The Love Islands Collection. Jane Porter

Milos, Santorini, Nisyros.”

      She of course had heard of Santorini but wasn’t familiar with the other two. “Fascinating, as well as a little bit scary.”

      “Santorini always breaks my heart just a little bit,” he said. “The Minoan culture was beautiful and sophisticated. And it was all wiped away. One day you should go there, visit the excavation of Akrotiri on Thera. There’s a museum of found objects and some of the most stunning frescoes ever created. Many people believe that Akrotiri is the basis for Plato’s story of Atlantis.”

      “I’d love to go there.”

      “It’d be a shame to miss. Perhaps in June you can travel for a while before returning to the US.”

      “You know I have the exam, so maybe you should take me there. Make it our next outing.”

      “We’re not having more outings.”

      “Don’t say that. Please. I still have three more months here. You can’t bring me all the way to Greece and keep me on your rock.”

      “I don’t go to Santorini.”

      “But you just said it’s amazing.”

      “And it is. For others. But I don’t go. I won’t.” He looked away from her, gaze fixed on the shadowy island ahead of them. “And before you push and push and spoil the day before it’s even begun, I’ll tell you—it’s where my wife died. So I don’t go there. Ever.”

      Georgia swallowed hard. It was the first time he’d brought up his wife, and there had been no tenderness in his voice, just ice. And grief.

      They traveled the rest of the way in silence, but Georgia didn’t mind. She welcomed the sun on her face and the wind tugging at her hair and she used the silence to think about what Nikos had told her...not about Greece but about his late wife.

      She wanted to know more but knew that this wasn’t the time. She didn’t want to upset him or spoil their outing. It felt wonderful to be off Kamari, and she was excited about having a new experience. They might be traveling only twenty-some kilometers but it felt like an adventure, and she didn’t care if they did nothing on Amorgós but walk around the little town and then up through the few houses before returning to the boat.

      But as it turned out, there was plenty to do in the village of Katapola, Amorgós’s biggest harbor. True, there weren’t many shops, but Georgia just enjoyed exploring the town. Because everything was new to her, and it was her first real taste of a Greek village; she found it endlessly fascinating.

      With Nikos at her side, she explored the pretty bay, dotted with fishing boats, white windmills and the traditional blue-and-white houses. Small cafés and taverns spilled onto the sidewalk facing the water, and on a side street they popped into a bakery so Georgia could admire all the different breads and pastries.

      Georgia saw the woman behind the counter give Nikos a cold look, but he seemed not to notice, ordering one of each of the cookies so Georgia could try them all. She was about to ask him about the woman’s odd behavior when Nikos opened the paper bag, drew out a cookie and popped it into her mouth. “Well?” he said. “Good?”

      She wiped the crumbs from her lips and smiled. “Delicious,” she said around the mouthful of almonds and honey and delicate flaky pastry.

      “I thought we’d save them for lunch,” he said, reaching into the bag and selecting one. “But they’re far too tempting.” He broke the slice of baklava in half, then handed her half.

      She wasn’t able to get her half into her mouth without making a mess.

      Nikos watched her, amused. “You have honey all over your fingers.”

      “Not for long,” she answered, grinning and then licking the tip of her sticky finger. She saw his dark eyes spark as she sucked on her finger, and suddenly her pulse quickened and she felt suspiciously breathless.

      “I’d offer you a taste,” she said, “but I’m not sure if that is appropriate.”

      “You love to torture me.”

      Her lips lifted. She smiled up into his eyes, wondering why she took such pleasure in provoking him. “Yes, I do.”

      “Why?”

      “It’s fun.”

      He groaned and took her arm, steering her from the bakery’s front steps and away from the women entering the shop, their dark gazes all so curious. “It’s not fun,” he said, keeping her arm as they walked up the narrow street, the road cobbled. “I can barely keep my hands off of you as it is.”

      She flashed another smile up into his face. “So I’ve noticed.”

      “We are here to get away from all that.”

      “All that is you and me.”

      “You know what I mean.”

      “I do. But all that is us, together, and it goes wherever we go. It’s not Kamari.” There was laughter in her voice. “But it would be funny if the energy and magic was Kamari.”

      “Why would that be funny?”

      “Because it’s not a particularly romantic island. It’s an arid rock.”

      “It’s not supposed to be romantic. It’s my home.”

      She laughed. “You sound so grumpy right now. What’s wrong with you?”

      He stopped walking to face her, his hands on her shoulders. “All I want to do is tear your clothes off of you and touch every inch of you, and you’re making it almost impossible to forget how much I want you—”

      “So don’t.”

      “Georgia.”

      “Find us a room somewhere and make love to me. Maybe once it’s out of your system, you’ll feel much better.”

      “Stop it,” he growled.

      “What? I’m trying to help you.”

      “You’re not helping. Because making love to you once won’t get it out of my system. It won’t satisfy me. It’ll just make me hungry for more.” His hands pressed into her shoulders. “If you wanted to help, you’d ask me the age of the church we passed on the corner. You’d want to know why there are so many windmills on Amorgós. You’d want to know how they make the whitewash on the stucco buildings.”

      “But I don’t want to know about whitewash or the stucco. I want to know about you.”

      “Georgia.” Her name was wrung from him, a low, hoarse groan of sound, before his head descended and he was kissing her, the kiss of a man drowning, dying.

      There was so much heat and need in the kiss. His mouth was hard, and it slanted over hers, forcing her lips open. His tongue found hers, probing, seducing.

      She shuddered and pressed herself to him, loving the feel of him—hard, muscular, all male.

      An old woman passing by muttered a rebuke, and Nikos lifted his head, ending the kiss. His expression was rueful as he stepped back.

      “What did she say?” Georgia asked, touching her lips, which felt tingly and sensitive.

      “That we needed to get a room.”

      Georgia giggled. “I told you so.”

      “Hmph.” Nikos took her arm again. “We’re here to sightsee. We’re going to sightsee. And you’re going to enjoy every little church and interesting view, and in an hour or two we will have lunch, and after our lunch we will return to Kamari, where I’ll lock you up for your own safekeeping.”

      Georgia just laughed again.

      He glared down at her with mock fierceness. “I’m serious.”

      “I know you are, which just