Her Greek Doctor's Proposal by Robin Gianna Page B

how good she smelled, how pretty she looked. “So, no ouzo,” he said. “What do you like to drink?”
    “White wine, but don’t let me stop you from drinking ouzo.”
    No way he’d be drinking ouzo. If he kissed her, he wasn’t about to taste like the licorice liquorshe hated. Then reminded himself that kissing wouldn’t be a good idea. “Have you ever tried retsina?”
    “No. That’s a Greek wine, isn’t it?”
    “Another thing that can be an acquired taste. Some people think it tastes like turpentine, or pinesap, but by the third glass, you’d like it.”
    “Third glass? Are you trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me?” He hadn’t seen this mischievousness in her eyes before, and his heart beat a little faster as he thought of ways they could take advantage of one another and how much fun that would be. “How about I stick with sauvignon blanc?”
    “I’m a gentleman, remember?” A gentleman who wanted to kiss her, wanted to know whether this attraction, this awareness, went both ways. Except he shouldn’t want to know, because if she felt any of what he was feeling he’d find it even harder to keep their relationship strictly friendly and uncomplicated. “We’ll get both, since you like to try new things.”
    “Far be it from me to not try a drink that tastes like pinesap.”
    Even as he grinned he wondered how her mouth would taste no matter what she’d been drinking, and yanked his gaze from her lips, handing her the menu. “What sounds good?”
    She handed it back. “You’ve heard the phrase,‘it’s all Greek to me’? Unfortunately, studying ancient languages doesn’t help me read one word of that.”
    “Sorry. How about I order a few of my favorites, then we’ll go from there? Grilled octopus, keftedes , which are fried meatballs I personally could eat a dozen of, peppers stuffed with feta, and olives from the valleys by Kastorini to start.”
    “Sounds wonderful, except maybe the octopus. Can’t wrap my brain around eating those little suction cups.”
    She gave an exaggerated shudder that was almost as cute as her ouzo expression. “Maybe you haven’t had them cooked properly. And I’m beginning to learn you’re a little overdramatic at times, perhaps.”
    “Perhaps.” Her lips curved. “I love that the olives are from that sea of trees. It’s incredible how many there are.”
    “Over a million. And many are over a hundred years old.”
    “A hundred? That’s a nanosecond in Greece.”
    “Says the archaeologist, not arborist.”
    They smiled at one another until the waiter showed up to take their order, then brought the wine. Andros let himself enjoy looking at her over his glass. Wished he could see her with that long, thick, silky hair of hers out of its restraint and spilling down her back. He nearly reachedto grasp the ponytail in his palm, wanting to stroke the length of its softness with his hand, but stopped himself.
    “Tell me about being mom to your sisters. How many do you have?” he asked, as much to keep from thinking about touching her as genuinely wanting to know more about her. Then instantly regretted the question, surprised to see the beautiful eyes that had been relaxed and smiling become instantly shadowed.
    “Three younger. One just graduated college, one’s a sophomore, and the youngest, Helen, is on a summer internship in Peru before she starts as a freshman in a few more weeks.” She stayed quiet for a moment, and Andros was trying to figure out if he should start a different subject when she finally spoke. “My parents were the archaeologists who started this dig and were killed that first summer. That’s how I came to take over the mom role. Did a pretty bad job of it half the time, but I tried.”
    “I’m so sorry. What happened?” His heart kicked at what a shocking loss that had to be. He put down his glass and rested his hand between her shoulder blades. “You must have barely been, what, twenty-two?”
    She nodded.