Won by the Wealthy Greek

CHAPTER FIVE

FOLLOWING Iannis in the kalamatiana seemed so natural to Charlotte it was as if they were sharing a secret language only they knew. The dance was like a seduction, with the tension rising and falling between them so that in one sinuous move she offered compliance, only to promise conflict with the next aggressive step. And Iannis had a great sense of rhythm, as she had known he would.

Charlotte basked in the hot stab of his glance. It might be formalised and impersonal, but right now it was all hers, and the music kept them chained together, scaling the heights only to leave them, suspended on a plateau of awareness, before starting to climb again. Always, just when it seemed that they must reach the summit at last, it fell back again to a shiver-inducing, seductive whisper.

Charlotte’s mind was full of music, but her eyes were full of Iannis, and now when he met her stare she found his expression shockingly, thrillingly intimate. Snatching off her shawl, he tossed it onto an empty seat and turned to lavish a fierce glance on her, his intention unmistakable, the promise of it electrifying. She wanted him now, immediately, she didn’t want to wait. All she wanted was for Iannis to drag her from the dance floor and find some dark, secret place where they could be alone.

Charlotte was barely conscious of the fact that her breasts were threatening to overflow their tight constraint, or that her skirt had ridden up above her knees. All she knew was that her clothes had become an encumbrance, that she longed for Iannis to tear them off.

Marianna had retired to fan herself, and her place in the line had been taken by one of the young waiters, but quite suddenly the dance ended, and the line of dancers drifted apart. Still held firm in Iannis’s grip, Charlotte slowly emerged from the erotic trance into which she had fallen and found she was incredibly aroused. Still panting, she gazed at him, then flushed with uncertainty. In the heat of the dance her behaviour could have passed for flair and enthusiasm, but now that the music had slowed she felt less sure of herself.

Several married couples had joined them on the dance floor and they had no such inhibitions. Their movements were blatantly seductive. But that was okay for them, Charlotte realised, feeling increasingly unsure of herself. When she put her hands flat against Iannis’s chest and tried to pull away from him, he challenged her softly.

‘Won’t you dance with a simple fisherman?’

His cynical eyes were dark and watchful. Yes, he was only playing with her, Charlotte realised with a twinge of alarm—playing with her like a big cat with a mouse. But what did she expect after the exhibition she had made of herself?

Tiny shivers of awareness were still toying with her senses, and then her gaze fell to his lips and she saw the sardonic smile playing around the unforgiving line of his mouth. Marianna was right. Iannis needed curbing. And though she was not about to try, she had no intention of backing down either.

‘If you like,’ Charlotte managed evenly, levelling a cool green stare on his face.

Her defiance seemed to unsettle him. He wasn’t sure how to handle it, she realised. Clearly there wasn’t much need when every woman in the place wanted Iannis Kiriakos. This knowledge only made Charlotte want to carry on provoking him, to needle and goad him. And she had the satisfaction of seeing her tactics work perfectly. There was an answering flare of challenge in his gaze, and then his arms closed around her.

But as he dragged her close Charlotte knew she was fooling herself if she thought her mind was fixed against him. Her body was like butter, softening in defiance of her wishes. When Iannis placed one firm hand on her naked back she gasped and hoped he hadn’t heard. But, as if reading her responses was second nature to him, he lifted the hand away and made his touch frustratingly light instead. It made Charlotte long all the more for pressure, for confinement, and all the subliminal messages that could pass between a man and woman through the merest adjustment of a finger. But as they eased into the slow steps of the dance Iannis continued to hold her at a distance, until Charlotte felt as if she was skirting the fringes of a hurricane and could only hope that at any moment she might be sucked in and lost.

She tried to act cool while she lost herself in sensation, and all the time Iannis kept her steady and in step with him, using the same maddeningly light touch.

What better revenge could she exact for his arrogance than this? Allowing Iannis to arouse her without giving him the satisfaction of knowing what was happening. A contented smile curled around Charlotte’s lips as she relished the softening, swelling and yielding sensations that came with the moist preparations her body was making. The fact that it was her secret only made the tiny but delicious spasms all the more intense. Her fisherman’s power might be awesome, and the forces he could unleash immense, but she had his measure now. He liked to tease and provoke—and that was one game in which she could excel too.

But the only trouble with subterfuge was that it didn’t bring satisfaction—the heat gathering between her thighs bore witness to that. And the longer they danced together the greater grew Charlotte’s need for release. Finally she was aching so much she knew she had to thrust her pride aside and take the direct approach.

But he knew, she realised, staring up at him. His lips had tugged up at one corner, revealing his amusement and satisfaction at her plight.

As she struggled to pull herself away Iannis proved too fast for her again, and, changing his grip, he allowed her to feel his arousal, huge and hard, pressing into the soft cushion of her belly.

Charlotte’s breath quickened to rapid, greedy gusts. It was a brush with nature, primitive and intense. And one she didn’t want to avoid, Charlotte realised, meeting his hard, knowing gaze. Everything about Iannis Kiriakos promised an understanding of her needs that no other man could hope to match. He offered anonymity too, she remembered, and that gave her the freedom to indulge her senses to a degree she would never have risked before.

She stared into his face, meaning to accept his challenge, but his dark and very dangerous eyes were hooded now, their expression hidden from her.

Good. She had no desire to commune with the fisherman on an everyday level. She wanted him for one thing, and one thing only.

Iannis Kiriakos would banish all the ghosts from her past. She was starved of the type of attention he could give her, and she would have him, Charlotte determined as she relaxed, allowing his warmth to invade her. It slicked through her limbs, leaving no area untouched, and as her body grew soft and pliant she was conscious of his unyielding frame pressed against her like a coiled spring.

The compulsion to wrestle with him and lose overwhelmingly swept over her in waves. His hands were so strong, so smooth, she thought, moving sinuously beneath them. That was good—she needed all his skill, wanted none of that sensitivity lost beneath workworn skin or calluses. His sense of rhythm augured well too. He moved easily to the beat, bringing her with him just by holding her so lightly—too lightly, Charlotte acknowledged again, moving restlessly beneath his hands. She wanted more, so much more…

He didn’t need to ask himself what Charlotte Clare wanted, or what she needed, Iannis reflected, taking pleasure in moving away every time she tried to range herself a little closer to him in the dance. He would make her wait, he decided, a harsh smile tilting the corners of his mouth. She would be insatiable. He could afford to wait as long as he chose when the outcome was so certain.

He stared over Charlotte’s head, dismissing her in favour of the towering cliffs that showed vaguely on the other side of the shore like smoke trails against the inky sky. Iskos was his island, beautiful and uncomplicated—that was why he loved it so passionately. But there was nothing uncomplicated about the woman in his arms, he realised uneasily, tensing a little as she intruded on his thoughts.

On the surface she resembled any of the other sex-tourists who came to the Greek islands in search of a meaningless coupling to brag about to their friends back home. Any Greek man would do, so long as he had a foreign-sounding name and a pulse—the rest they could invent. The obligatory conquest was as necessary to them as the suntan they took away with them. And the closer they came to the end of the holiday, the more desperate for a man they became.

He smiled as he thought of the youths lining the sea walls each summer to gauge the level of frustration of each passing beauty. They could pick off their prey with absolute confidence. He glanced down again. Charlotte’s flight home must be imminent, judging by the amount of make-up she was wearing, not to mention the abundant décolletage and skintight outfit.

Purely out of curiosity he channelled his senses into the hand resting lightly on her back. Her skin was fine and smooth and warm. At least she wasn’t tomato-red and flaky.

Charlotte sensed the fisherman’s interest shift a gear, and glanced up. He danced so well. Probably got lots of practice in the tourist season. Would it be one dance or two? What price was he prepared to pay? She tensed as their gazes clashed and looked away. She didn’t want conflict. Conflict was provocative and called for resolution. She wanted straightforward sex and a pain-free goodbye. No regrets, no consequences.

Was this part of the evening tedious for him? Was it necessary courtship for the sake of injecting a little decency into the proceedings—the paying of dues before they got down to business? Was this his equivalent of a romantic dinner for two—the tab picked up by the man until you got back to his place, where you were expected to come up with your slice of the bill? Maybe that was why she had always insisted on paying for herself on the few occasions she had been out since the divorce, Charlotte mused, pressing her lips together in ironic acceptance.

He was right to be suspicious, Iannis decided. Even if he cut her some slack where the outfit was concerned—and he would, since in his experience women from northern climes never wore summer clothes well—Charlotte Clare could keep her ‘butter wouldn’t melt’ look. It didn’t work for him—not with everything else he could see going on behind her eyes. This was no innocent abroad; this was an intelligent, thoughtful, and possibly very dangerous woman—or else how had she slipped beneath the guard of Marianna, the shrewdest woman on the island? He could tell Marianna thought a lot of her. Theos, she had chosen to appoint herself unofficial guardian, and when had that ever happened before? Like everyone else on the island, Marianna was usually content to let him have his own way over everything—especially women.

Iannis dipped his head and smiled faintly in acknowledgement as Marianna caught his gaze. He should be angry with her for setting this hoyden loose on him—but he had too much respect for Marianna Lyknos, Iannis realised, grinding his jaw in frustration. But maybe, just maybe, she had got it wrong this time. Charlotte Clare would have to be watched, and watched closely. Not that that would be hard—she was fairly easy on the eye.

Iannis forced himself to relax, realising that his grip on Charlotte’s arm had tightened. That was exactly what she wanted, he thought, feeling the resulting tremor run right through her. Her response had only confirmed his thoughts. She was looking for action—of that there was no doubt. It was up to him now to decide if, when and where he would give her what she wanted.

Dancing was so like sex it was amazing it was permitted in public, Charlotte decided, as someone began to strengthen the beat by patting gently on a drum. The sound was muffled and persuasive, seeming to ripple through her like an electric current invading a supple cable. Her whole body was vibrating to the low, insistent sound. It made her want to sway her hips, to entice Iannis all the more.

Touching the tip of her tongue to her lips, Charlotte cast a slanted glance at the man who maddeningly insisted on holding her as if she was a precious piece of china, when all she wanted was to be gripped, mastered, taken somewhere far away from the crowded dance floor where she could be served, plundered, ravished and sated.

Ravishing, Iannis thought, approving Charlotte’s seductive moves. She would be pretty too—if she gave her face a good wash. For once, he was impressed—and he couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Thankfully she had ditched the Miss Goody-Two-Shoes act, so now they could stop wasting time and get down to it.

Charlotte gasped as Iannis suddenly drew her a lot closer. At last, she thought gratefully, closing her eyes. She had begun to think she would die of frustration—either that or die of shame, knowing that she was the most unattractive woman on the planet.

She kicked her conscience into touch, determined to concentrate on the here and now. Here was a gorgeous man, and now he had to make love to her. For once in her life she would know what it felt like to be held by a real man and made love to exhaustively.

Just one night would be enough, Charlotte promised herself fervently, though she had the article to think about too. One long night, she amended quickly, and then they could both go their separate ways without a backward glance.

She held her breath as Iannis turned her around, discovering how neatly her tightly sheathed rump fitted into the cradle of his hips. She only had to move her hips a fraction—but he brought her back to face him and held her lightly around the waist.

His expression had grown slumberous, she noticed, gazing straight into his eyes. She had to make sure there could be no misunderstanding. This was no time for niceties. Her stay on the island was almost at an end.

Iannis responded by tightening his grip fractionally—but it wasn’t enough. He was teasing her, Charlotte realised, feeling faint with frustration. She felt he relished the delay. Everything was a dance to him—a courtly, protracted, drawn-out dance. And the longer it took, the better it seemed, as far as Iannis was concerned.

As he dipped his head to taunt her with a knowing stare, Charlotte knew her lips were plump and swollen with desire. The tip of her tongue crept out to moisten them, and she knew they would be gleaming in the candlelight just a hair’s breadth away from his hard, sensuous mouth. She could feel them tingling at his proximity, and his black gaze, on a level with her own, was perceptive and amused.

She wanted to rail at him, to pound her fists on his chest and rage with complaint—but not here, not with all his people surrounding them. Here she must move to the music with decorous circumspection, and curb her impulse to lash her hands behind his neck and drag him down to kiss him hard. There was a supreme confidence, a certainty about the way the fisherman moved. It made her long for him to lavish some of that skill on her. But his idea of seduction was apparently to send her half mad with frustration before granting her wish.

The sexual chemistry between them was not only red-hot, but blatantly obvious. More couples joined them, as if drawn like moths to the flame of desire, and, reading the change in mood, the musicians picked up the pace of the music until the traditional rhythms were pounding with elemental abandon.

Lashed around Iannis, Charlotte was well aware of the other dancers’ lack of inhibition. But Iannis was maddeningly restrained, and appeared content to draw out his seduction on the dance floor indefinitely—for the satisfaction of seeing her beg, presumably. It made Charlotte mad. It made her all the more determined to take control. Giving herself to the music, she began to compete with all the other women in enticing her man. She had the satisfaction of seeing Iannis grow increasingly intent as she abandoned herself to the seductive rhythm. It was time to turn the tables on her Greek seducer. She needed raw material for her article, and raw sex too—lots of it.

Iannis Kiriakos might think he was bending her to his will, but Charlotte was determined that she would get the better part of the bargain in the end. ‘Find a gorgeous Greek and write about him.’ The editor’s words rang in her head as she flaunted her sexuality through the dance. Her mission on the island had never seemed more appealing. Iannis was her Greek. She would write about him. Research never got better than this.

‘Shall we find somewhere a little quieter?’

The husky voice broke into her introspection, and it took her a moment or two to refocus. Then she tensed angrily. Iannis would think he had wrested control from her with no effort at all. But his warm breath was laving the most sensitive part of her neck, causing fine blonde hairs to rise in unison and sending quivering messages to each erotic zone. His low voice was pulsing with intent, showering her in sensation until her body throbbed in answer to his question.

‘If you like,’ Charlotte managed coolly.

Resting one hand in the small of her back, Iannis began to guide her off the dance floor. They had almost reached the narrow aisle between the tables that led to the road beyond the jetty when an unmistakable voice stopped them in their tracks.

‘Ah, you are ready to go, I see. Thank you, Iannis,’ Marianna said courteously with a small dip of her head as she barred their way. ‘I will take over now and see Thespinis Charlotte safely home.’

CHAPTER SIX

‘DAMN! Damn! Double damn!’ Charlotte raged, taking out her frustration on her pillows by giving them a hefty thwack with each word. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she had her own inhibitions and moral code to deal with, now she had Marianna as self-appointed guardian just in case she slipped up! Marianna was one woman Charlotte didn’t care to argue with. She respected the older woman far too much.

On their return from the taverna Marianna had revealed a covered bowl of honey in the refrigerator, as well as slices of the buttery yellow local cheese. She had advised Charlotte to dip into it. ‘We love this dish here on Iskos, and I knew you would be hungry,’ she observed, brushing off Charlotte’s gratitude with a flick of her hand.

But the one thing she would not do was to draw back the cloak of secrecy that seemed to surround Iannis Kiriakos.

‘He’s just a very good fisherman,’ she’d said vaguely, producing a bottle of local wine. ‘Shall we drink a toast to the island?’

And with that she had brought the curtain down on Charlotte’s investigations.

It was hard to think badly of Iannis when Marianna clearly liked him so much. But that was a dangerous way to think, Charlotte realised with a frown. She had seen the man’s charm at work in the taverna. In fact, thinking too closely about Iannis at all was dangerous. He should remain an idea—an ideal—for her article, and for the purpose of restoring her self-esteem. Nothing more.

Charlotte knew she had allowed things to get out of hand at the taverna, and the result was she hadn’t had a moment’s sleep. She had as much energy to spare as a highly bred mare—waiting for a stallion, Charlotte thought restlessly, progressing the metaphor into a cul-de-sac of frustration.

Another few thumps on the pillow left her feeling fractionally better. But there was still a long way to go—and only a short time left to get there, she remembered, making a dry, angry sound in her throat. Now it was almost dawn, and she was so tired she knew she wouldn’t write a word all day. Another twenty-four hours slipping through her fingers like sand—she would soon be on a flight home.

She wouldn’t panic. She would swim. Maybe the cool water would clear her head. It was almost light enough. She would wear a proper costume this time: an all-concealing, breast-flattening, passion-killing sensible number that she wore at the serious swimming club she had joined back home. There wasn’t a thong in sight there. Her clubmates were more interested in the latest high-tech gear to reduce drag and improve their time by maybe a tenth of a second.

That should do it, Charlotte thought, mutinously pulling the costume she had in mind out of a drawer. She could just imagine the arrogant expression on the fisherman’s face turning to disappointment and surprise when he saw her wearing it. She held it up, revelling in the shapeless form and the dismal bottle-green shade in particular.

Glamour personified, Charlotte decided happily when she had dragged it on and examined her reflection. Even a Greek chauvinist like Iannis Kiriakos could not possibly find such a hideous garment provocative. She turned to view herself again in the full-length mirror. The costume was desexing, dehumanising—absolutely perfect. She looked like a porpoise with a wig on.

Beautiful, Iannis mused, looking down at Charlotte on the beach. She was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his life—and he’d seen a few. But her swimming costume was an insult to that glorious frame. He watched as she tossed back her hair and then secured it on top of her head with a band. He could sit all day just watching her, Iannis realised, easing his position on the uncomfortable rocky ledge.

Settling back to enjoy himself, he sighed, feeling his whole body relax. When had that last happened? When was the last time he had slowed down long enough to take account of the scent of myrtle and thyme mixing with the faintly salty tang of the sea?

A sleepless night had brought him back to the cliff overlooking the bay. When he’d woken he’d hardly been able to wait to pull on his shorts and an old vest. He hadn’t even bothered with sandals, such had been his need to get out of the cottage and marvel at the Technicolor light show that was dawn on Iskos. But it was more than that…much more than just the promise of a visual treat, Iannis accepted, as he watched Charlotte tiptoe into the sea.

Need, he mused thoughtfully. Need drove everything. Where would he be without it? What would he ever have accomplished?

She was taking it slowly this morning, he noticed, leaning forward a little with concern.

Oblivious to the fact that she was being observed, Charlotte stretched out her arms above her head, stretching her fingertips towards the sky as if reaching for something.

Like a salutation to the rising sun, Iannis thought, questioning his sanity at the romantic image as he caught himself smiling faintly, indulgently.

Charlotte Clare was dangerous—if only because he could think of nothing else while she was here on his island. Did she call out to the sky as she made her gesture? He couldn’t be sure and wished he had been closer to hear. But then, almost before he’d realised what she meant to do, she turned and bolted towards the rising surf, plunging in head first without a moment’s hesitation.