Kelly Hunter - Paradise Nights - Taken by the Bad Boy

‘What was that?’

‘Discreet.’

Oh. She thought of him not being around tomorrow, or the day after that. Thought of the pleasure to be found in his kisses and decided to scrap discretion and go with need instead. She ached for his touch, for what it could bring, and she dumped her own armful of dishes into the sink, stepped in close and touched her lips to his, teasing at first, and then ravenously hungry as she dragged them deeper and deeper into uncharted waters.

‘I’ll call you,’ he said raggedly when at last the kiss ended. ‘I’ll be back. Soon. As soon as I can.’

‘I’ll be here,’ she said and felt her heart tremble. ‘For the next couple of weeks.’

Pete called her mid-afternoon the following day.

‘Where are you?’ she wanted to know.

‘Sitting in a café in Santorini, reading the paper.’

Lucky him. She was sitting beneath the beach umbrella beside the Vespa shed.

‘How do you feel about working for a fashion photography house in New York?’ he asked her.

‘Unenthusiastic.’ She leaned back in her chair. ‘Although it does satisfy the requirement of being some distance from my family.’

‘Just checking,’ he said. ‘Wedding photographer in Vegas?’

‘Only if I’d be working for Elvis.’

‘It’s possible.’ She could feel the smile in his voice, closed her eyes and let it warm her through. ‘Okay, here’s something you might be more interested in. It’s a photography competition and it’s global. They want you to capture and celebrate the essence of humanity.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘I’m glad. I’ll bring you the details.’

‘When?’

‘Soon.’

Serena sighed. She knew what soon meant. It meant he had no idea when he’d be back. ‘Enjoy Santorini. It’s a pretty place.’

‘You’re prettier,’ he said, and disconnected.

He phoned her again the following day. This time she was ready for him.

‘What are you doing?’ Pete asked her.

‘The crossword in The Sydney Morning Herald.’ She was sitting in her usual place beneath the beach umbrella by the old Vespa shed, but time was passing more quickly this morning. ‘A British rock god needs a helicopter pilot to keep on retainer.’

‘Just shoot me now,’ he said.

‘Just checking. There’s also a need for a medivac helicopter pilot along the Northern Australian seaboard.’

Silence.

‘I’m sensing some reluctant interest in that one,’ she said with a grin. ‘I’ll keep the paper for you. Meanwhile I have a job interview in Athens tomorrow with a big daily newspaper. They’re after a photojournalist who can cover politics one day and human-interest stories the next. It sounds promising.’

‘How are you getting there?’ he asked her.

‘I thought I’d take the ferry.’

‘I can get you there faster than a ferry,’ he muttered.

He could get her there faster than anybody on the planet, and she was pretty sure he knew it. ‘Are you free tomorrow? I could hire your charter services.’

‘You can have them for free. When’s your interview?’

‘Four in the afternoon.’

‘I’ll come for you at midday. We can go out for a meal afterwards. Spend the night in Athens. If you’ve a mind to.’

‘I’d love to.’ She already had a teenager from the village organised to take charge of the Vespas for a day. Why not for two days? She had good reason, and heaven help her she had a fierce need to spend some time alone with Pete without having to be discreet about it. ‘I’ve missed you, flyboy.’

‘I want you in my arms again,’ he told her, with a rasp to his voice that set her skin to tingling. ‘Preferably sitting on my lap.’

He wasn’t the only one. ‘Am I naked?’

‘Very.’

‘Are you naked?’

‘I’m at the airport in Athens. If I was I’d be arrested.’

‘So … I’ll see you tomorrow, then?’

‘I’ll come for you,’ he said.

She was counting on it.

THERE was a world of difference between life on a sleepy Greek island and the vibrant energy that came with being in the middle of a major city. People moved faster, talked louder, dressed smarter and for the most part looked a whole lot tenser. Six months ago Serena would have thrived on the bustle and the crowds. Now she found it slightly unnerving.

Or maybe it was just the thought of the up-coming job interview that unnerved her.

She and Pete were standing outside the newsgroup building. It was almost time to head inside. She’d gathered her hair up into an elegant chignon and had donned a charcoal-grey business suit for the occasion. She looked good. If her portfolio of work was any sharper it’d grow fangs and bite someone. The only thing missing was her enthusiasm for walking through those double glass doors.

‘Time to go, Rena,’ he said as she looked at the doors for the tenth time in half as many minutes.

‘How do I look?’ she asked him.

‘Smart. Sophisticated. Like you belong here.’

‘Really?’ He was wearing cargo trousers, a collared shirt and a smile that scattered her wits. No charcoal-coloured business suit for him and he still managed to look more at home on these streets than she did. How did he do that? She fiddled nervously with the collar on her shirt, scrunching it up; Pete smoothed it out.

‘Where’s your confidence?’ he said, tilting her chin up with his forefinger so that her gaze met his.

‘Gone.’

‘Happens that way sometimes.’ He pressed his lips to her cheek, a man who knew not to mess with lipstick at a time like this. ‘Time to remember who you are. What you are. And what you want.’

Oh, boy. It’d help if she knew . ‘I could use a reminder.’

‘You’re talented, educated, smart, savvy, and determined.’

‘You’re right,’ she said straightening. ‘I am.’

‘You want this job?’

‘I do.’

He put his hands to her shoulders and turned her in the direction of the door. ‘Go get it.’

Pete watched the traffic go by while he waited for Serena’s interview to finish, wondering at her lastminute hesitation. He knew her best when she wore gypsy skirts and sleeveless cotton shirts, but it came as no surprise to him that she could look perfectly at home in a business suit. If she wanted this kind of life all she had to do was reach out and take it. He was that certain of her talent and her ability to succeed.

She didn’t belong on the island; anyone with eyes could see that. Whether she belonged here was up to her.

It was a quarter to five before she reappeared. He figured it for a good sign. ‘How’d it go?’ he asked her when she stood in front of him.

‘It was a panel interview,’ she told him, chewing on her lower lip. ‘There were five of them. It was hard to tell what they thought—either collectively or individually.’ She lifted her chin a fraction. ‘They said I’d hear from them in a few days. I thought it went well.’

‘Hold that thought.’ He slung his arm around her shoulders, she wrapped her arm around his waist and together they started walking. ‘Where to now?’ he asked her. ‘Dinner? A drink? A show?’

‘Yes,’ she said with a vigorous nod for good measure. ‘All of them.’

‘Any particular order?’

‘Surprise me.’

He did surprise her. He took her to the art gallery Medusa where a modern photographic exhibition was showing, and fed her creativity. After that he took her to dinner at a restaurant that boasted candlelit corners, Spanish cuisine, and a Lebanese entertainer with a repertoireranging from ‘Zorba the Greek’ to ‘Dancing Queen’. The meal fed her stomach, the entertainment fed her sense of humour. The place was a mish-mashing clash of cultures with a boisterous crowd, a little bit of whimsy, and plenty of romance thrown in for free and it matched her mood perfectly. He matched her mood perfectly, played to it, and at the end of the evening when the music slowed he took her into his arms and the night turned to magic.