Honey slipped into the house before anyone was awake. She poked her head into her maid’s room, and found dear Effie snoring softly.
She tiptoed to her own bed chamber and quietly closed the door. As she removed her clothes, she had a new awareness of her body. And although she hadn’t been a virgin—she’d taken care of that pesky detail years ago—she might as well have been, for it was all so new to her, so unlike the first time.
It was perfect. Everything had been, like it was pre-ordained. Even the drunken sailors had played their parts as if scripted. She smiled. Poor saps; they had been no match for her tall, handsome rescuer.
Her thoughts lingered on the dark stranger who had given her so much pleasure. It had been magical, maybe because she was determined to follow through with her plan and the ouzo had mellowed her.
Earlier this morning, as she watched him sleep, she had studied him. His hair, black as pitch, had been mussed. Loose, untamed curls lounged on his head, tumbling over his forehead. Dark stubble covered his cheeks and jaw, enhancing the redness of his lips, which had so skillfully brought her pleasure. She had ached to touch the angry bruise on his chin but had resisted the urge; she didn’t want him awake.
As he slept, he’d kicked off the sheet, revealing a chest that was covered with thick dark hair that tapered at his waist, then thickened again around his flaccid member.
She remembered smiling, for although it was not entirely small at rest, it was remarkably large when aroused. She had been surprised that all of him had fit so perfectly inside her.
Now, she stood naked before her mirror and studied herself with a critical eye. She was no beauty. Her hair was perhaps her finest feature, yet it was not proper to wear it down, nor was it comfortable, for the heat, although dry, often penetrated into the bones. Truthfully, there had been times when she’d wished she could cut it off.
Her figure was average. Her breasts were of average size, their nipples pale and uninteresting. She touched one and it immediately puckered as she vividly recalled his mouth as it had suckled there. A wicked, shameless feeling raced deep into her pelvis.
Her gaze went lower, to the thatch of curls that were, indeed, a few shades lighter than those on her head, just as he’d described them. In truth, she had not examined her body in such detail before; she’d had no interest in doing so.
In the harsh light of day, none of what she’d experienced seemed real, and she might have convinced herself that it hadn’t happened if she didn’t still feel every sensation he’d stirred up within her the night before.
With the tips of her fingers she grazed her curls, sucking in an automatic breath when she felt the molten tingling that lingered. Oh, the feelings he’d summoned up within her!
She was upset that she couldn’t stop thinking about him. As she dressed, she thought about the enormity of what she’d done. If she were found out, her father’s name would be scandalized.
Studying her clothed form in the mirror, she shook herself of all thoughts of her adventurous night from her mind. She had too many details to tend to before she left for Crete to let anything sidetrack her now.
She went downstairs into the kitchen and drank a cup of coffee while she prepared her father’s breakfast of green figs, yogurt and tea. As she finished her second cup, their cook, Idola, entered drenched in black, her glass worry beads looped around her neck.
“Good morning,” Honey said as she placed a cloth over her father’s breakfast tray.
Idola nodded, and then peered into Honey’s empty cup, which revealed the dark coffee grounds. Giving them a long, hard look, she glanced at Honey, shook her head and spat out, prophetically, a string of words that Honey couldn’t grasp.
Honey walked toward the door. “You know I can’t understand you when you speak so fast, Idola.”
Idola strode to Honey’s side and squeezed her arm, making Honey flinch. “You do bad. You be bad. You end bad.”
Honey’s stomach dropped. Idola’s claim to have the ability to read coffee grounds had been a source of quiet amusement to Honey since they had hired her. As Honey returned to her room to study her Greek, she began to wonder if the woman actually had a gift.
She must have fallen asleep, for suddenly voices woke her. She stepped to the window—and her heart sank.
Her father sat at the glass table in the courtyard, visiting with her tall, dark rescuer. What in the devil was he doing here, and how did he know where to find her?
She was both furious and frightened. Lifting her skirts, she sailed from her room, down the stairs and into the sunny courtyard, her heart bumping her ribs.
Her father looked up as she slid to a stop. “Honey? I say, dear, what’s this about an incident at the marketplace yesterday? You didn’t tell me something adverse had happened.”
She studied the stranger, and then slowly turned to her father. “Incident?”
The dream man stepped forward, his back to her father, his dark eyes hard and his lips curving into a cunning smile. “My name is Nick Stamos.” He bowed, took her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it. Before releasing it he stroked her palm with his thumb, causing her stomach to jump. Then he raised his gaze to hers. “Honey, is it?”
She nodded dumbly.
What does it taste like?
Like honey.
“I was just telling your father about the two thugs who collided with you at the marketplace yesterday.”
Honey eyed him sharply, noting that the black and blue knot on his jaw was more pronounced than it had been earlier that morning. She finally found her voice. “At the marketplace?”
“Yes. I hope I haven’t made a mistake,” he continued quickly. “A friend of your father’s told me it was you who had been hassled, and I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“Oh,” she murmured, enlightenment dawning. “Yes. Well, I’m fine, thank you so very much for your concern.”
“Sit down and have a cup of coffee, Mr. Stamos,” her father offered. “That’s the least we can do.”
“Well, I—”
Honey took his arm. “I’m sure Mr. Stamos has many important things to do this morning, Papa, we shouldn’t detain him.”
“Not at all,” her rescuer said, extricating himself from her grip and taking a chair across from her father.
“I say, that’s excellent,” her father said, fairly beaming at the man. “Honey, why not get Mr. Stamos a pot of coffee? Or,” he added, gracing him with a congenial look, “perhaps tea?”
Mr. Stamos’s smile was bland but his eyes held a bit of mischief, she was sure. “Coffee, please, and I like it black.”
Frustrated that she’d been dismissed, Honey hurried into the kitchen. “Idola, please prepare coffee for father’s guest.”
Idola peeked out the kitchen window, glanced back at Honey with narrowed lids, but kept silent as she went about her task.
Honey hung about the open door out of sight, but tried to hear what they were saying. Surely the man wouldn’t divulge any more information than he already had.
But she had to wonder why he stayed. Certainly it wasn’t to chat with her father, for whatever would they have to talk about? Her?
Her stomach clutched.
When Idola announced the coffee was ready, Honey picked up the tray and rushed back outside. She placed the tray on the table and then took a seat next to her father, intent on getting in on the conversation, if for no other reason than her own curiosity and self-preservation.
“Honey, my dear,” her father said, “where are those date scones Idola baked yesterday? I’m sure Mr. Stamos would appreciate something to eat with his coffee.”
She glared across the table at the dream man, willing him to say that it wasn’t necessary, but he disappointed her.
“That would be very nice, sir. Thank you. And if it’s no bother, I’d like some honey to go with them.” He gave Honey another bland smile, although again, his eyes were twinkling and it annoyed her.
Suppressing the urge to curse, she returned to the kitchen, took out a scone and some clotted cream, plopped them on a plate, and hurried back outside.
The dream man looked at the tray, bemused, although his eyes still sparkled. “What, no honey? A pity.”
Honey gave him her most dangerous look.
“Mr. Stamos here was telling me that he lives on a boat. Interesting, wouldn’t you say, my dear?”
She gave the dream man her own bland smile. “Yes, I suppose, although I personally don’t find boats all that interesting, or exciting, for that matter.”
“Indeed not?” The dream man’s eyes bored into hers, as if willing her to remember the excitement of the night before.
She sat up straight and smoothed her hair, affecting an air of disinterest. “No. After all, once you’re upon the water, there’s no place to go. There’s no place to escape to if one needs to be alone—or to get away from someone.”
The dream man chuckled, a sound that rolled over Honey’s skin like warm retsina. “Well, I usually am alone, Miss DeHaviland, except for my uncle, Cosmos. I have yet to find anyone else with whom I want to spend that much time; hence, there is no need to escape.”
She bent her head in faint acknowledgement but said no more.
After a few moments he rose, shook her father’s hand, and said, “I must be going. Thank you, sir, for your hospitality.”
Her father nodded and smiled, and then returned to his reading.
Honey steered the man toward the gate.
“I’m grateful for your concern, Mr. Stamos, but as you can see, I’m perfectly all right.”
His gaze took in all of her, lingering on her breasts. “Yes, you were quite all right, Miss DeHaviland.”
Feeling herself blush, she unlatched the gate, stood aside, and would have shoved him out if he hadn’t gone of his own accord.
She watched him walk away, upset that he’d found her. This was not part of her plan. Not at all. She’d gone out and had her one night of freedom and now it was over. Why in the devil did he have to show up and spoil everything?
She leaned against the gate and crossed her arms as she watched his retreating form. Goodbye, Nick Stamos. Goodbye forever. She ignored the nip of regret that seeped into her body as she watched him walk out of her life.
Nick’s lips curled into a grim smile as he walked away. When he’d awakened, he’d been rather disappointed to find the woman gone, but not surprised. The thing that angered him was that he couldn’t get her out of his head, this mystery woman who showed up out of nowhere, allowed him to rescue her, then asked him to make love to her. Hell, every man’s dream! A pretty woman to sleep with and no strings attached.
He relived the night, remembering every detail of her smooth skin, her rounded breasts, her eagerness for his touch and the soft, swollen, wet and willing place between her thighs. And her orgasm—loud and uninhibited. Never had he heard a woman scream like that. There was no pretense, no faking just to make him feel good.
After his disastrous engagement all those years ago, he had decided that marriage was for other men, but not for him. He had slept with many women. He had learned how to please them, how to lie to them, how to manipulate them as he had once been manipulated, but he had never cared enough to love them.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he had once said to a friend. “I love women in general, I appreciate them for what they are, for the sexual pleasures they can give a man. I just don’t want one in my life on a permanent basis.”
And he still didn’t. But he liked to have the upper hand. The mystery woman’s disappearance while he slept had made him feel used, and he wanted to be the user, not the other way around.
That morning, he had just cleaned up and had gone up on deck when a man in a very British looking tweed suit approached the boat and asked if Miss DeHaviland was all right.
“Miss DeHaviland?” he had asked, at first puzzled.
“Yes, Honey DeHaviland.” The man then explained with considerable chagrin that he’d been coming home from a rather rowdy night and had seen the two men struggling with a woman he realized was someone he knew. He had thought to intervene, but luckily, Nick had appeared on the scene and had “—taken care of the situation handily. It wouldn’t do to get myself into any more trouble, right, my man?” He had winked at Nick.
Nick had assured the man that Miss DeHaviland was home, safe and sound. Then Nick had asked to verify her address so that he might check up on her, just to make sure.
When she had rushed into the courtyard, he’d seen the panic on her face; she hadn’t been happy to see him. In fact, she had been very anxious to get rid of him. The puzzle deepened.
She wasn’t beautiful in the classic sense. Her eyes were too wide and her mouth too full. She had a rather endearing turned up nose, and her skin was perfect, not like peaches and cream; it had more color than that. But it was her hair that he would always remember. Long, brown-sugar colored curls, streaked with shades of blond and gold, giving it depth. How appropriate that she should be called Honey. And she was really quite mouth-watering, like fresh honey from a honey pot.
It had been a while since he’d wanted to sleep with any woman more than once; Honey DeHaviland was an exception. He would eagerly crawl between her thighs once again, if given the chance.
Later on that day, a messenger arrived with a note revealing a very interesting and provocative offer from the Reverend Roland DeHaviland that convinced Nick that he might have a chance to savor the delicious Honey’s honey pot once again after all.
“You’ve done what?” Honey nearly screamed.
“I’ve booked passage for you and Effie on Mr. Stamos’ boat. He’ll take you to Crete next week,” her father repeated patiently.
Honey was incredulous. Would she never see the end of this man? Yes, she was anxious to get to Crete and begin her new life, but she truly didn’t want to be escorted there by Nick Stamos.
Why? The small, pesky voice in her head asked in a sly tone.
Because she’d seen enough of him.
Are you afraid?
No, she certainly was not afraid of him. What was there to be afraid of?
But you are afraid, the voice continued. You’re afraid of how you feel. You’re afraid you’ll want more. You’re afraid you’ll muck up the rest of your life just because he has unleashed your passions.
“Tommyrot.”
“What’s that, dear?” her father asked.
She flushed, embarrassed at her thoughts. “I said it’s tommyrot to have asked that man to take us to Crete, Papa; we don’t even know who he is, really.”
He peered up at her. “Well, I say, naturally I checked up on him before I hired him. He’s a perfectly reputable young man. Has ties to Greece. I guess he grew up here, or at least until he was eleven or twelve. He was raised in America.”
Honey sighed. “Is there any way I can talk you out of this?”
“None at all.” He looked at her, puzzled. “Why are you reluctant now? You’ve been pressuring me to get you to Crete all week. This is your chance.”
It was true. She’d been virtually hounding him to get her to Crete since she had ushered Nick Stamos off their property. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to leave; she just didn’t want Nick Stamos to accompany her. He’d been in her dreams, arousing her, causing her to wake up in dire need of what he’d given her that one night. Oh, yes, she wanted to leave, for she had thought that her dreams would stop interfering with her life once she did.
But they wouldn’t if Mr. Nick Stamos was around.