Chapter 1 #2
George and the entire table shot their attention to Alex to see his reaction to somebody challenging him.
“You wanted someone your own age?” he growled back at me. “There you go. George.” He waved his hand at the poor shell-shocked man.
“What is a ‘Yenta?’” George asked, his voice higher than I expected.
“Um,” I nettled trying not to laugh in his face. He was looking right at my cleavage.
Yes, my breast were spectacular. I treated myself after a double mastectomy twenty-some years ago and got state of the art implants. The nerve endings didn’t survive but they were full and perky and the c-cup I’d always wanted. I showed them off when I could.
Teaching freshman chemistry at a Jesuit college didn’t allow me the audacity to flaunt them as much as I wanted. But this trip, my belated fiftieth birthday trip, was where I’d let it all out. And Nancy was right, I deserved some Greek Island-style passion.
George wasn’t ugly, he just wasn’t as young or fit as the rest of the men.
He lit a cigarette, took two quick hits off it and laid it in the ashtray to pour me another drink.
“The term Yenta is often confused with matchmaker, when in reality it refers to the town gossip.” Alex orated.
All eyes were on him. It was the most he’d said all night.
“The play “Fidler on The Roof” started the misnomer because the “Yenta” character (finger-air quotes) in it was both the town gossip and the matchmaker.” He sipped his glass glaring at me.
“Well, we all know you are most certainly not a ‘Yenta’,” James cackled and faced me. “Trust me on that, he’s the best man to tell your secrets to. Am I right?” James said and held his glass to Alex to clink in agreement and adoration. “A great friend,” James slurred. “Love you, Bruv!”
Alex bowed his head in humility and grinned. It was the first time I’d seen him do that and the sight of a deep dimple on his stubbled cheek caused a stir between my legs. No, no, no.
Studying him as he glared back at me was a challenge. My past life was a practice of learning all I could about a mark or asset within seconds. But he didn’t avert his eyes or give off any secrets I could find.
I turned my focus to George who still gaped at my low-cut halter dress.
“So, George, what do you do for work?” I asked.
“I—,” the man couldn’t stop ogling my chest.
Alex barked at him in Greek from across the table and his eyes flew to mine in horror.
“I-uh, work with goats and sheep,” he said so softly as the church bells tolled one in the morning, I barely heard him. He glanced to Alex for confirmation he was acting appropriately.
“Oh, that’s nice,” I said congenially. Many years working with men who were intimidated by strong women had me learn to treat them with the sensitivity of a kindergarten teacher.
I knew the effect I had on the weaker sex; it was my superpower. Most were terrified, like George. But a select few saw through my facade straight to the neglected little girl and twice abandoned wife.
“Mum, George works with the Fire-brigade,” James chimed in.
Now I was confused. But shook it off as hearing George wrong about the goats. I was beyond buzzed by the strong liquor but gladly lifted another full glass in front of me.
“Oh. Yes, I heard about the terrible wildfires you have here in Greece,” I said.
George furrowed his brows in confusion.
“We don’t have fires, we have goats,” George said with surprising authority.
I looked around the table hoping someone would clarify what he’d just told me. I wasn’t that drunk.
Eleni jumped in to help me. “Maggie,” she giggled.
“The goats eat all the dry undergrowth. We haven’t had the wildfire issues like the other regions in Greece because of George’s goats.
” She held her glass up in a toast to George’s heroic act.
“To George and his goats! Opa!” she proclaimed, and we all drank.
George leaned into me with a salacious gaze, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk.
“That’s right,” he purred. “Me and my goats keep the island safe.”
The second he put his hand on my knee I stomped on the bridge of his foot with my wedged sandal, and he jumped up with a yelp.
Everyone gasped when a barrage of curses in Greek flew from George’s mouth and he limped away.
I sipped my glass with the air of innocence as all eyes went back to me. James was the only one snickering.
“Well, that was your only chance at passion,” Alex snarked. “George is the catch of the Island, you know. The most eligible bachelor over fifty and under eighty.”
“I only hope he doesn’t get so ‘handsy’ with his goats,” I spat back at Alex.
“I’m sure he’ll be just fine. He probably couldn’t handle a female assassin, anyway.” Alex grumbled into a glass of water.
There was no reaction from anyone else except James, who choaked on his drink, because Alex’s choice of words cut too close to my truth. A truth that was supposed to be buried with my late husband and my alter ego.
I wasn’t an assassin, exactly. I was more of the manager of a company of “Fixers” hired by large corporations, individuals or countries who had the means to afford for us to clean up their messes.
I trained and ran their jobs with the direction of my dearly departed second husband, Ivan. Nobody needed to know that though.
“Oh,” James squeezed Eleni’s hand. “Look at the time.”
The whole table murmured the late hour and rose from their seats taking their glasses and ashtrays inside, leaving me on the patio overlooking a now dark sea locked in a staring contest with Alex.
His dark hair was naturally highlighted by the sun, shaggy on top, long to his ears and curled up in the back making him look like an artist or musician.
White linen shirt unbuttoned so low that stacked necklaces rested on full display on his golden tanned chest. One hung lower with a large gold medallion.
I tried to see what the etching was when I realized I was staring.
I wasn’t being subtle in my study of the stunning younger man and it was clear my clandestine secret agent life was over because I couldn’t figure out his secrets as quickly I used to.
How much had my son told him? The staring continued as we both stayed silent, analyzing each other.
When James returned and waited for the others, he spoke in Greek to Alex who’d pulled one the chain off his neck, sawing the pendant back and forth absentmindedly then up to his mouth and skimmed the chain across his bottom lip, he chewed on it as he listened to my son.
A small quiver started in my belly at the sight.
What was my body reacting to? A young man with an oral fixation? And why had we stared at each other for so long? I was displaying signs of slight infatuation as I gazed at his lips. He peered over to me as the necklace fell from his mouth and my whole body went into a blaze. I quickly looked away.
How can I be infatuated with someone who didn’t know how to use a rotary phone?
He was young but not as young as the others, and sinfully handsome with dark but wary eyes. Knowing eyes, full of unspent emotions or anger, I couldn’t decide.
Do I want to know more about Alex? Did I have the time or energy?
No, I really didn’t. But he was fascinating and so damn gorgeous.
The way he looked at me was unnerving me sexually.
That sensation had never happened to me before.
I was always calculated and rational, never rattled by the heat in a man’s eyes.
Until now. He scowled at me again as he said his goodbyes with hugs for his family and handshakes for the others.
I bothered him for a reason I couldn’t quite pin down.
He either knew about my past, or he was mad about being attracted to me.
Or both. He was one hundred percent attracted to me; I could see his pupils grow into big black disks leaving only a thin ring of rich mahogany. Predatory, hungry and confused.
James had told Eleni about my past, but we’d agreed not to tell anyone else. As far as her family and friends knew I was just a widowed university professor living alone in California with my three cats.
I couldn’t help it if some still detected the dangerous essence of my hard-earned black belts in Krav Maga, Jujitsu and Taekwondo and my international License to Kill which never expired.
It was a perfume I couldn’t shake. My ex-husband, Tommy, called it the scent of Femme Fatal allure, a mixture of animal pheromones.
Tommy was a clinical fragrance prodigy and a perfume industry professional nose; he equated everything with scent.
Alex’s stares caused a wave up my neck and flushed my face. Or was it a menopausal hot flash? I couldn’t tell anymore. Could he detect the Femme Fatal that still lingered on me?
It was close to two o’clock in the morning but still scorching outside.
I’d spent my first full day inside, in the air condition only venturing out for dinner and drinks after ten.
Gianna thankfully gave me an eight-hundred-page book to read, and I was truly relaxed for the first time in the years following my second husband’s death.
We all said our good nights and walked down a narrow, cobbled road to the cliffside dwellings over Kionia Bay. Eleni’s family owned and managed multiple vacation houses on the island and the two-bedroom cottages sat overlooking a now still bay, one for me and one for the affianced couple.
My last day on the island I’d slept most of it, but ventured down to the taverna for a bite around three in the afternoon.
Then sat on the beach with my book for only about an hour when Gianna came down from the restaurant and told me James and Eleni expected me back at the house for a surprise.
I hastily gathered my things and hurried back.
“We are having a party tonight, Mum,” James said in his aristocratic British accent, the same as his father and his stepfather. Hints of Mayfair and Surrey, and old money and royal ties.
My ex-husband, Tommy, was still my best friend in the entire world even though he’d found love with his old school mate The Duke of Waltham.
They’d married twenty-two years ago and raised James along with their three adopted children in wealth and elegance whilst I battled cancer then traveled the world doing dirty deeds for billionaire benefactors with Ivan, husband number two, and my fixers.
James had a wonderful childhood with me being on the fringes.
It was better that way; my maternal instincts were non-existent in comparison to Ritchie.
(Sir Richard Baskin-Billings, Duke of Waltham).
He was a wonderful mother to my son. I was undergoing chemo and recovering from surgeries when James was a toddler.
Ritchie and Tommy were my personal nurses and the strong shoulders holding me up.
They raised a curious and empathetic child who never gave up on me.
We all lived at Richie’s estate as a tight family unit and I found purpose studying martial arts to strengthen my body and mind while Tommy and I grew our cosmetics company.
I’d met Ivan at a charity gala, one of many we attended.
He was so impressed by my ambitions that I felt like I was the most brilliant and cherished woman in the world for the first time in my life.
He pursued me relentlessly, we fell in love and married within a year and had a good long marriage until his passing.
“Oh, I forgot my book on the beach,” I said unpacking my bag. “I’m just going to run down there quickly and fetch it.”
“Okay, but be ready by nine. We are celebrating your belated fiftieth birthday tonight.” James called after me as I trotted out the door.
I groaned at the mention of the milestone.
“There’s a reason I didn’t want to celebrate back then,” I shouted back not knowing if he’d even heard me.