Summer Love: The Best Mistake / Impulse

“From time to time.”

She nearly sighed at that. Imagine anyone speaking of going to Paris “from time to time.” “I nearly stayed longer, but I’d promised myself Greece.”

So she was alone, restless and on the move. Perhaps that was why she had appealed to him, because he was, too. “Is Corfu your first stop?”

“Yes.” She sipped at her drink. A part of her still believed it was all a dream. Greece, champagne, the man. “It’s beautiful. Much more beautiful than I imagined it could be.”

“It’s your first trip, then?” He couldn’t have said why that pleased him. “How long do you stay?”

“As long as I like.” She grinned, savoring the feeling of freedom. “And you?”

He lifted his glass. “Longer, I think, than I had planned.” When the waiter appeared at his side, Stephen handed over the menu, then spoke to him in soft, quick Greek. “If you don’t object, I’d like to guide you through your first meal on the island.”

The old Rebecca would have been too nervous to sit through a meal with a stranger. The new Rebecca took a second, deeper sip of champagne. “I’d love it. Thank you.”

It was easy. Easy to sit, to laugh, and to sample new and exotic tastes. She forgot that he was a stranger, forgot that the world she was living in now was only temporary. They didn’t speak of anything important—only of Paris, and the weather, and the wine. Still, she was sure it was the most interesting conversation of her life. He looked at her when he spoke to her, looked at her as though he were delighted to spend an hour talking of nothing. The last man she’d had dinner with had wanted her to give him a discount when she did his taxes.

Stephen wasn’t asking her for anything more than her company for dinner. When he looked at her it seemed unlikely that he’d care if she knew how to fill out Schedule C.

When he suggested a walk along the beach, she agreed without a qualm. What better way to end an evening than a walk in the moonlight?

“I was looking out at this from my window just before dinner.” Rebecca stepped out of her shoes, then dangled them from her fingers as she walked. “I didn’t think it could look more beautiful than it did at sunset.”

“The sea changes, like a woman, in the light.” He paused to touch a flame to the end of a slim cigar. “So men are drawn to her.”

“Are you? Drawn to the sea?”

“I’ve spent my time on her. I fished in these waters as a boy.”

She’d learned at dinner that he’d grown up traveling the islands with his father. “It must have been exciting, moving from place to place, seeing new things almost every day.”

He shrugged. He’d never been sure whether the restlessness had been born in him or had been a product of his upbringing. “It had its moments.”

“I love to travel.” Laughing, she tossed her shoes aside, then stepped into the surf. The champagne was making her head swim and the moonlight felt as soft as rain. “I adore it.” She laughed again when the spray washed up to dampen her skirts. The Ionian Sea. She was standing in it. “On a night like this I think I’ll never go home.”

She looked so vibrant, so alive, standing in the surf with her white skirts billowing. “Where’s home?”

She glanced over her shoulder. The flirtatious look was totally unplanned and completely devastating. “I haven’t decided. I want to swim.” On impulse, she dived into the surf.

Stephen’s heart stopped when she disappeared. He’d already kicked off his shoes and started forward when she rose up again. For a second time, his heart stopped.

She was laughing, her face lifted to the moonlight. Water cascaded from her hair, from her skin. The drops that clung to her were the only jewels she wore. Beautiful? No, she wasn’t beautiful. She was electric.

“It’s wonderful. Cool and soft and wonderful.”

With a shake of his head, he stepped in far enough to take her hand and pull her toward shore. She was a little mad, perhaps, but engagingly so. “Are you always so impulsive?”

“I’m working on it. Aren’t you?” She combed her hand through her dripping hair. “Or do you always send champagne to strange women?”

“Either way I answer that could be trouble. Here.” He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Unframed, washed clean, her face glowed in the moonlight. There was a graceful kind of strength in it, to the sweep of cheekbone, the slightly pointed chin. Delicate—except for the eyes. One look there showed power, a power that was still. “You’re irresistible, Rebecca.”

She stared at him, confused all over again, as he gathered the neck of the jacket close around her throat. “I’m wet,” she managed.

“And beautiful.” With his hands still on the jacket, he brought her toward him. “And fascinating.”

That made her laugh again. “I don’t think so, but thanks. I’m glad you sent me the champagne and guided me through my first meal.” Her nerves began to jangle. His eyes stayed on hers, journeying only once to her mouth, which was still damp from the sea. Their bodies were close, close enough to brush. Rebecca began to shiver, and she knew it had nothing to do with wet clothes and the breeze.

“I should go in… change my dress.”