“Why? And why here?”
“That is what is so silly. They thought you were a rich American, cruising around to find boats to buy. They thought you had much money hidden aboard here, and they were trying to force me to tell when... well... you came along.”
I looked at her skeptically. She looked as delicious as ever, and with her hair drooping beside her face, she invited sympathy and reassuring caresses. When I didn’t say anything, she looked up at me. “What is it, McKee?”
“Nothing,” I said, almost convincing myself. It could have been true, after all. And what reason would the sister of Alex Zenopolis have to be playing such an elaborate game with me? I managed a sympathetic smile. “Well, it’s over now. One of those things, I guess. How do you feel?”
Slowly her head came up, and she tossed the hair back from her face. It would have taken most women hours in a beauty parlor to achieve the same change in appearance.
“Like a nightcap,” she said, and grinned.
There was brandy aboard, and a bottle of bourbon I’d located in Athens. It seemed like a good time to break it out.
“Which will it be?” I asked, holding up both bottles.
“Ah! You have bourbon!” Her eyes danced in the dim light.
“Don’t tell me you learned other things from that American ensign.”
“We learn many things from the Americans.” She sank down on the narrow bunk opposite the table, looking up at me. My throat went dry, and I needed that drink.
After I poured a couple of healthy jolts, she patted the bunk beside her. “Sit down, McKee.”
I did. Her hand came to rest casually on my thigh and the cool warmth of her seemed to radiate through the thin dark blouse she wore. I cleared my throat.
“Here’s to... Paxos.”
“Yes,” she murmured, and took a long, slow swallow.
“Now,” I said.
She turned to me in mock surprise. “Right away?”
“Yes. You promised. About your contact with Alex.”
For a moment she stared, then slowly shook her head. “Must we? Now?”
“What better time?”
“Oh... later?” She moved closer, and somehow a couple of the buttons at the top of her blouse had managed to work loose. There was a delicious swelling of flesh at the opening, and my left hand lifted of its own accord to gently cup the breast that pressed against my chest. “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes...”
I moved away. “What is it with you?” I snapped. “Last night you were playing virgin; tonight you’re a whore again.”
She didn’t react as I’d expected; her eyes stayed at half-mast as she took my hand and replaced it on her breast. “Do not try to understand me all at once, McKee. Trust me. Trust my instincts.”
“Your instincts?”
“Later, McKee. But now...” Another button opened, then another; at the same time she leaned forward to press her lips softly against mine. For the moment my questions were forgotten.
Her tongue darted against mine, probing, reaching. My hand slipped inside the open blouse, felt the nipple growing and hardening under my fingers. She gasped, then slid her hand up my thigh. There was no mistaking my interest, and she chuckled deep in her throat.
Peeling back the blouse, I kissed her shoulder, the deep, shadowed cleft, one breast, then the other. Then I pulled back to look and admire; the nipples stood stiff and erect, tilting up slightly as though reaching for my mouth. Christina’s hips were moving slowly while her hand crept inside the waistband of my trousers. I sucked in my belly to give her a little more room, and she took full advantage of it...
Don’t ask how I managed to turn out the cabin lamps — boating people are so damned casual about just dropping by — and turning that table and benches into a bed, but in a few moments we were lying naked together, her body clamped against mine from toes to shoulders. We explored each other with growing hunger, and her tongue was busy and deft; and then when it seemed as though we would both burst with the urgent wanting she opened herself to me.
She gasped as I thrust, taking it slow; she said something I didn’t understand and tried to pull me deeper inside. I resisted just enough to show who was boss, then began the long, slow movements that probed ever deeper with each stroke. She raised her legs, clasped them around my back, jerking her hips upward to meet my deepening thrusts. She began to moan, pulling me down to kiss me with growing fierceness as her movements became quicker, more frantic.
When it happened she threw her head back, eyes and mouth wide open, hands clawing at my shoulders, her hips pumping like pistons. It seemed to go on forever, our mutual gasps blending as I exploded inside her, and when at last we were both drained I lay helplessly across her, aware of that delicious weakness and the slipperiness of sweat-soaked bodies. It was a long time before she spoke.
“McKee?” she said, her voice husky.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
I chuckled. “Thank you.”
“No. You can’t understand.” There was an odd note of resignation in her voice.
“Try me.”
She shook her head. “No. I cannot say.”
“Say what?”
“What I wish to.”
She was going around in circles again, but I resisted my exasperation. I rolled partly off her, but she clung with astonishing strength.
“No! Do not leave me!”
“I’m not going anywhere. The night has a long way to go, Christina.” I reached over the side of the bed and found a glass on the floor, picked it up and took a long swallow of bourbon. As the liquid burned its way down my throat to my stomach I could already feel my strength returning...
“Yes,” the girl breathed, reaching for the glass and raising her head to sip. “It is our night, and I fear it will be the only one, McKee.”
She was right, as I found out too damned quickly, but even Christina didn’t know how right she was.
Twelve
They were waiting for us in Korfu, right down to the tan Mercedes parked conspicuously by the principal docks. Two men, indistinguishable in dark suits with hats hiding most of their faces, sat gazing impassively as Christina and I walked along the harborside promenade, a couple of seagoing tourists pleasantly exhausted from the night of love and the long, slow day of sailing to what some call the most beautiful of all the Greek islands.
We had picked a mooring place at the northernmost part of the harbor, away from the bustling activity at the center. Out on the water, everywhere we looked, there were boats of all sizes and types, from tiny daysailers to native fishing craft to huge ocean-going yachts. The late afternoon sun was casting long shadows as we strolled past the rows of stalls offering native clothing, jewelry, art objects, food of all kinds whose smells mingled with the salt air and the indefinable odors of the mountainous countryside that loomed behind the town. There was the steady racket of motor scooters, cries of the stall vendors and music coming from the open doors of every other eating establishment. We were almost beginning to be caught up in the festive atmosphere ourselves when I spotted the Mercedes.
I gripped Christina’s arm warningly, urging to keep moving without breaking stride. At first she didn’t understand, but when she saw the car she stiffened; I dragged her forward.
“Don’t look at them. Keep moving.”
“But... how did they get here? With that car?”
“There are ferries, aren’t there?”
“Oh. Yes. But why do they just... sit there?”
“More important, how did they know we’d be here?” We were almost opposite the car. The men inside slowly turned their heads as we passed by, but there was no change in their expressions.