They set sail for Naxos, where they would put in for the night. Honey longed for a bath, but their fresh water supply was limited, so she did her best at the basin that sat on the dry sink.
Effie opened the door and stepped inside, pinning her mistress with a look of disapproval. “Where were you all afternoon?”
Honey dabbed at her neck; the pulse at the base of her throat throbbed hot against the cloth. “We went for a walk along the beach.”
“I remind you, mistress, that he is a dangerous man.”
Honey dipped the cloth into the basin, twisted out the excess water, and then washed her arms. She glanced at Effie and said, “I know.”
Effie’s surprise at her admission showed on her face. “Then why do you go with him?”
Honey returned her gaze to the mirror above the washstand. Her eyes shone as did her hair after she had brushed it repeatedly to remove the sand. “In spite of everything, Effie, he is a good companion. I learned much from him today; he knows these islands well.” And he knows how to manipulate my body.
Effie was quiet and Honey watched her in the mirror. Her maid looked troubled. “You don’t believe me.”
Effie’s gaze went to the mirror and their glances met. “What? Oh, no. I believe you, mistress.”
Honey stopped bathing, in tune with Effie’s moods. “Then, what’s wrong?”
Numerous emotions swept across Effie’s face, and then she said, “The other one, he is dangerous, too.”
Surprised, Honey said, “Cosmos?”
Effie pressed both of her palms to her chest and inhaled sharply. “Something is happening in here,” she said, striking her breastbone. “I feel he is a thief, stealing my heart.”
Relief washed over Honey, and she went to her maid and pressed her hands to her shoulders. “Oh, dear. It shouldn’t be painful.” Yet she knew that it was; she, too, felt the pain of something that she couldn’t admit to—a need for Nick Stamos that would very likely never be assuaged.
Later, after they were both in bed, Honey discovered she couldn’t sleep. Small wonder; her every thought was filled with Nick and his erotic sensuality.
When she had planned her escapade, she purchased the “French cup” from a shady street vendor in Athens so she wouldn’t get pregnant. She still kept it, although she didn’t plan to use it.
And what about today?
She turned on her side and stared at the porthole. The moon shone through the window, bathing the room in an eerie glow. She knew her cycle; she would not be fertile. She was in no danger of becoming pregnant. And she would not succumb to his charms again.
Cursing, she glanced at the snoring Effie, rolled to her side and turned up the flame on her lamp, her gaze dropping to the stack of books on the shelf below.
She pulled out the top book, opened it and felt a twinge deep in her pelvis. She studied the title: Origin of the World, by Gustave Courbet. It was a graphic, very provocative painting of a woman’s genitals. Very little else could be seen, other than her torso and the tops of her open thighs which revealed a thick pelt of dark hair that tapered down over pouting vaginal lips. One hard-nippled breast peeped out from the sheet, suggesting her arousal.
In the margin Nick had written: “Courbet loved women, loved the essence of them, the visceral part of them that was so different from a man.”
It was insane to look at the pictures; they were only painful reminders of her weakness for Nick.
She tossed the book aside, turned down the lamp and prayed for sleep.
But their kiss earlier in the afternoon gnawed at her. She had meant to give him a peck, but the moment she had felt his lips beneath hers, she wanted more. And the feeling that had spiraled through her was addictive. She doubted that one could ever truly rid oneself of an addiction. She must kiss him again, just to find out for sure.
Yes, that’s what she would have to do. Kiss him again, just to be sure.
Her tiny voice told her it was only an excuse; she simply wanted to kiss him again.
The next morning, the sun hadn’t even risen before she was awake and anxious to go topside. After dressing in the same clothes she had worn the day before, she crept from the cabin, relieved that she hadn’t awakened Effie.
Twice during the night her maid had awoke and been sick; she needed to sleep.
On deck, she discovered Cosmos fishing with an elaborate pole and an apparatus fastened around him.
She strolled to him. “Good morning.”
He winked, and then nodded toward the fishing gear. “You want to try?”
Surprised, she said, “Me?”
He unfastened the harness and gestured toward her. “You try.”
“Really? Are you sure?” She felt a surge of excitement as he removed the harness and helped her into it.
“Sit here,” he ordered, motioning to a chair. “Put feet here,” he said, nodding toward the flat board that had been nailed to the decking.
He handed her the pole, and then stood behind her, guiding her movements.
“What are we fishing for, Cosmos?”
He laughed, sounding very much like Nick. It touched a special place inside her.
“For anything that takes the bait.”
She settled against the back of the seat and held the pole, mindful of how it fit into the small vial-shaped leather apparatus between her legs. “Why don’t you use nets?”
Cosmos shrugged. “Don’t need that much fish.”
She gazed at the sunrise. “I don’t recall seeing many fishing boats out during the day. They all seem to be docked at the marina.”
“Fishermen fish at night, haul their catches to the market in the morning. Fish always fresh,” Cosmos said. After a moment, he added, “Tell me about Effie Panopoulos.”
Honey stopped a smile. “Effie was born in Athens. I believe her father was a soldier. Effie must be like him, for she has the heart of a warrior.”
Cosmos tilted his head and looked at her. “How so?”
Honey gazed out onto the sparkling water. “When we speak of Crete and its hostilities, she becomes very supportive of the reasons they are at war. She even threatens to join the conflict.” Honey covertly glanced at Cosmos, who was smiling.
“She is a woman with a tiger in her heart,” he mused.
Honey stifled another smile, assuming that was a good thing.
Nick watched them from a distance. Honey DeHaviland was a puzzle. She was raised to be a lady; she had all of the qualities that would serve her well in any upper class household. Yet she had a passion and sensuality that she couldn’t control, at least not with him.
And she was comfortable with anyone, it seemed, for here she was, sitting casually in the fishing seat, her bare feet propped up against the board, the rod between her legs and her skirt hiked up to her knees, carrying on an informal conversation with his uncle.
Her calves were shapely, her ankles small, as were her feet. He ached to caress them again, to kiss her delicate instep.
Suddenly the pole bobbed and she shrieked. “Cosmos! There’s something on the line!”
Nick strode up behind her and held her hands. “Hold on tight,” he ordered.
Briefly surprised, she glanced up at him. “I’ve caught something.” Her eyes were shining with excitement.
He leaned forward, his nose pressed close to her ear, her scent, mingled with the crisp morning air, teasing him. “Don’t let go.”
“Oh! What is it? What should I do? Tell me what to do!”
“Don’t jerk the line. Easy, easy,” he said, showing her how to release just a little bit of line, allowing the fish to believe it had a chance before pulling back.
The side of her neck was smooth and clear and the skin above her cleavage equally so. Her breasts quivered slightly because of her hold on the pole, and her arms, beginning to tan from only one day in the sun, were smoothly muscled beneath the delicate skin. She began to shake.
“Do you want me to take over?”
She shook her head vehemently. “No. No. I can do it; I can, really.”
She had determination. But he had known that, hadn’t he?
In less than an hour, they had pulled in a moderate sized swordfish. From the look of sheer delight on Honey’s face, one would have thought she had hooked a treasure chest filled with gold.
Nick had quietly hoped she would give up. It would have given him a reason not to believe she was the exceptional woman that he knew, deep in his heart that she was.
Earlier in the morning, Nick had slid from his bed and gone topside. In the lavender light of dawn, the huge, stone portal of the remnants of the ancient temple to Apollo dominated the Naxos harbor. According to Greek mythology, Naxos was where the heroic young Theseus jilted the beautiful Ariadne so he wouldn’t invite the wrath of the god, Dionysus, who wanted the daughter of King Minos for himself.
On Naxos was Greece’s highest peak, Mount Zeus. And Naxiots were among the most talented musicians and versifiers in all of Greece.
A sound from his cabin made him realize that Honey was awake. He’d called her an enigma; she was more than that. On the one hand she appeared vulnerable and grounded, for she came from a solid, Christian background. Yet she had purchased some sort of birth control device that she believed would keep her safe from pregnancy so she could sleep with strangers.
For a brief moment that knowledge had bothered him; he didn’t know why. Actually, it should have delighted him. What man in his right mind wouldn’t want to bed a pretty, young, eager woman who took measures to prevent pregnancy into her own hands? It was as if every man’s dream woman had been dropped into his lap.
She was pretty, clean, innocent, protected against the cursed pregnancy, and, although not an obvious eager partner, he knew what to do to make her one. Yet that, too, bothered him, because he knew he shouldn’t tempt her, for she was someone else’s betrothed. But he had tempted her yesterday and she had succumbed. He would tempt her again, despite her determination not to surrender again.
But what truly nagged at him was their kiss the day before. When she had bent to kiss him, he had experienced something he’d never felt. A longing, a yearning that wasn’t like anything he could remember.
He was a fool to dwell on it and he certainly didn’t want to examine it.