Not Again Polly.

By Christine Wood

For years Chloe has lived a lie, one not hurting anyone and she was happy living it, and was being the past tense in that sentence. Now she wanted truth in everything, she needed to get away from the train wreck, all those lies have caused, she's escaping to a Greek Island paradise, the last thing on her mind is falling in love on holiday again, the last holiday romance didn't end well for her..

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christine Wood
• Release date: May 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311739926

Christine Wood

I am a 52 year old mother of four and a would be writer and avid fan-fiction writer. Love stories are my thing. I write because I have always wanted to, and I have always been and still am hampered by being a dyslexia sufferer. So if grammar is your forte, then please do not read on and leave a bad review telling people I am a bad writer and grammarist, when you were warned... I put the books up for a minimal amount because of this fact... leave a review either way because I'm interested in what you think...

Book preview

Not Again Polly.

By Christine Wood

Copyright © by C Wood 2020

Any resemblance to people, events and places,

Written within the pages of this book is purely coincidental.

As this is a work of total fiction.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to from where you purchased it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Forward: I am a hopeless dyslexic, and please bear that in mind when reading.

Also remember that UK & US are minefields of miss matched grammar.

Chapter 1:

I stepped off the plane into the glaring sunshine, the heat and the bright blue skies. It was so wonderful and oh, so different from the clouds and misery I’d left behind, but I pushed the bad thoughts to the back of my mind and decided to concentrate on happy thoughts, which didn’t last long, because it seems like I’m being herded along by the madness of my fellow travellers and their impatient actions, as they shoved and pushed me along with them, heck stop with the rushing and pushing folks. They are getting on the shuttle buses, it seemed to be a matter of great urgency that they are first to wait for their bags. The buses were arriving in number to take us to the small airport building and there were plenty of seats available, so I wasn’t in any sort of a hurry, they weren’t going to leave me behind.

I stopped to take in the beauty, please folks, relax and enjoy the little things in life. You have to love the British attitude of rush, push and get to the front of the queue, at any cost. I had my hands full with my hand luggage and my camera, ready to take photos, in the melee of the push and shove, I came close to losing it at and my temper at one point, as it was almost knocked from my hand in all the chaos, but luckily it was caught before it slipped from my grip. I then stood to the side to escape the mob, then turned around and snapped away at the beautiful scenery and all as I walked backwards. In doing so I bumped into something or someone, so I turned to apologise to the something or someone. Who was in fact a hunk of a man and one whom I could only described as God like? He was so frigging stunning. Oh, silly Chloe, you’ve almost killed a male model. He grimaced as my heel pierced his smart shoe. Ouch, that had to have hurt. Oops there goes another foot Polly, first impressions he’s a God and second? I’m a dork.

I am so sorry; I should have been looking where I was going. He was drop dead gorgeous: the tan, the clothes, that killer smile and the heavenly smell that emanated from his person, was one of a walk in the fresh morning air in heavy woodland. It was intoxicating and fresh, his smell, as with the man himself, is beautiful. I am waxing poetical about a man’s body whiff, when I really should live in the here and now, and not in my damned books and watch where I am walking.

It’s okay, really it is fine, please don’t worry about it. I don’t need my feet for anything important. I blushed. Here, please let me help you onto the bus. You really should look where you’re going and not where you have been, Miss… Did he just bloody well tell me off? Shit he did. What a great start to the holiday, just what I needed. He held my hand for a moment to steady me up the step, but in that one short moment, his touch sent bolts of electricity straight to different parts of my excitable body, the sexy bits especially, and I lost my footing and fell into his arms, okay God stop he knows I am a clumsy dork, no need to guild the damned lily. He laughed and put me on the bus.

I’d detected a slight accent when he’d scolded me under his breath, perhaps Greek with a hint of something else which was hard to place, Australian perhaps, but sexy Oz not Crocodile Dundee Oz... There was no mistaking the attitude he had, because the model had just told me off, in whatever his sexy assed language was. I turned to find him watching my bum and smiled as I saw his face, cheeky I thought, that was a nice smile though. He laughed and jumped on board. He pulled me inwards with him and sat me in the seat, like I was an errant child, he smiled and then off he went to talk to the driver. Wow, his behind was just as nice as the front. Snap out of it Chloe, now.

We pulled up and were unloaded off the bus at customs for passport control. I showed my passport to the police officer and smiled. Yep that’s me; convict Denton coming on vacation to your Greek island paradise. Lock up your eligible bachelors I’m on the prowl… I wasn’t really, but I had always wanted to say it, and had I had a drink or two maybe I may have, maybe next time I say to myself. He handed my passport back with a sexy smile, do all Greeks have that drop-dead model look here? Wow, it seems I’m Greek God watching on this holiday then. Off I went in search of my luggage and more Gods, British Gods are found in their plentiful supply, alas they look like Buddha, with their bellies over their underused summer shorts and the ‘shrunk in the wash tee shirts’ oh lord I was spoilt for choice there seemed to be loads. I laugh as I head to the carousel for my bags.

Deep joy awaited me at the baggage carousel… The hordes were grabbing anything that passed and rudely, so again I am pushed and shoved, so they can get to their own bags and be off. It was then that I noticed mine, great my luggage had started a bag war with another couple of bags. I grabbed at the tangled bags and as I did another two bags tumbled off. I fumbled with a luggage strap that had tangled with the others, and at that moment a tanned hand helped me, his bag was tangled too, looking up I saw ole blue eyes Greek Adonis helping me to get the straps untangled.

Thank you again, I’m not usually this clumsy, I promise. He just laughed and freed the bags. He picked up his luggage; his was expensive and much travelled from the look of it. So yes, I was right, he’s definitely a model. He freed his expensive Bally duffel bag. I only know this because Simon had a few of those and I knew they’d cost him a packet. Wow, he had a nice packet, I mean package, I mean luggage! Fluff-in-heck, I cuss, well his mid section was right in my eye line and couldn’t be avoided, in my defence, it was a nice view though.

He untangled a mock tiger skin suitcase from my Gucci; I smiled and hoped he didn’t think that I was the owner of the Hello Kitty strapped tiger bag. Not that I’m a travel bag snob, but my bags, like my shoes are my weakness and I’d lost custody of my favourite travel luggage in the divorce. These were brand new and damned expensive and I didn’t want to lose them too. Thankfully, the other passenger came for her bag, it was her bag strap that was to blame. The extremely flustered owner of the tiger bag came to aid in its rescue, a very timid blonde haired woman, watched by her nagging mother. I felt so sorry for the poor timid woman.

Thanks for that, I’m so sorry, Mother always insists we put the damn things on the bags, like anyone else has a mock tiger suitcase, they are gross, and she is convinced the damned things real tiger skin! I did tell her fur should only be on an animal, but will she listen, sorry I waffle when embarrassed and these bags are embarrassing. I smiled at her; it did stand out, and there certainly was no need for the bright pink Hello Kitty baggage straps. With our luggage now untangled and the Greek God thanked; the woman with the fake tiger bag almost fainted when Adonis handed over her luggage. He was a tad gorgeous, who could blame her? I went in search of my other bag and then to find my transfer. I managed to get the lone bag as it limped around the now empty luggage belt, great I am last out and the rep looks frazzled.

Ms Denton? I nod. Ah yes here you are, Miss Chloe Denton, you’re on coach one. You’re stopping at the Hotel Vasilis; please enjoy your stay here on Christos. After thanking the girl, my bags and I headed outside for the coach. My bags are loaded, and I entered the small coach, it was already full when I got on board with just one seat left next to Mr Adonis. Oh lucky me, thank you Greek Gods, I now have one of your own to sit and look at.

Do you mind if I sit here? I pointed to the empty seat beside him. He got up and allowed me to take the window seat. Thank you so much, that’s very kind of you, because I like to see where I’m going and where I’ve been. Right back at you, you see I can be cutting too.

As we made small talk, not my best subject, he smiled at my curt replies. Then he gave me an audio tour of the island, talking me through the sights we were passing. There was sheer beauty around each turn. Like most Greek Islands it was filled with old churches; whitewashed homes trimmed in blue, olive groves and goats, there were hundreds of bloody goats, their milk makes cheese and it is made here on the island and it’s called Feta. I knew that but hearing him tell me about it, it made the journey more palatable. The mountains and rocky desert-like valleys were just like the scenery from a Martian film. It is breathtaking and damned hot and sticky.

There are some beautiful sights to see on the island and plenty for you to take photos of and the scenes change all the time. There is a set of ruins that the tourists love to visit; it’s at the far end of the island and there are quite a few old Greek houses, windmills and churches. The weekly traditional barbeque and Greek dancing is a necessity for you to see; it really is fantastic. That it is in the old arena, on the west side of the island, the hotel does a coach there on a Wednesday. That too is popular with the tourists.

He looked and sounded sexy, with his dark hair, with just enough stubble on his chin, to be damned sexy, he had piercing blue eyes and wow a body to die for. I heard some of the conversation, really, I did. There was something about a coach and a dance thing and it all happened on Wednesday, I had nailed it.

I’m here for Lord knows how long. It’s a working holiday. Well, at least I can work at my own pace and enjoy this island paradise. The travel books made it look good, but now I’m actually here, wow… They didn’t do it justice at all. I will have plenty of time to see the island, thank you for the tour. Do you come here often? I knew that sounded like a longwinded, cheesy pick up line as soon as I said it.

I do, but this is my first time back this year. It’s a wonderful island to relax and unwind on. We suddenly hit a bump in the road and I’m unceremonious thrown into his arms. Why did he look so wonderful and fresh, had we not been on the same flight, the same bus and then land here on this coach? I’m looking as if I’d been intimate with a swamp and the hedge that surrounded it, whilst he was fresh, clean and damn fine. His smell, as he held me for the briefest of moments, was sweet, woody, leathery and wildly intoxicating, I’ve been there and smelled the smell before, but up close and personal his smell is so much better. Lord he smelt of man and sex, oh hell a warm feeling in that private place is happening, he’s making my sex pulse wildly. Well Chloe, one can only hope.

I’m so sorry. I looked into his eyes, as he stared back. I sat back quickly, the static between us felt funny, a nice funny, but I definitely felt something good about this funny happening.

It’s not your fault the roads here are awful and is not helped by this old coach. The hotel is around the next turn, if you take photos might I suggest you do it from up here? The view as we turned was breathtakingly amazing; it was like the bay had been carved out and the cove edges were cradling the excellent hotel in their arms, the bluest of seas is washing up on the clear white sands, oh, it is definitely a beautiful sight. The hotel was large, with a roof top pool that looked so inviting and from a here it looked like it and the sea were one. Bliss sheer bliss, I think I oh-wowed quite loudly.

Do you like it? Had he watched me as I gasped at the beauty lay before me?

Oh wow, it’s such a pretty place, the hotel looks like it was meant for that space, it’s heavenly. He smiled as we pulled up, he shook my hand and hoped I had a nice holiday and then disappeared into the hotel.

I was the only one being dropped off, so my bags are collected by a friendly porter and I went to check in, where my passport and my credit card details are given. The porter was handed my key card and he showed me to my room, carrying my luggage to my suite. Yes, indulgent but given I could be here for a month or more, so I needed the luxury and comfort. I gave him a tip, which he declined. Perhaps the tips are all included? I don’t know why he refused, it has never happened to me before, was it not enough, crap I will have to ask. I don’t want to insult them.

Dropping my bags on the bed, I have a look around at what is to be my home for the near future. Big and comfortable couches were the main focus of attention in here. The television is in a whitewashed frame, it’s made to look like a mirror or a picture. The light white washed wooden furniture is beautiful, modern yet rustic, including the large dresser, which had everything hidden within, including a fully stocked mini bar, with a selection of teas and coffees from everywhere, my favourite's chamomile and green tea are there too. There are fresh flowers in gigantic globe vases, adding a splash of colour and elegance to the room.

The floor to ceiling easy opening doors gave the room that total wow factor, it doubled the size of the room and the fine muslin curtains, which dressed the windows, gently float inwards with the warm breeze as I opened the doors. They led on to a balcony, which wrapped around the whole building. This too was tastefully furnished, complete with lanterns and cushions, the separating of the guest’s rooms, wasn’t your typical wall or iron railing. It was a double line of Grecian urns, each planted with different tall lush grasses in them, the sound as the breeze hits them, has a very calming effect, that and the sound of laughter and the waves breaking in the distance, would make working out here a fantastic open-air office.

Already impressed I headed to the bedroom, here too there are floor to ceiling windows, with the same window treatments as the lounge. The white-washed bed is taking centre stage in here. I couldn’t help it and found myself diving onto it. Oh yes, it’s comfy and out of this world nice. A walk in the closet finds the furniture in here, again is white-washed and wooden. I unpack my bags, which are full of new clothes. I just hope I have packed enough.

That done, I went for a shower and this too was sheer luxury, and I have stopped in a good many five-star hotels, but this one is definitely top of the list so far. The stone tub is taking centre stage of the wet room. The shower over the bath came from the ceiling through the largest showerhead I’d ever seen. I stripped for the shower, I needed to be fresh and clean and ready for my first dinner in public in quite a while, the coach here made for a sweaty start to my holiday, a more pleasant a journey would be hard to find, I wonder where the God disappeared to?

I turned it on and stood under it and wow it was sheer bliss, the water pressure altered easily with a simple press of a button, and with the soothing music playing on the speakers, I had at last relaxed totally. I’m clean and ready for anything else this day cared to throw at me, including a hunky Demigod. I’m on holiday so I’m allowed to dream. I dressed for dinner, casual evening dress the brochure said. So far, they hadn't been over selling this place and the trip advisors had this hotel spot on. Polly’s choice was fantastic, so I will have to email her later and thank her for making me book it.

We’d booked it to help me get away from the crappy past few weeks of my now complicated life, and all that was down to the three years of bloody lies and pain. Then, like I needed yet another reminder, my memory raced to that day that changed my life, it was a day filled with horrific betrayals and it was like nothing I have ever felt before. All this happened as I dry my hair and stare into space, the hypnotic breeze of the wind moving the muslin curtains, the blast of the air from the dryer and the sheer tiredness I am feeling has me at six’s and seven’s. I’d looked up and caught my reflection in the large mirror, my hands pull at the skin around my dark puffy eyes, and God I looked rough. I’d aged and the bags under my eyes weren’t as forgiving as they could have been. They looked as tired as I felt, was it any wonder though?

I’d been on the run for the past few weeks, the past month of which had been an enforced abandonment of all of my homes. I’d been forced to stop in seclusion in a hotel room, nice really, but that was a squat compared to this. I’d decided I needed to get away from London completely. I’d had to find yet another escape to place. They were forcing me out again, out of yet another country. Having already moved from America to London and then forced to flee from both of my two London homes. I’d had little or no choice what with the blasted news crew and paparazzi permanently camped out at my homes. My neighbours hated me too because of the strangers I’d brought to their doors.

They arrived at the door that my cousin Polly and I shared, then the second door, the flat that was once my husband’s house here, those neighbours banged loudly on my door too because their buzzers and bells were rung at all hours. Their doors too were banged on by the paparazzi running the halls looking for my flat. They were waiting to find me and to tell them my side of the story. Give them time and it will die down Polly said, but it didn’t, it got worse. All I could do at the time was cry and think to myself, why had all this happened to poor ole me?

Everything in my life turned horrifically upside down and back to front in one horrid weekend, when my farcical three year ‘film script life’ collapsed and thus ended the sham of a marriage to Simon Green, the star of the hit television series Danger Man. Simon was also Americas favourite heart throb, super stud actor and the studios top earning film star. On that fateful weekend my marriage ended and in doing so it changed my life completely. What was it with their need to intrude into our lives, this I never understood? The reasons the press and the public were always following us I’d found out, much to my horror and amazement, that one of the many pitfalls of being a film star's wife were the groupies, the hangers on, the paparazzi and television crews.

The paparazzi were the worst, with their constant need for photos, and creeping into every corner of our lives, just to keep the public up to date on our really boring lifestyle, this was something I could never get my head around. Why did the American public need to know what I bought from Wal-Mart, or in fact why did I shop there? Did they need to know I was considering plastic surgery? I wasn’t that wasn’t what I was doing at the hospital at all. I hadn’t signed up for all this when I married him, and I wouldn’t have, if I’d been told the truth either...

He told me he was called Thomas Adders, which was in fact his real name, it turns out that was the only truthful thing he said to me during our time together. He told me he was a schoolteacher from Boise Idaho, there on vacation. I hadn’t a clue that he was a film star, not that he actually looked like a film star or like the famous Simon Green at all, as he’d changed his appearance. I later found out he’d done it just to get into character for the television film he was making.

I was there getting over from the death of my parents in a traffic accident, they were killed as they returned home from my wonderful fun filled birthday weekend. I was in university studying English literature and languages at the time of their deaths and they had been to see me, because I couldn’t make it home because of my studies, it was something that I blamed myself for all the time, if they hadn’t been to see me they would be safe, had I gone home as they asked, they would again be safe. My guilt led to a severe case of depression, and I had to take time out to deal with my grief. I was on a sort of extra long summer break, one where usually I would have been somewhere exciting with my parents and we would be diving in either a set of dark and murky caves or into the depths of a sunken ship off somewhere nice.

I hadn’t gone anywhere, because I was still struggling with everything, the loss the grief the guilt and it was made worse for being in the house alone. My freaky fun loving tactless, yet caring say as she sees it, Cousin Polly came to stop for the company, but I was still so depressed, so Polly picked me a holiday, she found me a great place and a good deal, she booked it, packed for it and shipped me off, because it would cheer me up she said. I had a month in the sun and had to relax she said, and whilst there I had to get myself laid, she said, just bloody well enjoy myself and let loose she said. I tended to do everything she said, because she knew better than me how to enjoy herself. I headed off, that time to the island of Corsica, because it looked like a place, she said I’d get some action. I promised her I’d get right on it and seek out the same said action.

I met Simon at the hotel we were both stopping in, when he accidentally tripped and stumbled onto my lounger, whilst not looking where he was going, as he was reading a book, me? I was asleep on the lounger and he drenched me with the drink he was carrying, a tall glass of really cold milk and I laughed as he said, and I thought he had done so in all honesty, ‘it’s no use crying over spilt milk,’ we laughed and joked as I agreed, he then offered to take me to dinner to compensate. It turns out he was still rehearsing, as this was how the murderer, he was to play actually met his victims, spilling milk on them and then joking about it… It was a good job that was all he rehearsed on me, because I didn’t fancy playing one of the victims he drowned and staged to look like a flower beneath the lake his home stood next to.

We spent all our time together after that and for the whole of the month we were inseparable, I had a wonderful time with him, he wined and dined me, we talked, and we laughed. Most of our time together was spent discussing books, life and the troubles of the world, then after a rather boozy night out, we decided to get married. We were, according to him perfect companions and friends and he was right, I hadn’t stopped smiling since the milk incident and I hadn’t taken a pill all holiday, it seemed our laughter was the best anti-depressant for me. So that’s what we did; we ended the holiday married and what was it Polly said? Marry in haste, repent at leisure. She said that I wanted, no I needed my head examined, but he made me laugh and smile again. I was so happy, because I wasn’t alone any longer.

We’d married in a beautiful ceremony on the island, on our last day. Then he whisked me back to my new home, in Hollywood. When we arrived back in America, I’d grabbed an abandoned newspaper as we waited for our luggage, opening it and looking at it, I was, to my utter surprise looking at our wedding photos. They were plastered all across the front and back pages. Who was this Simon Green? I had married a Thomas Adders, and why was I plastered all over the papers? Shit, why was the airport suddenly awash with people, complete with cameras and their stupid flashes, which blind me and why were people screaming at us for an interview?

Thomas was gone and in stepped Simon, with his arm tightly around my waist. His assistant came to meet us, Jordon West, his very camp assistant. He gushed at Simon’s choice of wife, and told me he would be my new gay best friend, and me? I was shocked, surprised and