Paradise Nights: Taken by the Bad Boy

‘Miss what?’

‘The howling winds and heaving seas. The adrenalin rush that’d come with battling the elements and saving lives. It’s pretty heroic stuff.’

‘I’m not a hero, Serena. Far from it. Paint me as one and you’ll be in for disappointment,’ he said quietly.

‘Thanks for the warning,’ she countered dryly. ‘You know, my father is a fourth-generation fisherman. My brothers are fishermen. My cousins are fishermen. I know who they look to for miracles when the sea turns ugly and a vessel goes down. I know what you used to do.’

‘I don’t do it any more.’ The reckless charmer had disappeared, and in his place stood a complex warrior. The rogue had been irresistible enough. The warrior was downright breathtaking. ‘Take your photos,’ he said, but she already had and they wouldn’t be appearing on any picture postcard.

‘C’mere,’ she said softly and he looked towards her, wary and wounded for reasons she couldn’t fathom, his dark glare daring her to probe and prod for answers he didn’t want to give only she was done with questions for now. First rule of interviewing was to read your mark and when you’d pushed them as far as they’d go, pull back and come at them later from a different direction.

He stepped up in front of her, big and brooding, his hands in his pockets and his expression guarded. ‘Closer,’ she said, and set her hand to his chest and lightly bussed his lips. ‘That’s for stepping up to protect your country—even if you were seduced into it by a bunch of Navy helicopters.’ She set her lips to his again and let them linger a fraction longer, watching as his eyes darkened. ‘And that’s for putting your life on the line to save others, day in, day out, for eight years.’ She slid her hand to his shoulder and this time her kiss was more than a whisper. She felt his response, saw with satisfaction the heat of the kiss chase the shadows from his eyes.

‘What was that for?’ he muttered.

‘Dinner,’ she said, sauntering away towards the southern edge of the plateau. ‘You are taking me to dinner, aren’t you?’

He took her to dinner. To the little restaurant high in the hills where the fish stew was reputed to taste like ambrosia and the air was thin enough to have him breathing deep whenever Serena looked at him. She wore a cream-coloured dress, low cut, square necked, with delicate shoulder straps. It had little buttons all the way down the front, buttons that drove a man to distraction whenever he looked at them, and she knew it, her smile told him so and her eyes dared him to call her on it. ‘That’s quite a first-date dress.’ His lips brushed her hair as he saw her seated. ‘But it’s not blue.’

‘You were expecting the blue?’ she said and her eyes were laughing.

‘I was looking forward to it,’ he said. ‘With a great deal of anticipation, I might add.’

‘Sorry to disappoint.’

‘You haven’t. I’ll continue to look forward to it.’

‘I’m saving it,’ she said.

‘For what?’

‘The Trevi Fountain.’

Good call. He knew this game of seduction well. He loved the playing of it, the hunt and the chase. Loved it when his quarry provided a challenge. And heaven help him the woman sitting opposite knew exactly how to do just that.

‘Unfortunately my chances of venturing that far afield are somewhat limited at the moment,’ she added with a sigh. ‘And I suspect you’re tied to Tomas’s charter operation as well. Fortunately for you I’ve had another idea.’ She leaned back in her chair and smiled. ‘It involves no fountain and no blue dress whatsoever, but it does involve water.’ He was all ears. And damned if she didn’t smile and change the subject. ‘Tell me about your family.’

‘I’ve already told you about them,’ he said.

‘Tell me more.’

He usually didn’t. But this time, in this place, he relaxed into his seat and offered up more. ‘My father lives in Sydney. He’s an academic—a scholar of ancient Chinese pottery. My sister is married and lives in London. She inherited our father’s passion for pots. Then there’s Tristan, who works for Interpol. He got married at Christmas and is back living in Sydney.’ Pete shook his head at the wonder of that particular notion. ‘Then there’s Luke. He’s older than Tris, younger than me. He’s a Navy SEAL.’ Pete toyed with his bread and butter knife, would have left it at that, but Serena wasn’t chasing a career in photojournalism without having mastered the finer art of persistence.

‘You said you had three brothers,’ she prompted him with a smile. ‘There’s one more.’

‘Jake.’ Thoughts of Jake always came with a serve of guilt. That he hadn’t helped him out more when their mother had died. That he hadn’t shouldered more of the responsibility. ‘He’s a couple of years older than me and runs a handful of martial arts dojos in Singapore.’

‘So your family is scattered all over the globe.’

‘More or less.’

‘My immediate family live in Melbourne. All of them. I can’t imagine them living anywhere but in each other’s pockets.’

‘Is this a bad thing?’ he asked curiously.

‘Hard to say.’ She shrugged. ‘Everyone always knows what everyone else is doing. Whether that’s a bad thing tends to depend on whether they approve of what you’re doing. If they don’t …’ She shrugged again.

‘And do your family approve of your plans for the future? The photojournalism career? The endless travel away from the family bosom?’

‘Let’s just say they don’t quite understand,’ she said lightly, but her eyes told a different, darker story.

‘Maybe one day they will.’

She smiled and leaned back in her chair. ‘You’re a nice man, Pete Bennett. Idealistic, but nice.’

There was that word again. Nice. She really should stop bandying it about. It made a man uncomfortable. ‘You do know that nice isn’t really on this evening’s agenda?’ he told her softly. ‘That would be the wrong notion to be carrying around altogether.’

Her smile held equal measures of wickedness and delight. ‘I’d be very disappointed if it was.’

A weathered old man appeared beside the table, glaring at him from beneath thick grey eyebrows and over a strongly hooked nose. ‘You’ll order now,’ he said.

Pete looked to Serena and raised an eyebrow. ‘Care to order?’

‘My usual, Pappou Theo. The fish stew and the salad.’

‘Pappou Theo?’ he murmured.

‘Honorary grandfather,’ she said. ‘One of my grandfather’s pinochle partners.’

That explained the scowl. ‘I’ll have the oysters and then the fish stew,’ he said. ‘Serena tells me good things about it.’

‘No oysters for you!’ said the old man emphatically. ‘Greek salad with many onions. You’ll like.’ The old man turned to Serena again and surveyed her critically. ‘Does Nico know you’re here?’

‘Yes, Pappou.’

‘And when does he expect you home? At a reasonable hour, I hope.’

‘Yes, Pappou. Very reasonable.’

The old man muttered to himself beneath his breath and turned back to Pete. ‘Drinks?’ he barked.

‘Some white wine?’ Pete looked to Serena.

‘No!’ said the old man. ‘No wine.’

‘Raki?’

‘Pig swill,’ he said.