Her Dakota Summer (11 page)
Halting at the end of the boat, which was set away from the last restaurant by about twenty meters, I read the name.
Dolly Bird
. I smiled, she sounded like fun. I hoped she was to be my home for the next week.
A gust of wind made the ropes clank against the mast. I looked at the folded sails. My excitement plummeted. This wasn’t our boat, either. Standing on the highest part of the deck was a young man wearing black and orange, flowery swim shorts. He looked like a surfer dude with sun-bleached hair that was a little long around his nape and the tops of his ears. He wore a thin leather necklace and several matching bracelets.
He was hoisting on a rope that appeared to be tightening something against the mast. For a moment, I admired the way the muscles in his arms and back bunched and tensed beneath his golden skin. Suddenly, he turned to me, his mouth cracked into a smile and he shoved his shades onto the top of his head, brushing back his fringe.
Damn, he was gorgeous. If there were still Greek gods around, I would have been convinced I’d just met one.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I said, shielding my eyes from the glare of the sun, “but I’m looking for a boat like this one. Is there another harbor here in Fiscardo?” I gestured to the other side of the port, thinking perhaps I’d only seen half of the town and more boats lay beyond the restaurants.
He jumped down from where he’d been standing and into the small area with two fixed benches and a table. “No, this is it.” His grin was still in place, and his eyes matched the rich navy of the Bimini he’d just ducked underneath.
Now that he was a bit closer, I could see his chest held a light sprinkle of brown hair that matched that on his jaw line and lower legs. He was barefoot and looked every inch like he’d be perfectly at home skimming over the waves and seeking out the adrenaline rush a speeding yacht could give.
“Oh, okay.” I nibbled on my bottom lip and glanced back the way I’d come. Perhaps I’d missed a Beneteau and missed Sullivan. Damn, after all of this time, I was stumbling in the last few minutes. I’d tried to be brave, coming all this way on my own, to Greece, but now…now I wasn’t so sure.
“Kay,” he said.
I turned to him, surprised that he knew my name. “Yes?”
“I’ve been expecting you.” He walked down a slim plank of wood that connected the boat to the harbor, then stood before me. “I thought you’d be here an hour ago. Was the airport busy?”
“No, it was fine, and that’s great that you’re expecting me.” My heart lifted as I looked up at his handsome face. This
was
our boat. It must be if this man was expecting me. Perhaps he worked for the hire company and was helping Sullivan by sorting out the sails. “That’s good news. I was beginning to think I was spectacularly lost.” I laughed. “Which wouldn’t be that unusual for me. I do that sometimes, you know, get lost. When I first moved to Oxford, I went round and round in circles, trying to find my way about. It’s like I have no sense of direction…” I was rambling, I knew I was, it was hard not to when I could smell him now. Sweet, fresh sweat mixed with the scent of the ocean, perhaps some lingering cologne, too. My body responded. A flush traveled over my chest, and the hair at the base of my scalp prickled. Damn, if I’d been fifteen years younger, he’d have been just the sort of guy I’d have made a beeline for.
“Yes, you told me about your appalling sense of direction.” He reached out and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.
The overly familiar touch shocked me. I took a step backward with my cheek tingling from the brush of his finger.
“What?” I asked.
“Kay,” he said, frowning slightly. “It’s me, Sullivan.”
About the Author
Dahlia DeWinters is a writer of sensual multicultural romances. The New Jersey native is a secret fan of 80's music, grooves to classic rock and digs postgrunge and alternative metal. The motto, 'Do what you love and love what you do', is posted above her desk in her cluttered but peaceful office. Most importantly, she is truly and madly in love with her partner of more than a decade, who indulges her fetish for makeup, geek gadgets and happily ever afters.
Email:
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Dahlia loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.totallybound.com
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