful thing, she thought as they walked back down the dusty road. Somehow Jace had managed to dispel her fears and her worries, and she felt carefree and relaxed as she let the wind blow her tangled hair away from her face, her hand still held in Jace’s.

By the time they reached the villa, Eleanor was hot and sweaty, and when Jace suggested a swim she accepted with alacrity.

Yet as she slipped into the relatively modest one-piece she’d brought she found herself conscious of all the bare skin she was showing… all the bare skin
Jace
would be showing, and her temperature soared higher.

He was already at the beach when she arrived, a towel
wrapped firmly around her waist. Eleanor couldn’t tear her gaze away from him; his chest gleamed bronze and he walked with a loose-limbed elegance, every muscle rippling with easy power. He looked wonderful, amazing, and her body kicked into gear, her heart thudding and a lazy warmth spiralling upwards inside her. He turned and smiled at her, his warm gaze sweeping over her with obvious appreciation. Eleanor’s whole body tingled.

Jace stretched out his hand. ‘Come on in. The water’s fine this time of year.’

Despite the warmth of the sun, Eleanor thought the churning waves looked decidedly chilly. ‘It’s quite early to swim, isn’t it?’ she asked, chewing her lower lip. ‘It’s still only March.’

‘End of March,’ Jace replied and dived neatly into the water.

Emboldened, Eleanor followed suit. Seconds later she felt as if her entire body had been encased in ice. ‘Aargh!’ She came up gasping and choking on a mouthful of salt water. Finding her footing on the sandy bottom, she glared at Jace. ‘It’s freezing!’

‘Bracing, we call it,’ Jace replied with a grin. ‘And didn’t you grow up spending your summers on Long Island? You should be used to this!’

‘We never swam in March,’ Eleanor grumbled, but she was laughing inside, and she couldn’t contain her grin as she struck out through the water to be near Jace.

They swam for nearly an hour, laughing and playing in the water, until Jace informed Eleanor that her lips were blue. Before she could form a protest, he’d scooped her up in his arms, holding her against his chest as he strode from the sea. Eleanor’s laughter died in her throat as she pressed her cheek against Jace’s bare, dripping chest—she just couldn’t help herself—and let him take her into the villa.

He carried her all the way upstairs, to her bedroom door, and there he set her down, her body sliding sinuously against his before he steadied her on her feet. Their faces were inches
apart and Eleanor didn’t speak, couldn’t speak. All she could do was wait, breathless, for Jace to kiss her.

He didn’t. Smiling, he touched her cheek with his cold fingers and said, ‘I’ll see you at dinner. Seven o’clock. And don’t wear another black business suit. I want it to be special.’ Pressing one finger against her lips—which parted instinctively—he left.

Shivering, aching with desire, Eleanor sagged against her door. What did Jace mean by special? And why hadn’t he kissed her again? It must have been glaringly obvious that she wanted him to, that she’d been waiting for him to.

Sighing, Eleanor turned inside to her bedroom. Dinner seemed ages away.

Jace strode from the villa, whistling. He felt good, relaxed,
happy.
It made him aware of how long it had been since he’d felt that way, how Eleanor made him feel that way. He’d come to Boston all those years ago looking for a new beginning, a new life away from his father and his disappointment. He’d thought he’d found it with Eleanor. And maybe he hadn’t then—but maybe he could now.

This afternoon had surprised him with its simple pleasures. He’d loved being with Eleanor, loved seeing her relaxed and happy as he had been. And, he realised, he’d loved being with
this
Eleanor, the one who had grown and changed yet still had glimmers of the woman she’d once been, the one he’d known. The youthful naiveté might be gone, but it had been replaced with something better and deeper: strength, as well as courage. He admired Eleanor for both what she’d endured and achieved. And more than admired, Jace acknowledged, which made him think of a dusty trophy or distant celebrity

Yet what did he feel for Eleanor? What was he doing here? What were
they
doing?

The tuneless whistle died on his lips as he considered the question. He’d loved spending time with Eleanor, but did he
love her? Was he taking her heart in his hands, only to be poised to break it?

To hurt her—destroy her, even? Again.

Or as he’d said before, could they go forward, which was so much better than going back, and build something new? Something amazing?

Jace closed his eyes. He hated that he was afraid. He wanted her so much—he’d nearly accepted her silent invitation back at her bedroom door?but he didn’t want to hurt her. Yet hurt and love came hand in hand, because when someone trusted you—cared for you—you were bound, at some point, to let them down.

Or was
he
the one afraid of getting hurt?

Jace opened his eyes. He knew there were no answers. He wouldn’t let his own questions—his own doubts—stop him from what was surely the sweetest time of his life. These days with Eleanor were precious, and he wouldn’t waste them. He would treasure and savour them.

He hadn’t kissed Eleanor this afternoon because he’d wanted to wait, he wanted to be sure she was ready in both her heart and her body.

As his own body made the insistent ache of its unsatisfied desire known Jace hoped Eleanor would be ready tonight.

He certainly was.

The sun was just starting to sink below the sea, causing its placid surface to shimmer with golden light, as Eleanor slipped on the cocktail dress she’d brought. She glanced at her reflection, lips pursed as she wondered if she was trying too hard.

The dress was sexy, probably the sexiest thing she owned. The stretchy material crossed in front, the plunging neckline accentuating the curve of her breasts. She wore a sparkly snowflake pendant she’d found at a market stall in Greenwich Village, and it nestled snugly between her breasts. The dress’s skirt ended above her knees and swirled out as she walked, the silky material caressing her bare legs. She left her hair
loose and her face free of make-up; the dress, she decided, was enough.

Slipping on a pair of high-heeled black sandals, she headed downstairs to meet Jace. From the top of the stairway she saw a spill of light coming from the living room, and her heart began to beat so fiercely she was sure Jace would be able to see it through the thin fabric of her dress.

Taking a deep breath, she entered the room. Jace turned as soon as he heard her, a smile lightening and softening his features. He wore a crisp white shirt and a pair of dark trousers, both exquisitely tailored and speaking of casual elegance. His admiring gaze swept her from head to toe, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

‘I thought I said no black.’

Eleanor pretended to pout. ‘This is hardly a business suit.’

‘No, indeed it is not.’ Wicked humour glinted in his eyes and Eleanor’s heart picked up its pace so it felt as if it were struggling right out of her throat. She felt so nervous, and yet so alive, so happy. It was scary, feeling this much. Feeling this happy.

‘I thought we’d eat on the terrace. It’s a warm night.’

‘Sounds good.’

‘May I get you a drink beforehand?’ Jace gestured to the array of drinks displayed on an antique table.

‘Um, no. Just wine with dinner.’ She smiled, resisting the urge to wipe her palms down the sides of her dress. Her voice sounded strained, shaky, and, seeing that Jace noticed, she let out a little laugh. ‘It’s strange, but I feel nervous.’

He arched an eyebrow. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know,’ Eleanor admitted. ‘I suppose… because… this all feels so new. Like we’re starting over.’

‘We are.’ His smile warmed her straight through, and she felt her body tingle with awareness and longing and something deeper… hope. Faith. Maybe it would be all right. Maybe this could work. Maybe they
could
start over. She smiled back.

Jace reached for her hand. ‘Come. Let’s go out to the terrace.’