Summer Love: The Best Mistake / Impulse

There was something about her. The impulsiveness, the easy flirtatiousness, hid an unmistakable innocence that baffled and attracted him. Whatever it was, he wanted more.

“I’ll see you again.”

“Yes.” She prayed for her heartbeat to slow. “It’s not a very big island.”

He smiled at that, slowly. She felt, with a mixture of relief and regret, the relaxation of his hands. “Tomorrow. I have business early. I’ll be done by eleven, if that suits you. I’ll show you Corfu.”

“All right.” Better judgment and nerves be damned. She wanted to go with him. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.” Carefully, because she suddenly wasn’t sure she could manage it, she stepped back. Moonlight silhouetted him against the sea. “Good night, Stephen.”

She forgot to be sophisticated and dashed toward the hotel.

He watched her go. She puzzled him, puzzled him as no woman had since he’d been a boy and too young to understand that a woman was not meant to be understood. And he wanted her. That wasn’t new, but the desire had come with surprising speed and surprising force.

Rebecca Malone might have started out as an impulse, but she was now a mystery. One he intended to solve. With a little laugh, he bent to scoop up the shoes she’d forgotten. He hadn’t felt quite so alive in months.

Chapter 2

Stephen wasn’t the kind of man who rearranged his schedule to spend the day with a woman. Especially a woman he barely knew. He was a wealthy man, but he was also a busy man, driven by both pride and ambition to maintain a high level of involvement in all his projects. He shouldered responsibility well and had learned to enjoy the benefits of hard work and dedication.

His time on Corfu wasn’t free—or rather hadn’t been planned as free. Mixing business and pleasure wasn’t his style. He pursued both, separately, with utter concentration. Yet he found himself juggling appointments, meetings, conference calls, in order to have the afternoon open for Rebecca.

He supposed any man would want to get to know a woman who flirted easily over a champagne flute one moment and dived fully dressed into the sea the next.

“I’ve postponed your meeting with Theoharis until five thirty this evening.” Stephen’s secretary scribbled on a notepad she had resting on her lap. “He will meet you for early cocktails in the suite. I’ve arranged for hors d’oeuvres and a bottle of ouzo.”

“Always efficient, Elana.”

She smiled and tucked a fall of dark hair behind her ear. “I try.”

When Stephen rose to pace to the window, she folded her hands and waited. She had worked for him for five years, she admired his energy and his business acumen, and—fortunately for both of them—had long since gotten over an early crush. There was often speculation about their personal relationship, but though he could be friendly—even kind when it suited him—with Stephen, business was business.

“Contact Mithos in Athens. Have him fax that report by the end of the day. And I want to hear from Lereau by five, Paris time.”

“Shall I call and give him a nudge?”

“If you think it’s necessary.” Restless, he dug his hands in his pockets. Where had this sudden discontent come from? he wondered. He was wealthy, successful, and free, as always, to move from place to place. As he stared out at the sea, he remembered the scent of Rebecca’s skin. “Send flowers to Rebecca Malone’s suite. Wildflowers, nothing formal. This afternoon.”

Elana made a note, hoping she’d get a look at this Rebecca Malone before long. She had already heard through the grapevine that Stephen had had dinner with an American woman. “And the card?”

He wasn’t a man for poetry. “Just my name.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes.” He turned and offered her a half smile. “Take some time off. Go to the beach.”

Pad in hand, she rose. “I’ll be sure to work it in. Enjoy your afternoon, Stephen.”

He intended to. As she left him, Stephen glanced at his watch. It was fifteen minutes before eleven. There was work he could do to fill in the time, a quick call that could be made. Instead, he picked up Rebecca’s shoes.

***

After three tries, Rebecca settled on an outfit. She didn’t have an abundance of clothes, because she’d preferred to spend her funds on travel. But she had splurged here and there on her route through Europe. No tidy CPA suits, she thought as she tied a vivid fuchsia sash at the waist of her sapphire-colored cotton pants. No sensible shoes or pastel blouses. The last shock of color came from a primrose-hued blouse cut generously to layer over a skinny tank top in the same shade as the slacks.

The combination delighted her, if only because her firm had preferred quiet colors and clean lines.

She had no idea where she was going, and she didn’t care.

It was a beautiful day, even though she’d awoken with a dull headache from the champagne, and the disorientation that went with it. A light, early breakfast on her terrace and a quick dip in the sea had cleared both away. She still had trouble believing that she could lounge through a morning as she pleased—and that she’d spent the evening with a man she’d just met.