19. Oli

19

OLI

This is literal paradise.

The sun is warm but not overpowering as we lounge on the beach, the both of us stretched out on towels in the sand. Nikos is already getting a tan, and I can tell that with only a day or two in the sunlight, he's going to be a rich, deep gold. I can't see his eyes through his sunglasses, but I'm pretty sure from the steady rise and fall of his chest that he's sound asleep.

Good. He didn't look like he was getting nearly enough rest in London. Plus, the gentle sound of the waves would lull anyone to sleep.

We're touching, his arm pressed up against mine and his ankle hooked over my leg like he's subconsciously stopping me from leaving. But there's truly nowhere else I'd rather be in the world. I could stay here, with him, forever.

There's a small stack of romance novels on the beach next to me, sand sneaking into the pages, and a few bottles of water. I read fast, and I turn the last pages on my second book of the day. Usually romance novels suck me in, but right now? I'm living a romance novel of my own.

Fiction doesn't hold a lot of appeal when you have the real thing right in front of you.

I finish off the book, ensuring that the girl gets the guy in the end, and toss it to my side. I curl over and slot myself between Nikos' arm and torso, my head resting on his chest. His skin is like a furnace, a combination of the heat of the day and his natural warmth. He mumbles sleepily and then brings his arm around me, tucking me closer to him. He's hardly had his hands off me since we arrived at the house, and I can't say I'm complaining.

I doze for another hour or so, until I'm roused by the way my stomach is rumbling. It wakes Nikos up too, and he turns to me with concern. ‘Are you hungry?'

‘Mmhm.' I'm about to make a joke about how he can feed me his cock, but I stop. It doesn't feel right in the moment. There's been something more tender, more intimate about the way the two of us are orbiting each other since we arrived. Like some of the lust has burned away and left something deeper behind.

‘Come on, then.' He gently eases me off his shoulder and gets to his feet, then bends down to scoop me up in his arms, bridal-style. ‘You can rest inside where you won't turn into a tomato, and I'll run to the village and get things to cook.'

I don't argue about being carried as Nikos starts to walk us up the steep path, leaving our books and towels behind - which is certainly one perk of a private beach. ‘I hope this is a good replacement for the gym.' I poke a finger into his rock-hard abs. ‘Carrying me up these inclines.'

‘I'll carry you wherever you like, Honey,' he replies, pressing a kiss to my forehead. He smells like sun and the ocean and sweat, and I can't get enough. I tuck my head into his chest. ‘This is better than any gym I've ever been to.'

I agree. This is like our own little world. No internet service. No texts and calls. No work or life. Just us.

‘Besides,' he continues on, his voice soft and gentle, ‘I never want to let you go.'

There's a lump in my throat as he looks down at me, the way that the confession is raw and intimate. Like Nikos has also felt the shift between us since we arrived.

What I would give to make Nikos' desire come true. To make it so that he never has to let me go. There are a million reasons why that can't happen, but I shove each and every one of them to the back of my mind. I'm not going to let the inevitable end of whatever this is cloud the perfection of the present.

I take the easy way out and say nothing that would betray my feelings. Despite the way Nikos has been looking at me, I can't fool myself into thinking that he feels the same way.

Nikos settles me down when we arrive at the top of the path, my feet sinking into the grass behind the house. There's what must have been a lovely garden, and I can't help but think that if I had time, I could bring it back to life. I breathe in, savouring the smell of the lupine growing wild around the house, listening to the crash of the waves.

‘Come on inside,' Nikos says, taking my hand and tugging.

I follow and it's a relief to get inside with the shade. I go to the kitchen and run the tap, filling a glass with cool water that I drink down. Nikos comes up behind me, pinning me against the sink with his arms, and turns the water off.

‘I'm not going to be gone for long,' he says into my ear. I shiver at the sensation of his breath on my neck. ‘When I get back, I'll make us lunch.'

‘Something Greek?' I turn my head up for a chaste kiss, which Nikos delivers, pressing his lips to mine.

‘Of course.' He winks, and I'm breathless with how handsome he is, and how much younger he seems here away from the stress of his everyday life. ‘There's nothing else right for the setting, is there?'

I wave goodbye as he puts on shoes and a shirt and heads out the door. I guess he's not worried about being recognised because it's such a small town - the people here probably don't even look at him differently, if they've known him his whole life. I can imagine there's so much comfort to that, coming back to a place that you know, and where everyone knows you. Stability amidst all the change.

For a moment I wonder if I should take a quick nap to replenish my energy. The jet lag has done a number on me, not that we have anything on our schedule that we have to be awake for. But I can't resist the urge of exploring the house where Nikos Ridge grew up.

The ground floor doesn't have many personal touches, almost like an estate agent had come through and gotten it ready to sell or rent out. There's cookware and dishes in the kitchen, a living room with comfortable furniture in it looking out at the olive trees around the house, and a few other empty rooms that probably once served as bedrooms or maybe a dining room or office. I go up the stairs to the second floor, bypassing the bedroom where we'd stayed last night and looking through the other rooms. One of them has a bunch of furniture in it, like everything personal has been stashed here to make the rest of the house a blank slate.

I slip in, running my hand over furniture in olive wood that looks like it could have been hand carved. There are colourful hand-woven rugs rolled up and decorative pots and vases lined up against a wall. Religious icons hang on the walls - each as intricate and detailed as the next. I've never been one for religion, but I can certainly appreciate the beauty in it. I imagine the way the house must have looked when Nikos lived here with his parents, warm and bright and welcoming.

On a chest of drawers pushed off to the side, there's a stack of framed photos which must have been taken off the walls of the house. I look at the first one, and a pang goes through my chest. It's a young, curly-haired Nikos, no more than three or four years old, sitting on the sand with a shell in his hand, grinning. I trace the photo with my finger, memorising the way he looked as a baby, and then move it aside to see the next one.

It's a posed picture of Nikos and two people who must be his parents. They're wearing fancy clothes, and I wonder if this was some holiday. His father is familiar. He looks just like Nikos - he must have been the same age in this picture as Nikos was now, if not younger. He's not smiling - he looks dead serious, and more than a little humourless - but his mum is grinning. She's beautiful, not just the way she looks but the light in her eyes, and the way that she's hugging baby Nikos close on her lap, beaming with pride.

Nikos never talks about his family. I wonder where they are now - whether they're still living in Greece, or whether they've passed away. I don't want to pry, but maybe being here will get him to open up about what his life was like before he became Nikos Ridge.

I hear the front door open and my cheeks heat - I don't want to be caught snooping. I carefully place the pictures back in order and dash to the top of the stairs, calling out a hello to Nikos.

He takes one look at me, silhouetted against the doorway, and I can tell something's wrong. He looks like he's seen a ghost.

‘Nikos?'

‘Be careful,' he begs.

‘Of what?' I look around, hoping there isn't some kind of snake or massive insect right next to me in the house.

‘The - coming down - the stairs.' His voice cracks, like he's really, really upset. I startle at the emotion written all over his face - he looks like he's going to cry. ‘Please, Oli. Be careful.'

‘Alright.' I speak like I'm trying to soothe a spooked horse, making a show of putting my hand on the banister and slowly making my way down to him.

‘Oh, love,' I say as gently as I can manage when I get to him. He's shaking like a leaf when I put my arms around his shoulders. This is clearly something deeper than I realise, maybe trigged by being back in his childhood home. ‘Tell me, what's going on?'