Page 37 of Love on the Rocks
Ouch, that hit hard. I hated how he was making me think about the possible repercussions of what we were planning. Yeah, I wanted to get ahead, but not at the expense of other people. But I wasn’t about to take morality lessons from a dude who’d done nothing but lie to me since I got here.
“Look, I told you. The resort is going to be good for the island. I’ll make sure of it.”
He didn’t look convinced. “Okay, well, let’s get you settled then, Mother Teresa.”
Chapter 15
Mia sipped nervously at her champagne. She could spend a week in this man’s bed if it meant her father would live. She would be sharing her body with him. What was a body anyway? Only the vessel for her soul and that he could never touch. She’d make sure of it.
- One Week with the Greek
NIKOS
“Where are we going?” Callie stared, disbelieving, at Sokratis and the wagon Giorgos had lent me.
“To your get your things,” I explained, remaining deliberately vague about where we’d be moving them. The moment would come when I’d have to admit I’d tricked her, but I didn’t want her throwing rocks at me yet. We’d had a civilized conversation this morning and I didn’t want to ruin it. My grudging respect for her had deepened, and she’d softened a bit toward me as well. That wouldn’t last though, once she learned what I’d done.
She frowned. “What do you mean ‘to get my things’?”
“You obviously can’t stay up there by yourself, and since you refuse to listen to my advice and go back home, we have to find alternative accommodations for you.”
“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows. “You’re not just going to leave me up there? Surely, you’d enjoy seeing me crawl down the mountain every day.”
“Well, when you put it that way . . .” Her eyes widened, and I laughed. Turning back around, I gestured to Sokratis. “Do you prefer to ride in the wagon or on the donkey?”
She sighed and held up her hands in resignation. “I mean, each option is humiliating in its own way, but since my ass is still bruised from riding Sokratis yesterday, I suppose I’ll try the wagon.”
I helped her up into the small wooden cart lined with a colorful old quilt. As she tucked her crutches in next to her, I took her ankle in my hands to see if the swelling had gone down.
“Hey!” She protested, eyes wide. “You should warn a girl before you manhandle her.”
“Just checking on my patient.” I released her foot, relieved that the bruising hadn’t worsened.
“Yourpatient? I’m notyouranything.” If only that were true, because since she’d arrived, she’d become my obsession.
Half an hour later, we made it up to the cottage. After tying Sokratis up to the old cedar tree, I helped her out of the wagon. “Okay, I take it back. The donkey was easy compared to this hell chariot. I’m pretty sure I got a splinter through the blanket.”
She rubbed her bottom, and I couldn’t help myself: “I can take a look at it for you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “In your dreams.”
If she only knew.
As we approached the cottage, I cringed inwardly; it was a shitty place to have put her. There were holes in the crumbling walls where sparrows had built nests, the wood of the door was bleached by the sun and barely hanging on its hinges, and when it creaked open the dark interior created a menacing atmosphere.
Once inside, however, I barely recognized the place. She’d made the living room cozy with a knitted blanket on the sagging sofa and a makeshift bookshelf built from an old crate. The place even smelled like her. The musty odor of old stones and goats had been replaced with the smell of lemons, jasmine, and a hint of sandalwood.
I wandered over to the “coffee table” where she’d displayed several framed photos. The older couple with two small dogs had to be her parents. Another photo showed her smiling with two friends in front of the Globe Theatre in London. Next to it was a photo of her with the Greystone heir who’d rented out Yiannis’s place last year. I recognized the oily smile on his pretty-boy face and the slicked-back hair. His arm was draped over Callie’s shoulder, her hand was around his waist and she was looking at him like a lovestruck teenager.
I pinched the photo between my fingers. What the hell was she doing with a pretentious ass like that? She was way out of his league.
“What are you doing?” She grabbed the photo from my hands. “I don’t remember giving you permission to touch anything.”
I held my hands up. “I don’t want to spend the rest of the day here. It’ll be quicker if you let me help you pack.”
“Fine. This room only, please. The suitcase is in the closet. And no snooping.”
I refrained from rolling my eyes this time at the Louis Vuitton logo on the suitcase I pulled out of the rickety closet. Maybe it was a family heirloom. She did say most of her designer pieces were vintage.
