Chapter 2 #2
I interrupted her “Juliet was twelve.”
Her smile was brighter than the setting sun.
“Good to know I’m well read, huh?” I said and sat back.
“You read Romeo and Juliet? The whole thing?”
I nodded. “Ninth grade English. Then we watched the Baz Lehrman film. Great fucking movie.”
“Humm, we had to watch a grainy sixties version on an actual film reel—with a projector,” she added. “Leonardo DiCaprio would have been more interesting to a teenage girl, I’ll bet.”
“Probably.”
She sat back grinning at me.
“So? How far are you in the book?” She asked.
“Is that what you want to talk about? Okay, let’s pretend we are friends having a book club.” I sat back folding my arms over my chest hoping she’d be impressed by both.
She squinted her eyes at me suspiciously. “What shall we discuss, then, Alex?’ She glanced at her gold watch. “But keep in mind I have a prior engagement and am in kind of a hurry. I want the book back though so; I’ll play your childish game.”
She was terrible at flirting. Insulting me was kind of turning me on, which I’m sure was the opposite effect of what she intended. Now she’s really going to see childish.
“How bad do you want the book back?’ I leaned in again.
“Alright, whoever is furthest along gets the book,” she said in a very professorial tone.
Mmmmm, so hot. Like I’ve got a crush on my teacher.
She glanced down at the book splayed out on the table holding my page.
“He just learned about his father’s death.” She asserted.
Another direct hit.
“There’s no way—” I said.
“Oh, don’t be so surprised. I can see where your holding place and you were chewing on your necklace like it would calm you from the plot twist when I came up.”
I nodded in defeat.
“Still very early in the story,” she added.
I wasn’t ready to give in or for her to leave yet.
“You don’t seem like the type who would like a story about cathedral builders in the eleventh century, Maggie.”
“You’re right,” she agreed.
“So, you’re just bored. And can’t read Greek. It’s too hot to go on a hike and you’d rather not swim alone.” I spoke with confidence. “Shopping isn’t your thing; relaxing isn’t your thing and you can’t work because all your research is online. How am I doing?”
“You’ve got me all figured out.” She clipped back.
“Yeah,” I said in a deep voice. “I know exactly what you are all about.”
“And I know what you’re all about.”
“Oh yeah?” I crossed my arms over my chest again. “Why don’t you tell me.”
“So cliché.” She sighed. “You are Mister-master Seduction, right? Mister How-Far-Can-I-Push-Her, Mister You Can’t Resist Me.”
“So? Can you?”
She paused and reflected on my question, to my elation.
Yanni senior interrupted more banter with a bottle of Tsipouro and set down three glasses as we glared at each other.
Yanni poured us both a fresh glass and held his out to the sunset. “Yamas! Christos Anasti!” (Cheers, Happy Easter)
“Christos Anasti,” I repeated and drank.
“Yamas,” Maggie said at the same time throwing hers back.
“This stuff is growing on me,” she said and poured us both another shot as Yanni left us with the new bottle.
If this was how our night was going to go, I couldn’t have been happier. Just me and those lips and that body and a bottle of liquor. Her low-cut bathing suit was making me restless. I wanted to bury my face in her breasts and in her body. I wanted to make her pant and beg.
Shit, this is James’ mom! No don’t think about that. She’s a stunning brilliant woman who seems like she wants me too. Be cool.
“James told me you’re from New Orleans,” I said holding my gaze right on hers.
“Born there, yes,” She answered adjusting in her seat and I could tell she didn’t like talking about it. “But I’ve lived in Europe since I was fifteen,” She took sip. “Boarding school.” She shrugged.
I nodded and stayed quiet urging her to talk more.
She did. She told me about her degree in chemistry, her cosmetic company she’d started with James’ father and her new life in California.
“The similarities here to where I live in California, are striking,” she said. “The hill down to the water, the climate too. Only—” she chuckled. “The wind—”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Has it made you crazy yet? You know, sometimes people can’t tell if it’s the wind or the passion that disturbs the brain, here.”
“Not sure,” She glowered like I’d pushed a bunch of buttons on her biorhythm not knowing what they’d do.
She had some deep secrets, and I wanted to get to the root of every one of them.
Was she emotionally available or was this hint of lust a one-time thing? I hope it’s not a one-time thing. Maybe she’d open up if I told her about me?
“Did he tell you we all grew up in Chicago?”
She nodded.
“So,” she said in a deeper voice. “The burning question is who has the better music?”
She leaned forward with a bit of a smirk and a whole lot of lasciviousness. She’d had about three more glasses than I’d had and the bottle was almost empty.
“Chicago Blues of course,” I answered and poured her the last of the Tsiporo.
“Hmmm,” she purred. “I guess N’awlins is better for classic Jazz. You know, Blue’s hotter older brother?” she snapped her fingers to a taciturn rhythm.
“Hotter huh?”
She was relaxed, swaying and blowing incendiary heat my way.
I sat back and pulled on my thin gold chain.
“Jazz focuses on the syncopation of the whole band, while Blues places more emphasis on the individual musician. Chicago Blues is guitar heavy and faster. You can dance to it; some say it’s the precursor to Rock’n Roll.
” I took her hand and studied her fingers like I was going to kiss or suck on them.
But I gently let go realizing we were in the open and anyone could see us.
She looked dumfounded and I loved it.
“But,” I continued. “Jazz is sexier and elicits passion.”
The corners of her luscious lips curved up.
“How do you say ‘passion’ in Greek?” she whispered.
Her eyes were igniting for me or it was the glow of the setting sun, either way it was incendiary.
“Pathos,” I huffed as my body went stiff, everything from my toes to my dick.
“Can we, um—get out of here?” She asked never taking her fire eyes off mine.
She walked out ahead of me and when I caught up to her, I grabbed her shoulders and pushed her up against the side of the post office wall then crashed my lips to hers like I’d been fantasizing about since the moment I first saw her.
But that wasn’t enough. I took her hands around my back and placed them on my ass.
She took the cue just like I’d hoped and lifted her leg around my hip, pressing me to her core. Fuck yes, this woman.
Everything about her was materializing into my deepest fantasy. A woman who knows what she’s doing, who isn’t afraid of her desires and who anticipates my every move.
She moaned and sucked my bottom lip then bit it and I almost blew my wad.
It was too much, I’d strip her right there and fuck her up against the wall in the middle of the street if I didn’t pull away. Which is what I did. I took a step back.
“I’m supposed to be getting ready for my birthday party right now,” she said.
“I know,” I answered.
I was too depraved and too turned on to control myself. I wrapped my arms around her, enveloping her scorching body, and pressed my harness to her core as I forced her lips open to sweep her tongue into my mouth.
“Stop.” She pushed at my chest. “I’m too hot, it’s too hot,” she slumped against the wall. “I’m going to pass out.” She pushed me away on shaky legs, and I took her hand.
“Okay, Maggie, come on.” I helped her walk around the first corner darkening from the setting sun. Complete euphoria still humming throughout my body and anticipation of what we were about to do.
My front door was next to the roll up door of the bakery I lived above, and I tugged her into my air conditioned entre way with the narrow staircase up to my apartment.
I led her into my living room then ran into the kitchen and soaked a dishtowel. She slumped onto my couch, and I kneeled at her knees holding the wet cloth to her forehead.
She didn’t move as I slowly dabbed the cool damp cloth down to her chest, then back up to her cheeks, then draped the towel around the back of her neck. Our eyes caught for a blink.
“What did James tell you about me?” she asked as her head fell back and her eyes closed.
“Nothing that made me think I’d lose my fucking mind around you,” I said.
She gave a sad little laugh in a shaky exhale, and I swallowed a big gulp of realization for all the things I wanted to do to her. She raised her head and looked me in the eye.
We stared at each other while my heart beat up to my throat, I swallowed it down, again.
“Fuck it,” she said and grabbed the hair at the back of my neck pulling me into a hard, desperate kiss.
“Maggie—” I pleaded.
“This is a horrible idea,” she whispered as her lips brushed mine.
“No, it’s not,” I growled and reached down, under her bottom, squeezing her soft flesh. Adjusting her to lay on the couch, I climbed on top of her and positioned myself between her legs. “This is the best fucking idea ever.”
Her cheeks flushed and her eyes gleamed when I stopped and pressed my hips to her core while devouring her neck. Then she pushed me off making me fall to the floor and stormed into the kitchen muttering to herself.
I followed her and she looked like she was about to curse at me and tell me that she’d made a mistake, that we were too impulsive.
But she didn’t, she stopped and took a deep breath in through her nose and out though her mouth. Eyes closed, she did it again, and a third time. Her hands raising and lowering with the breathing like she was doing some sort of yoga shit.
I stood still but wanted to hug her, heal her and make the anxious air around her go away.
“If you want me to apologize, I won’t,” I said. “I’m not sorry for this or for wanting more of you, either.”
Her eyes flew open and the look she gave me was pure annoyance, I knew that look from all my women.
But when she took one more deep breath, her eyes appeared calmer, icy, disassociated.
I’d never seen a woman cool so quickly. The women in my life were all fire and rage. Maggie was stone cold something else.
I had to know what was going on in her mind, I wanted her to tell me something about how she was feeling. I wanted to know everything about her, she was like nobody I’d ever met.
“He didn’t tell me—," I swallowed hard, my heart thumping so loud I was sure she heard it, maybe I was having a heart attack. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air.
If I didn’t touch her, I didn’t know if I could ever breathe properly again.
I took quick steps toward her. “He didn’t tell me that I’d want keep you. ” I closed the space between us.
Her breathing sped up and she held her hands firmly on my chest to keep me at a distance.
“He didn’t tell me—,” I struggled to speak. “He didn’t tell me how you’d make me feel—like—,” I pushed closer to her and her stiff arms gave, bending, letting me move forward and her chest heaved. “How I’d forget how to breathe.”
Yes, it was fast to have these feelings, but this was part of my hot Cyclades blood pumping.
We didn’t hold back, and we fell hard. Not to mention fierce winds, floods and fires could kill us at any moment.
We threw our hearts at the feet of our desires.
Life was too short and anything could happen.
Tinian’s blew hard and hot and fast like the Meltemi winds.
She let out a tiny whimper as I finally got close enough to feel the press and retreat of her breasts into my chest as she panted.
“You don’t know me,” she said stepping back.
“I don’t care,” I said moving toward her.
She held her arm out and pushed me away again and I stopped trying to embrace her.
“Okay, okay, just—” she slipped past to me and stormed back to the sink.
I stayed where I was trying to gather myself. She had some kind of primal effect on me, and I needed to collect my wits.
“There is too much of this Cyclades Passion going on here.” She said and wet a dishtowel then wiped the back of her neck, then her face with it.
That pulled a laugh from deep down. She was right. These islands did things to everyone’s animal instincts. It could be the heat or the wind or something in the water and she was spot on, but that small taste of her wasn’t enough.
I waited for her to voice regret; she didn’t. We stood in silence again, cooling off, but keeping our eyes locked on each other. I felt like she was waiting for me to speak. Maybe for me to apologize for my effect on her. No chance.
“I told you what I’m feeling, Maggie. Why don’t you tell me what you’re feeling.” I said secure in my maturity and knowledge of strong women.
My mother and sisters were all powerful creatures, as were all the Tinian women. But that also meant that they needed extra care when their emotions overpowered them. Maggie went from ice to fire to resolve in the short time I’d known her. None of those shifts alarmed me.
Her burst of laughter surprised me. “What I’m feeling? Seriously? You want to know what I’m feeling?” She leaned back on the counter.
A voice shouting from downstairs stopped our conversation dead.
“Alexi, thélo to poulí sou!” The all too familiar and unwelcome voice of Maria came followed by heavy stomps up the stairs. Fuck!
I went to the door to try and cut off the woman from attacking Maggie, but she pushed past me revealing herself, my last lover to my current lover, red faced, full of frizzy black curls for miles, standing barely five feet tall.