Modern Romance July 2015 Books 1-4. Maisey Yates
time round she knew it would be best if they kept last night as a one-off. A single, amazing night they’d shared, which was never going to happen again. Because one night was easy to be objective about; any more than that and she was running straight into trouble.
She opened her mouth to say no, but something in his face was making the words die on her lips. Was it a sudden softness about the eyes which reminded her of the man he’d once been, before life had taken him and roughed him up even more?
Because something about the way he was looking at her touched a part of herself she’d thought had died a long time ago, and she was surprised he hadn’t worked out for himself the reason why she’d been so wild for him last night. Not just because she’d been living in a sexual desert since he’d walked out of her life, but because he made her feel stuff. Stuff like joy and intense pleasure. Stuff like love.
She chewed on her lip. In the past she wouldn’t have been able to spontaneously extend a trip abroad, because Hannah would have been at home and Jessica had always prided herself on being there for her. But Hannah was thousands of miles away and nobody else knew or cared where she was. She could think of that as isolation, or she could think of it as being free. A negative or a positive—the choice was hers.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘It seems a pity to come all this way and not see something of the city.’
He slanted her a conspiratorial smile. ‘That’s what I thought.’
Her hands were trembling as she went to her room to change into jeans, sweater and a waterproof jacket—almost glad that the day was grey and misty and she could put on normal clothes. The kind of clothes she wore at home, which made her feel more like herself and not some manufactured glamour puss.
She met Loukas back downstairs and they left the hotel, but soon after the narrow streets had begun to swallow them up, he steered her into a darkened bar.
‘You need a drink,’ he said firmly. ‘And you missed out on lunch, didn’t you?’
‘It’s nearly four o’clock, Loukas. We won’t get lunch at this time.’
‘I know that. But Venice is a city which is prepared for all eventualities.’ He sat her gently down on a bar stool and nodded at the proprietor, who was polishing a glass. ‘You drink a glass of local wine, which the locals call an ombra, and you eat some of these delicious little snacks, which are known as cicchetti. See? Tiny little plates of seafood, vegetables and polenta. Come on, Jess. Relax. Stop looking so uptight.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Pretend it’s last night and I’m kissing you.’
Loukas wondered what she was thinking as she turned her remarkable eyes to his. He sensed a struggle within her, as if she was still fighting him off, and maybe it was that which drew him towards her. Was it her slight air of resistance—of restraint—which reinforced his growing realisation that this thing between them was still not settled?
Why not?
His jaw tightened. She should have been smitten with him by now—and that wasn’t arrogance, it was fact. One night of sex was usually enough to guarantee adoration from whomever had shared his bed, and their history gave Jess more reason than most to have fallen under his spell. But that was the thing with her. The closer you got, the more she seemed to pull away, and all it did was to fire up his dominant hunter instincts. He sipped at his wine. Was that the reason he wanted her so much—because she kept him at arm’s length unless he happened to be buried deep inside her body?
She sipped her wine, glancing round at the shadowy interior of the small bar as if soaking up the atmosphere.
‘You seem to know your way around Venice pretty well,’ she observed.
‘I do. It was another part of my grand tour, even though I had nothing very much in my pockets when I first arrived.’
‘So how did you survive?’
He shrugged. ‘There is always work if you are prepared to do anything—and I was. I went to all the great European cities and set myself a goal. Six months in each, by which time I wanted to feel as comfortable as if I was a native of that city.’
‘And was there any particular shortcut?’
‘Not one that you’d probably want to hear.’
Her cheeks went pink. ‘You mean—through women?’
He shrugged. ‘I told you that you wouldn’t like it.’
‘It doesn’t bother me at all.’
‘Liar,’ he said softly and leaned forward to brush his lips overs hers, tasting the wine and the warmth in that brief kiss. ‘Want to see some more of Venice?’
She nodded and he found himself linking her fingers through his as they started walking along the canal. Her hands were cold and despite their tennis-honed strength they felt fragile and small within his. He found himself thinking that he didn’t usually do this kind of thing. He didn’t wander hand in hand with a woman, pointing out the secret churches and hidden squares and feeling high with the sheer beauty of the city, almost as if he’d never really seen it before.
The afternoon became devoid of all natural light and as the streetlights began to glow, the deserted streets took on the atmospheric feel so beloved of film-makers. Loukas saw someone snap on a light in one of the great flats along the Grand Canal and a golden glow spilled down, turning Jess’s hair into molten gold. They wandered off down one of the narrow streets and he was thinking about taking her to that little bar near the Rialto, when he felt her tugging at his sleeve.
‘Did you hear that?’ she asked.
Frowning, he shook his head.
‘Listen,’ she said, putting her finger over her lips.
He frowned, but all he could hear was the lap of the water and the echoing sound of music coming from a long way off. ‘I don’t hear anything.’
‘Shh! There it is again.’
And then he heard it—would have recognised it instantly if it hadn’t held such poignant memories for him. The terrified sound of a child’s cry. He stiffened, every sense on full alert as he began to move purposefully in the direction of the sound. He could hear Jess’s rapid breathing beside him, just before he saw the huddled shape of a child ahead of them—a boy—his face streaked with tears, his brown eyes wide and frightened.
Jess began to run towards him, but Loukas caught her arm, speaking to her in English, in a low voice. ‘Wait. Be careful,’ he said.
‘Be careful?’ She turned on him. ‘What are you talking about, Loukas? He’s just a child.’
‘And this could be a scam. It’s a well-known method for fleecing tourists. Children used as decoys to lure unsuspecting foreigners. There are pickpockets in this city, just like everywhere else.’
Angrily, she shook his arm away. ‘I don’t care,’ she said fiercely. ‘I’m willing to take the risk of losing a few euros. I want to help him. Let me go!’
But he shadowed her as she ran forward and the boy turned his face upwards and choked out his frightened words.
‘Aiutami,’ he said. ‘Aiuto.’
Remorse flooded through Loukas as immediately he crouched and looked into the tear-filled eyes. ‘I will help you,’ he said gruffly, in the same language. ‘Where are your parents?’
‘I don’t know!’ cried the boy and Jess put her arms around him as if it was the easiest thing in the world, and Loukas felt his heart clench as he watched her soothing him, listening carefully to what the child said in a breathless dialect he thought might be Sicilian.
‘He says he lost sight of his parents and when he heard them calling for him, he began to run,’ he translated. ‘Only he took the wrong turning and began to panic. He ran even faster, and that’s when he realised he could no