The Santorini Bride - Anne McAllister

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God her vigilant parents, her overprotective brothers and all the other guardians of her virtue couldn’t hear her now!

      But she almost wished bloody Julian could! He was the reason she was saying this. He had driven her to it.

      But she knew it wasn’t just about Julian. It was about her, too.

      She was twenty-four years old, but she’d been cosseted, protected and coddled her entire life. And everything in that life had, until yesterday, gone according to plan.

      Yesterday—the memory of Julian naked in the shower with some faceless, nameless woman, someone who was Not Her—had proved to Martha that her dreams were no more than that. They had no substance. They were airy fluff.

      She had always assumed that she would find the deep lasting love her parents had—the love that had so far eluded all her siblings, especially her sister Cristina who used to go through men like Martha went through tubes of cadmium blue. She had always been determined not to be another Cristina. So when she’d met Julian, when he had teased her, charmed her, flirted with her, she’d dared to hope he would be The One.

      “Of course I’m the one,” he’d agreed the first evening they’d met, his grin devastating, his pale-blue eyes dancing. “Let me show you.”

      That was the first time he’d tried to get her into bed.

      But Martha had declined. She wasn’t even close to ready for intimacy like that. She wanted it, certainly. But only if she was sure. Then she would commit. Love and sex were all part of the same fabric in her mind. And over the past five months she’d held out—until she was sure.

      And what a mistake that was!

      She’d been an idiot. A blind naive idiot.

      Obviously sex and love had nothing whatever to do with each other! Just ask Julian.

      So, fine. She could learn from her mistakes. And in the meantime she would learn from the world’s sexiest sailor. Though to be honest, Theo Savas looked less sexy than stunned as he stared at her.

      Martha stared back, resolute and implacable.

      Theo’s eyes narrowed fractionally, as if assessing her resolve and, perhaps, something else. But finally he nodded and a slow smile lifted the corners of his supremely kissable lips—the lips whose kiss had inspired her outrageous demand in the first place.

      “Whatever you say, sweetheart. Three weeks, no strings. Mind-blowing sex. No Agnetta and no Cassandra and no manipulating mother,” he said with supreme satisfaction. “I think we’ve got ourselves a heck of a deal.”

      “She’s not exactly your style, is she?” Agnetta edged a little closer so that if Theo turned away, leaning on the wall of the roof and watching the sunset, his arm would brush her breasts.

      She had made the move with mathematical precision, and Theo found himself admiring her perseverance and determination even as he displayed his own and kept his gaze determinedly on the swiftly sinking sun.

      He probably shouldn’t have let her finagle this jaunt to the rooftop after dinner. He knew damned well why she was begging to see the view—and it had nothing to do with the sunset.

      But he had thought to give Martha a bit of a breather. She’d been a trooper, feeding them all with some sort of seafood stew she’d miraculously concocted from the staples in the cupboards and the vegetables and fish he’d fetched from the market, chatting cheerfully and firmly declining all help with the dishes.

      Not that the other two women’s offer to dry had been all that sincere. Cassie had been itching to get down into the center part of town where there were bars and clubs and men. And Agnetta had said she would love to see the view from the roof—if Theo didn’t mind.

      He figured if he left her to dry dishes she’d spend the time doing more mischief, telling Martha stories about their so-called affair that she had no need to hear. Taking Agnetta to the roof—and imparting a few home truths—seemed preferable.

      So he’d dutifully led her up the stairs and pointed out the sights, which were indeed memorable, all the while keeping his own carefully calculated space between them.

      “Martha?” he responded to Agnetta’s question now with a smile that he didn’t even have to force. He’d actually enjoyed her during dinner. She hadn’t been silly like Cassie or sultry and demanding like Agnetta. She’d been bright and funny and charming, reminding him a bit of his kid sister, Tallie, or the proverbial girl next door.

      Definitely not his usual style.

      “No, she’s not,” he agreed readily, then slanted a slightly mocking glance Agnetta’s way. “That’s why I like her.”

      Agnetta’s beautiful mouth formed a pout, and she gave his arm a playful shove. “Ah, you are just playing, then.”

      “Don’t I always?”

      Her mouth pressed into a thin line at memories best left untouched. “Does she know that?”

      “Yep.” The absolute unvarnished truth. And Martha’s idea to boot.

      Agnetta’s brows lifted in surprise. “She does? And she agreed?”

      “Of course. We understand each other.”

      Agnetta gave him a long narrow-eyed gaze. “Do you? I wonder.”

      Theo frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      “You need to be careful,” she told him. “She is not like me.”

      “There’s a blessing.”

      Agnetta made a face at him. “You’re not still holding a grudge because of my little mistake.”

      He didn’t say he knew it hadn’t been a mistake. “I’m not holding a grudge. I don’t give a damn.”

      She looked nettled, but shrugged. “Well, I’m only warning you. You could hurt her.”

      Theo shook his head. “Nope.”

      “You’re a heartless bastard, you know that, Theo?”

      “No. I’m a realist. And so is Martha. You don’t need to worry about her. Now—” he shoved away from the wall he had been leaning against “—if you’ve seen all you want to see, we should be getting downstairs. It’s getting late.” He glanced pointedly at his watch.

      “Late?” Agnetta blinked, then waved a hand at the twilit city below. “It’s not even completely dark yet. The guidebooks say life doesn’t begin on Santorini until midnight!”

      “I wouldn’t know,” Theo said.

      Agnetta stared at him in disbelief. Then she laughed. “You are playing with me. Come. We will see how much life there is.” She smiled and moved to hook her arm through his.

      But Theo stepped away before she could. “No, thanks. But you go right ahead. Enjoy it.” He turned his back and headed for the stairs. Martha had had enough of a breather. It was time to call out the reinforcements. “I’ll give you a key.”

      “A key?” Agnetta hurried after him. “But you are coming, too, surely. I mean, you and Martha, too, if you must, but—”

      “We won’t be coming, too. We have other plans for this evening.” He reached the bottom of the stairs, then turned and smiled at her.

      “What sort of plans?” Agnetta looked distinctly annoyed.

      Theo lifted a brow and gave her his best wolfish grin. “I’m sure you can guess.”

      What were they doing on the roof?

      Not that she cared, really, Martha thought as she banged the last clean pan down on the stove and hung the dish towel on the hook by the stove. But you’d have thought, if Mr. Sexiest Sailor really wanted to avoid the Stunning Swedish Pursuer, he wouldn’t

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