Bound to the Greek (16 page)

Staying away would have been easier. Safer. He just wished he’d had the strength to do it.

Suppressing a shiver as a chilly wind blew off the water, Jace slung his damp shirt around his neck and headed back to the villa, now no more than a darkened hulk under the sky. Inside all was quiet, the only sound the whisper of the waves. Jace peeled off his damp clothes and fell into bed naked, clenching his eyes shut as if he could keep the doubts from assailing him, the memories from claiming him.

Yet as he finally drifted off to sleep he could see Eleanor as she once was, relaxed and laughing as she held out a chocolate cupcake, and he heard her laughter as she tempted him to taste it.

He woke up craving chocolate. Craving Eleanor.

E
LEANOR
woke up to the distant, mournful clanging of bells. She scrambled from her bed and peeked out the window; the sun was already high in the sky, glinting off the water, and on a rocky hill in the distance she saw the source of the sound: goats. The bells around their necks clanged and clanked as a boy shepherded them out of sight.

She quickly showered and dressed, slipping into a pair of tailored black trousers and a crisp white button-down shirt. Work clothes. Armour. After Jace’s barely there kiss last night, she needed it. She felt entirely too fragile, too fearful.

Further armed with a pad of paper and the notes she’d taken earlier, she came downstairs to the kitchen, where Agathe was setting out breakfast.

‘Dinner last night was delicious,’ Eleanor said, wishing she spoke Greek. Agathe smiled widely, clearly understanding enough.

She waved towards the table. ‘Eat. Eat.’

Eleanor sat down and, still smiling, Agathe poured her a cup of thick Greek coffee. Eleanor helped herself to yogurt, honey, and fresh slices of melon. ‘Do you know where Jace is?’ she asked hesitantly, and Agathe shrugged, spreading her hands. It took her a moment to finally find the word, but when she did, it caused double shafts of disappointment and relief to slice through Eleanor.

‘Work. He work.’

‘Ah. Right.’ Nodding her thanks, Eleanor took a sip of the coffee. That was good, she decided. Jace was working, and so would she. That was why they were here, after all. To work.

Except yesterday, on the plane, Jace had told her to forget the party. The real reason she was here was because he wanted her to be. And
she
wanted to be, which was why she had agreed in the first place. God only knew what could happen, what they would allow to happen, as Jace had said yesterday.

Moodily Eleanor speared a slice of melon. If she were a less cautious person, she’d seize this opportunity with both hands and a lot more besides. She’d let herself enjoy Greece?enjoy
Jace
?and just see what happened. Such an easy thing to do. Just
see.

Yet she wasn’t that kind of person, although perhaps she once had been. Now she was careful and cautious and kept everything close, especially her emotions. Most definitely her heart. There was nothing easy about
just seeing
at all. It was impossibly difficult, incredibly dangerous, and she wasn’t sure she could do it at all. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to, despite the nameless longing that swelled up inside her, spilling out.

After breakfast, since Jace had not put in an appearance, Eleanor decided to explore the villa. She’d get a sense of what would work for the party, and present Jace with some kind of initial plan. She’d need to ask him about services too; Agathe certainly couldn’t do all the cooking, and supplies would have to be either flown or ferried in.

Hugging her clipboard to her chest, Eleanor strolled through the villa’s front rooms that she’d glimpsed last night. Both were spacious and comfortable, the scattered sofas and rugs giving a sense of casual elegance. They’d certainly suit for a party, but as she left them for the wraparound terrace, she decided the party should be held outside.

The air was dry and fragrant, the sun warm on her face,
the sea shimmering with its light. Terracotta pots of trailing bougainvillea and herbs lined the terrace and in the distance Eleanor could still hear the goats’ bells clanging. She stood for a moment on the terrace, lifting her face to the sun, and let herself simply enjoy the day.

‘There you are.’

Slowly Eleanor opened her eyes. She turned around to see Jace standing in the double doors that led to the kitchen.

‘Do you have
goats
on this island?’

Surprised, he raised his eyebrows. ‘As a matter of fact I do.’

‘Why?’

‘You don’t like goats?’

Eleanor suppressed a smile. ‘I don’t really have an opinion of them, actually.’

‘Well, I find them very calming,’ Jace replied, straight-faced, ‘as well as incredibly cute.’

She’d forgotten what a silly sense of humour he had, how much he’d made her laugh, helplessly, holding her sides. How
happy
he’d made her feel. Now a reluctant bubble burst through her lips and she shook her head, smiling.

‘Seriously.’

‘We have to be serious?’ Jace’s face fell comically. ‘Very well. When I bought this island, it was inhabited by a single farmer. He’d lived here all his life, was ferrying his poor goats and their milk and cheese to Naxos. I let him stay and he supplies the villa more than adequately.’

‘And when you aren’t here?’

‘He uses my motorboat. He had a leaky rowboat that looked likely to capsize in a breath of wind, and he’d put a goat in it. The poor animal was terrified.’

Eleanor shook her head, not sure if she should believe him. He looked utterly sincere, yet she saw laughter lurking in his eyes, glinting in their depths, and it made her smile again, from the heart. ‘Why would he take his goat to Naxos? I thought you said he sold the milk and cheese.’

‘The creature was sick.’ Jace took her arm, his fingers warm on her skin. ‘Terribly so. Really quite nasty. You don’t want to get too close to a sick goat. They’re bad-tempered creatures as it is. Now come. I have a surprise for you.’

As Jace led her from the terrace all thoughts of goats, sick or otherwise, fled from her mind. She struggled to keep her tone businesslike and brisk. ‘Actually I wanted to talk about the party?’

Jace waved a hand in airy dismissal. ‘Plenty of time for that. Now come into the kitchen?’

‘Is Agathe—?’

‘She went to Naxos right after breakfast for supplies.’

‘Then what—?’ Eleanor stopped in the doorway of the kitchen and stared at the pile of supplies laid out on the granite worktop. Muffin pans and parchment paper, cake tins and cookie cutters. Sacks of flour, sugar, at least three dozen eggs.

Everything needed for baking. A bakery.

Eleanor swallowed. ‘You got this all for me?’

‘I thought you’d have some time to do what you always wanted to do,’ Jace said.

‘Thank you,’ she said after a moment. ‘It’s very thoughtful.’

‘There are recipe books,’ Jace continued, ‘although I know you liked to make your own. I remember that coffee-bean cupcake—’

Eleanor smiled wryly. That, actually, had been one of her less successful attempts. She left Jace’s side to move to the worktop, letting her fingers run over the gleaming, pristine surface of a never-used cast-iron pan.

‘I got everything I thought you’d need.’

‘Very thorough.’ He must have spent several hundred dollars, Eleanor thought. Pennies to a millionaire like him, and yet…

‘So I’ll leave you to it, then?’ Jace asked, clearly not expecting an answer. ‘Enjoy yourself, Eleanor. Go to town.’

Town, Eleanor wondered ruefully as Jace left the kitchen. Where was that? And was she supposed to enjoy herself baking? She hadn’t baked so much as a single cookie in ten years.

And that had been a
decision.
One she’d made with purposeful determination.

Sighing, she pulled a cookbook towards her and flipped through its glossy pages. It reminded her of the little leather notebook she’d kept to write her own creative concoctions in. It had been well loved, covered in splotches of batter and dollops of dough, filled with excited scribbles and dreams. She didn’t even know where it was now.

As she perused the tantalising items detailed in the cookbook, each with its own coloured photo, she realised none of them appealed. Baking no longer appealed. The dream of opening her own bakery had died long ago, and she had no desire to resurrect it now. She had no desire to be the woman she once was: carefree, naive,
stupid.

Eleanor pushed the cookbook away, and then, finding herself annoyed, angry and unable to articulate why, she left the kitchen with all of its ingredients and utensils and walked back outside.

The terrace was deserted and she took the stairs down to the path that led to the beach. She kicked off her sandals—the sexy little kitten heels were ridiculous beachwear—and walked towards the water. The sand was silky-soft under her feet, the salty breeze blowing her hair into tangles as she let the waves lap her feet, the water as warm and salty as tears.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, her hair blowing around her face, the bottoms of her dryclean-only trousers getting wet and ruined, but she knew the exact moment that Jace came onto the beach.

She didn’t have to turn to know he was there, to
feel
him. She also felt his confusion, his uncertainty, perhaps even his sorrow. Sighing, she sat down hard on the sand and drew her knees up to her chest.

‘Eleanor?’ Jace came closer, standing a few feet away. Eleanor could see his bare, sandy feet in her peripheral vision; he’d rolled his trousers up so his ankles were bare as well. ‘Is everything—?’

‘I didn’t feel like baking,’ she said rather flatly. ‘To tell you the truth, I haven’t felt like baking in—in a long time.’

Jace was silent. He sat down next to her, resting his forearms on his knees. ‘For about ten years?’ he guessed quietly and Eleanor let out a little laugh that sounded far too bitter.

‘I told you I was a different person.’

Jace nodded slowly. ‘Why did you stop baking?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Eleanor answered. She gazed out at the waves, glittering in the sunlight. ‘I haven’t really stopped to analyse it, but I suppose I wanted to separate myself from the person I was because?’ she let out her breath slowly ‘?that person didn’t work.’

Next to her she felt Jace stiffen. ‘What do you mean?’

Eleanor shrugged. Every conversation kept leading to this, to what had happened between them, and all the things Jace still didn’t know. She wasn’t ready to talk about it. She didn’t want to tell Jace just how desperate, how destroyed she’d truly been after his departure. She didn’t want to feel so vulnerable. Couldn’t.

‘After—everything,’ she began hesitantly, choosing her words with care, ‘I decided to change myself. Be—someone new. It just felt like something I needed to do. And like I said, I didn’t feel like baking.’ Baking had reminded her of Jace. Even chocolate, supposedly a woman’s dearest comfort, had reminded her of Jace. She didn’t eat it even now. She turned to face him. ‘I know you meant well, Jace, but—but doesn’t this just show how different we are? How little we know each other any more, if we ever did?’ Her voice had turned ragged, edged with desperation, and she realised she didn’t know what she wanted him to say. Agree or disagree? Either would bring both disappointment and relief. Both had the capacity for heartache.

‘Only if baking defined you,’ Jace said slowly. ‘Was it who you were, or simply something you enjoyed doing?’

Eleanor scooped up a handful of sand and let it trickle through her fingers. ‘Both, in a way. And neither. I think the bakery idea was a reaction to the way I grew up. I wanted to create a place that was like home, or at least the home I’d always wanted.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I think I was trying to be like the mother I’d always wanted, but I’m not sure that’s really who I ever was.’ She turned to look at him. ‘You said I’ve become the person I never wanted to be, Jace, and perhaps that’s true. But maybe that’s the person I really am.’

She didn’t add what she was really thinking: that that was a person Jace could never want or love. She understood why she was angry now, why she was afraid. Jace might have loved the woman she once was, but he didn’t love her now. Everything he’d done was to try to turn her back into that young woman?girl—and Eleanor knew she could never be her again. She didn’t even want to.

‘I think you’re overestimating how much you’ve changed,’ Jace said carefully. Eleanor shook her head.

‘Don’t, Jace—’

‘I’m not talking about opening a bakery or having a highflying career,’ Jace cut her off. ‘Your job isn’t who you are. I’m talking about something deeper. And I think I’ve come to know you enough to see that hasn’t changed?not as much as you think. I don’t want to change you, Eleanor. I want to know you.’ Jace stood up before she could reply?she didn’t even know what she would say—and held out his hand. ‘Come on. I can see I made a mistake buying you all those ridiculous pans. Let’s do something different.’

‘Okay,’ Eleanor said after a moment, and, accepting his hand, she came to her feet. She glanced down at her damp, sandy trousers with a grimace. ‘Whatever it is, I should probably change—’

‘Definitely.’ Jace scooped up one of her sandals and dangled
it by a finger. ‘These may do in New York, or maybe even Mykonos, but not where we’re going.’

To her surprise, Eleanor felt she was smiling. She’d been dreading that conversation, yet it hadn’t been as hard as she’d thought. She knew there was still more to say, but now was not the time, and she felt relieved. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Hiking.’ Jace pulled on her hand, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. ‘It’s an adventure. You must have something suitable.’

‘Maybe,’ Eleanor allowed, and followed him back into the house.

Ten minutes later she’d exchanged her uniform—her armour—for more casual jeans, sneakers—she had no boots—and a plain tee shirt she’d intended only to wear to bed. She hadn’t dressed like this in years; in New York she’d always had to look tailored and turned out, even when off duty. Her image was part of her profession.