Paradise Nights: Taken by the Bad Boy. Kelly Hunter
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wanted to do, mainly to keep my family happy.’ She shrugged out of her jacket and slipped off her shoes with a sigh of relief. ‘I got my photography and language qualifications by fitting them in around the work I’ve done in the family businesses. Had I wanted to be a restaurateur like my brother, or had a vision for growing and marketing the seafood arm of the business like my sister, everything would have worked out just fine, but unfortunately I don’t want to do either of those things. I want to tell stories. Take photos that tell stories. Use those qualifications it took me so long to get.’ Pete said nothing, just watched and listened. ‘You probably think I’m selfish,’ she said, turning away from him so she wouldn’t see the confirmation in his eyes. She’d heard that particular opinion voiced often enough times over the years that she’d learned to anticipate it, brace for it. ‘That I should appreciate all the opportunities my family have given me and take one of them.’
‘If you’re waiting for me to tell you to sacrifice your own needs for those of your family you’ll be waiting a long time, Serena,’ he said, punctuating his words with a tiny tilt of his lips. ‘I lit out of home as soon as the Navy would have me, chasing the sky and a childhood dream. I left behind a grieving father, an older brother, two younger brothers, and a sister—all of whom needed me—because I had to go my own way. I know what it is to sacrifice family for freedom. I’ve done it.’ His lips twisted. ‘The worst part is when they tell you to go and that they’ll be there when you need them and that they’re proud of you for going after what you want.’
‘I’d have been proud of you too,’ she said quietly. ‘If you’d been mine.’ His words had comforted her, settled her conscience. He knew what it was to chase a dream. He understood.
‘Tell your family what you’ve just told me,’ he said. ‘Hell, just show them your photos. If that doesn’t convince them you’re wasted on the fishing business, nothing will.’
‘They’ve seen them. To them photography is just a hobby, something to do on the side. Photojournalism is marginally more acceptable.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘So which one would you prefer to spend your time doing? Straight photography or photojournalism?’
Now there was a question. One she’d spent a great deal of time trying to answer. ‘For the sheer joy of it? Probably the photography.’
‘In that case why the hell did you just go for a photojournalist job?’
His voice was curt, his expression formidable. Maybe he didn’t understand quite as much as she thought. ‘It gets me good subject material for my camera. It’s a time-honoured road for photographers to take. The job might not be perfect, but moments of it will be, and those are the ones I’ll savour. ‘She sent him a wry smile. ‘Surely you of all people can understand that.’
He laughed abruptly; it seemed he could.
‘But enough about work,’ she said lightly. Here they were in a room with a blissfully large bed in it and an entire night at their disposal. Her thoughts turned wicked as she started pulling pins from her hair, the ones that had kept her businesslike chignon in place. ‘I’d like a shower,’ she said, shaking her hair free and dropping the pins on the bedside table before padding towards the minibar, her stockinged feet sinking into the deliciously plush carpet. ‘A glass of wine.’ She opened the fridge, selected a bottle and tossed it on the bed. ‘Some chocolate.’ She perused the selection on top of the counter, chose the Swiss variety, and tossed that on the bed too. ‘I know it sounds trite but I’d like to slip into something a little more comfortable.’ She had a white silk cami and matching panties in her luggage. She found them, threw them onto the bed as well. ‘And then I’d like you.’ She looked meaningfully at the pile on the bed and then back at Pete. Pete’s lips twitched. ‘Feel free to arrange yourself any way you like.’
‘I’d like to oblige,’ he said. ‘Really. And I’m sure we can come to some sort of mutually agreeable arrangement at some point in time.’ He was peeling off his shirt as he spoke, heading towards her, grabbing her by the hand. ‘But my fantasy started the minute you mentioned the shower.’
He made her laugh as he turned on the shower taps and pulled them both under the spray, and her still fully dressed. Made her gasp as he peeled her out of her clothes and set about devouring her body.
Later, much later, he wrapped her in a towel, carried her to the bed and fed her wine and chocolate as she relived the high points of her interview for him, and the low. And then the wine and chocolate went on the counter and the towel went on the floor and he reached for her again.
This time, the sheer perfection and intensity of his lovemaking nearly made her cry.
Pete flew her home the following morning, his body utterly exhausted and his mind fogged with the pleasure only Serena’s touch could bring. He’d had lovers before. Generous, accomplished lovers, but not one of them had ever brought to lovemaking what Serena gave to him.
A sensuality that held him breathless. A generosity that left him reeling.
And a hunger for more that he didn’t know how to deal with.
She had to get back to Sathi. He had to get her there and then go take care of Tomas’s business. That was his agenda for today. He couldn’t think any further than that. He didn’t want to think further than that. Because then he’d start thinking about what he’d begun to want from this woman and it had for ever written all over it.
And he sure as hell didn’t want to think about that.
So he took her home and he played the game she’d asked of him and grinned at the scene that greeted him when they touched down in Sathi.
There was no shark, no ten-inch boning knives, no father and uncle with narrow-eyed glares and faces carved from rock. But Theo was sitting on the bench across from the helipad sharpening a box full of frighteningly large fish hooks and the majestically built Marianne Papadopoulos was there as well, pounding octopus on a flat weathered rock with a glint to her eye and a strength to her wrist that put him in mind of a cat o nine tails and some poor unsuspecting sod’s back.
It was a warning, beautifully executed, almost effective. Serena slid him a long-suffering glance. Pete grinned at her.
‘This is the part where you leave,’ she told him dryly.
‘I knew that,’ he said.
‘And never come back.’
‘Now that’s unlikely.’ He gave Theo a nod, Marianne Papadopoulos a smile he reserved for the hardest of hearts and laughed when she narrowed her eyes and stopped pounding in favour of grinding that octopus hard against the rock with a swift, twisting motion. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said and lightly bussed her lips. ‘Count on it.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHEN it came to women and the wooing of them, Pete Bennett could justify just about any hare-brained scheme. Everything from a daily bombardment of flowers to remote location helicopter joyrides with a picnic basket and blanket packed for good measure. From tandem parachute jumps to Symphony Orchestra concerts by way of a spot of deep-sea marlin fishing in between. But he’d never, ever, done anything as stupid as jumping in a helicopter when he should have been working and setting off for a sleepy little Greek island that no one else seemed to want to go to on the off chance that once he got there the ache around his heart might ease.
He should have been checking into an Athens hotel, grabbing a bite to eat, and bedding down early in readiness for the five a.m. start his clients had requested the following day. He had a schedule to stick to, passengers to collect. He should have phoned Serena when he’d got the urge to talk to her. That was what a sane man would have done.
Instead he was flying the little Jet Ranger fast and low en route to Sathi, his mind firmly fixed on getting to his destination before the sun disappeared over the horizon.
After that … well … after that he didn’t much care what he did so long as Serena