The Greek's Bedroom Bargain

She leaned in closer to him. He could feel the warmth of her body against his, her silky, platinum-blonde hair trailing over where the skin of his arm was bared beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. See the deep, beguiling valley between her generous tanned breasts. “We could go somewhere quieter,” she suggested huskily. “Or are you waiting for someone?” Her eyes flicked to the tumbler of Metaxa twelve-star brandy sitting undrunk on the opposite side of the round table. Marco’s glass.

“No,” Nik replied. “He’s not coming.” In all likelihood, Marco never would come. But that didn’t stop Nik and his adoptive brothers from ordering a drink for their absent younger sibling every time they got together. Gone, but definitely not forgotten.

Nik drained the last of his own brandy and turned to his companion. She’d come over and introduced herself as Elsa, from Sweden, just after Sergei and Dimitri had left, and had wasted no time in letting him know she was available, if he wanted. But he didn’t want. Not tonight. Even though Elsa was gorgeous, and he was no stranger to the occasional hook-up or brief affair with female tourists vacationing here on the island of Kathos.

He wasn’t sure why. Friday night after a heavy week spent commuting between his two bars and nightclub? Maybe. Because he was on call this weekend in Agia Kalamaros as a volunteer captain for the local fire service? Perhaps. Or the growing feeling of discontent with the lifestyle he’d pursued for the last ten years, where pleasure-seeking had filled his downtime, and, every now and then, a vacationing woman his bed? Quite possibly.

When Sergei and Dimitri had been here at Artemis AK earlier in the evening to have a couple of drinks with him, they’d ribbed him about Elsa, who’d been sitting alone and throwing him sultry glances, and his uncustomary lack of appetite for what she was clearly offering.

“Hey, bol’shoy brat,” Sergei had mocked his older brother, using the Russian that had been his first language during his earliest years in a Moscow slum. “What’s going on? There’s a beautiful girl over there who’s mega-hot and ready to trot, and you’re just not interested? Are you feeling unwell?”

Nik had rolled his eyes at Sergei’s choice of description of Elsa’s obvious keenness. “Mega-hot and ready to trot? Where did you borrow that from? The lyrics of one of those dance tunes you’re so good at churning out for the clubbers of southern Europe?”

“Dance anthems, brat, anthems. And I don’t churn, I make music. Music you’re quite happy to have played in your club and bars.”

Nik had raised his glass in acknowledgement of Sergei’s correct observation. He did play the tracks Sergei produced in Athens, which regularly topped the charts with their unique mix of Greek, Russian, and electro-dance influences.

“Could it be you’re finally seeing the error of your ways?” Dimitri had asked more seriously. “Realising you’ll never meet a woman in a bar or club, or on the beach, who you can settle down with?”

Nik had made an exaggerated show of patting his middle brother’s shoulder. Dimitri, who, like him, was Greek by birth, was the most intense of the three of them. “Just like you’ve never met the woman you want to settle down with anywhere, Dimitrios?”

Dimitri had smiled and held up his palms in good-natured defeat. “Kleidi. Touché. All three of us know a good woman is hard to find. But there are women out there somewhere, for you, me, and Sergei. You just have to believe.”

“Ah. Believing is where you and I part company,” Nik had admitted.

Elsa sliding her fingers beneath the front of his partly open shirt jerked his attention back to the present. “So we could go somewhere else and get to know one another…better?” she breathed into his ear, then captured its lobe between her teeth and gently nibbled.

Nik sat still, feeling less than aroused, and more like irritated. He had to stop himself from pushing her away. What the hell was wrong with him? Last summer, the combination of her Nordic blondeness and blatant come-on would have had him scooping her up and taking her to his place to have full enjoyment of her spectacular body. But not now. His usual sexual energy had not returned with the new holiday season. But there was still time—this was the first weekend in June. Maybe he just needed to catch up on his sleep, let the temperature rise a little further, and the beaches fill up a little more.

Elsa moving her hand from his chest down to rub at the crotch of his trousers galvanized him into pulling away from her and standing up. She looked up at him, her ice-blue eyes wide with non-comprehension.

“Sorry, agapimeni mou. Not tonight.” He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and moved to leave, briefly stopping to take Marco’s glass of Metaxa from the table, raise it in salute to the still-uncomprehending Elsa, and swallow its contents in one gulp. Then he left the building, striding out onto Agia Kalamaros’s waterfront, which faced onto the Ionian Sea. A fresh breeze cooled him, bringing with it clarity of thought. He turned to look back at the neon-lit sign of Artemis AK. He was proud of his business empire; financially and materially, life was good. He also loved volunteering for the fire station here. But women? As he’d told Dimitri earlier, he wasn’t a believer—because he wasn’t—in his own ability to commit. The hard, honest truth was, people he’d loved had been taken from him, and that had marked him. Whenever there was a prospect of a lasting relationship, that deep thing within him kicked in, and he made sure to leave before he was left.

He turned back to look out to sea. He stared at the moon rising out over the adjoining island of Lekopolos, casting silvery fingers across the water. Definitely, he was jaded when it came to his love life. Easy sex handed to him on a hot plate no longer excited him. Either he lived as a monk, or he needed more of a challenge…

Frankie gently lifted the small, skinny cat back into her cage and gave her an affectionate stroke. The feline’s ailments—a torn ear, a weeping eye, and sores on her hind legs—had been treated with stitches and antibiotics. Within a week or so, she should have gained enough weight to undergo spaying; though she was only about eighteen months old, the pretty little stray tortoiseshell had clearly had two or three litters of kittens already. But after a bit of TLC, she would be put up for adoption, and hopefully placed with a caring owner.

After leaving the cool, tiled area that housed the cats’ cages, Frankie went to wash her hands at the sink in the corner of the adjoining reception room. Staring at her reflection in the small mirror over the basin, she brushed a honey-blonde strand of her straight, shoulder-length hair behind her ear. Six months ago, she wouldn’t have believed she would be here at KATS, the Kathos Animal Temporary Shelter, helping Alison Angelis, her mother’s old school friend, while she contemplated how to rebuild from the ruins of her life. But back then, though she’d known her marriage was in trouble, she’d had no inkling of what was about to blow up in her face. That Andrew, her husband, would shatter her world a few days before Christmas by telling her he didn’t love her anymore, and confessing he was having an affair with twenty-year-old Becky, the junior negotiator at their shared real estate agency. Suddenly, almost everything she’d known had been swept away, and her dreams of starting a family torn down.

She sighed and grabbed her nearby bottle of mineral water, taking a swig. Emotionally, the breakdown of her marriage had been devastating, and she was still a little raw. She’d filed for divorce on the grounds of Andrew’s adultery, but there was a way to go before she could look forward to freedom from her husband or to financial stability. Their lawyers in England were wrangling over how the proceeds should be split once their marital home was sold. Frankie also requested that Andrew buy out her share of their business. She sighed again. English divorce law was based on fairness, not equality—with few hard-and-fast rules about who got what—and Andrew was dragging his heels because of it.

But she was trying not to brood too much about it. She was here in Agia Kalamaros to sort her head out, finish healing, and start making plans for her future. Although, she certainly couldn’t imagine allowing herself to get involved with a man or having another relationship for a long time to come.

“Kalo apogevma. Good afternoon.”

The rumble of a deep male voice had her spinning around. She saw the outline of a man standing in the doorway, framed by rays of late afternoon sunshine. “Oh! Good afternoon,” she responded.

He entered, and her vision adjusted to take in his sturdy work boots, long, strong-looking legs in navy-blue trousers edged with fluorescent stripes, and a buttoned-up blazer with three stars on its epaulettes that were stretched across broad shoulders—a fireman. A very handsome fireman. Her instant attraction to him startled her; she’d thought herself numb to the opposite sex since Andrew had dumped her.

It was a good few seconds before she also realized he was cradling a dog with wild, frightened eyes that was wrapped in what looked like a T-shirt. “Can you deal with this?” he asked crisply in accented but perfect English.

She looked down at the shivering canine in his arms. When the dog let out a whimper, another kind of instinct kicked in. She came forward and allowed the fireman to pass the animal to her. She saw the T-shirt had ruffled up to reveal an angry red wound on its left flank. “What happened?” she asked.

“There was a grass fire up at Skalos, probably started by kids tossing away cigarettes. Some farm outbuildings caught afire. The dog was trapped inside one of them. Can you help her?”

The creature in Frankie’s arms was still trembling with pain and fear. She carried her over to the large, metal-topped treatment table in the center of the room and carefully lowered her down. As she unwrapped the T-shirt, the animal yelped. “It’s okay, baby,” she soothed, stroking the dog’s tan-colored ear. She looked at the blistered skin again. She wasn’t an expert, but she thought it was very likely treatable. “I think so. Her burns look to be first or second-degree partial thickness. I’ll ask the vet who does pro-bono work for us to come and check her over, and then we’ll look after her until she heals—”

Nothing prepared her for the shock that zapped her when she looked back up. The fireman had removed his uniform jacket and let it fall to the floor; he was standing there naked to the waist. She swallowed to moisten her suddenly parched throat, and couldn’t stop herself from devouring the bulging pecs of his upper arms and the ridges of smooth, tanned muscle on his bronzed chest and stomach, which were dusted with dark hair and glistening with charcoal-darkened perspiration…

“Would you pass it to me?”

His low-pitched tones threw her out of her hungry trance. She gulped in some air. “I—I’m sorry?”

“My T-shirt. Could you give it to me, please?”

“Um…yes! Of course.” Quickly, she grabbed the garment. Her nostrils were tantalized by its smell of musky male mixed with smoke and a faint undertone of aftershave. She handed it over and wished her eyes weren’t gluing themselves back to him as he pulled it over his head and chest, revealing the blazing red, blue, and gold logo of the Hellenic Fire Service, the hard muscles of his abdomen rippling with the effort. Another bolt of sexual electricity shuddered through her. Shaken, not quite comprehending and definitely not welcoming the force of her physical reaction, she stepped away, and, with an effort, returned her attention to the dog on the table and what she should do to make her more comfortable until the vet could come.

“Thank you,” the fireman said. “The animal, she was trembling so much. I knew she was in shock, and I had to cover her with something, get her warm.”

“You did the right thing,” Frankie replied, trying not to look at him anymore. “You said you rescued her from some farm buildings. Does she belong to the farmer?”

“Yes, she was his hunting dog. But he does not want her anymore because she is injured. He was prepared to turn his shotgun on her.”

Frankie momentarily froze. “You mean shoot her?” she gasped, straightening up, her eyes meeting his again unintentionally.

He confirmed it with a grimace on his soot-streaked face. “But we stopped him.” He extended his large brown hand for her to shake it. “Kontarinis. Captain Nik Kontarinis.”

She hesitated, then took it, feeling its hardness and warmth wrapping itself around her fingers, making her totally conscious of him all over again. “Francesca—I mean, Frankie—Worthington. I’m so grateful you intervened and saved her, Captain. Thank you. I guess the farmer wasn’t prepared or able to pay for vet’s bills.”

“I think not.” His hand released hers from its firm grip, and she watched as he raised it and rubbed it thoughtfully over his black, buzz-cut hair. He looked around the treatment room. “The money you get to support all this…it comes from tourists?”

“Some of it, yes. We allow them to visit and look around at what we’re doing, and we also get donations via our website from all over the world. But we have some local benefactors as well.”

He nodded. “That is good to hear. I do not have to tell you this island is overrun with feral cats and dogs. Many Greeks do not believe in neutering their animals.”

She could hear a trace of anger in his voice. “It is a problem,” she agreed, gently petting the dog on the table to keep her calm. “And, of course, in these times of austerity, when there are families out there relying on food banks to get by, pets are being left un cared for or abandoned. If only we could persuade more people to bring the animals here. We can look after them, find them new homes.”

His expression softened as he smiled, revealing even, white teeth. “You and your shelter cannot possibly care for all the cats and dogs roaming around Kathos.”

“But we try,” she responded, relaxing a little too.

“I have not seen you around here before,” he remarked. His eyes narrowed. “I think you must be the daughter of Alison’s friend. She told me you were coming to stay.”

“Yes, I am.” Frankie stopped short of telling him anything more, because she didn’t particularly wish to get into why she was here with him. Or anyone else, for that matter.

But he was persistent. “How long are you in Agia Kalamaros for?”

“Until the end of the summer.”

“And then you will return home to England?”

“Yes.” In truth, she had no idea what she would be doing come September.

There was a moment’s silence. “I hope you enjoy your time here,” he said, which made her hope he’d sensed her reluctance to reveal any more about herself. But then he flustered her again by asking, “What do you do at night? Do you like to go out?”

A frisson of alarm rose in her. Where was this heading? “Well, I…I—” She stumbled over the words. “I’m often on duty looking after the animals in the shelter—”

He scrutinized her like a laser beam. “Do they give you any time to eat, Frankie?”

She frowned. “Yes, of course…”

“Kala. Good. I will take you to dinner then.”

His declaration of intent had her defenses instantly springing up, and a twinge of fear flared in her chest. No…no! He wasn’t asking, he was assuming, and, anyway, she wasn’t near ready for this! No way. “Ah…Captain Kontarinis—”

“Nik, please.”

“Nik, thank you for asking, but I’m…” She struggled to keep her tone polite and even, because her instinct was to bite out a refusal. “Like I said, I’m nearly always on duty here at the shelter in the evenings.”

Sparks danced in his bitter-chocolate eyes. “That is a shame. I know of some very good local tavernas. Do you like fish?”

“Yes, but—”

“Perhaps it is too soon after your arrival. Maybe in a week or two.” He hunkered down to retrieve his blazer and rummage in one of its pockets. He stood up, holding a wallet, and then opened it. She watched as he placed a wad of Euros onto the table. “Parakalo,” he said gruffly, inclining his head towards the dog. “Please use that to cover her treatment. If you need more, let me know. You can find me or leave a message for me at my bar, Artemis AK, on the waterfront. I hope she will make a full recovery.” His eyes ran over her once more. “And I hope I will see you around.”

The dog on the tabletop was struggling to raise up and lick at her wounds. Frankie, her heart thumping nineteen to the dozen, was distracted and didn’t reply as she turned back and steadied her. “All right, sweetheart, I know you’re feeling very uncomfortable…”

When she looked up again, Nik Kontarinis had gone.

“Yup, that sounds like Nik Kontarinis.” Alison resumed chopping the large zucchini, which had been grown by her husband, Pavlos, in the expansive vegetable garden that lay behind their hillside house, shaded by the olive groves Pavlos farmed and adjacent to the converted outhouses of KATS. “Don’t get me wrong; he’s not some kind of serial seducer, despite what the local gossips say. But when on the prowl, flirtatious, foreign, and female is usually his thing.”

“Ooh-kay,” Frankie responded thoughtfully as she took in Ali’s summary. Since arriving in Kathos, she’d really bonded with her mother’s childhood friend, but had learned that Ali, dark-haired, brown-eyed, and in her mid-fifties, wasn’t one to pull her punches when giving her opinion about other people. “Foreign and female—I definitely tick those two boxes.” She frowned. “But no way was I being flirtatious. Quite the opposite, actually.” She took a sip of her wine. “Not that it matters. I refused his invitation. Or rather, his assumption that I would be going out to dinner with him. He seems a bit arrogant.”

Ali turned her attention and her knife to an eggplant. “That’ll be a first. Nik getting turned down, I mean. He’s a millionaire and good-looking, and they just fall at his feet.” She sliced some more and then, her head tilted thoughtfully to one side, added, “He is something of a contradiction, though. I’ve known him for years, and I’ve always liked him very much. His line of business does mean his life is one long party, and he’s used to women throwing themselves at him, but I wouldn’t call him arrogant. Just proud, and very driven and determined. And he’s also got a heart of gold. As you saw, he volunteers for the fire service. He’s a very generous sponsor of the local food bank and the women’s shelter in Paragolis as well.”

Frankie fingered the stem of her wineglass reflectively. “I saw his generosity when he produced two hundred and fifty Euros for the dog’s treatment.”

Ali bustled about as she continued with the preparation of a moussaka for that night’s supper, nimbly avoiding Nyx, Hades, and Persephone, her three cats, who were sitting nearby on the flag-stoned floor in a patient line, hoping for tidbits to fall their way. “Nik’s always been generous. But then, he was adopted and brought up by Ian and Drusilla Brodie Stewart. They were lovely people.”

Frankie’s ears pricked up. “Adopted? By Ian Brodie Stewart, the thriller writer? I know he used to live on this island.”

“That’s right. I got friendly with him and Drusilla when I arrived here. They were very kind about introducing me to the expat community, and also to Pavlos. That was back in his builder days, when he was working on modernising their villa.” Ali stopped what she was doing and gazed dreamily out of the kitchen window.

“How old is Nik Kontarinis?” Frankie asked, picking at the bowl of grated cheese that sat before her on the kitchen table, waiting to be added to the sauce for the moussaka.

“Um…” Ali pulled herself out of her romantic recollections. “He must be… Let me see… I arrived here when Nik was about four…so thirty-four, I guess. Ian and Drusilla adopted him when he was a baby. Drusilla couldn’t have children, and when Nik was orphaned, they jumped at the chance to take him in. They went on to adopt three more boys. Dimitrios, who was also local and abandoned, I think; Sergei, who came from Russia; and poor little Marco.”

That last statement made Frankie stop nibbling at the cheese. “Why poor little Marco?”

“He disappeared at a Christmas fishing festival in Trapazakia when he was just a toddler. It was assumed he was either abducted or wandered off and had an accident.” Ali laid down her knife and reached up for the large, copper-bottomed frying pan that hung on a wall-rack. “It will be twenty years this year since he went.”

Frankie’s eyes widened as she took in Marco’s sad story. “Oh, my goodness, that’s terrible! Did they never find him?”

Ali shook her head. “Ian was a former crime reporter in London’s Fleet Street. He pulled strings with every police force in Europe, contacted Interpol, and hired private detectives. But no trace of Marco has ever been found. My theory is that he was taken by child traffickers. It happens.”

Frankie leaned back in her chair, feeling a little shocked. “Wow. That’s quite a past that Nik Kontarinis has: orphaned, adopted, and with a missing little brother.”

Ali stirred minced lamb, and then the vegetables in the frying pan. “He’s a strong man, but there’s a lot of baggage there. Buried emotion, methinks. Drusilla, his mother, died a couple of years after Marco went, apparently of a cardiac arrest, but everybody said her heart was actually broken. Nik took her loss very hard. As he did Ian’s death from a stroke nine years later.”

Frankie watched as the other woman deftly took a wide, oiled earthenware dish and added the cooked lamb and vegetables, then set about swiftly making a white sauce. This Alison poured over the mix in the dish and finished with a layer of the grated cheese, before popping the moussaka into the oven. It smelled delicious, and Frankie’s stomach started to rumble. Ali was a fantastic cook.

All the while, her brain was whirring as she thought about Nik Kontarinis’s story. It was so dramatic…and tragic. How did you deal with having your baby brother snatched from you, and never discovering what had happened to him?

Without warning, an image of Nik and his naked, glistening six-pack flashed through her mind. She bit her lip hard with frustration, struggling to banish it and the needy ache it aroused low down in her belly. She had to get a grip. It was inappropriate to think that way after what Ali had just told her about little Marco, and, anyway, she shouldn’t be interested in Nik Kontarinis or his body, for goodness’ sake! Dating, sex, men…she just wouldn’t, couldn’t, be going there right now.

“Penny for them?” Ali wiped her hands, then came over to join Frankie at the table, bringing her own glass of wine. “What’s bothering you, hun? You’re looking a little pensive. Is it Andrew again? Or maybe Nik Kontarinis?”

Frankie jumped out of her trance and quickly shook her head. “No,” she denied, but she could feel the heat of a guilty flush spreading across her cheeks. “I’ve decided I need to stop feeling bad about Andrew and Becky,” she said defiantly, noticing Ali raise her eyebrows knowingly. “I have! It’s a waste of my time and energy.” she insisted.

“But you’ve been so cut up about him and her since you arrived here,” Ali reminded her.

“I know. But I’ve got to start getting past it, letting go, haven’t I?” Frankie held up her left hand. “Look, wedding and engagement rings removed! I’m no longer Frankie McKnight; I’m Frankie Worthington again. I’ve resolved I’m going to do my best to be calm from now on whenever I’m in touch with Andrew, and patient while the divorce and financial settlement are being negotiated, even though I’m hating all the legal to-ing and fro-ing. In the meantime, I’ll begin thinking seriously about what to do with myself and my future. That’s what matters.”

“Well, good for you if you can manage it. I do hope Andrew stops arguing and realizes he must do the right thing when it comes to buying you out. It’s so disappointing that he’s getting mean about the financial split, and that the bloody English divorce laws allows him to do it. And, no doubt, he’s letting that greedy little tart Becky push him to keep as much back as possible for her benefit.”

Frankie couldn’t help a grin at Ali’s acid assessment; she had related the whole sad story of Andrew’s adultery when she’d first arrived. “We’ll have to see. To be honest, there’s a part of me that would be quite happy to walk away and not bother about the money. But I guess I’ve got to hang in there, fight my corner, and hope the court will make an equitable ruling.”

Ali looked concerned. “Don’t give in now. It’s about what’s due to you—your shares of the house you and he lived in and the business you built between you. Love, you worked so hard for all of that. Just because Andrew couldn’t keep it in his pants doesn’t mean you should get less than what you’re owed. You’ll also need some money for whatever you decide to do in the future.”

Frankie shrugged. “My lawyer has contacted Andrew’s to say we must reach an agreement in the next few weeks and proceed to court.”

“Good. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you. And you know you can stay with us for as long as you want. We love having you.” Ali gave Frankie another shrewd look. “But, you know, something is still bothering you, I can tell. Nik Kontarinis, by any chance?”

Frankie puffed out her cheeks and exhaled. She’d discovered she couldn’t hide anything from Ali; the older lady was too sharp. “Perhaps…well, yes. When he announced this afternoon that he intended to take me out to dinner, it kind of messed with my head a bit, took me by surprise. I’m just not in the market for dating right now…and definitely not for that kind of commanding alpha-male stuff.”

“That’s a shame. You’d have a grand time with Nik. He speaks very good English, because of Ian and Drusilla. And I know he’d treat you like a princess if you’d let him take you out. Where’s the harm in having him wine and dine you, indulging in some no-strings fun? You’ve had a rough time recently, and I guarantee he’d cheer you up.”

“But you said he’s Mr. Flirtatious, Foreign, and Female. I hardly need to be a notch on his bedpost right now. That wouldn’t make me cheerful!”

“I don’t know he’d treat you like that. After all, you’re our guest, and he’s a friend of mine and Pav’s. And you’re not exactly a passing piece of skirt that he’s picked up in a bar or on the beach.”

“That makes him sound so appealing! And hypocritical as well, if he would date me but just shag other women.”

“Quite a few of us who know Nik well feel his reputation is undeserved. Sure, he’s sown some wild oats, but he just needs to find the right woman.”

Frankie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right, and I’m the Queen of England.” She smiled warmly. “You know, it’s brilliant being here with you and Pavlos, just what I do need. I’m really appreciating your support and the opportunity to chill for a while, make plans. But it’s a no from me when it comes to Nik Kontarinis. I’m definitely a single girl for the foreseeable future.”

However, later, after dinner, while she was shutting up the animals in the shelter for the night, Ali’s words niggled at her and her memory kept straying back to Nik; while she was in the cattery, mind pictures of him stripped to the waist rolled past in an erotic, taunting slideshow. She wished they would cease. She so didn’t need it or him right now. He was not for her—too full of himself and only wanting passing flings. She had to focus on getting herself together.

She went into the kennels. Most of the dogs in the caged runs got up from their beds and ran over to her, standing on their hind legs, paws and claws hooking into the netting, tails wagging as they emitted excited barks. She checked that all were okay and had enough water for the night, then stepped back into the doorway, her hand on the doorknob. “Hey, guys, it’s time for bye-byes,” she called out, then closed the door. She should be heading for bed too. But not to dream about Nik Kontarinis. She sighed. How was it that her body was waking up, after months of being alone, and suddenly reacting to the sight of him like he was the hottest thing in the universe? She started walking towards the shelter’s exit. He was hot, she allowed. But that didn’t mean she was about to scorch herself by jumping from Andrew’s frying pan into Nik’s fire…

Seated in the cab of the fire truck, Nik hauled the small boy next to him closer and carefully lowered his fireman’s helmet onto the child’s head. Then he placed his hands on Theo’s chubby ones and guided them onto the truck’s steering wheel. “We’re going to drive the fire engine, mikro mou.” He turned it a little, pretending to drive. The child chortled with laughter and made siren noises. “Nee-nah, nee-nah!”

Outside the cab, Theo’s father looked on, nodding his appreciation. Kostas was the regular captain at the Agia Kalamaros station, a widower single father, bringing up his only son after his young wife had died a year or so ago after losing her battle with breast cancer. Nik had tried to do what he could, paying for Callista to travel to Athens for the best medical treatment, and as an honorary uncle, he always welcomed Theo here at the klimakia whenever he was on duty, knowing the four-year-old wanted to be a fireman when he grew up, just like his dad.

“Nee-nah, nee-nah!” As he continued to move the wheel for Theo with one hand, and hold up the helmet that was in danger of sliding down over the child’s eyes with his other, Nik’s thoughts wandered back to Frankie Worthington. Since yesterday, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head. He had to see her again. She made him think of a young Grace Kelly, with her cool, sexy beauty—large blue eyes, high cheekbones, pale, clear skin, and smooth, shiny blonde hair. And that sensational slender but curvy body, which had been obvious even under an old T-shirt and jeans.

But she’d refused to go out with him. He smiled to himself. It had been more years than he cared to remember since a woman had turned him down. It was okay, though, a refreshing change—Frankie wasn’t easy or only out for a good time. He was happy to work at it; her reserve was the challenge he’d been craving.

His intention had been to check with the shelter later in the week on how the injured dog was doing. Perhaps a visit in person rather than a phone call was in order as a way of meeting Frankie again. Mulling it over, he reached across and blasted the truck’s horn, making Theo squeal with delight. Suddenly, the little boy bouncing excitedly beside him delivered a flash of inspiration. Kostas had been talking about getting a pet for Theo, and also a mascot for the fire station—the crew in Paragolis, the island’s capital, had recently acquired an Alsatian puppy as theirs. Why not adopt the rescued dog as a companion and a mascot? He sounded the horn again for Theo. He’d do anything to make this little boy happy, and if it helped him to win over Frankie Worthington, then all well and good…