Summer Love: The Best Mistake / Impulse

Aunt Jeannie would have tut-tutted and reminded her of the dangers of being a woman alone. Some of her friends would have been shocked, others envious. But they would all have been astonished that steady Rebecca had strolled in the moonlight with a gorgeous man with a scar on his jawline and eyes like velvet.

If she hadn’t had his jacket as proof, she might have thought she’d dreamed it. There had never been anything wrong with her imagination—just the application of it. Often she’d pictured herself in an exotic place with an exotic man, with moonlight and music. Imagined herself, she remembered. And then she’d turned on her calculator and gotten down to business.

But she hadn’t dreamed this. She could still remember the giddy, half-terrified feeling that had swarmed through her when he’d gathered her close. When his mouth had been only an inch from hers and the sea and the champagne had roared in her head.

What if he had kissed her? What tastes would she have found? Rich, strong ones, she mused, almost able to savor them as she traced a fingertip over her lips. After just one evening she was absolutely certain there would be nothing lukewarm about Stephen Nickodemus. She wasn’t nearly so certain about Rebecca.

She probably would have fumbled and blushed and stammered. With a shake of her head, she pulled a brush through her hair. Exciting men didn’t tumble all over themselves to kiss neat, practical-minded women.

But he’d asked to see her again.

Rebecca wasn’t certain whether she was disappointed or relieved that he hadn’t pressed his advantage and kissed her. She’d been kissed before, held before, of course. But she had a feeling—a very definite feeling—that it wouldn’t be the same with Stephen. He might make her want more, offer more, than she had with any other man.

Crossing bridges too soon, she decided as she checked the contents of her big straw bag. She wasn’t going to have an affair with him, or with anyone. Even the new, improved Rebecca Malone wasn’t the type for a casual affair. But maybe— She caught her lower lip between her teeth. If the time was right she might have a romance she’d remember long after she left Greece.

For now, she was ready, but it was much too early to go down. It would hardly make her look like a well-traveled woman of the world if she popped down to the lobby and paced for ten minutes. This was her fantasy, after all. She didn’t want him to think she was inexperienced and overeager.

Only the knock on the door prevented her from changing her mind about her outfit one more time.

“Hello.” Stephen studied her for a moment, unsmiling. He’d nearly been certain he’d exaggerated, but she was just as vibrant, just as exciting, in the morning as she had been in the moonlight. He held out her shoes. “I thought you might need these.”

She laughed, remembering her impulsive dunk in the sea. “I didn’t realize I’d left them on the beach. Come in a minute.” With a neatness ingrained in her from childhood, she turned to take them to the bedroom closet. “I’m ready to go if you are.”

Stephen lifted a brow. He preferred promptness, but he never expected it in anyone but a business associate. “I’ve got a Jeep waiting. Some of the roads are rough.”

“Sounds great.” Rebecca came out again, carrying her bag and a flat-brimmed straw hat. She handed Stephen his jacket, neatly folded. “I forgot to give this back to you last night.” Should she offer to have it cleaned? she wondered when he only continued to look at her. Fiddling with the strap of her bag, she decided against it. “Does taking pictures bother you?”

“No, why?”

“Good, because I take lots of them. I can’t seem to stop myself.”

She wasn’t kidding. As Stephen drove up into the hills, she took shots of everything. Sheep, tomato plants, olive groves and straggly sage. He stopped so that she could walk out near the edge of a cliff and look down at a small village huddled near the sea.

She wouldn’t be able to capture it on film; she wasn’t clever enough. But she knew she’d never forget that light, so pure, so clear, or the contrast between the orange tiled roofs and the low white-washed walls and the deep, dangerous blue of the water that flung itself against the weathered rock that rose into harsh crags. A stork, legs tucked, glided over the water, where fishing boats bobbed.

There were nets drying on the beach and children playing. Flowers bloomed and tangled where the wind had planted them, more spectacular than any planned arrangement could ever be.

“It’s beautiful.” Her throat tightened with emotion, and with a longing she couldn’t have defined. “So calm. You imagine women baking black bread and the men coming home smelling of fish and the sea. It looks as though it hasn’t changed in a hundred years.”

“Very little.” He glanced down himself, surprised and more than a little pleased that she would be touched by something so simple. “We cling to antiquity.”

“I haven’t seen the Acropolis yet, but I don’t think it could be any more spectacular than this.” She lifted her face, delighted by the way the wind whipped at it. Here, high above the sea, she absorbed everything—the salty, rough-edged bite of the wind, the clarity of color and sound, and the man beside her. Letting her camera dangle from its strap, she turned to him. “I haven’t thanked you for taking the time to show me all of this.”

He took her hand, not to raise it to his lips, just to hold it. It was a link he hadn’t known he wanted. “I’m enjoying seeing the familiar through someone else’s eyes. Your eyes.”

Suddenly the edge of the cliff seemed too close, the sun too hot. Could he do that just by touching her? With an effort, Rebecca smiled, keeping her voice light. “If you ever come to Philadelphia, I’ll do the same for you.”

It was odd. She’d looked almost frightened for a moment. Fragile and frightened. Stephen had always carefully avoided women who were easily bruised. “I’ll consider that a promise.”

They continued to drive, over roads that jarred and climbed and twisted. She saw her first of theagrimi, the wild goat of Greece, and the rocky pastures dotted with sturdy sheep. And everywhere, rich and defiant, was the intense color of flowers.

He didn’t complain when she asked him to stop so that she could snap pictures of tiny blue star blossoms that pushed their way through cracks in the rock. He listened to her delight as she framed a thick, thorny stem topped with a ragged yellow flower. It made him realize, and regret, that it had been years since he’d taken the time to look closely at the small, vital things that grew around him.

He looked now at Rebecca standing in the sunlight, her hat fluttering around her face and her laugh dancing on the air.

Often the road clung to cliffs that plunged dizzily into the sea. Rebecca, who was too timid to fight rush-hour traffic, found it exhilarating.

She felt almost like another person. Shewasanother person, she thought, laughing as she held on to her hat to keep the wind from snatching it away.