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“Are you laughing at me in my moment of peril?” she asked.
“Not at all. How can I help?”
“Distraction.”
“Then open your eyes,” he said. “The scene is breathtaking.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think that will help.”
A hand gripped hers, and she gasped. Her eyes flew open in surprise.
“Trust me. You want to see this. Look.”
Still uncertain, she let her eyes leave his to take in the view of Athens below. Rose sucked in a hard breath. “You’re right about the view. It’s even better than the hotel window.”
Stavros gave her hand a squeeze and started to pull away.
She held tight to him, like a life line. “Not yet. I need a few minutes to calm down. Please?”
He nodded. “Your comfort and care is my chief objective at the moment.”
“Thank you.” Rose let the strength and warmth of his hand flood peace and calm into her body and soul. She noted the calluses on his palms and a few small scars on his fingers, likely from his military days, though one looked much older, probably from his childhood. She tried to picture Stavros as a little boy, running through a field or a city neighborhood, playing cops and robbers with his friends. The image wouldn’t stick. All she saw was the attractive man across from her with his dark eyes and hair, strong chin, straight nose, and well-formed lips.
She averted her eyes, hoping Stavros hadn’t noticed the last place her gaze had lingered. His looks alone could garner him any supermodel or celebrity in the world. How had he become a security guard?
Once she became acclimated to the rush of the ground beneath her and the whir of the blades and engine, she relaxed her grip on Stavros’s hand and reluctantly indicated he could have it back. She missed his touch instantly. Strange. Perhaps she simply missed the comfort of human contact and not of Stavros himself.
At last, they landed at a small strip in Meteora. Once the engines and blades of the copter stopped, they exited. With luggage in hand, Stavros led them to a small bunker where Rose took the opportunity to use the bathroom.
When she rejoined Stavros, she said, “I didn’t think Meteora had an airport. I didn’t see one on any map. The nearest one looked to be an hour away, and that’s how long it took to fly here.”
“This airstrip isn’t on any maps. Its use is very restricted and private. Mr. P was able to gain clearance a few years ago.”
“I see.” Probably made a huge donation to the upkeep of the sky-high monasteries. Rose sniffed. She disliked that the wealthy could throw their money around to get what they wanted, but even more that people would happily accept the bribe.
“Have I said something wrong?” Stavros asked.
“No,” she responded a little too quickly.
Stavros raised a brow.
She redirected the conversation. “When will Mr. P and the children arrive?”
“Any minute.”
Rose’s stomach turned. The time approached when all her fears would be confirmed or put to rest.
“Are you hungry?” Stavros asked.
“No.” She couldn’t eat even if she wanted to. Her nerves were in overdrive. She fingered her ring. The hum of a small plane reached her ears, and Rose searched the sky. A small yellow plane circled once and successfully landed on the airstrip, then turned, and parked in a grassy spot.
Two children and a gentleman spilled out. Hand in hand, the trio approached.
Rose noted the subtle military nuances of the man’s bearing. His dark, close-cropped hair gleamed in the sunlight. His strong jaw bespoke a no-nonsense attitude. She couldn’t decipher anything about his eyes behind his sunglasses. With a hint of satisfaction, she noted that his nose had been broken and reset at some point. The surgeon had skillfully reset his nose, but she could detect the slight misalignment with her artist’s eye.
She took a deep breath. Moment of truth.
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