Chapter 25
25
‘It’s beautiful in here! Come on!’
What was going on? How had a simple walk away from the festival resulted in night-swimming? Except, she hadn’t put more than her toes in the water. Christos, on the other hand, had stripped down to his underwear and it had been like a front-row seat at a runway where the male model looked a million times better than the underwear he was supposed to be advertising… Everything on display had been honed to perfection. It was a gym body but not one that had been taken too far in its definition, one that definitely looked like it had been softly, deftly sculpted around the shapes it already possessed. She swallowed, looking out at him in the sea, waist-deep.
‘Molly!’ he called.
‘What?’
‘ Ela ! Come! How can we play the game if we have to shout?’ he shouted.
The game. Why had she mentioned two truths and one lie? To get herself out of swimming, which it looked like she was going to have to do anyway. If she didn’t get in the water he wouldn’t shut up about it or she would have to go back to the festival where her mum and Siobhan were ready to quiz her about the olive tree she hadn’t seen, and the damage to the boat.
It was so hot though, Christos was right about that. And what was wrong with taking a dip? Why was she holding back? It was just water. It was the same as walking along the sand with him eating the loukou-whatever-they-were-called, minus a few items of clothing…
‘OK,’ she called, pulling her dress over her head and leaving it on the sand next to their empty foil containers. She tiptoed forward, the small stones at the edge of the water stinging her feet.
‘There are a few stones!’ Christos yelled.
‘I can feel them,’ she replied through gritted teeth.
‘Go faster! It is only a small part and then it is all sand again!’
The water splashed around her shins as she rushed in deeper, the coolness immediately refreshing, and she embraced it now, hurrying forward.
‘It’s good, right?’ he said when she was alongside him.
‘So good,’ she admitted. ‘Not like the sea at Portsmouth at all.’
‘You live near the sea in England?’
‘Yes, but it’s not like this. It’s a different colour, it’s cold and it doesn’t have an appealing smell.’
‘You could be describing that potion you egged onto my side.’
‘Hey!’ Molly exclaimed, splashing water at him. ‘There is nothing wrong with my primer!’
‘ Your primer.’
‘The primer I put on your wound.’ She swallowed. Too many words of ownership, Molly. Proceed with caution.
‘Maria seemed impressed with it,’ Christos reminded her. ‘It takes a lot to impress her.’
‘And it’s not even meant for medicinal purposes.’
He shrugged. ‘Neither is ouzo if we are honest.’
‘And you’ve got your bandage wet!’ she exclaimed.
He shrugged again. ‘Everybody knows that salt water is second only to honey when you think about skin healing properties.’
She looked at him. Olive skin moist from the water, dark hair, those incredible eyes, and here they both were, in their underwear in a Greek sea together. Siobhan wouldn’t be wasting a minute but… what was this? He was really attractive, there was something between them, but surely only because they were forced together in this weird will situation. What exactly did they have in common? Perhaps this was an opportunity to find out.
‘So… I’m allergic to cucumbers. My middle name is Donna. And Siobhan and I once got arrested for stealing a supermarket trolley.’
‘That is nice,’ Christos replied. ‘Interesting to know.’
Molly laughed. ‘It’s the beginning of the game. Two truths and one lie. So you need to tell me which one is the lie.’
He shook his head. ‘Too easy.’
‘Go on.’
‘You are not allergic to cucumbers,’ he told her. ‘There is so much tzatziki around here you would be in the grave by now if that was a truth.’
She laughed, swirling her arms in the water and dipping down, letting it cover her shoulders.
‘So, Molly Donna, the felon,’ Christos continued. ‘I suppose it is now my turn.’
‘It is,’ she agreed.
‘OK, so… I am a kick-boxing champion. I once caught a swordfish in Kassiopi harbour. And I own four gyms in Athens.’
She stared at him, watching his eyes, watching the movement of his lips, his body language. It was hard with the sway of the waves around them.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘There is an art to this game, you know,’ she answered.
‘Yes, you work out from what you already know about a person or, in your case, from environmental factors, and calculate what the answer is.’
‘No,’ she said, still paying all her attention to his expression. ‘Nearly everybody has a tell when they say a lie.’
He laughed. ‘Oh, really. I did not realise how seriously you took this game. I thought it was something fun.’
‘And you don’t own four gyms in Athens,’ she told him, her mind made up. ‘Even though the swordfish story sounded the fakest.’
He nodded.
‘Was I right?’
‘I think, before I answer, we should up the stakes. Make a bet. See who can be the best liar,’ he suggested.
She shivered. There was something in his eyes now that was sending dark and dangerous signals her way… and she wasn’t averse to it. But a good liar? It should be ringing alarm bells and raising a red flag. What was that Greek phrase again? Síga síga …
‘OK, what kind of bet?’ she asked, her voice quivering a little.
‘Maybe like a consequence. A dare for the loser.’
Now her stomach was clenching at the kind of dare he might have in mind considering they were barely clothed out here in the water…
‘I won’t lose,’ she answered, a lot more confidently than she currently felt.
‘OK. So, you did pick out my lie,’ he admitted. ‘Your turn. And if I get it right this time you have to have a consequence.’
He had caught a swordfish . He was a kick-boxing champion . She was momentarily distracted, but then as the seconds passed she realised it was going to be hard to think of other things to say, particularly now there was something at stake. ‘A consequence’ could mean anything, and the way he had said the word… sultry, sexy. She mused a little longer, her brain humming along to the faint beat of the music from the festival until:
‘My feet are a size five. I’ve never had a boyfriend. And… I’d choose pizza over pasta in an Italian restaurant.’
She shivered, the sea water evaporating on her skin. He was smiling and shaking his head.
‘Oh, Molly, you make this too too easy.’
He couldn’t get this right. She had eaten pasta with him. He knew she liked it… just not as much as pizza if they were the main two options. That was her best red herring!
‘The lie is the shoe size. But, really, you have never had a boyfriend?’ he queried.
Her heart throbbed. Why had she even said that as an option? Because she wanted him to know? She could lie. Tell him he was wrong.
‘I’m correct, right?’ he asked, scooping up water with his hands and drizzling it down his body. ‘Why am I asking that? Of course I am right.’
‘My feet are actually almost a five and a half, and are in some shoes.’
‘And you have never had a boyfriend,’ he half-whispered.
She could hear absolutely everything now. The gentle motion of the waves, the light laughter from the festival, even the spit and sizzle of the grilling meats but, mostly, her own heart.
‘It doesn’t mean I haven’t ever, you know, been with a guy, just that no one has?—’
‘Been worthy enough,’ he interrupted.
She swallowed. Had that been the kind of thing she was going to say? Possibly not. But this whole conversation was making her stomach do backflips. She needed to change it up.
‘You won,’ she blurted out. ‘Just, give me my consequence.’
‘You are in a rush?’ he asked, seeming to get closer, or maybe it was just the waves making that happen.
‘I do not want to look at your smug expression any more,’ she told him.
‘The words of a bad loser,’ he told her.
‘Whatever.’
‘Whatever?’
‘Make this stop.’
‘Oh, really?’
He was definitely closer now. Those eyes dancing with hers, and it was fire.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘All you have to do is not open your eyes until I say.’
‘What?’
‘It will be easy for you, I am certain. Close your eyes.’
‘Why? I don’t understand.’
‘Come on, Molly. It’s just a game, right?’
He was right. It was just a game and she had suggested it. She was overthinking. How hard would it be to keep her eyes closed? She was nothing if not determined in all other aspects of her life.
‘OK,’ she answered. ‘Go.’ She shut her eyes.
The only thing with having your eyes closed was that you lost all your other senses for a while until you isolated them, attempted to make them stronger. Being waist-deep in the sea didn’t help either because she was slightly off-balance even though the current wasn’t that strong. As she tried to focus on standing still, she also tried to sense where Christos was in relation to her. Still close? Further away? What was this game because nothing had actually happened. Was he even still there? And then her mind kicked in. She was imagining him, seeing him in her head like he was right there in front of her. Her brain started giving her more than she had realised she had picked up. The way his dark hair curled slightly at the very ends, the different hues of colour in his eyes, the gentle slope of his nose, the way his jaw looked sharp but also smooth… And then she felt it, water, not the sea she was standing in, but droplets of it trickling gently, slowly, across her shoulders, dribbling down her chest. It was Christos. He was doing that somehow, with his fingers? In her mind’s eye she had a perfect picture of him trailing his hand in the water and then lifting his fingers above her, letting the water drip down onto her bare skin. She wanted to open her eyes so badly, see for real the expression he was wearing. What did she have to lose by opening them? It was just a silly game.
But she held on, kept her eyes closed, her body braced for more delicate water drops. Until she felt something else. Warmth. Heat. Air. Breath? She steadied herself, honed in on the sensation. Hot breath, so close it was now audible. And slow. In and then out, warming her skin. How near his mouth must be to hers, and that thought was stealing her own oxygen, making her envisage and imagine even harder still. Slow breath after slow breath, teasing, tempting, her fingers down in the water beside her prickled with the desire to lift them, explore, find him. And her eyelids ached with the pressure to keep them shut tight, she could feel her eyes roving behind them, longing to do some work, capture how he looked for real.
‘Keep your eyes closed, Molly,’ he purred.
His voice was right there, the timbre hitting her senses and her skin.
‘I am,’ she whispered back.
But why was she keeping her eyes closed? It was just a game after all. A silly penance, but was there a cost? What happened if she opened them? What was going to happen if she didn’t?
More water, a trickle right down the middle of her throat that snaked a path down her neck and pooled in her décolletage. She’d never felt so bare even when she had been bare.
‘My turn. This time, two lies, one truth,’ he said, his voice hoarse. ‘Find the truth.’
She couldn’t speak. She was trembling.
Somehow she felt him inhale.
‘My favourite colour is pink.’
Lie. It had to be.
‘I own one gym in Athens.’
Unsure . Possibly true because he had used the theme before.
‘I’ve never done this with anyone before.’
She’d never wanted something to be true so much. She was holding her breath, waiting for something, waiting for perhaps nothing, just there in the moment, heart thumping against her ribs.
‘Open your eyes,’ he whispered.
She felt every word as air on her cheeks, knew one movement and her face would be touching his but she wasn’t ready, she wanted to dwell a little, sit with this sensual energy, let it continue to make her tingle all over. Until, finally, tentatively she opened her eyes.
And there he was. Right there. His mouth no more than a few centimetres from hers, surely breathing her air in like she was breathing his. She could almost imagine what he tasted like – sweet, sugar, chocolate sauce, a little salt from the sea – but she held her stance exactly like he was holding his. Their eyes were locked together and his were burning hers, flames in those deep pools licking hot.
‘Which one?’ he asked her, voice pure gravel. ‘Which one is true?’
She swallowed, that slight movement almost bringing them together. This was her chance. Although she had a feeling, whether she guessed right or wrong, with this chemistry between them, something was going to happen. If she wanted it to…
‘I think,’ she began, her heart and many of her other parts burning with desire, ‘we should get back to the festival.’
It took every ounce of sensibility she had to take that first step backwards and away from him, but that was exactly what she did. And Christos was quick to react.
‘ Ne . Yes. Fisika . Sostó . You are right.’ He followed her lead, through the water, towards the shore and their clothes.