My Sexy Greek Summer. Marie Donovan
A screech of brakes made her stop dead in her tracks as a Vespa-type motor scooter skidded to a halt a foot from her legs. The sunglasses-wearing driver gave an angry shout in Greek that questioned her brains and skills of observance.
Cara fought the urge to tell him where to get off, using several pungent Greek verbs, and instead pulled her sunglasses off, giving the young, curly-haired guy her best freezing glare. “Why don’t you look where you’re going, you bonehead? Pulling out of an alley where you can’t see who might be walking in front of you—where’d you learn how to drive—Apollonias?” She figured that might twist the knife a bit. Apollonias was the nearest island and Aphrodisias’s fiercest rival for soccer matches and tourist dollars. She didn’t know if he’d understand much of her English tirade, but it felt good to get it off her chest. When in Greece, do as the Greeks, and they hadn’t been the silent, stoic type for several thousand years.
The guy’s jaw dropped, and instead of continuing their insult-fest, he began to laugh. “Woo, watch out for those American girls—they’ll straighten you out anytime.” He repeated his comment in Greek for the interested passersby, who all laughed.
Cara fought a smile, but the corners of her mouth must have given her away, because Vespa-Boy turned his charm in her direction. “And they don’t hold grudges, either, do they? Come for coffee with me, beautiful blue-eyed girl. Everyone knows Americans are so friendly.” He spoke English well, the hint of a Greek accent lending a sexy touch.
“I’m not that friendly,” she retorted, ignoring the curl of awareness running down her spine. “Try running over an Italian girl—they go for that sort of thing.”
He laughed again and adjusted his stance to balance the scooter. She couldn’t help notice how his strong thighs straddled the narrow seat, the denim pulling across his zipper. “But will she be as clever as you?”
Cara gave him a pull-the-other-leg look. “A guy like you doesn’t do cleverness.”
He leaned close to her, close enough for her to see the black stubble along his hard jaw and smell the tang of sun and sweat. “You’d be surprised what I do. And who I do it with.”
Wow. Suddenly her staid one-piece suit was rubbing the same places as the racy turquoise bikini had. She licked her suddenly dry lips, her face reflected in the lenses of his sunglasses. Vespa-Boy’s nostrils flared, picking up on her unexpected response.
He started to say something, but another scooter came up the alley behind him and the driver shouted for him to get out of the way. “I’ll see you around, clever American.” He made it a promise and zoomed past her.
Cara exhaled noisily and walked toward the café, mentally scolding herself. She was here to help Athena and take a break after her first year of college, not boink the first guy who had floated her boat in years.
Emma caught sight of her and waved from the café. Cara made her way through the maze of tables and set down her packages. “Good, you went ahead and ordered.” An assortment of desserts crowded the small table.
“I just pointed at a bunch of items on the menu and told the waiter to bring coffee, too. You’ll have to tell me what these all are.”
Glad for the distraction, Cara fell into tourist guide mode. “That custard with phyllo dough is galaktobouriko, the almond nut cake is amygdalopita, various cookies and the ubiquitous baklava.” She leaned over the table. “Purists insist baklava has Turkish roots, but the last person who claimed that out loud was run out of Greece.”
Emma laughed, drawing the admiration of the young waiter who’d just arrived with their coffee. He bowed. “Enjoy your sweets. I am at your disposal.” He tossed a meaningful look at Emma, who just smiled.
“A possibility,” she said, once he’d departed.
“A possibility for what?” Cara made a face. “He’s probably seventeen years old.”
“True,” Emma agreed. “I don’t want to find out the hard way the Greek penalties for fooling around with minors.”
“Believe me, you won’t have any trouble finding men who are old enough to stay up past curfew.” Cara shoved the passing thought of reckless motorscooter drivers out of her mind and remembered her plan for finding an even-tempered Northern European type to test the waters with. No drama kings for her.
She spotted a possibility of her own and leaned over the table to Emma. “Emma, do you see that blond guy a few tables away?”
Emma casually turned as if she were watching people passing by and turned back. “That guy? The one wearing the hemp-looking Peruvian hoodie and sandals?”
“Emma, it is perfectly acceptable for European men to wear sandals.”
“With woolen hiking socks?” Emma didn’t wait for a response, mostly because there wasn’t one Cara could think of. She gestured broadly. “All these Greek guys dying to meet American women and you’re looking at some yahoo who probably has five pairs of lederhosen and yodels on the weekend?”
“Maybe Greek men aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”
“And maybe we should conduct a scientific sampling of the population to prove or disprove your hypothesis.”
Cara lifted her hands in surrender. “Fine, sample away.”
“I intend to.” Emma broke off a chunk of nut cake and passed it to her. “Eat up. We’re going out tonight, and you need your strength.”
Cara accepted the cake and washed it down with her superstrong coffee. She flagged down the teenage waiter for another pot. She’d need the caffeine to keep up with Emma.
CARA HAD JUST FINISHED her shower and was toweling her hair dry in the bathroom when Emma knocked on the door. “Your cell phone’s ringing.”
“Oh, could you get it out of my purse and see who’s calling?” Only a handful of people had her number and they wouldn’t call just to chitchat. She hoped it wasn’t her brother, Rick, calling with bad news about their grandmother, who was elderly and a bit senile.
Cara grabbed her terry cloth robe and wrapped herself in it, following Emma into the living room.
Emma handed her the phone. “It’s a credit card company.”
She sat down on the sectional couch and answered, “Hello?” After answering a multitude of security questions, she assured them she was indeed on a Greek island and likely to make even more purchases with her card. “What’s my credit limit?”
She listened to the six-figure amount without blinking. “That should be fine.” She had more than enough in her money market accounts to cover her purchases, short of buying the entire island.
Emma was watching her closely throughout her phone conversation. Cara hung up and wasn’t surprised when Emma burst into questions. “Did you go over your card limit with all those suits? Do you need me to loan you some money?”
“No, no, I’m good, really—”
Emma paced back and forth over the marble floor. “Oh my gosh, Cara, I don’t want you to go broke on this trip. I know we’re both strapped for cash, and this trip out here must be costing you a fortune. Oh, I am so thoughtless. I have my teaching fellowship and living stipend, and you don’t have any scholarships at the university.”
“Emma, Emma, wait.” Cara held up her hands and her friend finally stopped. “Come sit with me, Emma. It’s okay.”
Emma plopped down on the couch next to her. Cara thought for a second, considering the best way to alleviate her friend’s worries. “Before I started college, I was married for a few years.”
Whatever her friend was expecting, it obviously wasn’t a confession of matrimony. “Cara, you were married? You never mentioned that before.”
“It turned out not to be a good fit.”