Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“I’m so sorry.” I look up into his dark green eyes that light up when they see it’s me.
“Well, well, well.” His voice comes out smooth. “Would you look at the luck I’m having,” he says, his mouth widening to a full smile. I step out of his touch so I can think clearly.
“Look at you,” I tell him, looking at him up and down. He’s wearing navy blue shorts and a baby blue button-down linen shirt open at the collar showing his smooth, tanned neck. A white baseball cap on his head covers his thick black hair. “You are so tanned. Were you jet-setting around the world?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets and making his shirt pull across his chest. “I was down in Greece for a couple of weeks just enjoying the sun.”
“Well, it definitely suits you,” I say, looking down and thinking of ways to walk away from him.
“I was just going to get something to eat. Would you like to join me?” he says, and everything in my head tells me to run the other way. When I hesitate, he adds, “It’s just dinner, Vivienne, nothing more.”
“Ah,” I say. “But what if I wanted the something more?” I walk closer to him. “What if all I wanted was dessert?” He shakes his head.
“It’s all coming back now,” he says, laughing. “Let’s go get something to eat, and we can talk about the dessert.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. I have to eat anyway.” He puts his hand on the lower part of my back, and I feel his heat through the silk shirt.
“This way,” he says and walks me around the corner to a little restaurant. His hand remains on my back, and the only thing I can concentrate on is not tripping over my heels. My heart echoing in my ears blocks out whatever he is saying, and when I finally sit down, I say a little prayer for the strength not to give into him.
Chapter Four
Mark
I sit down and look at her, and I have to stop myself from doing something stupid. The last thing I expected today was to run into her, but the minute I heard her voice, it was like electric currents went through me. I watch her as her eyes roam around the room taking in the decor, smiling at the waiter when he hands her the cardboard menu, I lean back in my chair. Looking around my favorite little Greek restaurant, I admire the pictures of Greece hanging on the walls, and it takes me back to the summers I used to spend there.
“This is a cute little place,” Vivienne says, looking down at her menu.
“It’s the best Greek food you will get in New York,” I tell her, nodding at the waiter who comes back and fills our glasses with water. “I mean, besides my yaya,” I say of my grandmother.
“Really? Now I’m excited. When we visited Santorini last summer, it was the best food I have ever eaten,” she says, looking back down at menu. We listen to him talk about the special, but my eyes are on her as she takes it in and smiles.
“Start with some tzatziki, some tarmosalata, and melitzansalata,” I tell the waiter who just nods his head. “Some white wine and a bottle of sparkling water please,” I tell him, and he walks away. “So, tell me, Vivienne,” I say. She mimics my pose, leaning back in her chair.
“What do you want to know, Mark?” Her face gives away nothing.
“Two years ago, you said you were going to call me,” I say to her with a smirk. “I haven’t changed my number.”
“Two years ago, you told me to give you a call when I was ready,” she says. Sitting back up now, she puts her elbows on the table and folds her hands together. “I was making you sweat it out.” Her sly smile comes out.
I laugh now. “Is that so?” Leaning forward, I put my elbows on the table, too.
“What is the saying that Americans say …?” She stops talking when the waiter comes back and pours her a glass of white wine. After tasting it, she gives him a nod. “Good things come to those who wait.”
I nod, grabbing the glass of water in front of me. “They also say you catch more flies with honey.” I wink at her.
“The only thing I know about honey is that it takes at least three showers to wash it completely off.” Now she winks at me. “But I do have one question.”
“I’m an open book,” I tell her, and she throws her head back and laughs as I take another sip of water. My throat and mouth are becoming dry.
“You know they call you PM, right?” She tilts her head. “And I’m assuming it’s not for private masturbation.” The minute she says this, I choke on my water and feel the burn as it tries to come out of my nose. I cough as I try to get some air in and get the water down. “I didn’t think so.” She takes a sip of wine, not even noticing I’m about to die. “So why do they call you that?”