My Greek SEAL (3 page)

“Hey, love,” says Maryann. “It looks like eye candy man is joining us on holiday.”

CHAPTER FOUR

I crane my neck to see where her gaze is directed and swear softly under my breath. The familiar tangled mop of dark hair and bulky, flexing shoulder muscles appear at the top of the boat ladder. The sexy man’s wind-tossed hair obscures most of his face.

Talk about terrible luck. . So much for my worst thing that could happen pep talk. At least thanks to his hair I can’t see his smug smile.

He leaps onto the deck like an agile panther. Sweeping his hair aside with a flick of a hand, his gaze lands on me and lingers way too long before his mouth twists into a smile. His gaze makes a slow descent. My annoyance quickly transforms to unease. What’s going on in that warped brain of his?

I cross my arms protectively over my chest. I don’t want to be ogled, I tell myself while lusty heat pinches at the tips of my nipples and sends blood racing south, stimulating my nether regions so exquisitely I almost moan out loud. Yes, it’s been damn near forever since I’ve had sex. Yes, I’d be more than ready to get it on with Greek statue man if he didn’t strike me as so annoying.

Where are all these crazy random thoughts coming from? My mind isn’t usually this disordered. Right now it feels more turbulent than the open sea we’re about to venture into. My stomach lurches at the thought. I wonder if maybe I should have taken an extra motion sickness pill just in case the prescribed amount isn’t enough for me. Stop. Get your head together. This too handsome man is wreaking havoc on my equilibrium. I nearly laugh out loud at the stupidity of that ridiculous thought. What equilibrium? I’ve already demonstrated my shit sense of balance to everyone on this boat and soon they’ll know I’m mentally unbalanced as well.

“I believe we’re all here now,” says Libby. She disappears into the cabin to start taking a head count and ends the counting by touching me on the head. “Thirteen’s the lot. Very good.”

Thirteen swimmers on the boat and I’ve just been dubbed the unlucky thirteenth. I try to discard thoughts of bad luck colored by images of sinking boats and muscle cramps. Normally, I’m slightly superstitious. But now I’m feeling downright neurotic. I’m completely annoyed with my predicament. I was as stable as any other person until the shit with my job hit the fan and I flew to Greece. Now, I’ve seen one hot guy, been given a random unlucky number and suddenly have the thought processes of a crazy lunatic.

Forget unlucky thirteen. Now he’s walking toward me. I clear my throat and cough. Damn. My mouth feels dry, but my water bottle is in the bottom of my bag. I won’t allow my mouth to fall open as I watch his large, tanned feet take several athletic steps until he’s standing right in front of me. Okay, so here we are. I’ll utter one or two stupid things right away so I can get the worst of the embarrassment over with right off the bat.

What I really need right now is a shot of tequila.

The hot Greek man is still standing in front of me, and my butt is still sunk down deep into the beanbag chair. I fasten my eyes on his sun-bronzed feet. I can’t look up. If I do, my gaze is likely to be aimed at a part of his anatomy I definitely shouldn’t be looking at. I clear my throat, desperately trying to clear my mind of the fact that his cock is only a couple feet away from my face, but trying to shake off that image is like trying to shake off a piece of jumping cholla cactus that has adhered to the arm of your sweatshirt. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit...

“Good morning, my name is Eros.” His accented voice is deep, robust and sexy. He extends his large, strong hand in my direction.

Ripples of excitement race over my skin. The sound of his voice and his nearness are just too much. I strain my neck and look up. Way up. Whew. That wasn’t so bad. I’m not looking at it. Yet. I extend my arm reach with my fingertips, but I can’t quite grasp his hand. I’ve sunken so deep into the beanbag that I have to rock back and forth twice to launch myself to my feet. When my gaze meets his, all thoughts fly from my head. This Eros is even more gorgeous at close range. His dark eyes, flecked with gold, are nothing short of disarming. Or disrobing even. I see raw sensuality in the depths of those eyes. I’m wondering if my finger would even indent his flesh if I pressed it into his rock solid upper arm. Probably not. The man’s a wall of muscle. Suddenly, I realize I’m standing there staring at him as if he’s some exotic creature in a zoo.

The corners of his sumptuous mouth curl up in amusement. “Aren’t you going to shake my hand or introduce yourself?”

Shit. A nervous laugh escapes my lips. I haven’t even said a word and already I’m making a fool of myself. I grimace, afraid to hear the words that are about to come out of my mouth. “Oh, yes, of course. I’m Maya.” I thrust my hand toward him. When our fingers interlock, I notice his grip is sinewy and strong. I gasp. Looking at him up close was intense, but the jolt of electricity his touch incites is maddening. Sexual desire that had gone latent is now surging through my blood stream. I want this man and bad. I revert to more awkward laughter, hoping he might not have noticed my gasp of astonishment. It couldn’t have been that loud, could it?

“It’s very nice to meet you, Maya.” He continues shaking my hand, sending shock waves of excitement through my body.

“It’s nice to meet you, too. But about your name... That was a joke, right? To see if I was paying attention.” I perused some Greek guidebooks in recent weeks and somewhere along the way had read that Eros is the god of sex and love. The Greek cupid. Yes, this man standing in front of me is sexy and yes, anyone would want to be this magnetic man’s lover including me, but no, I’m not buying that his name is actually Eros.

He drops my hand so suddenly it flops down to my side. My whole body sags in response when the warm and pleasantly erotic current of energy is suddenly cut off.

The man’s thick dark brows pull together and a muscle in his jaw twitches. “No, Eros is my birth name. Why? You don’t like it?”

I shake my head and my face heats with embarrassment. I mutter nonsensical gibberish I fear I’ll regret for the rest of my life.

The sarcastic edge to his words is unmistakable. “Is it too hard for you to pronounce? Perhaps I should make up an American name for you to call me to make it easier on you? Maybe you’d like to call me Ed?”

Damn. I never expected my awkwardness to catapult me into jerk territory. Now I’m a klutz and an ugly American. How did I manage that? If I’d only buried my face in one of those lumpy pillows and never left my room, things would be a whole lot better. “No, of course not. It’s not th—“

“What is the problem you are having with my name?” The muscles around his lips are taut, showing he’s on edge. Looking at this man I’ve managed to make an enemy within a blink of an eye, all I can think about is how the yellow flash in his dark eyes and the way his muscles in his neck and upper arms are flexing and angry makes him look hotter than ever. This situation I’ve talked my way into is way worse even than falling overboard.

I redirect my thoughts away from his sexy, flexing muscles to the mess I’ve gotten myself into and decide an honest explanation is the best approach. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to offend you. But I read these guidebooks about Greece and some of them mentioned names of Greek Gods. Eros was one of them. You have to understand. I meet a Greek and then he tells me he’s Cupid or the god of love.” I let out a long, frustrated sigh. “It just seemed too unbelievable. So I had to ask. To make sure it wasn’t a joke. Sometimes, well, we say things that aren’t true to see if people fall for it.” My intestines twist in agony as I think about what I just said.

Eros steps in a little closer and speaks in a low, seductive voice. “So a lot of people in your country offer false names when introducing themselves to new people?”

I cross my arms over my chest more for a sense of protection than anything else. “Not really, b—“

“So why did you assume it was a lie?”

I sigh. “I just told you. I didn’t think you were lying. I thought it was a joke.”

A grin spreads over his face. “I try to avoid joking with strangers. Especially with Americans since they tend to take themselves very seriously.” A breath of wind tosses a lock of his long dark hair over his eyes. I fight the urge to reach out and brush it away from his face.

For the brief instant that it takes for him to swipe the curly mass of hair from his face, I stare at him. Then I glance away and clear my throat. “You keep saying American this, American that. How do you even know where I’m from? I could be from Tasmania for all you know.”

He laughs out loud. “I don’t think so. Listen to yourself. What you say makes your nationality quite clear. There are many things about you that suggest you are American.”

“Many things?” I plant my hands on my hips. I really hoped he’d get past my blunder instead of assigning me the role of prototype Ugly American. “Such as?”

“In addition to the fact that you are nervous, stressed out, and don’t trust strangers, there is the issue of your accent.”

I feel my cheeks redden. I’m offended by all these labels he’s assigned me, but for some reason his mention of my accent irks me the most. I want to fire back that his accent is just as weird, but I’ve never been a bad liar. I’d rattle that off and blush since in reality, I think his accent is sexy enough to melt chocolate or even metal. “The issue of my accent? Is it really that bad?”

“Your voice sounds strained and like you are worrying about what people think. It would be quite melodic if you could relax.”

Melodic? Now, he’s kidding, right? Or maybe this Eros plays in a band or smokes serious weed.

My fantasy about foreign guys had always been that they spoke in wordy, poetic phrases. Eros fits this fantasy image in every way. I wonder if he’s flirting or mocking me. Maybe a little of both? “Everyone has stress sometimes, not just Americans. I’m sure many people in your own country are freaked out by the financial crisis. Don’t waste time worrying about me. I know how to relax. Maybe you’ll like my voice better after I drink some wine at lunch later.”

“Drinking wine is a very bad way to manage stress. There are much better ways that I can think of to do these things.” His gaze wanders over my body and his lips curl up in a seductive smile. “And you must know you can not have alcoholic drinks during the swimming lunch.”

My whole body sags in response. There’s no way in hell I can get through this day without a drink. Or maybe three. “Why not?”

“Because you must be fully alert for the afternoon swim.”

A loud sigh escapes my lips. “I guess you’re not joking about that either?”

“No, I am not. Dmitri will explain this to you soon enough.”

“I see. Now tell me, what do you have against the way I dress?”

“This is a very interesting topic.”

“Interesting? You talk like I’m a lab rat.”

A broad grin spreads over his handsome face. I’m not the least surprised to see a straight, sturdy row of snow-white teeth. He doesn’t have a single feature that isn’t perfect—other than his personality. “Yes, I suppose it must feel that way to you. I’m sorry. But you did ask for my opinion.”

I grind my teeth together, take a strained breath and open my mouth to respond. Unfortunately, I never get the chance.

“Your swimming costume is very...American.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“The high neck is so conservative. Your wrap on the other hand, is very nice.” He pauses for a moment, pursing his lips and looking pensive. “And almost as distracting as your very unusual walk.”

I clench my fists the way I normally do in karate class when I’m about to practice punches. Why can’t he just do something nice for a change? Like stop talking. “My walk. Okay, I have heard enough of this nonsense.”

“Relax, Miss Maya. I am only telling you what I see.”

I seem headed for a cliff today anyway so I might as well take this conversation right to the edge and then leap off. “Fine. Go on.”

Eros walks in a stiff fast gait across the deck, craning his head toward me while he speaks. “Americans tend to walk like they are going to miss the train even if there is no train.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Not every American walks like that. There are lots of older people in my country who walk slowly or use walkers.”

“You know I am not talking about the elderly American, Miss Maya. You would not be trying to build a fence around what I’m saying if you didn’t see there is truth to my words.”

I want to launch into an explosive rant about all his obnoxious traits, namely that he always has to be right, but I know it would just make me look defensive. Instead, I stare at him in stony silence.

“Why does it bother you so much that I know you’re American? Did you want to keep your place of birth a secret?”

“No, of course not. I just don’t need this right now,” I say in a tight whisper.

His thick brows tilt outward and a flicker of compassion appears in his dark eyes. He reaches for my hand. “I am sorry that I have upset you, Miss Maya. Why don’t we have another handshake for what I believe you would call a truce?”

I stare at his hand and wonder if everyone else nearby including Eros can see my body trembling. My whole world feels unstable as if I’m living in an earthquake zone. Sharing my feelings with this man isn’t safe. I should stay far away from him. This hot hunk of sexy muscle is nothing but trouble. He’s bringing all of my insecurities to the surface at a time when I’m already an emotional mess.

The nerve endings in my fingers vibrate with excitement. “A truce,” I whisper. While my mind argues against it, my fingers fly toward his. His fingers wrap around mine in a sensual, strong greeting.

“We are now agreeing that I am Eros from Greece and you are Maya from the United States and we are both fine with those facts.”

“Yeah, sure.” Warm heat scatters through my body. I pull my arm back and attempt to unravel my fingers from his grasp. Once my hand is free, I drop with a frustrated thud into the beanbag chair, realizing that if I had any sense, I’d jump overboard and swim back to the safety of the dock.