‘She sounds like a formidable woman,’ he observed. His own mother had been the opposite of formidable.
Jo met his eyes. ‘That’s one way of describing her. She’s very blunt with her opinions, and has no time for people she considers to be fools. Most people are scared of her and she knows it—she leaves the cakes in the front room with price tags on and no one has ever tried to short-change her or steal the money box.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll say this much for her, though—she’s dotty about the animals. It’s only creatures who don’t walk on four legs she has no interest in.’
The waiter returned with their wine and poured them each a glass.
‘Do you still live with your parents?’ Theseus asked after taking a sip of the mellow red liquid.
‘I’m in Oxford itself now. It’s easier to commute to work.’
That reminded him of something else she’d once told him. ‘I thought you were moving to London?’
Her eyes widened. ‘Gosh, your memory is on fire tonight.’
He flashed her a grin, wondering if he’d imagined the flicker of fright that had crossed over her face.
‘So what happened to London?’ he asked, watching as she reached for her glass of wine and noting the tremor in her hands. She reminded him of a jumpy cat walking on freshly tossed hot coals.
She looked out over the mountains. ‘Life. But never mind about me—tell me about the business you run with your brothers. You invest in young start-up companies?’
He eyed her contemplatively. Yes. The jumpy cat analogy perfectly described her at this moment. Her discomfort had come on so suddenly it made him suspicious—until he reminded himself that he had no right to her secrets.
Jo was in his employ. The fact that they had once made love half a decade ago didn’t mean he had the right to know everything about her.
Yet the more he was with her, the more he wanted to peel back every secret until she was stripped bare before him.
Did she have a lover? Instinct told him no—she wasn’t the kind of woman to kiss a man if she was involved with someone else—but there was something going on with her...something she had no intention of sharing with him.
He took another sip of wine and pulled his errant thoughts back under control.
No more intimacies. This was not a seduction.
There would be no peeling back of anything; not secrets nor clothes.
So he told her about the business, keeping the conversation throughout their meal light and easy. By the time they’d finished their starters and main course—the pair of them having shared a generous souvlaki platter filled with marinated pork and chicken skewers, roasted vegetables, hot pitta, salads and tzatziki—and ordered coffee, she was as relaxed as he’d seen her on his island. So relaxed that when she declined dessert he held himself back from asking if her refusal of sweet foods was related to her mother’s cakes.
And he’d relaxed too. With each sip of wine and every bite of food he’d felt the weight he lived with lift until it was just them. Two people who couldn’t keep their eyes off each other.
Jo truly was glorious, with her autumn leaf hair thick around her shoulders, a lock falling around her cleavage. It would take no effort to lean across the table and slowly sweep it away, to trace his fingers over her satin skin...
‘What?’ she asked, one brow raised.
She must have read something in his expression, for her eyes suddenly widened and she grabbed her glass, holding it up like a shield.
Another memory flashed through his mind, of lying on his bed with her, his head cushioned on those wonderful breasts...
She’d been awake, book in hand, when he’d knocked on her chalet door. Her friends had been fast asleep.
When he’d swigged from his bottle of gin, shrugged his shoulders helplessly and said, ‘I think I need a friend,’ she’d stared at him, taking in his disarrayed state, then giving the most loving, sympathetic smile he’d ever been on the receiving end of.
‘Come on,’ she’d said, putting her book down and taking his hand to lead him back to his own chalet.
The bed being the only place to sit, she’d climbed on and sat against the headboard. He’d leaned into her. She’d laced her fingers through his hair and let him talk.
He still couldn’t pinpoint when the mood had changed. He’d been drunk, but there had come a moment when he’d suddenly become aware of the erratic thud of her heart. He’d tilted his head to look at her and realised that while he’d been talking so self-indulgently his head had been resting on her comforting breasts. Breasts separated from him by nothing but a thin white T-shirt.