Won by the Wealthy Greek
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Close by the water’s edge, two white cottages sat side by side. There was no sign of Iannis. His rowing boat had been brought back and tied up at a small wooden jetty in front of the cottage. Other than that there were no clues: nothing carelessly left outside, no scattering of possessions that might flesh out the man who lived there—nothing apart from his boat. She would have to get closer, Charlotte realised reluctantly.
Forced to stop each time her feet dislodged a flurry of loose stones, she made achingly slow progress down the steep staircase that cut through the cliff, but when she reached the shale path Charlotte saw that lights had been switched on inside both cottages. Running the last few steps, she ducked down beneath one of the lighted windows and waited until her breathing steadied. Then, still half-crouching, she peered over the window ledge into the brightly illuminated room. A shadow passed by an open doorway and she saw that she had got the right house.
The interior of Iannis’s cottage was as unhelpful as the outside had been. Immaculately neat, with freshly whitewashed walls, and its furniture simple and basic. But there was an arrangement of local flowers on the scrubbed wooden table, she noticed, as well as several pots of herbs on a ledge inside the window.
Charlotte felt her stomach contract. She could imagine Iannis doing many things, but arranging flowers wasn’t one of them. A woman’s touch? She scanned the row of flourishing green herbs lined up in their small terracotta pots and then looked around the room for more clues.
There was a battery of unsophisticated cooking utensils hanging from hooks on the walls, as well as several decorative plates in traditional blue and cream earthenware on a wooden shelf…but they were all too perfectly positioned. And in spite of the flowers and herbs there was something sterile about the interior. Perhaps it was the absolute lack of clutter, but it looked more like a swanky holiday cottage than a local home.
She ducked down as Iannis walked into the room. From his damp hair she deduced that he had taken a quick shower. It made her all the more aware of her own salt-caked discomfort. Peering cautiously over the sill again, she saw that he had changed into a pair of beautifully cut black trousers, and had a towel slung casually around his neck. The trousers were gaping open at the front, and she saw the reason for it as he reached for a freshly ironed shirt hanging on the back of a chair.
She ducked down again fast when he turned to stare out of the window, almost as if he sensed she was there. Pressing herself back against the wall, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and waited for her heart to calm down. She was such a fool. Had she really imagined he would live alone? Iron his own shirts?
When the kitchen light went off again she scuttled around the corner of the cottage to where another band of light striped the stony ground. Cautiously straightening up, Charlotte peered through the window into what she guessed was the main reception room. Elegantly furnished, it reinforced her suspicions that this was no usual fisherman’s home. The traditional woven rug with a graphic design in neutral colours could have passed in a modern loft conversion, there was a deeply padded banquette covered in what looked like cream linen skirting two sides of the room, and a large stone fireplace with a cast-iron hearth full of logs. But there wasn’t a single personal possession as far as she could see.
Maybe Iannis was just incredibly tidy… But she had to be sure. She had to find his bedroom.
She was beginning to feel like a character in a not-very-funny cartoon, Charlotte thought, as she bunny-hopped her way around the cottage. But fortunately the building wasn’t large, and she soon found an exterior staircase that led to a veranda at first-floor level. It seemed likely that his bedroom would be at the top of the steps.
Climbing soundlessly in her bare feet, Charlotte saw that the double doors were wide open. And she could hear music. Jazz? Soft, smoochy jazz. She jerked back in surprise and took some thinking time. She couldn’t have been more taken aback if there had been a brass band playing. The only music she had heard so far on the island was either pop or traditional Greek tunes at the taverna.
Creeping onto the balcony, she cautiously peered into the bedroom. There was just one bank of pillows on the bed. No sign of a woman’s touch here, at least…in fact no sign of anyone’s touch. It looked exactly like a hotel bedroom.
She spotted the shorts and top he had been wearing cast on a chair, but there wasn’t a photograph or even an ornament to soften the room—a disappointment for her professional curiosity, but otherwise a relief.
Charlotte tensed and pulled back quickly as Iannis strode into the room. She saw him snatch up the shorts, but then a large moth, attracted by the light, brushed against her face. With a soft cry of alarm she raised her arms to ward it off. Iannis froze, and then moved with frightening speed towards the open doors.
Charlotte had a head start. She ran ahead of him with a speed born of utter panic. If she could just get down to the beach she felt sure she could get back to the villa before he guessed what she had done.
The moon was stubbornly fixed behind a cloud, which was to her advantage. She heard shutters closing, and knew he must have gone back to lock up. Pausing to catch her breath, with her hands resting on her legs, Charlotte smiled. It had been a close call, but she had got away with it.
After a few minutes of rapid walking along the beach she heard something else, and stopped again. It was the unmistakable sound of oars clopping into still water. And then she saw the small rowing boat moving steadily across the bay.
Charlotte uttered a small sound of alarm. She had never dreamed that Iannis would row across the bay—not when he had changed into decent clothes. There wasn’t the slightest chance she could catch up with him now. Marianna would be worried out of her mind when Iannis arrived without her.
And where would she say she had been?
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHARLOTTE had no intention of skulking in the shadows outside her own villa. She could hear Iannis and Marianna talking on the terrace and decided to brazen it out.
‘Good evening, Iannis,’ she said, strolling casually towards him.
He tensed as he swung around to view her through narrowed eyes.
‘Where have you been?’ Marianna exclaimed.
‘I trust you caught the last rays of the sun?’ Iannis murmured sardonically.
Charlotte felt her face redden. ‘I stayed longer than I intended to down on the beach…and now I need to take a shower, if you will excuse me.’
‘Well, thank goodness you have returned safely,’ Marianna said. ‘I must be going, too—’
‘Oh, no,’ Charlotte exclaimed, stopping dead in her tracks. ‘You don’t have to rush off.’
‘It is getting late,’ Marianna pointed out, looking Charlotte up and down with concern.
‘Perhaps Iannis will walk with you?’ Charlotte suggested hopefully.
‘It would be my pleasure,’ he agreed.
As Iannis and Marianna walked away from the villa together Charlotte felt the tension drain out of her. She’d had more than enough excitement for one evening.
But less than half an hour later Iannis was back.
‘Forgive me,’ he murmured, standing beneath the light on the porch as she opened the door. ‘There is something I forgot.’
‘Oh?’ Charlotte said faintly, backing up as he came towards her. ‘Can I find it for you?’
‘I have already found it,’ he said, closing the front door softly behind him.
‘I don’t understand…’ Charlotte felt her heart lurch as she watched a muscle work in his jaw, and then very slowly he eased away from the door.
‘Do you understand this, pedhaki mou?’ he murmured, reaching out for her.
Even after their closeness on the beach, coming from his lips the endearment was so unexpected Charlotte’s brow pleated fleetingly in bemusement. She had heard the Greek women crooning ‘little one’ to their children, but hearing it now from Iannis thrilled her—made her doubts seem foolish, made her feel safe, she realised as he dragged away the last barrier between them.
Iannis felt his senses surge to a level that could no longer be contained. Revenge—for all she had written about him, for her deception—would be sheer delight, he mused as he brushed his lips experimentally against Charlotte’s mouth and felt her soften. It would be the most intense erotic experience of his life. And she would enjoy it too. He’d make sure of that. And then she could ask herself where it had all gone wrong. He would fit a lifetime of pleasure into the few short hours she had left on the island—it would be some small compensation for what she had done.
He pulled back and allowed his gaze to rove over her. She was pulsing with desire, her lips already swollen and pink—as the rest of her would be before long. He took his time drawing her back into his arms, inch by lingering inch, relishing the sight of her eyes darkening and her nipples hardening until surely they must give her pain.
When a woman as beautiful as Charlotte Clare tried her hand at betrayal she must expect the penalty to be thoroughly and exhaustively exacted, Iannis mused, staring down at her. The only way he could think of to still his smile of victory was by dipping his head to part her lips with his tongue. She welcomed his possession so urgently he exulted. Sex between them was going to be even better than he had envisaged.
His hands were as firm as she had longed for them to be and her soft moans were becoming more urgent. She was all desire, all hot with longing, and with every other thought erased from her mind. This was what she needed, what she wanted—and Iannis wanted her, which made it complete.
‘Do you want me?’ Iannis murmured, holding her away from him to level a burning stare on her face. ‘Is this what you want, Charlotte? Tell me,’ he insisted harshly. ‘Let me hear you say it,’ he demanded fiercely.
‘If you want me to beg you will be disappointed,’ she warned, her eyes flashing fire. But even as she defied him Charlotte knew it was everything she had ever dreamed of and more. She gave a gasp of relief as he dragged her against him.
‘But you will beg,’ Iannis promised, running his hands lightly down her arms so that she trembled uncontrollably. ‘I’ll make sure of it.’
‘We meet as equals, Iannis,’ Charlotte gasped as he swung her off her feet and into his arms, ‘or not at all.’
‘You are in no position to make conditions,’ he pointed out, moving deeper into the villa. ‘You said something about taking a shower…?’
His arrogance was astounding—but she was seduced by the effect it had on her, Charlotte realised as Iannis settled her into his arms.
Shouldering open the bathroom door, he set her down on the floor and then, strolling over to the shower, switched it on. ‘Take your clothes off, Charlotte,’ he instructed, turning to her, ‘and make it slow.’
Charlotte felt as if she was melting into a pool of desire. Her lips still stung from his possession, and her body, where his hands had touched, was throbbing with awareness. She was swollen, moist and ready for his possession, but as she went to attack the buttons on his shirt he seized her wrists.
‘Not so fast,’ he whispered harshly against her ear. ‘I want to see you naked first.’
Charlotte could hear her rapid breathing, noisy above the steady swish of the shower, and see Iannis clearly reflected in the mirror above the bath. His eyes were narrowed, his gaze predatory. Relaxing, yielding, easing into his grip, she waited, then tore her hands out of his grasp when he was least expecting it.
‘I said equal terms or not at all,’ she warned, raising one brow in furious challenge as she stared at him.
Iannis had to admit to a rush of pleasure—and not for the reason he had expected. She seemed so easy, so compliant, yet had already shown herself to be a formidable adversary—and in more ways than one, he remembered, tensing at the memory. But at least his conscience was clear. She was his equal in passion. She knew what she was doing. And so did he.
This time Iannis made no complaint when Charlotte raised her arms to undo his shirt. He made it easy for her to slip the tiny horn buttons free, and then offered his wrists so that she could release the buttons on his cuffs. Moving his arms away from his sides, he allowed her to ease the shirt from his trousers and had to stop himself smiling when she was forced to stand on tiptoes to slip it from his shoulders. As she did her breasts pressed against his naked chest, and even through her top he could feel the insistent thrust of her hardened nipples.
She heard the fast breath he sucked in and looked up in satisfaction. ‘Maybe you will be the one who has to beg,’ she said, raising her eyebrows, gently mocking him.
‘Hussy,’ Iannis murmured with pleasure as she went on about her task. He eased onto one hip and saw her glance stray to the buckle on his trousers. ‘Do you want some help?’ he offered huskily.
‘I think I’ll manage,’ Charlotte answered, keeping steady eye contact as she loosened the soft kidskin belt from its silver tine.
Her voice was contained, but her eyes, her breathing, everything about her told him different, Iannis thought, tensing as very slowly Charlotte began lowering the zip on his trousers. He had never allowed a woman to take charge before—and never felt so turned on before. Charlotte had turned the tables on him in a way he could never have anticipated. She eased the trousers down over his hips and he stepped out of them. As she dipped down to help him he saw her hair still tangled from the sea. It made her look so vulnerable, so terribly fragile.
Fragile, but dangerously strong-willed. He remembered just in time what she had done. It was that strength he was pitting himself against now, not her vulnerability.
He groaned, all rational thought obliterated as she slipped the fingers of each hand beneath the elastic of his briefs. It cut off his train of thought as effectively as if she had taken him in her mouth. But it felt great. She felt great, he realised, easing into the sensation.
Charlotte swallowed hard as she brought the black silk briefs down over Iannis’s lean hips. She had never seen a man so aroused before. She had never wanted a man like this before, she realised, but for Iannis she would do anything. Sinking slowly to her knees in front of him, she took him in her mouth.
Iannis exhaled a ragged sigh. The touch of her lips and tongue was tentative to begin with, but as she grew in confidence she became more certain and more extreme. The sensation was building in him so fast it was as if he was a virgin, with no notion of control. He was suddenly suffused with the desire to do as much for her, and more—and that feeling was growing with every thought-stealing stroke of her tongue.
He moaned softly, throwing his head back as she closed her lips around him, pressing him firmly against the roof of her mouth as she began to suck. Soon he wouldn’t be able to stop himself, Iannis realised as his hips flexed convulsively. She was a Siren, a water sprite. She had bewitched him, Iannis Kiriakos, to whom control was everything—in every area of his life.
‘Stop,’ he managed huskily. ‘Stop, Charlotte! Stop now!’
She ignored him.
When was the last time anyone had disobeyed him? Could he recall a single incident? Much as he wanted her to continue, catching sight of Charlotte’s tangled, salt-clogged hair, Iannis knew his need to pleasure her was greater. She was the most dangerous and the most infuriating woman he had ever known. But she drew other feelings from him too, and it was these that made him reach down and bring her to her feet.
‘Did I do something wrong?’
Wilful, strong, and yet so very fragile, Iannis thought as he drew her into his arms. ‘No,’ he admitted, wishing things could be different between them, ‘you did nothing wrong. You did everything right.’
Charlotte gazed up, wanting to believe him. ‘So, why—?’
He rested one finger over her swollen lips, making a sound he might have made to a child. But then he replaced that finger with his lips and all Charlotte’s concerns dissolved into sensation. His lips were firm and insistent, and he teased the seam of her lips apart with lazy passes of his tongue, then took her, plunging deeply and slowly into the moist darkness of her mouth.
Her hips moved convulsively to provide a warm cradle for his erection, and the touch of his naked body against every inch of her torso, even through the thickness of her clothes, was all it took to tip her over the edge so that she cried out in surprise as the violent spasms claimed her.
Iannis supported her, bearing her weight when her legs gave way and lifting her off the ground to deepen his kiss for the duration of her climax.
‘You greedy girl,’ he murmured softly when it was all over. ‘Did I give you permission for that?’
His voice was low and teasing, and he felt so strong, so wonderful against her. She never wanted him to let her go, never wanted the moment to end. And the way he was looking at her—his gaze penetrating, warm and amused—she wanted that look to last for ever. ‘I’m sorry, I—’
He cut her off with his finger again and made the same soft sound as he let her go. ‘Where’s the shampoo?’ he said, looking around.
‘Shampoo?’ Charlotte mumbled, still mesmerised, still lost in the aftermath of sensation.
‘The shampoo,’ Iannis repeated. ‘In here?’ he enquired, opening a cupboard on the wall.
Charlotte managed to whisper, ‘Yes,’ her gaze following Iannis, drinking him in, relishing the sight of him.
‘Conditioner?’
‘Conditioner?’ A croak seemed to emerge from her throat of its own accord.
‘Yes—you know,’ Iannis said wryly. He ruffled his own hair, then, seeing the state she was in—how reluctant to emerge from the erotic trance into which he had placed her—he raised his shoulders in a shrug and shook his head.
‘Shower,’ she managed to whisper.
Iannis checked, and then came back to her.
‘I hope you have a good water tank or we’ll be taking a cold shower,’ he observed dryly.
The water was still running, Charlotte realised, coming to. ‘Oh, no!’
‘No matter,’ Iannis said. ‘We have more than enough heat between us, and to spare. Come,’ he said, beckoning to her. ‘Come to me, Charlotte.’
Charlotte raised her arms for him and Iannis eased her top over her head. The old swimming costume felt tight across her straining breasts. She had never seen her nipples so erect.
‘Magnificent,’ Iannis remarked, following her gaze. With both his hands he very lightly cupped her breasts, and with an even lighter touch scraped his thumbnails very slowly around the base of the insistent peaks before taking them in a firm grip through the worn fabric and tugging on them.
Charlotte gasped and threw back her head as the pleasure lapped over her, but Iannis removed his hands immediately.
‘Not again,’ he warned. ‘I won’t allow you to lose control again.’
As he dropped a kiss on her shoulder Charlotte felt his beard-roughened face scrape against her tender neck and shuddered with delight. Then she felt him nudging her a little, and realised that he had already loosened her shorts and pushed them down over the swell of her hips.
Tilting her chin up, he made her look at him. Very lightly he touched her lips with his tongue… teasing her, Charlotte realised, when he stopped and held her away from him. It made her long all the more to press against him, to feel his erection pressed hard against the cushion of her belly.
Were her eyes as dark as his? They seemed to control her without the need for words. She lost herself willingly in the deep black pools of light, groaning in response when he slipped the straps of her costume down from her shoulders and then, with torturous delay, brought it down inch by lingering inch over her sensitised body.
It was like unpeeling the most delicious, the most succulent fruit, Iannis mused, freeing Charlotte from the shabby costume. Her shoulders were sun-kissed and her arms felt like silk. And her breasts—He stopped, unwilling to draw the costume lower until he had feasted his eyes on them. They were full and proud, the nipples tip-tilted in a way he had rarely seen. They seemed to challenge him in a way he had never experienced before. Revenge was sweet, indeed, he conceded, feeling his senses soar as he dipped his head to kiss her again. But as he deepened the kiss, making it slow and languorous, he knew his lust for revenge had subsided. The urge to bring her pleasure had overtaken everything else.
‘Come,’ he murmured, ‘it is time for me to serve you now.’
Was this what love felt like? Charlotte wondered. Iannis was a magical lover—she didn’t want to think beyond that; she only wanted him to take her on an erotic journey where there were no secrets, no holding back.
He led her under the shower and washed her hair, and when he had finished with that he took the sponge and gently washed every inch of her body.
‘Can I wash you now?’ Charlotte said when he had finished.
He looked at her, saw how her eyelashes were long and thick and clogged with water. The look she was giving him was so open—cunningly contrived to put him off guard? But he didn’t want to believe that. He wanted one night—one night of love before he must confront the reality of her betrayal. Was that so much to ask? Iannis wondered, feeling his senses soar as he stared into her eyes.
‘Soon,’ he murmured, kissing Charlotte’s eyelids gently when she begged him again.
But she took the sponge from his hand and refused to give it back to him. ‘I won’t be denied.’
‘I can see that,’ he murmured, dropping a kiss on her neck.
He had a body the mythical gods would have envied, Charlotte mused as she lavished care over every toned, tanned inch. Iannis possessed a frame of heroic proportions; his muscles were hard and clearly defined. Yet he wasn’t over-built, and nor was he weatherbeaten, as she might have supposed him to be due to his work. He was perfectly proportioned, deliciously bronzed, and with just enough body hair to draw attention to his masculinity without concealing it…
‘Seen enough?’
She looked up as he growled softly.
‘I’m not sure I will ever see enough,’ she admitted, wielding the sponge with growing confidence.
He put his arms around her, keeping her still. ‘I think we’d better stop now,’ he murmured, and she felt his warm breath on her head.
‘Are you sure?’ Charlotte whispered, staring up at him.
‘Quite sure,’ Iannis confirmed, taking the sponge out of her hand. ‘Now, shall I have to seduce you all over again?’ he suggested, kissing the top of her head.
‘Oh, I think so,’ Charlotte murmured happily, snuggling into him.
He wrapped her from head to foot in towels so that she could hardly move, and then swept her into his arms and carried her through to the bedroom. Laying her down on the soft pile of cushions, Iannis stretched out next to her. ‘Shall I unwrap you?’ he suggested wickedly, running one hand very lightly and tantalisingly down the length of her towel-covered form.
Please, Charlotte thought, seeing his eyes were bright with humour. ‘Am I a gift?’ she challenged provocatively.
Iannis frowned briefly—just a shadow, then it passed. But that look set a doubt in Charlotte’s mind. She sensed he had pulled away from her in some way she couldn’t grasp. But then he began kissing her, and her senses took over, and nothing mattered other than how much she wanted him, how much he had come to mean to her—however dangerous that was—and how soon she had to leave…
‘Crying?’ Iannis murmured, pulling away to stare into her face. ‘What’s this, Charlotte?’
Her name sounded so soft and tender on his lips—she should have been called something harsh-sounding to reflect her duplicity, Charlotte thought, stemming her tears by sheer force of will. At that moment she wished she had never embarked upon the article, never heard of Iskos, never visited the island—but then she would never have met Iannis, she realised, gazing up at him in confusion.