Won by the Wealthy Greek

Sun, sea and seduction…

Three dramatic, powerful romances from three favourite Mills & Boon authors!

Won by the Wealthy Greek

THE GREEK'S SEVEN-DAY SEDUCTION

by

Susan Stephens

CONSTANTINOU'S MISTRESS

by

Cathy Williams

THE GREEK DOCTOR'S RESCUE

by

Meredith Webber

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Sara, James and Leonie

THE GREEK’S SEVEN-DAY SEDUCTION

by

Susan Stephens

Susan Stephens was a professional singer who now loves nothing more than reading and writing romance. She lives in cosy chaos in a converted blacksmith’s cottage in Cheshire surrounded by cats, dogs, guinea pigs, children and a very understanding husband. She loves playing the piano and singing, as well as riding, cooking and gardening and travel. When she isn’t writing she’s usually daydreaming about her next hero!

Don’t miss Susan Stephen’s exciting new novel, The Ruthless Billionaire’s Virgin, available in May 2009 from Mills & Boon® Modern™.

CHAPTER ONE

CHARLOTTE’S feet were in the sea as she stared at the stars. She still found it hard to believe it could stay warm so late in the day on the tiny Greek island of Iskos. The damp sand felt firm and cool beneath her legs, and every so often she was forced to shuffle back on her haunches as an incoming wave claimed another slice of the shore. Finally the moment she had been waiting for arrived, and, drawing back her arm, she tossed the small band of gold as far out to sea as she could. As wealthy men’s wives went she had been a disaster, and the ring was the last symbol of that time.

Closing her eyes, she pictured it sinking to the seabed, and as it sank her spirits soared until finally relief wrapped around her like a warm blanket. Settling down again onto the sand, she curled her legs round to her side and took stock. The world was comfortingly unchanged, but at last she felt different, felt free. This must be how a butterfly felt on the day it shook out its wings.

Leaning back on her fists, she spotted the winged horse Pegasus laid out in stars above her head and felt it was a sign. The divorce was behind her. Her life was about to take flight.

Hugging her knees, Charlotte thought about the future. There were certain things she wouldn’t change. She was an established lifestyle journalist—have laptop, can travel—and she could live anywhere, thanks to the Internet. Perhaps she should move somewhere new, somewhere exciting and different—somewhere like this? But some things had to change first—recovering her zest for life, for instance. She had been on the island almost a month and hadn’t even ventured out at night yet—and her trip to Greece was supposed to be about rebuilding her self-esteem as well as her career. Up to now the change of scene had not helped. The inspiration she needed to write had proved elusive, and her self-esteem still hovered around zero.

Her thoughts flew to the flimsy dresses lying neglected at the bottom of her suitcase. They were fabulous designer freebies, courtesy of the magazine she worked for—but they came at a price. When her editor had said, ‘Find a gorgeous Greek and write about him,’ it had been code for, Bring back a barnstorming feature article to revive a career that has been badly shaken by your divorce. Trouble was, gorgeous Greeks appeared to be in short supply on Iskos.

Her green gaze idled along the base of the cliffs, where the sea was as sleek as black satin, and then swept out across the bay to where the water lay still and as smooth as a silver-grey plate. Lights were twinkling around the taverna at the water’s edge, and the occasional shout or burst of laughter bounced eerily off the rocks at her back, telling her it was time to go.

Springing to her feet, Charlotte slapped her hands together to get rid of the sand, and then froze as another sound intruded. Standing very still, she listened until she identified the regular swish of oars.

Scanning the sea, she spotted a lantern glowing in the prow of a small rowing boat. Everything was stripped of colour in the half-light, and it was hard to pick out anything with certainty, but thanks to the lantern Charlotte made out a man in silhouette. His stroke was sure and confident, as if he used the stars and moon to steer by and had a fixed point of destination.

Watching the oarsman was strangely hypnotic. He gave off an impression of power, and Charlotte smiled as her imagination kicked in. She had seen any number of wiry, weatherbeaten fishermen on the island, but something told her this man was different. He was tough, but graceful like a tiger…beautifully co-ordinated, dangerously strong. Her mind continued to throw up images in an attempt to give the shadowy form more substance—and quite suddenly she felt a hunger to start writing everything down.

Quickly retrieving her sandals, she slipped them on. The main thrust of the article was still hidden from her—but it would have something to do with the man in the boat, she was sure of it. Heading back in the direction of the steep trail that led up through the cliff to the villa she was renting, Charlotte began to run.

The outdoor terrace had a traditional pebble floor that wrapped right around the single-storey villa. There was a long table, set close by the stone balustrade to make the most of the view, and it was here that Charlotte set up her improvised desk. Like most homes in a warm climate the villa was blessed with plenty of outdoor lights, and she could write all night should she want to.

The whole time she was working Charlotte was conscious of the lantern, a tiny pinprick of light on the sea. The man and his boat were indistinguishable, but it was comforting to know he was there. It kept her imagination fired and the words flowing easily.

Gradually the list of ideas and impressions she was jotting down in preparation for writing the article was growing longer: lithe grace, physical strength, effortless coordination, sense of purpose, aura of power. Charlotte paused, and when she lifted her head she realised that her heart was racing. Determinedly she forced her attention back to the keyboard. Sheen of raven hair in failing light, harsh profile seen for the space of a heartbeat in silhouette, moonlight glancing off flexing muscles—She paused again, conscious that her breathing was faster now too. As her fingers hovered over the keys she gazed into the night at the tiny beacon, then, with a wry shake of her head, she dragged her gaze away again. Concentrate, she told herself sternly.

She wasn’t even aware how fast the words were tumbling from her fingers until a drop in temperature broke her concentration. Shivering a little, she sat up and eased her shoulders. A fresh wind had kicked up, whipping her long Titian hair round her face, lashing her eyes and making them water, and plastering annoying strands to her lips.

The last time she’d looked the sky had been gunmetal-grey, with just the hint of a magenta border where the sun-trail lingered, but now it had blackened into a deep Greek night—a deep, chilly Greek night, Charlotte amended, pulling her pashmina a little closer. After a few more minutes she was forced to concede defeat and retreat inside.

A heavy silence greeted her in the cool interior of the luxury villa, but it was a calming silence that filled her with relief rather than loneliness. She had known the moment the agent showed her round that this was the perfect setting in which to recover. A well-appointed property, at the high end of the market, it offered her the freedom from concern she so badly needed. She was too bruised inside, too shaken up to recover her fighting spirit without a little help.

The failed marriage had left behind more scars than she could ever have anticipated. There were the feelings of guilt—that she could maybe have done some things differently or better—a sense of failure, and then the grief. And that had really taken her by surprise. But she was a survivor, and this break in Greece was an investment in her future. Whatever else the article turned into, she was determined that the theme at the heart of it would be optimistic and uplifting.

Clutching the stack of printed sheets close to her chest, Charlotte shouldered open the heavy oak door that led into her bedroom. Like the rest of the house, this room was traditional in style, its terracotta floors scattered with richly patterned rugs in subtle shades of red.

With the most discerning rental client in mind, restoration had been undertaken with no expense spared. Freshly whitewashed walls framed the broad spread of a high bed, positioned so that its occupant could look out over the sea. And it was a bed designed to appeal to a novelty-seeking high spender. A well-sprung mattress lay on a platform of smooth rock, and the linen sheets were piled high with cushions in jewel-coloured silks. The throws flung casually over the top of that were cashmere.

There was even a large en suite bathroom through another door, which boasted brand-new white fittings housed in baby-blue wash-painted units. Charlotte decided she would take a long, lazy bath there as a reward for making a start on the article, but first something drew her back to the window.

Ideas were fine, she mused, inhaling the fragrant air as she thought about her work, but they were only ingredients for the cake—and nothing without careful preparation. With just a week left to get it right, she would need an early start the next morning.

The moon had slipped behind a cloud, and even the branches of the olive trees a few feet from the window seemed to have dissolved into the night. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep, steadying breath. There was a faint smell of lemons on the air, and an owl hooted in the distance as it drifted on silent wings in search of prey. Opening her eyes again, she tried to find the tiny dot of light. It was out there somewhere on the sea. She frowned, thinking it had gone. But then quite suddenly it appeared, glowing like a nightlight in the inky-black void.

‘Goodnight,’ she murmured softly, smiling a little to herself as she turned away.

It was possibly the most comfortable bed she had ever slept in in her life, Charlotte mused drowsily, settling back on the bank of plump pillows to stare into the night. Her gaze homed in on the lantern and settled there. She couldn’t help wondering about the man in the boat, the lone fisherman.

She moved restlessly on the cool sheets. How was she supposed to get to sleep while her mind was so active? With thoughts of the fisherman. Was she in lust with a shadow? Charlotte wondered wryly. Was this what it had come to? But it did no harm, she reminded herself. She was free now.

Her world had shrunk to an oasis of sensuality in the bedroom of a villa on a tiny Greek island in the Aegean sea, and it was a world full of possibilities if she allowed it to be. The island was far away from anyone she knew. She could have an affair and no one would be any the wiser. She could throw herself into a passionate sexual relationship with a man who wouldn’t expect anything from her—why should he? No strings, no consequences. And maybe that was exactly what she needed.

Her body certainly seemed to think so. Sensation was streaming through her as she watched the small light moving gently on the sea. Teasing vibrations had started to throb, with a warm and insistent pulse, but she took her hand away, resisting the road to loneliness, wondering instead if the answer to her frustration really did lie out at sea, in the small boat with the fisherman.

Sighing as she told herself not to be so foolish, Charlotte checked one last time that the lantern was still visible. Framed by the window, she saw that it was moving quite a bit now, as if the sea had grown rougher. Then she thought her imagination must have taken over, for with each beat of her heart it seemed to be coming a little closer. But however much she willed it to turn towards the villa it moved steadily away from her, towards the far side of the shore.

Who is he? Charlotte wondered as she thought about the fisherman. And, more importantly, how do I get to meet him? She was still mulling it over when sleep finally claimed her.

CHAPTER TWO

THE sound of turtledoves cooing in the split trunk of the olive tree outside her window woke Charlotte at daybreak. Easing herself down from the snug sleeping platform, she padded barefoot across the cool tiled floor and stared out of the open shutters. It took her a few moments to adjust to the low, slanting light, and then she sighed with disappointment.

What had she been expecting? She had seen the fisherman turn for shore in the middle of the night. But somehow that hadn’t been enough to prevent her imagination conjuring up an image of him waiting for her somewhere.

Directing her gaze upwards, she saw the sky was a pale, watery lemon, and smiled in anticipation. The new day held the exciting possibility that she might see the mystery man again.

These last few days on the island might well be worth all the others put together, Charlotte thought, suddenly feeling the crazy urge to lean out of the window and embrace the translucent light. She wanted to stamp the view on her memory for ever: the sand stretching away in an ivory crescent, looking as though it had been washed, cleaned and ironed just for her pleasure, and beyond that the fingers of mist lingering over smudgy green olive groves. The sea was translucent aquamarine, and mirror-flat between her side of the shore and the jetty where the fisherman must have tied up his boat. She stared intently, but there was no sign of either him or his boat.

Time to swim, she decided, pulling back decisively. And after that she would settle down to the business of writing.

Coming down the stone steps in just her pyjamas, Charlotte paused only to slip on her sandals. During her short time in Greece the sunshine and warmth had stripped away her inhibitions—that and the fact that so far no one had trespassed on the stretch of beach below the villa. She would swim naked today, as she had every day since her arrival.

By the time she reached the edge of the cliff her pulse was racing with more than her usual anticipation, and the first thing she saw out at sea were two red floats. His floats? Surely they must be. Her heart leapt, and, turning towards the steep donkey trail that led down to the beach, she tried not to run. But the markers were like magnets, drawing her to the shore.

They are just markers in the sea, Charlotte warned herself as she walked across the sand. Nothing to make a fuss about. She took her time removing her sandals, and made a point of ignoring them. But by the time she reached the water’s edge she could hardly breathe with excitement. He would come back—he had to come back at some point to claim them, she realised, ripping off her nightclothes and tossing them onto the ground.

Get a grip! she told herself, pausing a moment to enjoy the soft brush of the breeze on her naked body. If this was the way she was going to react, she would have done better staying up at the villa, where she was safe. How much safer to flesh out the fisherman in her imagination than to risk an encounter…

But as the cool water lapped over Charlotte’s feet her brain clicked into gear and a line of poetry swam into her head that seemed to fit the fisherman perfectly. More than that, it provided the perfect theme for her article.

She replayed the words in her head just to be sure: Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys and destiny obscure. It was perfect—as the hook for her article, as the theme she had been searching for.

She only had to think about the fisherman to know the direction her article would take now. It was a theme that was sure to resonate with her readers, make them pause over their lattes: a man fulfilled, a man who had found his destiny working close to nature in the sleepy environs of a small Greek island.

Good as far as it went, Charlotte mused, shivering a little as she waded deeper into the water. But what had happened to her determination to reinvent herself? Was the fisherman going to be confined to the printed page? Living in the imagination was great—it had always provided her with an escape—but was it enough? And should the thought of the mysterious fisherman be sending her heart-rate off the scale? She put that thought on hold as she embraced the chilly waves with a shriek of excitement.

Plunging deep, Charlotte began to swim out strongly towards the red floats. She swam well, with her head underwater much of the time to streamline her position and minimise drag. The sea was as clear as if it had been filtered, and the sandy floor was littered with rocks giving shelter to the shoals of colourful fish streaking past her legs. She saw the fisherman’s lobster pots first, nestling between two rocks, even before she realised she had reached his markers.

Treading water, Charlotte grabbed hold of one of the fat red globes and clutched it to her chest. Her nipples tightened as she traced the curved lines with her fingertips and let her thoughts fly. Closing her eyes, she careered off on an erotic adventure where the fisherman’s tight buttocks moved with the same insistent thrust as the waves beneath his float. She allowed her legs to rise behind her, and used the float to keep herself above the waves. It felt cool and smooth against her cheek, with just enough scratchy damage to make her think of how a stubble-roughened jaw might feel against her skin. Her thoughts lingered on his strong hands, touching it, controlling it, much as she was doing now—

‘Oy! Min to kanis afto!’

Charlotte’s heart leapt into her throat as she thrust the float away. The barked order carried clearly across the water and came from the shore. Back-pedalling furiously, she sent a curtain of spray high into the air as she whirled around to try and see who was shouting at her.

So much for romantic ideals! It was her fisherman, and even the shock of reality and fantasy colliding was overtaken by a new fear when she saw him take a few fast steps forward. He thought she was in danger and was coming to her rescue, she realised. Quickly thrusting her arm into the air, she gave him a confident ‘thumbs-up’ signal. She relaxed a little when he halted abruptly, but he still exuded a sense of purpose she sensed might be triggered at the slightest provocation. She didn’t flatter herself it was out of concern. He was just plain furious.

But then she began to resent his arrogant occupation of her beach. What did he think she was doing? Did he think she was hoping to steal her supper? Did he own the sea? Charlotte had a good mind to stay exactly where she was until the man gave up and went away. But then she heard an engine put-putting towards her. Swinging round in the water, she saw that a small fishing vessel was closing in on her fast.

Back on the beach, the fisherman had planted himself in front of her pyjamas, whilst in the fishing boat she saw the stocky figure of a much older man sporting a swirling moustache. He had spotted her too. The boat was close enough for Charlotte to see the blue stripes painted down its sides.

She couldn’t stay treading water for ever. Was it fate lines colliding, or a disaster unfolding? Charlotte knew there was only one way to find out. She began to swim back to shore, and only slowed when she was close enough to see the water frothing around the fisherman’s naked feet. As their gazes clashed he brandished her clothes in his hand like a flag.

Was he showing them to her or taunting her with them? she wondered. But, noting the cynical slant of his eyes, Charlotte pulled away towards the shelter of the rocks clustering at the shoreline.

Nothing like a little real-life experience to spice up your writing, she mused, turning in time to see him make a second imperative gesture—past her this time, out to sea.

Quite suddenly the boat’s engine was cut. The fisherman on board retreated to the stern, where he busied himself with some nets. The only sound now was the restless surf sighing against the reef and slapping lazily against the side of the small fishing boat.

Crawling commando-style through the shallows on her forearms, Charlotte slipped into hiding between two large boulders and waited there out of sight until she had caught her breath. Then, snatching a quick look, she saw that the fisherman was still standing where she had first seen him, still holding her pyjamas in his fist.

‘Throw them over here!’ she called, pressing herself back against the rock. She waited, but when there was no response she was forced to dart her head out again. The fisherman shook her nightwear, and then his head—slowly and deliberately.

Charlotte sank back with a gust of frustration. Rock and a hard place came to her mind. It was clear this man was no push-over, but, on the plus side, he was an incredible-looking individual. His eyes were extraordinary. Their intensity alone was enough to send a shiver coursing down her spine.

Maybe it came from living so close to nature, Charlotte reasoned impatiently. But she was forced to admit that the hard, muscular body, combined with such an arrogant stare, added up to a lot more than she had bargained for when she’d daydreamed about the mysterious and then-unseen fisherman.

He was taller than she had imagined too, and built like a kickboxer, with incredible legs shown off to best advantage in a pair of battered shorts. Her senses surged at the thought of being controlled by such well-muscled thighs, and she quickly shut her eyes, as if that was enough to make the danger go away.

Fantasy was one thing. Reality, in the shape of this particular Greek male, was another thing altogether. He even wore a knife at his waist, hanging in a long sheath from a low-slung leather belt. ‘Dinosaur,’ Charlotte muttered fiercely, feeling her pulse speed up. He was such a compelling individual that one crazy part of her wanted to tear his clothes off with her teeth, whilst her sensible self was angry with him for provoking such an irresponsible response.

She sank down again in the shallows behind her rock, and it was a good few moments before she steeled herself for another look—and that was a mistake.

Charlotte’s breath flew out of her chest as their gazes clashed. Something in the man’s brooding expression suggested he knew every position in the Kama Sutra, and had devoted his life to perfecting each one of them in turn. Ideal research material for her article, no doubt—but was she really ready for this?

Charlotte shouted down the warning bells clamouring in her head. This was the moment. She could seize it, or live to regret it.

Predatory and very masculine interest was coming off the man in waves. She judged him to be in his midthirties—old enough to know what to do in the bedroom, without having lost either the interest or the stamina required for her purposes…

Closing her eyes, Charlotte brushed the last of her doubts aside. Rolling back the film in her mind, she evaluated what she knew of him: his hair was thick, raven-black and slightly wavy, and he wore it longer than the average man—but there was nothing remotely average about this man.

Most crucially he wore no ring. But she would still have to make discreet enquiries of Marianna, who worked at the villa and seemed to know everything about everyone on the island. So far, though, Charlotte thought confidently, the signs were looking good—delectable, unattached male with perfect body for lonely journalist’s entertainment. For research purposes only, naturally.

He could easily have passed for one of the Ancient Greek gods—except they’d been too petty and far too pretty, she decided. She cast him instead as Jason, the Argonauts’ legendary leader, instantly elevating the small blue and white fishing boat to the fifty-oared Argo—though it was too great a stretch even for Charlotte’s imagination to pass off her threadbare pyjamas as the Golden Fleece. And what was she going to do about her pyjamas? They remained firmly in his grasp.

She closed her eyes, waiting for her heart to calm down, and then, feeling his stare on her face, knew she hadn’t pulled back sufficiently behind the screen of rock.

Snapping her eyes open, Charlotte raised her voice so there could be no mistake. ‘Throw them over here!’

Glaring at him furiously when he made no response, she found herself caught in a hypnotic gaze. It was hard and cynical: the gaze of a connoisseur, disturbingly knowing.

Charlotte made one last attempt to call to him—in a softer voice this time, hoping to appeal to his better nature.

With a smile, she gestured airily towards the pyjamas.

He took a menacing step towards her.

‘Stay there!’ she shouted, alarmingly conscious of her own nakedness.

The fisherman stopped, and slouched comfortably on one hip.

He was enjoying her predicament, Charlotte realised, and, worse, appeared content to wait for as long as it took until she was forced to come out of hiding and claim her clothes.

She watched him shrug, and saw that the curve of his lips held no humour, that his dark stare was unwavering. But then an explanation occurred to her, and she knew she should have thought of it sooner. Of course—he didn’t understand what she was saying!

Hissing with frustration, Charlotte wondered what to do next. She didn’t speak Greek, so they were never going to get anywhere.

‘Why don’t you come here and get them?’ the fisherman suddenly challenged her, in barely accented English.

CHAPTER THREE

CHARLOTTE drew back abruptly. Whatever else she had been expecting it certainly wasn’t this easy command of her own language.

His voice was almost at the same level as the whispering surf, yet still managed to resonate with all the assurance she associated with rampant masculinity.

He spoke English so well… Tourists, Charlotte realised, cursing her sluggish brain cells. Of course he spoke English fluently—what had she expected him to speak? Ancient Greek?

No doubt he would have a good laugh about this encounter later in the local taverna. But if she was to make this the opportunity she had been waiting for she had to swallow her pride. With hardly any time left on the island, she still had an article to write and her self-esteem to rebuild. She had to make a start.

Now she knew he spoke her language she could be more direct. Tilting her chin in defiance, Charlotte stepped out of her hiding place. ‘Hand my pyjamas over right now! And don’t even think of accusing me of interfering with your catch. I’ve got every bit as much right to swim here as—’

The diatribe froze on her lips. The beach was deserted and the fisherman nowhere to be seen.

Frowning, Charlotte turned a full circle. But the man had disappeared as surely as if he really had been a figment of her imagination. The only proof he had ever existed lay in the fact that her pyjamas had been moved from the beach, where she had thrown them, to a rocky shelf protruding from the cliff-face. Relief and disappointment swept over her in turn until, remembering the fishing boat moored close by the shore, she snatched up her clothes and crawled between the rocks to get dressed.

Iannis climbed soundlessly and with the ease of long practice. Reaching for one final handhold, he swung himself over the cliff-edge and sprang to his feet.

Who was she? From his vantage point high above the beach he could see little more than the top of the young woman’s head. He watched as she flicked the water-slicked hair away from her face with the fast, fluid movements of a dancer.

He was forced to acknowledge that she had a graceful carriage, and gave a reluctant smile as he remembered how high and proud she had held her head when she emerged from behind her rock shelter. Not quite like Aphrodite from the waves—she was too rebellious for that—but just as beautiful. But she appeared utterly unconcerned by her actions, and that made him angry. If he had stayed behind to make something of the encounter, what then? Would she have remained so brazen?

A muscle ground in his jaw as he turned to go. Why should he care?

Because not only did she irritate him, she intrigued him, he realised, starting to move away from the edge. There was something undeniably provocative about a beautiful woman prepared to face him down. The way she flaunted herself was a challenge he couldn’t ignore: it urged him to test her boundaries. Perhaps she had none. Perhaps he would make it his business to find out. But first he had to find out who she was. Someone would be able to tell him: Iskos was a small island, and very few tourists came to visit in the autumn.

Before leaving he turned to watch her walking rapidly across the beach. She was making for the cliff path that led up towards the villa she must be renting. His eyes narrowed. She would have to come almost right past him if he stayed where he was.

There was something strangely vulnerable about her now, in contrast to the impression she had given down on the beach, Iannis realised, feeling his interest stir. Her pyjamas were wet with seawater and clumped wetly around her ankles—was that it?

As he continued to watch his mouth firmed. Had she never heard of swimming costumes? Or was it just too much trouble to put one on? Either way, it showed scant regard for the traditions of Iskos, where single women didn’t even go out unescorted, let alone bathe naked in the sea. Thank God she was no concern of his!

He made to go, then stopped again. Theos! She had the most provocative figure he had seen in a long time. It might not be fashionable to possess such well-shaped thighs, or such buttocks, but her lush curves defied fashion. And her breasts—! Iannis swung away, determined to push the troubling image aside.

But it was already too late. The face and form of the mystery woman were branded on his mind. She was a voluptuous temptress who had curled around his senses and left a calling card of desire, he realised, feeling his appetite sharpen. And he would call on her, he decided, slowing as he reached the fragrant shade of the pine trees. She was clearly a player—and if she was looking for a playmate he could certainly accommodate her. But at a time of his own choosing, not hers.

They were within yards of each other now, but Iannis had the cover of the trees to his advantage. The subterfuge gave him no satisfaction. When he saw a woman he liked he moved fast and in the open. But something about this one stood between them like an invisible barrier. Maybe the vulnerability he had sensed earlier. Whatever it was, it prevented him from confronting her as effectively as if she had used an army to keep them apart.

Or maybe he was just growing soft, Iannis thought, and his hard mouth firmed in a cynical line. And that would never do.

Marianna, who tended to the villa Charlotte was renting, was busy pegging out washing when Charlotte arrived back. Turning, hands on hips, to survey the young English visitor, she said sternly, ‘Why must you go to the beach undressed?’

All Charlotte cared about was that she was back, and in one piece. ‘I won’t do it again,’ she promised fervently, meaning every word. She had certainly learned her lesson! ‘But I’m not undressed, Marianna,’ she felt compelled to explain. ‘I’m wearing my pyjamas—’

Marianna threw up her hands in dismay. ‘And what about the fishermen?’

‘Fishermen?’ Charlotte affected innocence, but she felt her face heating up. ‘You knew about them?’

‘And you saw them,’ Marianna stated with confidence. ‘And, more importantly, they saw you.’ She wagged one blunt-nailed finger at Charlotte as she spoke. ‘It is not done here on Iskos. Next time I shall accompany you.’

Charlotte knew the admonishment was well meant, but hurried to change the subject. ‘Here—let me help you with that,’ she offered. Dipping down to pick something out of the loaded basket, she extracted a damp pillowcase, which Marianna promptly removed from her hands.

‘Did any of them speak to you?’ the older woman managed through a mouthful of pegs.

Marianna was not going to let the subject rest, Charlotte realised. ‘There was one man.’

‘Taller than the rest?’

‘Larger than life,’ Charlotte agreed with some irony, realising as she spoke that it was absolutely true. But Marianna’s sudden stillness rang a warning bell. ‘Do you know who I mean?’

‘Did you speak to him?’

‘If we’re both talking about the same man…’ Charlotte hesitated, and saw from Marianna’s face that they were. ‘A little,’ she admitted cautiously. ‘Why? Do you know him?’

But Marianna, exclaiming in Greek under her breath, seemed in no mood to answer questions.

‘What’s wrong Marianna?’ Charlotte prompted. She had to know. In fact, she wanted to mine Marianna’s brain for every scrap of information about the fisherman.

‘The fishermen made their decision to come here only this morning, or I would have warned you,’ Marianna said at last. ‘The weather is unusually warm for the time of year. It brought the fish to this part of the island.’

‘But why should it matter if I saw the fishermen?’

‘Fishermen? Bah!’ Marianna exclaimed. ‘Fisherman,’ she said, tapping the side of her nose for emphasis.

‘Yes?’ Charlotte prompted eagerly.

‘I must get on,’ Marianna said briskly. ‘Your breakfast is waiting on the terrace.’ And she turned her back, leaving Charlotte in no doubt that the conversation was over.

Faced by such an uncommunicative expanse of Greek matriarchal back, Charlotte was forced to concede defeat. ‘I’ll take a shower before I eat,’ she said, almost thinking aloud.

She would wash all the salt from her body and the memory of the fisherman from her mind. Then she would slip into some fresh clothes and bring her camera back to the terrace, just in case she felt like taking some background shots for the article. At least that way she would have accomplished something positive as far as work was concerned—because time was running out, she reminded herself.

He was there! She could hardly believe it. Right below her on the beach, hauling nets with the other men, clearly distinguishable because he was at least a head taller than the rest.

If this was what came with loss of privacy on the stretch of beach below her villa, she was all for it, Charlotte mused as she adjusted the focus on her camera.

The delicious breakfast Marianna had prepared for her lay forgotten on the plate as Charlotte clicked away furiously. She must get some shots of the other men too, she reminded herself, and the scenery. She took those as quickly as she could, and then zoomed in again to focus on her prime target—the broad sweep of sun-bronzed shoulders shown off to perfection beneath a faded blue vest. She couldn’t help noticing how the fabric clung to his toned torso—and then recoiled, almost falling off her chair when his head lifted and he swung around. Now he seemed to be looking straight at her…

Righting herself, Charlotte instinctively covered the lens of the camera with her hand. The sun must have glinted off the glass. Reaching for the camera case with shaking hands, she stowed the camera away inside it.

The man had definitely seen something. The way he was standing now, hands planted on his hips, staring up towards the terrace, proved it. And though he was too far away for her to be able to read the expression on his face, she didn’t have to.

‘Ah, you have not eaten your breakfast.’

Charlotte turned around, relieved to hear Marianna’s reproachful voice. It brought a welcome gust of normality into a situation that was growing increasingly uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry.’ She smiled into Marianna’s raisin-black eyes. ‘Here, let me help you with that,’ she insisted as Marianna began collecting up the dishes. She was in no mood for playing Russian roulette with the fisherman’s intentions, and would feel a lot safer inside the house.

‘You will fade away,’ Marianna declared once they were back in the kitchen. ‘You must eat.’

‘Fade away? Me?’ Glancing in the mirror, Charlotte viewed herself critically. She had always been on the generous side of average, as far as weight was concerned, but a healthy diet, as well as plenty of exercise in the Greek sunshine, had stripped away much of the excess. She was surprised at how fit she looked. No amount of pounding rubber in the gym had managed to achieve such a firm body back in England.

Altogether her looks had undergone something of a transformation. Her hair had paled to a rich golden red, and even that was streaked with lighter strands around her hairline. Just as well, she mused wryly, since the tip of her nose was bright red. She needed the contrast. But her freckles… Charlotte groaned as she wiped her hands across her nose and cheeks, and sighed with frustration.

‘Do you eat at all when I leave here?’ Marianna persisted, breaking into her cogitations. ‘No, I thought not,’ she said disparagingly, without giving Charlotte a chance to speak. ‘But tonight you shall.’

‘I shall?’ Charlotte said with surprise.

‘Yes,’ Marianna said decisively. ‘Tonight you shall come with me to the taverna and eat a proper meal.’

‘But—’ Charlotte bit back the words she had been about to say. Anticipating a refusal, Marianna looked crestfallen. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Charlotte said hurriedly, ‘but I don’t—’

‘Don’t eat? Yes, I know,’ Marianna said, rolling her eyes. ‘That’s why I’m suggesting you come along with me tonight. There is delicious food at the taverna. And there will be music, and dancing too.’

Raising her arms above her head, she clicked her fingers rhythmically, with such a look of mischief in her eyes that it didn’t take much for Charlotte to imagine the woman Marianna must have been maybe fifty years before. It would be churlish to refuse, she realised. ‘You’re very kind Marianna. Thank you for asking me. I’d love to come.’

‘In that case, I will collect you at nine o’clock,’ Marianna said briskly. ‘And you will wear a pretty party dress.’

‘A party dress?’ Charlotte’s mind stalled for a moment, and then she remembered the fabulous designer dresses still languishing at the bottom of her suitcase. ‘Will everyone be dressed up?’ she asked dubiously, hoping to avoid the toe-curling possibility that she might be overdressed if she wore one of them.

‘Of course,’ Marianna declared passionately. ‘Tonight is a special night—a panagiria. There will be traditional folk music, good food, and dancing. Everyone will be wearing their best clothes.’

‘Everyone—’ Charlotte bit the word back guiltily. Of course he wouldn’t be there. It was crazy to expect the hard man of the island to grace such an event with his presence. He might have felt at home yelling the odds at a boxing match, or even stripped to the waist taking part—She quickly pulled the shutters down on that disturbing thought. No, the occasion Marianna had just described would not appeal to the steely individual she had encountered on the beach.

Feeling reassured, Charlotte agreed with a smile. ‘I’ll be ready for you at nine o’clock,’ she promised Marianna, already looking forward to her first night out on the island.

‘There’s just one more thing,’ Marianna added haltingly.

‘And what’s that?’ Charlotte prompted with surprise. It wasn’t like Marianna to be anything other than forthcoming.

‘It would be better if you left your camera behind. The men don’t like it.’ Marianna gave an open-armed shrug.

‘The men don’t like it?’ Charlotte repeated, wrinkling her brow, not sure whether to laugh or not.

‘It’s better to conform.’

‘Do you conform?’ Charlotte said, still uncertain of her ground. Up to now she would have suspected that a strong character like Marianna would set the rules, rather than have them imposed upon her.

‘Yes,’ Marianna said with some emphasis. ‘It is not for me or for anyone to upset centuries of tradition.’

Consider yourself reprimanded, Charlotte thought. The one thing she didn’t want to do was cause offence. ‘I’m sorry—you’re quite right,’ she said quickly. ‘I won’t take anyone’s photograph without asking their permission first—’

‘No,’ Marianna said firmly, holding up her hand. ‘It would be better if you did not bring your camera at all. People can be…’

‘Yes?’ Charlotte pressed when the older woman fell silent.

Marianna only shrugged. ‘It would be better if you did not bring your camera,’ she repeated doggedly.

‘In that case, I won’t,’ Charlotte promised. Maybe that was what was wrong with the fisherman on the beach—he had suspected there was someone taking photographs. Marianna’s reference to centuries of tradition made Charlotte wonder if there was some superstition-based prejudice on Iskos that forbade the use of photography. ‘See you at nine,’ she said, returning to the present as she waved Marianna off with a smile.

Charlotte felt a rush of excitement as she contemplated the evening ahead. Her glance flew to the opposite side of the shore. She could just make out the white tops of the outdoor tables at the taverna, waiting for their traditional blue and white checked tablecloths to decorate the Formica surfaces.

There was no sign of the fisherman or his boat, and she turned her attention instead to the wooden jetty extending out on stilts into the sea. It was lit by twinkling lights at night, and from her eyrie on top of the cliff she had often thought it the most romantic place on earth. On several occasions haunting music had floated up to her in waves, and she had just been able to make out couples dancing close together, watch the tiny figures forming into a line to dance the kalamatiana, the traditional dance of Greece. And now, tonight, in just a few hours, she would be there!

Without a partner, Charlotte remembered wryly. But she was looking forward to all the good food Marianna had mentioned. Just the thought of the freshly caught fish and delectable mezedhes, the hors d’oeuvres of Greece, was enough to make her mouth water. And, who knew? She might even be invited to dance.

She would write all day, Charlotte decided, remembering the article still awaiting her attention. But then, as a reward, she would dance all night…

She hadn’t realised there was quite so much Lycra in the designer dresses, and with just half an hour to go before Marianna arrived Charlotte was still trying to make up her mind which one to wear. Would it be the skin-tight red dress with the plunging neckline, or the backless eau-de-nil number?

From the front at least the pale green dress looked quite respectable—except that it made her breasts look like melons and her backside—Thankfully, her head refused to go any further round to get a proper look, so she was going to overlook that problem. But at least the shade was subtle, Charlotte told herself, and she made her final decision.

If she draped a shawl around her shoulders she would be pretty well covered up. And it was either that or shorts and a tee-shirt—and Marianna had stipulated party dress. She couldn’t disappoint, could she? Charlotte mused, reverently lifting out the dainty Jimmy Choos her chums had insisted she pack along with the dresses. Irresistible! Charlotte held up the sandals to admire them. Goodbye flat sandals, hello stiletto heaven. She eased her slim, tanned feet beneath the fragile, beaded straps.

She was beginning to feel like Cinderella, Charlotte realised as she gathered up her long sun-streaked hair. Holding it with a discreet tortoiseshell clip, she dragged down a few tendrils to soften the effect.

Finally she attended to her freckles, using make-up with an unusually heavy hand. They certainly disappeared, but under a thick coating of foundation that left her face looking like a mask, so then she had to add some rouge to lift the effect.

The transformation was startling, to say the least. And it wasn’t quite what she was used to. She could always hide behind the shawl, Charlotte consoled herself. But the slash of bright red lipstick helped to boost her confidence, as did the layers of black mascara she’d applied to her lashes. But there wasn’t much of her old self left by the time she had finished, she realised, pulling a face at herself in the mirror. But as this was ‘new’ Charlotte—the one with all the confidence—that was good, wasn’t it?

Marianna arrived on the dot of nine, dressed in her finest black regalia, consisting of a voluminous ankle-length skirt, sensible shoes, and an all-concealing top, with the ubiquitous headscarf arranged to allow just a peep of sleek, centrally parted steel-grey hair.

‘Ready?’ Her thoughts on Charlotte’s appearance were revealed by a drawing together of her brows and a click of her tongue. ‘This is your party dress?’ she demanded uncertainly, giving Charlotte’s outfit a comprehensive perusal.

‘This is it,’ Charlotte agreed with an air of finality. She just couldn’t face the rigmarole of starting over again, trying to decide what to wear.

‘Then we go,’ Marianna said with a shrug, drawing the soft cream-coloured shawl down over Charlotte’s naked back and securing it a little closer around her neck.

CHAPTER FOUR

ANY apprehension Charlotte might have felt about her first night out on the island was quickly dispelled when they arrived at the taverna. Marianna was greeted like an honoured guest, and they were shown to one of the best tables, just where Charlotte had hoped it would be, out on the jetty at the very edge of the dance floor.

Marianna introduced the owner of the taverna to Charlotte as Mikos, and with a click of his fingers he summoned one of the young waiters forward. The good-looking youth quickly lit a candle for them, and provided a basket of freshly baked bread, together with a bowl of olive oil in which to dunk it, as well as a large bottle of fridge-chilled water and some drinking glasses.

‘I invite you both to visit my kitchen and take your pick of the food,’ Mikos announced, turning from Charlotte to Marianna. ‘I want you to have the very best, Kiria Lyknos,’ he said with deference. ‘I caught some excellent fish today.’ And then, turning to Charlotte, he explained with a flourish, ‘Mikos Anglias—part-time restaurateur, full-time fisherman. At least, I am a fisherman in my head,’ he added wryly. ‘Fishing is a state of mind here on Iskos—is that not correct, Kiria Lyknos?’

‘Everyone envies the fishermen of Iskos,’ Marianna agreed, nodding sagely.

Charlotte warmed to the ebullient owner of the taverna immediately. He seemed to validate the theme of her article that here on Iskos people were valued for their inner qualities, rather than for their wealth or position. Her heart thundered on cue as she remembered the source of that idea. And she had tried so hard to avoid any thought of the fisherman, Charlotte berated herself silently. She didn’t want anything to spoil the evening.

Thinking of him now made her look around anxiously. The other tables were filling up rapidly, but of course he was nowhere to be seen. She told herself not to be so jumpy, but still her heart insisted on pounding, as if he was somewhere close by—so much so that Marianna was forced to ask her twice to accompany her to the kitchen before Charlotte even realised that both she and Mikos were standing up and waiting for her to accompany them.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she apologised, getting to her feet right away. But she wasn’t allowed to set forth just yet. Having appointed herself unofficial chaperone for the evening, Marianna wouldn’t allow Charlotte to follow Mikos until the concealing cream shawl had been well and truly secured around her shoulders.

When she pushed through the swinging doors and entered the small kitchen it was like entering another world. The hub of the taverna was everything Charlotte had expected—hot, steamy, and full of noise. Pan lids crashed, pots bubbled and wheezed on the central cooking station, while a veritable army of people criss-crossed each other’s paths at speed, as if mounted on invisible tracks.

Forced to press back against the wall to let them pass, Charlotte took a few moments to get her bearings. Then suddenly there was a lull, and the room cleared. The two cooks at the central island continued ladling and stirring to some confident inner rhythm, while Marianna and Mikos talked on in an undertone like extras in the drama.

The steam lifted as if some giant hand had brushed it aside, and Charlotte felt a wave of interest envelop her long before she identified the source. Apprehension mounted inside her until she felt as if a fist was lodged in her throat. And as her gaze was drawn across the room she found the fisherman staring back at her.

There was no mistaking him. She would have known him anywhere, though his eyes were even more extraordinary close up than she had suspected when she’d first caught sight of him on the beach. Their colour was that of a semiprecious stone—tiger’s eye, maybe—sepia, shot through with gold. He wore a critical expression, but he didn’t trouble to mask his interest, and the expression in his eyes ran a shaft of awareness right through her. It was as if they were weighing each other up, like combatants about to enter the ring, Charlotte registered uneasily.

Not for one moment had she thought to find her fisherman in the kitchen at the taverna—and what exactly had she done to merit his disapproval? She began to bridle as he refused to break eye contact, and then she felt her cheeks flare red. He had almost certainly seen her naked on the beach, which accounted for the sardonic stare. She glared straight back at him and tried not to care that he had changed out of his simple work clothes into hip-skimming black trousers secured with a slim black leather belt. These were teamed with a crisp white shirt that had just enough buttons left undone to tease her senses with the sight of a hard, bronzed chest shaded with dark hair.

‘Iannis!’

Charlotte started guiltily at the sound of Marianna’s voice. It was as if, right on cue, the older woman had sensed the undertow of emotion snapping between them and stepped into the ring like a referee.

‘I did not expect to see you here tonight!’ she said, speaking in English for Charlotte’s benefit. And then, holding out her hands to Charlotte as if inviting her forward to be introduced, Marianna made it impossible to avoid the inevitable.

Iannis smiled at Marianna. So he did have teeth, Charlotte mused ironically, and rather nice ones at that—strong and white and even. She was surprised too at the warm welcome he received from Marianna, whose judgement she had come to trust. He said something cynical in Greek—or at least Charlotte took it to be cynical from the mocking tone of his voice and the sardonic curve of his lips. But Marianna only slapped him playfully on the arm, and was rewarded by an affectionate hug, followed by a kiss on both cheeks.

‘Come, come,’ she said, turning back to Charlotte. ‘Come and meet Iannis Kiriakos.’

There was no escape, so she might as well face up to him, Charlotte mused wryly. What a ring to his name—she loved it! Best of all, Kiriakos was a popular surname on the island—and his first name was popular in all of Greece. She couldn’t have named him better, as far as her article was concerned—but she would have to keep him anonymous, she remembered with disappointment, or ask permission to name him.

Anonymity was the safer option, she decided, the moment his hand locked with her own.

‘We’ve already met—on the beach,’ he reminded her in a voice that was low and steady, as if he wanted to remind her fully of her humiliation without alerting Marianna to trouble.

Charlotte felt a tremor run through her as his strength closed around her. The possibility that he was intimately acquainted with every inch of her left her feeling at a distinct disadvantage.

She refused to look at him, but his handshake was firm and confident, his hand warm and strong, and surprisingly smooth. He made her think of a powerful engine idling, and her imagination leapt to fill in the blanks. She couldn’t even begin to guess at the consequences of stirring such immense potential into action. He would need ten women to satisfy him, at least, she thought wildly, instinctively backing away when he released her hand—which he did disappointingly soon.

There was something about Iannis Kiriakos that insanely made Charlotte want to rest against him for a moment. He made her feel so tiny and defenceless, made the air around her seem charged with an energy that hadn’t been there before. And, as hard as she tried to ignore him, a determined heat was busily invading every inch of her—filling her with hunger. And not for food.

She detected a faint, spicy edge to the food-fragranced air. Sandalwood, Charlotte decided, inhaling appreciatively, one of her favourite scents, and a sophisticated choice for a fisherman.

As curiosity got the better of her she glanced up, only to be met by a slanting ironic stare that made her stomach quiver in response. A day’s worth of stubble darkened his tanned face which, with the black waves curling over the collar of his shirt, made her fisherman look exactly like a pirate.

His hair was thick and glossy, and she imagined running her fingers through it—if only she could have reached. When he shifted position in response to a question from one of the cooks he moved so close to her that Charlotte felt as if an electric current had just surged through her body.

Now most of her view was taken up by the broad sweep of his shoulders, and the ease with which he moved suggested he was a lot more relaxed about their close proximity than she could ever be.

Concentrate on gathering facts for your article, Charlotte told herself primly. But her thoughts centred on their encounter at the beach, and the deep, challenging voice suggesting she should come out of her hiding place stark naked to claim her clothes.

Steadying her breathing, Charlotte tried again to revive her professional nose for a story. Iannis Kiriakos is completely at ease with himself and the world he inhabits, she logged mentally. Materially, he may have little, in comparison to many men, but he is infinitely more assured than most. He talks easily to everyone, and everyone appears to take pleasure in his company. Except me, Charlotte realised, swallowing nervously when he swung around to stare at her.

‘That’s enough time spent in the kitchen,’ Marianna said, startling Charlotte as she took hold of her arm. Nudging Iannis out of the way, Marianna positioned herself between them. ‘I have chosen our food, and now we will return to our table,’ she said firmly, and steered Charlotte towards the door.

Charlotte was ready to believe she had never been more grateful to anyone in her life as they exited the kitchen. But on their way back to the table Marianna had no hesitation in throwing the blackest of glances at any man who presumed to show interest in her charge. It was as if she was already spoken for, Charlotte realised with amusement. And she was more than happy to go along with that—as long as Marianna’s plans for her had nothing to with Iannis Kiriakos.

‘Marianna, who is Iannis?’ Charlotte said, the moment they sat down again.

But just as Marianna was on the point of answering some friends at a neighbouring table attracted her attention.

Charlotte was beginning to feel vaguely threatened by the mysterious fisherman, and her lack of knowledge about him only added to the uncertainty.

She had never been confronted by such an overload of testosterone in her life, Charlotte told herself, thinking that must be the reason for her worry. Forcing herself to relax, she leaned forward to put the question to Marianna again. But before Marianna had a chance to say anything everyone started to applaud. The evening’s entertainment had begun.

‘Ah, the musicians,’ Marianna said, clapping her hands with pleasure and pointing as the bouzouki band assembled on the low stage at the far end of the jetty. She beamed at Charlotte. ‘I do hope you will enjoy this evening,’ she said, leaning over the table to pat Charlotte’s hand.

‘I know I will,’ Charlotte said warmly, putting her doubts to one side. But the smile soon froze on her face when Iannis Kiriakos walked across the dance floor and chose a table directly facing her.

As he settled down people called to him from other tables, and lifted their glasses to him in a toast. The whole of the taverna seemed to vibrate at a different frequency now he was here, Charlotte realised, wondering why that should be so. It was as if his presence was the signal for the music to strike up too.

Maybe he had been away from the island for some time, she reasoned. The welcome he was getting suggested something of the sort. But where would a man like Iannis go? To another island close by, perhaps?

Charlotte could see Marianna looking at her curiously, and was just about to launch into a whole series of questions when the volume of the music rose, making conversation impossible. And Marianna was soon engaged in a jovial shouting match with some friends at the nearby table. But it was Iannis Kiriakos who troubled Charlotte the most. He seemed to have only one person in his sight-line.

Charlotte dropped her gaze quickly, but not fast enough. Their eyes had clashed briefly, but it had been enough for her face to flame red as she interpreted the question in her fisherman’s gaze: Available, or not available? And there had been a curve at one corner of his hard and extremely sensuous mouth that seemed to suggest he already knew the answer to his silent question.

Before Charlotte could think what to do about it their food arrived, piled high on huge platters carried at shoulder height by a boisterous stream of waiters led by the fun-loving Mikos. She felt faint with relief at the distraction, and threw herself whole-heartedly into the rhythmical applause that greeted the parade.

‘This is just wonderful,’ she called across to Marianna.

‘I knew it was an evening you shouldn’t miss,’ Marianna agreed, inclining her head graciously.

But beneath Marianna’s hooded lids Charlotte glimpsed a glint of something that aroused her suspicious. Surely Marianna wouldn’t have engineered the meeting with Iannis Kiriakos? Charlotte dismissed her suspicions on the grounds of Marianna’s traditional upbringing. She would never expose an unattached woman to a blatantly rampant male when that woman was leaving the island in just a few days’ time. And more than that, Charlotte realised, she trusted Marianna.

Within minutes of her arrival on the island she had found herself confiding in the older woman in a way she would never have believed possible with someone who was practically a stranger. But Marianna had that quality. She drew people to her. She had drawn out the pain of Charlotte’s failed marriage like pus from a wound, and by the time she’d left that first evening Charlotte had felt the healing process had begun.

Marianna’s thoughts on Charlotte’s failure as a trophy wife had been bluntly put. ‘You need someone who is content in themselves—a man who does not need possessions to find his level in life.’

No, Charlotte told herself firmly, never in a million years would Marianna set her up with the steely-looking individual currently viewing her as if she was the next tasty dish on the menu.

Soon Charlotte’s own platter was piled high with food. The fish was so fresh it melted in her mouth like butter, and the bowls of salads and dips were so delicious she hardly knew where to begin.

‘Use your fingers,’ Marianna advised, taking the lead.

Breaking off a chunk of bread, Charlotte joined her in dunking it into the fragrant sauce and licking the excess off her fingers enthusiastically. The juices were running every-where—over her wrists, down her arm—and she had to resort to sucking her fingers clean one by one. Then something made her look up, and she found Iannis Kiriakos staring back at her, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

It was as if a practised hand strummed a set of strings deep within her, and it was impossible to tear her gaze away from him until Marianna reclaimed her attention, when she passed another bowl of food across the table. But even then Charlotte found it impossible to hold her glance in check. As her eyes strayed she saw one corner of his mouth tug up in the suggestion of a smile, but his eyes were hard and calculating and she felt a shiver of apprehension.

Instinctively, she drew closer to Marianna, concentrating all her attention on the food. But it was impossible not to snatch glances of Iannis—not to notice his long, lean fingers as he fed food into his mouth, or glimpse the flash of strong white teeth when he spoke to the waiter, or to see that his expression was always quite different when he directed his attention to anyone other than her. She saw him soften then, and his eyes sharpen with laughter. But when he looked back at her it was always with an expression in his eyes she didn’t care to name.

She discovered that his mouth was compulsive viewing too—he had the most expressive lips… Pull yourself together, Charlotte warned herself sternly. You don’t need either the friendship or the approval of this Iannis Kiriakos. You only need him like a scientist needs a theory—to write about.

That last thought should have helped, but even when Iannis was fully engrossed in the food set before him it was like being in a tunnel where only the two of them existed. And when he pulled back his head to stare at her again Charlotte noticed one of his ebony brows lifting just enough to send a slither of sensation down her spine.

Gradually plates were pushed aside and glasses refilled. Noise levels had risen, and only dipped slightly when the overhead strings of light were reduced to a single strand. Time to dance, Charlotte guessed, as a hum of anticipation rose above the tables. The musicians had returned after their break and were starting to tune their instruments. Moonlight flooded the dance floor, and it was all so romantic. She would have been having the time of her life, Charlotte realised tensely, had it not been for one man.

Determinedly she turned her attention to the leader of the band, watching as he made a signal with one hand. Despite her misgivings, she couldn’t help but thrill to the strong chord that rang out like a call to arms. Men were already answering the call, rising one by one from the tables surrounding the dance floor and assembling in front of her in a ragged line. They were forming up to dance the kalamatiana, she guessed as they rested their arms across each other’s shoulders.

And then the unmistakable beat began. Snaking outwards from the small stage where the musicians were assembled. She could almost imagine the notes winding and curling sinuously around the men on the floor, causing their work-hardened muscles to soften and their faces to take on a look of intense pride. It was if their machismo had become the servant of expression and dramatic intensity. It was a potent sight, and one Charlotte found impossible to resist.

To begin with the pulse was slow and steady, but promising more, like a racehorse reined in hard at the gate. The occasional musical flourish raised the tension, as well as the expectation of the audience, and soon everyone was clapping in time to the beat, stamping their feet in an attempt to push the tempo on. The rhythm was growing stronger and more persuasive every few bars, until it thrummed through Charlotte’s body with remorseless intent.

She was on her feet now, swaying in time like everyone else, echoing the cries around her as she urged the music on to its inevitable climax. Then one of the older men broke away from the chain of dancers and began walking around the tables, his arms extended in mute invitation for more people to join in. And as his glance passed over Charlotte, he winked.

What was she waiting for? Kicking off her shoes, Charlotte eased her way through the tables and walked onto the dance floor. She was oblivious to everything now apart from the beat—the wild, irresistible beat. Joining on to the end of the line, she tossed back her hair with abandon and lavished a smile on the man standing next to her. Stranger to the island or not, she had no intention of missing an opportunity like this.

Charlotte failed to register the gasp that went up. She was too busy watching the moves and trying to match her step to that of the men dancing with her. By the time she did notice anything, it was just the warm and slightly damp feel of the corded arm beneath her hand. The man she was clinging on to was clearly delighted to have her as his dancing partner, Charlotte realised, whipping her head away from his moist garlic breath. He seemed to be holding her a lot closer than was strictly necessary, and as the tempo lifted another man joined in at her free side. Now she was sandwiched between them—and out of sight of the spectators Garlic Breath’s hand was on an unmistakable mission…

Iannis sprang to his feet. It was bad enough that this woman chose to cavort naked on the beaches of Iskos. But this—this was insupportable!

Charlotte was just beginning to panic when her two partners fell away, releasing her so quickly that for a few moments she was stranded in the middle of the dance floor on her own, feeling completely foolish.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

She whipped around. The angry words startled her, but not half as much as the sight of Iannis Kiriakos in a rage. He stood in the middle of the floor, completely unconcerned that he was drawing more attention to her than ever. Charlotte’s face flamed red with embarrassment and with fury. She was dancing like everyone else—what the hell did he think she was doing?

‘Must you break every convention without the slightest consideration for other people’s sensibilities?’ he asked coldly, before she had a chance to recover. Then, turning, he made a swift signal to the band and the music slowed abruptly.

Charlotte was glad of the dim lights. Her blood pressure was so high she felt ready to explode. If Iannis Kiriakos really wanted a fight out here, in front of everyone, she’d give him one. But as if he could read her mind he seized her arm in a firm grip and steered her back to the line of dancers. ‘You want to dance?’ he rasped harshly. ‘We’ll dance.’

Everyone was staring at them now, Charlotte realised. In fact the noise and laughter around the dance floor had stilled into stunned silence. Her imposing fisherman could capture everyone’s attention simply by being, but in this state of mind he was compulsive viewing. The faces of the local people were frozen in anticipation as they waited to see what he would do with her.

‘Do you like being the only woman in a man’s dance?’ he demanded scathingly, positioning her at the end of the line next to him.

‘A man’s dance?’ Charlotte cloaked her shocked realisation, and the resulting rush of blood to her face, in anger. ‘I’m only surprised your pride allows you to indulge in anything so frivolous as dancing—let alone participate in a dance for men.’ She had just enough time to inject some derision and challenge into her angry words before the music restarted and quickly returned to its original pace and volume.

She gasped as Iannis seized hold of her and swung her around to join in the dance, and then she was forced to concentrate fast, or trip over his feet. The contrast between her dancing partners couldn’t have been more pronounced. Unlike Garlic Breath, Iannis showed no interest in groping her, and diverted all his passion into the intricate steps. His anger was converted into an expressive fire that allowed him to produce strong, powerful moves. And he brought her with him so firmly she didn’t even have to think about her own steps.

Charlotte hardly knew how she found the opportunity to breathe as her body swayed in response to the slightest undulation of Iannis Kiriakos’s commanding frame. But then, just when she thought the music had reached its peak, he made a sign to the leader of the musicians and the music changed again, slowing and deepening to little more than a low, vibrating rumble of sound.

Iannis broke away, leaving Charlotte disorientated until Marianna came to her rescue. Joining her on the dance floor, she took hold of Charlotte’s arm.

‘What have I done wrong now?’ Charlotte demanded, trying not to care that Iannis was trawling the room, collecting up every woman in sight. None of them could resist him, she noticed tensely—though he was at his most charming with the older women, helping them to their feet and moving back chairs for them. ‘Well, Marianna?’ she repeated tensely. ‘Can you tell me what I’ve done wrong?’

‘Iannis is saving your embarrassment,’ Marianna said, her dark eyes gleaming.

‘My embarrassment?’ Charlotte said distractedly, seeing all the young women waiting tensely to discover which of them Iannis would choose. He seemed to pick at random, she noticed, and his imperative gesture brought even the most diffident young girl to her feet. ‘He needs bringing down a peg or two.’

‘Are you the woman to do it?’

‘Marianna!’ Charlotte exclaimed. ‘Of course I’m not. I’m not even interested—’

‘Really?’ Marianna murmured, so softly Charlotte hardly caught the word. But before she could protest Marianna added, ‘All the women are interested in Iannis Kiriakos. Why should you be an exception?’

Not wanting to cause offence, Charlotte confined herself to a faint smile. But inside she was a bubbling cauldron of emotion—emotion that she longed to take out on Iannis Kiriakos, not the kindly Marianna who, for some inexplicable reason, chose to champion him.

‘Here on Iskos only the men take part in the kalamatiana,’ Marianna expanded.

‘I know that now,’ Charlotte admitted ruefully.

‘I can’t remember another occasion when a woman—especially a young, single woman, and unescorted at that—took the floor,’ Marianna went on with a shake of her head.

‘Perhaps it’s time, then?’ Charlotte suggested, meeting Marianna’s gentle reproach with a smile. ‘And anyway,’ she added fondly, ‘I’m not unescorted. You’re here beside me.’

Marianna smiled at that, and patted Charlotte’s arm. ‘I am now,’ she agreed heavily, rolling her eyes with a sigh.

Charlotte watched Iannis stroll confidently around the perimeter of the dance floor, bringing more women to their feet. Prowling, she mused, like the tiger she had first thought him to be… But would he come back to her?

He did, though he uttered but a single word. ‘Ready?’ He gave a curt flick of his chin to indicate that she should rest her arm on his again, whilst on her other side Marianna blithely marshalled Charlotte into the correct position for the dance.

Arrogant brute! Charlotte thought furiously, trying not to faint with pleasure when she rested her arm on his. Trapped between Marianna and Iannis, she had safety at one side and danger at the other. It made Charlotte feel slightly light-headed, and far too confident for her own good. By the time the dance began her senses were in free-fall and her arm seemed to melt into his. It was impossible to remain detached with Iannis standing next to her. So much machismo should never be let loose, Charlotte decided, flaring a look into his face that warned him plainly—No! But what use was that when her body blatantly called out to him, Yes?

Brava! she murmured inwardly, complimenting herself on her restraint as she mastered the steps of the dance. It was amazing she could concentrate on anything at all when all she wanted to do was tug him off the dance floor and put her theories to the test.

The line of dancers extended right along the jetty now, to the very limits of the dance floor. ‘Follow me,’ Marianna instructed in a discreet whisper, giving Charlotte’s hand an encouraging squeeze. ‘You are doing really well for a beginner. You will soon pick up the more complicated moves.’

Charlotte made sure she did. There was a very pretty young girl on the other side of Iannis. This fired her determination, particularly as she was quite certain he didn’t lavish the same accusatory stare on his other partner each time he was forced to deliver a prompt.

The rhythm of the bouzoukis was irresistible, and those still seated began to stamp in time and clap their hands, encouraging the dancers to pick up the pace. As the beat pulsed through her Charlotte was lost in the music. Everything outside the dance floor receded until nothing existed beyond the warmth and strength of Iannis’s outstretched arm beneath her own. The desire to move with him was all that mattered to her. Every fibre of her being vibrated in unison with him, until nothing existed outside the dance—nothing but Iannis Kiriakos, and he was the dance.

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.

He watched her swimming out strongly towards his floats and smiled, wondering what the attraction could be. If he had known she was going to make them her goal each morning he would have left a pontoon instead, and joined her there.

The thought was enough to arouse him, and the tug of sexual attraction reminded him all too painfully of Marianna’s unwelcome interference in his plans. If it had been anyone else but Marianna he would have ignored her interference—the Englishwoman was clearly looking for adventure. Why did it have to be Marianna of all people who took her part?

A muscle worked in his jaw as Iannis wondered about the older woman’s interest in Charlotte Clare. Had her judgement become suspect with age? He thought not—but this just didn’t make sense. Nevertheless, on Iskos, on his island, like everyone else he was subject to tradition, and Marianna had earned the position of matriarch through long years of wise council and selfless service to everyone connected with the island. She was respected and listened to by all, and even Iannis Kiriakos would not presume to go against her.

Springing to his feet, Iannis made a rough sound of impatience. Discretion at the taverna in front of half the island was one thing, but that situation was no longer in play. Marianna would not overstep the mark by interfering in his private life.

His glance swept the tranquil surface of the ocean. Charlotte was already turning for the shore and making swift headway towards the apple-green shallows. It seemed important for him to know that she was safe, Iannis realised, making a short dismissive sound—goodness knows why he should care when Charlotte Clare, if her behaviour the previous night had been any guide, chose to live her life on the edge. But she was obviously needy, he thought with an ironic and very masculine smile, and he felt like being accommodating. Seeing her dressed like an overripe fruit had made the urge to peel her clothes off a priority. Maybe he could do them both a favour.

Turning for the cliff path that led down to the road, Iannis smiled to himself, a plan already brewing in his mind.

Her work was going so well Charlotte’s fingers could barely keep up with her thoughts. Iannis Kiriakos close up and personal had provided more inspiration for her to work on than the word-count for her article allowed. She was having trouble deciding what to leave out rather than finding enough material to include. And the cooling swim in the sea had worked its magic, as she’d hoped it would. The beauty of dawn on Iskos had been like balm to her troubled mind, unscrambling her thought processes so that by the time she’d returned to the villa she had had the article at her fingertips.

All she had to do was allow Iannis to float into her mind and the words flowed effortlessly onto the screen. She felt she knew him, this fabulous-looking man who was king in his own way of his Greek island paradise. Why should he want for anything more when he had everything he needed right here?

Gazing out to sea, Charlotte sighed. There was no sign of either Iannis or his boat. There were just the two red floats to remind her that he really was a flesh and blood man. As her thoughts travelled back to the taverna she felt a ripple of awareness shimmer down her spine and a smile of satisfaction curl around her lips. He wanted her. There was no doubt in her mind. Just knowing that was intoxicating—and exciting. She could never remember feeling like this before. She had never reacted with such schoolgirl enthusiasm, never felt such gut-wrenching hope where a man was concerned.

There had been more fall-out from her marriage than she knew, Charlotte realised suddenly. The internal wounds had cut far deeper than those carved by harsh words and insults. Spiritual neglect, spiritual abuse had led to spiritual shrinkage, but the time had come when she could do something about it. Good-looking men were rare enough, and men who attracted her were an endangered species—but Iannis Kiriakos was most definitely in a category of his own.

Hearing a movement behind her, she whirled around.

‘Pardon me, Thespinis Clare,’ Iannis Kiriakos murmured, slouching on one hip as he regarded her from the shady end of the terrace. ‘I did not mean to alarm you.’

But she was alarmed—more than alarmed. Something fundamental rocked on its axis deep inside her—and it had nothing to do with the fact that this man’s towering presence didn’t reveal the slightest degree of repentance, either for his intrusion or for frightening her half out of her wits.

When Marianna had come between them the previous night Charlotte’s first reaction had been bitter disappointment, but as they had walked away from the seaside restaurant she had been overwhelmed with relief. The fisherman’s gaze boring into her back, much as it was scorching her face right now, had been enough to tell her she was mad to imagine she could ever be ready to embark on an affair with a man like Iannis Kiriakos—a man who was infinitely more sexually experienced than she was, and who inhabited a very different world from her own.

‘Am I interrupting your work?’

Work! She had forgotten all about it! Charlotte covered the notepad she had been scribbling rough ideas on with her hands, in an instinctive gesture of concealment, but it was one she knew too late would only arouse his suspicions.

How would you feel if you discovered someone was writing about you—passing opinions, leaping to conclusions to make good copy and generally judging you?

Not too pleased, Charlotte answered herself grudgingly—though looking up at Iannis she guessed ‘not too pleased’ would be putting it mildly. He had the pride of his Grecian ancestry combined with something extra, something indefinable—something she guessed must come from his prowess as a fisherman, battling the elements on a daily basis. She could feel it now. There was a stillness about him, and it was the stillness of a hunter assessing his prey.

Feeling the need to keep watching him, she reached for her pen and jotted rapidly. Reflective and insightful. Sees things in life that you and I miss. She laid her pen down with an air of finality.

‘I was just finishing,’ she said, pinning a confident smile to her face.

‘Are you working on something interesting?’ he asked, with the crazy crooked smile that could so easily put her off her guard.

Charlotte’s smile faltered. ‘Just something I have to finish before I go home.’

‘Which is when?’ he asked bluntly.

‘Sunday.’ Charlotte tensed as he moved towards her, out of the shadows. She swallowed convulsively, still holding his gaze as she began sweeping up the untidy stack of printed sheets.

His mouth tugged down at the corners in an expression of wry understanding. ‘You don’t have too much time left, then.’

Charlotte’s heart lurched. Then she saw his gaze switch to her littered workstation. ‘Three days. Look, I’m sorry,’ she said, anxious to change the subject, ‘did you want to see Marianna? Only you’ve just missed her.’

The rhythmic pulse of the cicadas stilled suddenly, as if they too were keen to hear his reply.

‘I came to see you.’

‘I see.’ Charlotte cleared her throat. Her heart was trying to set a new record. He came a step closer. As if he was testing her.

She brought the lid of her laptop down to hide the screen and scrabbled some blank sheets of paper across her handwritten notes. She reached for the travelling rug on the back of her chair and tossed that across everything for good measure.

‘The wind gets up here on top of the cliff,’ Charlotte explained lamely, as if he wouldn’t already know that.

Scrambling to her feet, she almost knocked the chair over in her haste to draw his attention away from the table, and failed to notice the couple of pages that went floating to the floor.

‘Now, then.’ Charlotte clasped her hands, stopping just short of wringing them. ‘How can I help you?’

Iannis leaned over the balcony and rested his own strong hands on the low balustrade overlooking the sea, cupping his supple fingers over the edge to enclose the smooth round rail. ‘I thought you might like to come down to the beach and have lunch with me.’ He inclined his head towards her as he waited for her answer.

Might… Might like! Charlotte dragged in a few necessary breaths. Lunch was a harmless activity—and he said down on the beach, the public beach. She could do that.

‘Well?’ Iannis pressed in a low voice. ‘I have some fresh sardines I caught this morning. I will barbecue them.’

‘Oh!’ Charlotte cursed herself for sounding so obviously relieved. It was just that a barbecue was so wonderfully innocent. She was struck once again by his command of her language, and wished she could see his face clearly and judge his expression. But with the heat haze shimmering around him even his form was indistinct.

He was still waiting for an answer, she realised. Charlotte’s eyes flickered back to her temporary workplace. Had Iannis realised that she was trying to hide something?

‘So, will you come?’

He came towards her now, and at last she could see him clearly. She had forgotten how tall, how imposing he was. In one stomach-churning moment she took in everything—naked feet tanned to the colour of nutmeg, faded denim shorts cut off from some old jeans, so that their edges were frayed and bleached white. Hard-muscled thighs, and an impressive spread of chest. The wide sweep of his shoulders led her gaze with inevitable finality to the familiar watchful expression on his improbably handsome face. His hair was tousled and he needed to shave.

Did she prefer him this way—rough and earthy in fisherman mode? Or polished like a hard black diamond, for dancing?

‘I need an answer. I’m hungry,’ he said abruptly, slicing through her cogitations.

There was an acuity flaring in his gaze that made her uncomfortable. It was as if he knew everything about her just by searching her eyes. She was beginning to feel as if her whole body might just surge towards him if she didn’t wake up fast. There was such an air of arrogance about him too. Charlotte knew she should feel needled by it—infuriated. But instead all she wanted to do was to rest her arms around his waist and gaze adoringly into his eyes.

What the hell had got into her? Charlotte wondered angrily. The logical side of her brain gave an answer: something primal, some irresistible; she was in lust.

Iannis angled his head as he waited for her reply, and there was a suggestion of amusement in his eyes, as if mind-reading skills should be added to his list of accomplishments.

‘I…I’d like that. Thank you,’ Charlotte said, consciously making herself relax when she realised she was hugging herself defensively.

‘Should you clear up your work first?’ he suggested in a low drawl

‘Yes, yes. Good idea,’ Charlotte agreed, flashing him a strained smile as she hurried to the table. Flipping back the rug, she gathered everything up as quickly as she could. ‘There. All done,’ she said ingenuously.

‘Why don’t you go and change? Put on your swimming costume?’

How was it drawled questions became commands when they issued from this man’s lips? Charlotte wondered, tensing up again. There was something in his gaze that warned her that he was remembering their first encounter. He must have seen her naked—she just couldn’t mistake that look in his eyes. Even Iannis Kiriakos couldn’t resist gloating a little.

Maddeningly, it only made her body ache the more. Her nipples were painfully engorged, while her lips, her breasts—in fact every sexual organ she possessed—were in the same painful condition, and likely to remain so until something was done about it. She had no doubt he would be only too pleased to oblige. But erotic daydreams were one thing—they were safe. Iannis Kiriakos in the flesh was not.

The fisherman in her article was safe, and predictable too—simply because she pulled his strings. But the man standing in front of her now was a very different proposition. Charlotte doubted Iannis Kiriakos possessed strings.

‘Well?’ he prompted, with more than a hint of impatience.

Charlotte got the impression that he was unaccustomed to having to ask for anything twice. But this was her home—at least until the end of the week. He had to know that she was in charge here at least. ‘I’ll go and get changed,’ she said, with a flash in her eyes that warned him not to push too hard.

His hard mouth quirked slightly, as if her show of spirit only pleased him more, and once again to her annoyance Charlotte found her body responded eagerly to even the smallest sign of his approval. He would be incredible in bed. But the reality of sleeping with a man like Iannis was too frightening even to contemplate. Just the thought of thighs like those straddling her, controlling her, was enough—never mind imagining what it might feel like to be crushed beneath his powerful torso.

He was not the sort of man for her. She would do better to concentrate on the part he would play in her work… But she still had to learn more about him. Iannis Kiriakos was the magic ingredient that would make her article live.

‘Why don’t you make yourself comfortable over here?’ Charlotte suggested, pointing to a comfortable recliner well away from her work. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘I’ll stand,’ Iannis replied as he stared out at the sea.

Charlotte hesitated. She would have preferred to see him settled further away from her work, rather than have him plant his hands on the rail of the veranda in such a proprietary fashion. There was something alarmingly temporary about his posture—as if at any moment he might spring back and begin to prowl around in search of new distractions.

‘Don’t be long,’ he said.

I don’t like to be kept waiting, he implied, Charlotte thought, biting back the rejoinder that sprang to her lips. She had to keep her cool, however much he provoked her. If her stay on Iskos was to be of any benefit at all she had to keep the article at the forefront of her mind.

Charlotte paused on the threshold, turned around and cast a thoughtful stare at the expressive span of uncompromising back currently angled towards her. The likelihood of Iannis Kiriakos ever picking up a copy of Street Style, the magazine she was writing for, on Iskos was a million to one. There was no reason for him ever to find out about the article.

As her gaze lingered she realised that it was quite easy to strip away his clothes in her mind. She should stick to her original intention and kill two birds with one stone, Charlotte decided, feeling her throat dry. How hard could it be to sleep with a man like Iannis? A shiver of anticipation ran through her as she continued to appraise him. There was a little matter of sexual frustration and low self-esteem to address, and he was just the person for the job. And, of course, she could delve into his psyche at the same time, to discover what made him tick—absolutely essential research for her article. So why was she hesitating? What on earth did she have to lose?

Lust did terrible things to you, Charlotte mused as she foraged in the chest where she kept her clothes. Here she was now, for instance—rifling through her swimming costumes in search of the most provocative. But none of them really answered her requirements. Most were faded and thin from too much exposure to the chemicals in the indoor pools at home. Finally she settled on an old white one. It was possibly the most disreputable of the lot—when wet it was practically transparent…

She would be some time, Iannis reasoned as he leaned over to pick up the sheets of paper Charlotte had carelessly dropped. He felt a rush of victory as he straightened up. By the time she returned he would have read them. He would know exactly what she was up to—

‘Iannis.’

He whirled around, his mouth tensing into an angry line. ‘Marianna!’ Iannis curbed his initial reaction. ‘How good to see you,’ he added in a softer voice.

‘Here. Give that to me,’ Marianna insisted, smiling as she advanced towards him. ‘Thespinis Charlotte is not going to want to lose any of her work.’

‘No,’ Iannis said, making nothing of it as he folded the sheets and slipped them into the back pocket of his denim shorts. ‘This is something of mine.’ He touched Marianna’s arm reassuringly.

Lifting her shoulders in an accepting shrug, she flashed him a quick smile and disappeared into the house.

Waiting a few moments, until he was sure he was alone, Iannis felt for the sheets of paper in his back pocket.

‘Sorry to keep you.’

His lips pressed down briefly with disappointment. So, reading Charlotte Clare’s work would have to wait. But there were compensations—in the form of this very lovely young woman, who was clearly prepared for whatever he had in mind.

This was going to be easier than taking candy from a baby, Iannis mused as Charlotte came towards him wearing a white bathing costume that left very little to his imagination. Yet again the costume looked like a relic from a museum. Possibly it had been bought from a thrift shop, or passed down through the generations. He kept his cynical thoughts to himself and his expression bland. It hardly mattered—she wouldn’t be wearing it for long.

Iannis led the way down to the beach, knowing Charlotte would be close behind. The only question was how far was he going to be able to push the offhanded manner. He smiled grimly to himself as he quickened his step and heard her slithering down the loose shale to keep up with him. She wouldn’t let him get away; that much was certain. He had met plenty of women like Charlotte Clare before—they would do anything for the chance to sleep with Iannis Kiriakos.

‘I’m sorry…’

He halted abruptly at the sound of Charlotte’s voice.

‘I’m sorry,’ Charlotte repeated. ‘I have to go back. I won’t keep you waiting long, Iannis. I promise.’ She wanted some clothes from the villa. Iannis was far too arrogant. She had made a huge mistake coming down to the beach half naked.

Iannis turned with impatience. They were almost halfway down the cliff—and Charlotte was right. She wouldn’t keep him waiting long.

‘Look,’ Charlotte said persuasively, ‘why don’t you go on? I’ve kept you waiting for ages already, and I know you’re ready—’

He swung round to look at her and had the satisfaction of seeing the words freeze on her lips. He was definitely ready. She was right about that. The barbecue could wait. But they’d need some sustenance by the time he’d finished with her.

‘Well? What is it now?’ he said, frowning impatiently as he grated out the words.

It would make his life easier if she could try and look less like a sun-kissed urchin and more the brazen seductress. Even the ancient costume only succeeded in adding to her air of innocence—her total lack of practice in the art of seduction. Iannis obliterated the thought before it could take root in his mind. Anyway, there were benefits to being alone for a few minutes, he reminded himself, thinking of the sheets of paper he had retrieved from her floor.

‘Be quick, then,’ he said, waving her away.

Perfect. Now he had the chance to read her papers and find out just what she’d been hiding…

‘Thespinis Charlotte!’

Planting his hands on his hips, Iannis swore softly in Greek as Marianna hurried towards them with a large basket hanging from her arm. He moved Charlotte aside to go and help Marianna, seeing she was slithering out of control down the steep track in her smooth-bottomed shoes.

‘What are you thinking of, Marianna?’ he said. ‘You might have hurt yourself.’

‘What is it, Marianna?’ Charlotte said with concern.

‘Only this,’ Marianna said, widening her eyes as she fanned herself vigorously. ‘You forgot towels. You forgot suncream. You forgot clothes. You forgot everything,’ she exclaimed, looking Charlotte up and down with concern. ‘You must not let this man hurry you off like that again. Make him wait,’ she counselled sternly, plucking out a suitably modest pair of knee-length shorts and a baggy tee shirt for Charlotte to wear.

‘You are very kind, Marianna,’ Iannis remarked softly.

Marianna contented herself with a knowing look and compressed her lips together in approval when Charlotte quickly put on the clothes she had brought from the villa.

Iannis knew he would have to subdue his desire to read whatever Charlotte had written until that evening. He would not let it spoil his day. Turning to view her, he discovered Charlotte was every bit as alluring now she was respectably dressed.

‘Take it slowly,’ he advised as Marianna started back up the slope. ‘The day is growing warm, and you are not as young as you were, Marianna Lyknos.’

As Marianna turned to wag an admonishing finger at him Iannis smiled. Okay, so Marianna had won this one. He’d have to work a little harder now to get at the goods—but how much of a delay would that amount to? A couple of seconds at most for the top, then the swimming costume and shorts would come off together in the same easy movement—ten seconds, maybe?

He felt a small sense of triumph—but then a pang of regret hit him hard. Why? Iannis asked himself impatiently, trying to shut down his conscience. Why should he care? Charlotte Clare was no different from any other woman. They were all the same—all after the same thing. He thought of Charlotte naked on the beach the first time he saw her. It only served to fuel his anger. Was this how beautiful women cheapened themselves nowadays? Didn’t she know all she had to do was act normally, talk normally, dress normally? She could wear a sack and he would want her just as much. He made a sound of contempt.

‘Are you all right?’

Charlotte stopped scrambling down the slope for a moment to take a look at him.

‘I’m just fine,’ Iannis confirmed, leaping past her onto the sand. Striding ahead, he made for a simple metal barbecue erected close to the cliff. If he remained close to her a moment longer she would see how angry she made him—and then all chance of a satisfactory conclusion to the day would be lost.

The sand felt cool and firm beneath Charlotte’s feet, but the sun was hot, and she was glad that Iannis had chosen a spot for lunch beneath the shelter of an overhanging rock.

‘Do you like sardines?’ he asked, without turning as he lit the coals.

‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen such big ones,’ Charlotte admitted honestly.

‘You’ll like these,’ he said with confidence.

Charlotte watched in fascination as he drew the knife from the scabbard at his waist. The blade was razor-sharp, and well used, and he wielded it with confidence and precision. Her gaze became fixed upon his hands. His lean tanned fingers were dexterous and delicate too—surprisingly so for such a powerful man, she noticed as she watched him prepare the food.

The small fish cooked quickly, and by the time Iannis had finished with them there was only succulent pale brown meat on Charlotte’s plate, with not even a fine bone in sight. His knife glinted in the light again as he sliced a tomato, discarding the tough inner core and then balancing the moist slices on the blade to slip them onto her plate. He had salt and pepper grinders, as well as a glass bottle with a screw top containing oil. There were chilli peppers, bay leaves and peppercorns floating in the greenish gold liquid, and he added a little, together with a sprinkling of seasoning, to their food.

If this was standard table tackle for fishermen on Iskos, she was definitely impressed, Charlotte thought as he produced a bottle of local wine. They drank out of pottery beakers, and the wine, chilled in the sea, was delicious.

‘This is wonderful. Thank you,’ Charlotte said as they clinked beakers. ‘It’s far more than I expected.’

‘I am delighted to have exceeded your expectations,’ Iannis replied, dipping his head in recognition of her praise.

They shared the meal between them, balancing the plate on a flat rock and sitting either side of it. It was the most relaxed time Charlotte had spent on Iskos. She stole a glance at her companion, who seemed fully engrossed—either in the food or the view. He stared out to sea with the look of a man who was just at home there as on land. His eyes were narrowed and his glance was keen, and there was such depth there, Charlotte mused romantically, telling herself to note that down. Surely he had many more interests other than fishing. She longed to ask him about them, but at that moment his firm lips quirked slightly, as if he felt her staring at him, and she quickly looked away.

‘Good?’ he enquired, and with that one softly spoken word he drew her back into the ambit of his stunning gaze.

‘Absolutely delicious,’ Charlotte admitted softly. ‘I’ve never tasted sardines like this before.’

‘Because they are freshly caught,’ Iannis explained. ‘They are a different class of food altogether to those fish that have travelled for many hours before reaching their destination.’

‘I couldn’t agree more—’ Charlotte stopped, hearing that her voice had changed subtly to a tone she might employ at a drinks party back home. A foodie chat with Iannis Kiriakos?

‘Are you not lonely on your own at the villa?’

Charlotte took a moment to refocus as he changed the subject. ‘If you mean do I need a man to feel secure there—or anywhere else, for that matter—the answer’s no, Iannis.’

Charlotte knew the strength of her retort was unnecessary, but for some reason he had put her on the defensive. She studied him again, and as he turned to look at her she held his gaze a moment, to show she was quite capable of looking after herself.

Iannis merely huffed a small silent laugh, as if in wry acceptance of the fact, and then turned back to face out to sea.

‘You don’t have to be defensive with me,’ he observed gently. ‘I like my own space too. I am content in my own company. I have learned that solitude can be as invigorating, as instructive as even the very best company.’

Charlotte relaxed a little. It was so refreshing, so unexpected to find Iannis understood her without the need for lengthy explanation. They sat in silence together until he murmured, ‘I value silence too…time to listen to the sounds all around me, and the thoughts and feelings inside me.’

She’d had no idea they shared so much, and the urge to question him about his thoughts and feelings was something Charlotte had to fight to subdue. Without words or physical contact, without much happening at all, they were growing closer, she realised warily.

‘Fisherman have to be patient,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘They must know their territory intimately and be prepared for the worst.’

While Iannis conveniently chose to gaze out to sea, Charlotte forced herself to take an objective look at his faded tee shirt and battered shorts, his bare feet and tousled hair. She was not Shirley Valentine; she could not give up her successful career to live with a simple fisherman on a remote Greek island.

‘Has someone hurt you?’ he demanded, keeping his gaze fixed on some middle point.

Probing her subconscious by stealth? ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘So they have,’ Iannis observed steadily, turning around to look at her.

His eyes were full of concern, and something else…understanding?

Something she had never expected.

A ball of emotion lodged in Charlotte’s throat. In that moment she wanted to tell him everything, share everything, throw her past open to him, let him be her judge… But reality intruded just in time and she bit down hard on her lip and made a flippant gesture with her hand. ‘I’m over it,’ she said dismissively.

‘Tell me more about yourself,’ Iannis insisted, refusing to let her off so lightly. The suggestion of a smile was tugging at his lips as he warned her softly, ‘I’m waiting, and I’m not going anywhere.’

Charlotte made a few false starts, and then became more animated when she found that he really was listening, and smiling into her eyes, as she shared a carefully edited version of her past with him. Her husband had never asked questions, never listened to anything she had to say, never maintained eye contact for longer than a millisecond…

‘So you organised a sit-down strike at school when your favourite dinner lady was sacked?’

He really was listening! ‘She didn’t get her job back.’

‘You tried,’ Iannis remarked softly. ‘And then you climbed out of a window and shinned down the drainpipe to escape from a swimming gala?’

‘Some workmen brought a ladder when I got stuck.’

‘A real rebel!’

There was approval, even humour in his voice. He made it sound like the most wonderful compliment she had ever been paid. Maybe he wasn’t such a dinosaur after all, Charlotte mused, and for a few moments she felt warm and happy. But then she frowned. Why did things have to get complicated? This was only supposed to be a holiday fling—no depth, no consequences. Everyone did it. Why couldn’t she?

Would a holiday fling be enough for her? They had both let their guard down…both forgotten to be mistrustful. There was a harmony and warmth between them that hadn’t existed before. It was dangerous, she recognised. In fact it was the worst thing that could possibly have happened. They shouldn’t be getting to know each other. It was much better…far safer for them both…if Iannis just was. She didn’t want him to take on substance and become someone she cared about. He was supposed to smoulder and deliver—nothing more. Was it already too late for that?

Charlotte cleared her mind for a moment and tried to look at things rationally. But Iannis’s sexual aura was the most potent thing she had ever encountered. It was like being in a force field she wanted to run from, while another part of her never wanted to leave his side—ever. This was madness, she realised.

‘Swim?’

‘Yes!’ Cold water! Fast! Now!

‘Okay,’ Iannis said, holding up his hands palms flat, as if to calm a small child.

‘I’d really like to swim,’ Charlotte said, springing to her feet as she spoke.

Moving away from Iannis as fast as she could, she tugged off her top as she ran, tossing it behind her and pausing only briefly at the water’s edge to rip off her shorts. Maybe the shock of meeting the waves head-on might knock some sense into her, she reasoned—nothing else had helped her so far.

Plunging into a rising wave, Charlotte felt the cool water close around her and gasped before powering away, directing her energies straight out to sea. She didn’t risk stopping to plot a course. The tiger was on her tail, and she felt him closing in on her fast. She threw everything behind her stroke, desperate to escape—from Iannis, from the promised article, and most of all from herself, from the new person she had become the moment she broke with the past and tossed her wedding ring into the sea.

Reinventing herself was taking a lot more courage than she had bargained for—and she hadn’t reckoned on Iannis Kiriakos being around to lend a hand.

CHAPTER SEVEN

IANNIS caught up with her quickly. He was as easy in the water as he was on land, swimming like a dolphin—next to her, in front, beneath and behind—diving effortlessly, his pace and agility astonishing. Soon even Charlotte was laughing, half with incredulity at his skill, and half with pleasure because he was playing with her. She hadn’t played in a long time—or maybe ever.

He had moored his boat close up to the red floats, where it drifted lazily on the idle swell. Still laughing, Charlotte grabbed hold of the side and clung on while she caught her breath. Iannis went one better and swung himself aboard the small craft.

The flash of bronzed torso was the only encouragement she needed. It looked so easy. But Charlotte only succeeded in pulling her side of the boat so close to the surface it almost capsized. As the boat yawed perilously Charlotte slipped underneath, and, disorientated, held on instead of letting go. Stretched out underwater, with her arms extended over her head and her torso wrapped around the boat, her legs rose upwards on the far side of the boat, anchoring her in position.

But Iannis was with her almost at once. She felt his arms lock around her waist and in seconds she was floating safely in the water beside him.

‘Wait for me next time,’ he suggested dryly. ‘I will lift you into the boat.’

Charlotte knew she should stoutly declare her independence, but her heart was hammering uncontrollably so she just said, ‘Thank you,’ as she struggled to get her breath back. The near-accident had really shocked her—but not half as much as the sensation of Iannis’s warmth and strength closing around her half-naked body.

‘Stop shivering,’ Iannis insisted. There was a suggestion of laughter in his voice. ‘There’s nothing to be worried about now. I’ve got you. You’re safe. I won’t let you drown.’

‘Really?’ Charlotte said dryly as her confidence returned. Their faces were very close—too close. It was one of those moments when anything might have happened. Warding off disappointment, she turned quickly, ready to get on board the rowing boat.

Iannis positioned her hands on the side. His hands were warm and strong as he closed her fingers over the smooth wooden surface.

‘Stay there until I’m ready,’ he said, ‘and don’t pull down this time—wait for me to lift you.’

She watched him spring out of the water and vault over the side, hardly affecting the balance of the boat at all. Water streamed off his muscular physique highlighting every contour as he leaned towards her with the sun at his back. Beneath the battered denim shorts she saw now that he had been wearing black bathing shorts. Charlotte forced her gaze away.

‘Are you coming or not?’ Iannis demanded sharply.

‘Of course.’

‘Give me your hands,’ he instructed.

One moment Charlotte was treading water, the next she was standing in front of him, with the sea pulsing rhythmically beneath her feet on the rough wooden planking.

Straddling the boat to keep it balanced, his legs firmly planted, Iannis stared down at her.

‘Thank you…’

Charlotte gasped in surprise when Iannis traced the swell of her bottom lip with his thumb. She found it both restrained and astonishingly seductive. Closing her eyes, she was sure he was about to say something tender and reassuring—or even kiss her.

He did neither.

‘Thank you,’ she said again, as he moved away.

‘For what?’ he demanded, slanting her a look.

‘For diving in, for helping me.’ Charlotte shrugged, wondering why he couldn’t accept her simple thanks. But then she noticed one corner of his mouth tugging up. ‘Don’t tease me, Iannis. I know I panicked. I don’t know what happened. Maybe it was the effects of the wine.’

‘You only had one glass,’ he pointed out. ‘Knowing we were going to swim, I made sure of that. Just forget it,’ he said, relaxing onto one hip when she looked as if she’d say something more.

But she couldn’t relax, Charlotte realised, wishing she could find some reason for him to take hold of her again. Her feelings were all mixed up. She could still feel the touch of his thumb on her lip and wanted more. But those intoxicating sensations were getting in the way of her journalistic skills. She should be pumping him for information. Once that was done she could let herself go in every sense—and maybe even return home with a contented smile on her face instead of just an article. But there was something else going on inside her, something she had not anticipated—and it had no connection with sex, or her wretched job.

They had only shared a meal together, Charlotte reasoned, trying to make light of it, but then she smiled, recalling how relaxed she had been with him. They had played in the sea like children, and she’d had fun, she remembered wistfully. She had got into difficulties, but Iannis had been there for her… She sighed with impatience. There were so few days left. It was nonsense to even contemplate falling in love. She hardly knew him. It was just a feeling…and feelings wore off.

But here in his own world, the sea, Iannis was even more assured, even more powerful—and it drew her to him, making her wish all sorts of things could come true. She felt his gaze on her face, felt the power emanating from him. And powerful men need a powerful foil, Charlotte reminded herself as she tilted her chin up to stare back at him.

Iannis wasn’t quite sure how he held himself in check. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to slip his arms around her waist and drag her to him. But she was too tender, too vulnerable—why did he always sense that about her? And she could save that defiant look she was giving him. He wasn’t fooled for a moment. In fact, it was all he could do to stop himself smiling. She was such a mass of contradictions—and it was obvious she had forgotten the white swimsuit was virtually transparent when it was wet. It left nothing, absolutely nothing to his imagination.

Bracing himself, Iannis gazed skywards as he waited for the tug of desire to abate. If he had been interested in Charlotte Clare before, he was doubly so now. She was blatantly aroused, even after the shock she had just sustained in the water. Her nipples were almost painfully extended, and that only accentuated the natural uplift of her breasts. She had a true hourglass figure, with not one angular surface to distract him from her curves. He wanted to grab hold of her, turn her around to admire every inch of her and rid her of the hideous white skin that supposedly passed for a swimming costume. She was more beautiful than Aphrodite, and had no need to wear a magic girdle around her waist to snare him.

But that in itself was a danger, Iannis reminded himself, putting a brake on his erotic reverie. He would have to be on his guard all the time. He would give her the physical pleasure she so obviously craved—but he must never give her his trust.

Holding back on emotion was hard for him—almost impossible for a Greek. But he must not fall under her spell, like the mythical mariners who had allowed themselves to be lured onto the rocks by the Sirens. What else were myths other than lessons in life set down in ancient times in allegorical form in order to protect future generations? Who was he to ignore them now? He had some sympathy with those sailors of old. He was finding it increasingly impossible to keep his own thoughts under control.

He viewed Charlotte lazily, as a connoisseur might view a piece of precious porcelain. The sun had warmed her skin to a shade of softest honey gold, and it was as smooth as silk, as lush as his favourite fruit, the peach. He longed to taste her, to sample her juices, to lave, nibble and kiss every inch of her delectable body. He knew she would taste every bit as sweet as she looked. He even had cause to be thankful for the vile costume. It moulded every inch of her with intimate attention to detail, forcing him to look into her eyes for the sake of his sanity.

But he would have to find out more about her. Why had she made Iskos her base? Coincidence? He thought not. What was she working on so busily at her laptop? He remembered the folded sheets, still in the back pocket of his shorts on the shore, and felt a rush of anticipation and dread. Why did she feel the need to hide her work from him if it was innocent?

Too many questions still awaiting answers. He would be mad to soften, to get to know the warm, headstrong woman beneath the incredible body. Be satisfied with the goods on display, Iannis thought cynically—and then, remembering the Sirens, he added silently to himself, And only sample those when it is safe to do so.

Charlotte felt the sexual tension ebb away without understanding what had happened. But still warmth persisted in trickling through her veins—and not just because Iannis looked so incredible, with locks of wet hair flicked around his face and his lips set in a firm line that seemed to demand she tease them apart and entice them to soften. His eyes were like black gold, with jewels of intelligence sparking at their core, and at that moment she wanted him on any terms. But what did she have to do to get the response she longed for from him?

‘I’ll take you back,’ he said.

Iannis could think of nothing but the sheets of paper in the pocket of his shorts. He could not wait to return to shore and read them. He had to know what she had written. Indicating that Charlotte should sit down, he picked up the oars before she had a chance to complain.

He didn’t speak a word to her as he pulled for shore.

It had been a good day. He had made lunch, as he’d said he would, and Charlotte should be content. But she was not content—far from it. She couldn’t even enjoy watching his muscles flex as he worked the oars, because it was clear he was intent on returning to land as fast as possible. He didn’t trouble to hide the fact that he’d had enough of her. And what had she learned for her article? Nothing. What had she learned about Iannis the man? Nothing! Apart from the fact that she liked him a lot more than was good for her.

And now he was aloof, closed off to her…after everything they had shared—she had shared, Charlotte realised, compressing her lips together in a flat, angry line. While she had been giving Iannis an insight into her formative years he had given her precisely nothing in return. He had used her—for what? His amusement? To laugh about with his friends in the taverna?

She was damned well going to find out just exactly what was going on—who he was. Did he have a wife? The thought made her feel physically sick, but more determined than ever. She had to know the truth, and the only way to do that was to follow him when they got back to shore. Even if he lived alone, a home was like a car, or clothes, his choice of friends—it would say so much about him…there would be clues. At least she would know something of him that way. And anything she saw would be meat for her article.

That was how she must regard him from now on—a subject for her article and nothing more. Two could play at the ‘give it all, then snatch it back’ emotional game, Charlotte mused tensely.

‘Thank you for taking me out on the boat,’ she said after they had disembarked, watching Iannis pull it clear of the shallows. ‘Will you be rowing home?’

‘No,’ he told her over his shoulder. ‘I’ve already arranged for someone to come and get the boat—and the barbecue,’ he added, jerking his chin towards it.

Charlotte contained her excitement as she watched Iannis settle the boat between some rocks, where even a freak tide couldn’t hope to drag it out to sea. It would make it so much easier to follow him if he was on foot.

It was a great hiding place for the boat, she realised as he straightened up. That was why she hadn’t spotted it before. What else was he hiding from her? She had to know, to save anyone else who might be involved—and save herself, Charlotte accepted grimly. Normally she wouldn’t consider sneaking about, but she wasn’t going to be a doormat either.

Charlotte concealed her impatience as she waited for Iannis to leave. ‘I’m going to sunbathe a little before I go back,’ she said, stretching her arms languidly, as if to emphasise the fact that she wasn’t going anywhere fast.

‘Well, don’t take your costume off,’ he warned in a low growl. ‘Marianna’s son will be down here soon, to collect up everything I’ve left behind.’ Slanting her a glance, he frowned. ‘Do you frequently sunbathe at dusk?’

The day was slipping away fast, and Charlotte realised she needed to come up with a reasonable explanation. ‘I have fair skin. I prefer to sunbathe when it is cooler.’

‘In that case you will have your wish,’ Iannis agreed sardonically, dipping his head towards the sun, suspended like a giant orange balloon above the horizon. ‘I will call on you before I set my bait this evening.’ By which time I will have read your notes, he thought with satisfaction, and will have judged you guilty or not guilty.

Would she make it back in time after following him home? Charlotte wondered anxiously. Iannis would move fast, and he knew the island far better than she did. He might take some shortcut…

‘Is that not convenient?’ he demanded when she remained silent.

‘When, exactly?’ Charlotte pressed cautiously.

‘Some time before Marianna leaves,’ Iannis replied. ‘I wish to speak with her, and I think it may be easier for me to find her at your villa than to catch her at home.’

Was he resentful of her relationship with Marianna? Charlotte wondered curiously. ‘If you call after seven you will miss her,’ she said. And if you call much before half-past six I won’t be there. ‘Six forty-five?’ she offered with a shrug.

‘A small window of opportunity,’ Iannis remarked ironically.

‘I’ll need a bath…wash my hair—’

‘I am coming to see Marianna,’ he reminded her coolly.

‘Ah, yes, but that is the best time to see Marianna,’ Charlotte said, making it up as she went along. ‘She doesn’t like to be disturbed when she is working—she will be getting ready to leave at that time.’

‘Very well. I will try and accommodate Marianna’s hectic schedule,’ Iannis agreed with a mocking bow.

And by then I will know a lot more about you, Charlotte thought with satisfaction as she watched him collect his things. ‘Why don’t you use this?’ she suggested, pressing Marianna’s basket into his hands to make her own task easier. ‘You can return it to Marianna tonight.’

‘That would be useful,’ he conceded with a nod.

‘Thanks again,’ Charlotte called, hopping with impatience until he finally made off towards the cliff path.

Anticipation was coiled up inside her like a tightly wound spring, and she was barely able to wait until he disappeared out of sight. But Charlotte made herself count up to twenty, and then ran lightly across the sand in his tracks.

As she had suspected, he moved fast over the rugged terrain. As they dropped down towards the town Charlotte pictured him in a bare room somewhere amidst the brightly painted houses that fringed the small harbour. He would have few luxuries, and everything would have been carefully chosen. Usefulness would be all that mattered where his possessions were concerned.

Marianna had explained to her that the colourful harbour dwellings, so unlike the stark white houses clinging to the hillsides, owed their individuality to a time when only fishermen had lived there. If a distress signal was raised at any one of them, men fishing out in the bay could easily identify the household in question.

But Iannis strode straight past each gaily painted doorway without a second glance, and apart from acknowledging the greetings of the local inhabitants didn’t break stride once. He would be in a hurry, Charlotte reasoned. There was hardly time for him to get back home, shower, change, and then return to the villa to see Marianna.

She tried to keep the chase low-key, but it was hard not to draw attention when she was the only newcomer in the area. Seeing her anxiety, the local women were keen to help, and she was forced to stop every few steps and back into the shadows to reassure them with signs and the few words of Greek she had picked up. But it worked to her advantage too. She was able to take cover amongst the friendly groups and wait until Iannis was a safe distance away before starting after him again.

He took a steep path out of the village—little more than a track hidden between two buildings. Charlotte might have missed it completely had she not been close behind. She saw that it wound up the hill that rose behind the village, and would be completely inaccessible except by foot.

The light was dwindling fast. It was time to make a decision. Maybe she should turn back and try tomorrow, earlier in the day? But then Iannis suddenly veered off to the right and disappeared into a parched clump of trees.

Starting up the track after him, Charlotte began to run. But once she had followed him into the trees she had to move more carefully. The woodland path was strewn with dried twigs that crunched beneath her feet, and each time she stopped she had to strain to hear over the noise of her thundering heart that he was still moving ahead of her.

Then, quite abruptly, the trees opened out and she found herself back on top of the cliff, at the opposite side of the horseshoe bay to where her own villa was situated. She caught a brief glimpse of Iannis, but then he disappeared completely, taking a route she could only guess led down to the beach again. There was no cover as she crept forward to the cliff-edge, and she was forced to lie flat and crawl on her belly in order to peer down.

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.

‘Make love to me, Iannis,’ she whispered. ‘Make love to me so that I forget everything.’

Iannis felt himself sucked deep into a vortex of emotion which he didn’t care to analyse. He only knew that he wanted to kiss all the tears from her cheeks and make her smile again. They tasted salty on his tongue, and the scent of a wildflower rocked his senses as he buried his face into her soft neck and kissed her there. As she moved beneath him and her arms wound around his neck, he returned to kiss her mouth, deepening the kiss until he thought he must surely taste her soul.

Charlotte gave herself completely, yielding to sensation, knowing she was in the hands of a master, trusting and loving and giving until all the doubts and questions in her mind were obliterated in a constant stream of sensation.

Iannis kept on kissing her until she was all hunger, all passion, all need, and then he brought her beneath him, using one strong hand to ease her buttocks apart while he lodged a powerful thigh between her legs. He brought her legs up and over his shoulders until she was completely open, completely his. And even then he made her wait, allowing just a whisper of his erection to tantalise her senses, drawing it slowly and steadily down between her legs.

When she begged him he only shook his head in stern refusal, dropping kisses on her mouth to still her cries. But Charlotte called his name until finally he submitted to her will and allowed the tip to catch inside her. When he pulled away again she railed at him, not caring what he must think of her as she berated him with words she hardly recognised.

‘What is it you want Charlotte?’ Iannis demanded softly, cruelly repeating the exercise, holding her with a firm hand when she attempted to capture him. ‘You must wait…you must learn control,’ he husked in her ear. ‘You proved yourself ignorant in the ways of love before, and now you must be taught. You will thank me for teaching you restraint…’

‘No. I. Won’t!’ Charlotte managed hoarsely. ‘I don’t have time to learn!’

He laughed, a short and very masculine laugh. ‘We will make time,’ he promised, and, making another tantalising pass, he rested inside her a moment longer.

‘Don’t tease me,’ Charlotte warned in a husky gasp. ‘I can’t bear it, Iannis.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be an admirable student.’

‘Ah—’ She let out a long, ragged sigh as he sank deep within her, taking possession of her completely and stretching her beyond anything she would have imagined possible. The feeling was so far beyond any pleasure she had known that Charlotte couldn’t move, couldn’t participate, couldn’t urge him on as she had intended. Instead she could only lie beneath him motionless, and let him take her with firm, deep strokes until he had worked her all the way up the bed to the wall. She only surfaced briefly when with a harsh, accepting laugh Iannis was forced to drag her back down the bed to begin again.

‘Don’t…don’t stop,’ Charlotte begged weakly, hardly conscious of what was happening to her, only that she had never been suspended so high or for so long on such an incredible plateau of sensation.

‘Don’t worry, agape mou, I have no intention of stopping —not until this night is over,’ he added under his breath.

His last comment drove through the fog in Charlotte’s mind, and, focusing, she saw something hard glittering behind his eyes. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t talk,’ Iannis commanded, cutting across her. ‘Just feel.’

Charlotte succumbed to the temptation without a fight. She had been starved too long to refuse. And Iannis made love to her in a way that made her feel strong, confident.

‘I want to ride you,’ she said at last, capturing him between her thighs.

‘Who am I to refuse?’ Iannis murmured, his hard mouth curving in a smile of contentment as he brought her on top of him.

But as their gazes clashed something flared between them, a warning that the battle wasn’t over—it had only just begun.

CHAPTER NINE

‘SHOULDN’T you put some clothes on?’

‘Complaining?’ Iannis demanded, carrying a tray of fruit juice over to the bed.

‘Certainly not,’ Charlotte assured him. ‘Should this be called service with a smile?’ she murmured, gazing up at him.

The more she came to know him, the more confidence she had using colloquial phrases. After all, his command of English was almost as good as her own, Charlotte reflected, drinking in every desirable inch of him as he settled the tray on the bedside table.

‘There’s no point in wearing clothes when I’m coming back to bed,’ he pointed out with unarguable logic.

Surely no man could have such stamina, Charlotte mused. She was barely able to move with exhaustion, but Iannis seemed unaffected by constant lovemaking. Maybe he was one of the mythical gods, fallen from a cloud—her good luck, she thought, holding his gaze as he held the beaker for her to drink. In that moment she would have done anything for him if it meant he would come back to bed.

‘So, what are you waiting for? Come back to me, Iannis. I need you.’

‘Again?’ he murmured, taking the juice away from her.

‘Yes, again. And don’t keep me waiting,’ Charlotte teased, rolling onto her back. Kicking down the covers, she spread her limbs across the silken sheets.

‘What if I said you have exhausted me?’ Iannis murmured, stretching out beside her.

‘I would call you a liar,’ Charlotte countered, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck. ‘And, fortunately for me, you cannot pretend not to be aroused.’

‘Why should I wish to pretend—?’ He broke off, and there was a silence.

The moment’s tension was just that—an instant, a subtle change of vibration in the air between them, which was gone again almost immediately.

‘No reason,’ Charlotte said. ‘Because you know you can’t get away with it,’ she added, smiling provocatively as she moved languorously beside him. ‘Not with an erection like this. And, as you’ve shown no signs of tiring yet, I have every confidence in you. After all, we began last night in the shower…’

‘I do not need reminding,’ Iannis assured her, smiling again as he seized back control and removed her hand.

Charlotte stole a look at her wristwatch on the bedside table. ‘And it’s almost—’

‘Dawn?’ Iannis supplied softly, bringing her back into his arms. Kissing the top of her head, he added, ‘We won’t watch the time, Charlotte, or look at the clock again. Time is an irrelevance for us.’

He remained silent as he brushed some wayward strands of hair from her face, and then he smiled a little and gazed into the middle distance to a point where she couldn’t join him. ‘Or at least we will hold it at bay for a few hours,’ he mused softly. ‘We will not allow it to crack into furious flower, or let reality intrude before we are ready.’

His kisses wiped her mind clean, and he kissed her deeply until all she wanted was to wind her limbs around him and rejoice in his strength. And then he took her again, with one sure stroke, and she was truly lost.

Around midday Iannis left. He was so matter-of-fact about going that Charlotte hardly realised what was happening until it was too late. One minute he was taking a shower, while she dozed contentedly in the blissful aftermath of lovemaking, and the next minute the villa was completely silent and she was alone again.

She tried sleeping the afternoon away—curling up and pretending everything was fine. Of course he had to go—he had work to do. The lobster pots wouldn’t empty themselves. Wasn’t that what she loved about him—his dedication to his work, his contentment with his lot? Was she going to steal that away from him?

Was there anything to steal?

Having seen the cottage Iannis was living in, Charlotte wasn’t sure of anything…including whether he was even a fisherman. It seemed more likely that he chose to get away to relax. Whatever the truth, she couldn’t keep him close just to service her sexual needs.

Why not? Charlotte mused wickedly, pressing her face into the satin pillows to hide her smile.

Because that was just a daydream, her sensible side insisted. Even if Iannis had said that time shouldn’t exist for them, it did—for her, at least.

Frowning, Charlotte racked her brain in an attempt to recover the exact words he had used in relation to time. The way he put it had stirred some vague memory—something about time flowering. ‘Time cracks into furious flower’—that was it! She sat upright in bed in shock as it came to her. She knew that poem—Gwendolyn Brooks. Iannis Kiriakos, quoting American poetry? Some fisherman!

Charlotte slipped out of bed. She needed a cold shower. She needed to get her brain in gear. She needed to do it right away—now.

Standing under the icy water, jumping up and down and shivering, Charlotte knew she had asked Iannis none of the right questions. And, worse, she had made assumptions based on nothing more than her own preconceived ideas and prejudices. Her ‘fisherman’ was like a book, waiting to be opened, and she hadn’t tried to get past the first page.

Not that they had done much talking, she remembered, exclaiming with impatience as she grabbed a towel. Snapping to a halt in front of the mirror, Charlotte saw that her eyes were bright and her cheeks still flushed from hours of lovemaking—but her determination showed clearly too. She had to discover everything there was to know about Iannis Kiriakos—and she had left herself hardly any time to do it!

What had she imagined? Charlotte asked herself impatiently as she hurried back to the bedroom. That Iannis would reveal his soul to her on the basis of one night of lovemaking? She had given more of herself than she would ever have believed possible, but why should Iannis feel the same?

The doubt left Charlotte feeling vulnerable and increasingly restless as she hurriedly put on her clothes. Iannis wasn’t exactly forthcoming. In fact if she hadn’t been so busy making allowances for the language barrier she would have said he weighed every word before he spoke to her. And what language barrier was that, exactly? Charlotte swiped a brush through her hair, remembering he had barely the trace of an accent. Why, of all the fishermen on Iskos, did she have to get herself entangled with a mystery man who might not even be one of them?

Maybe he was running away from something…someone. She quelled that thought instantly. It was impossible to imagine Iannis Kiriakos running away from anything.

But if she was right…

Charlotte levelled a stare at her reflection as she developed her theory. If there was more to Iannis Kiriakos, then he had made love to her under false pretences. She knew already that he loved to tease and joke—was she just a game to him too? Sleeping together was more than that, surely? It should have changed everything between them, she reasoned angrily. How could Iannis make love to her if he was only play-acting? It just wasn’t possible.

Really? her reflection observed cynically. You did…

Dropping the hairbrush onto the chest with a clatter, Charlotte straightened up. The article she was writing would stand or fall on its central focus—and that was Iannis Kiriakos, the fisherman of Iskos who found fulfilment living close to nature. But the conclusions she had jumped to where the real man was concerned were full of flaws. Iannis was definitely not what he seemed—and the only certain knowledge she had of him wasn’t printable. The central focus of her article had to be a man her readers could believe in…therefore she would not write about the real Iannis, but about the man her imagination had conjured up!

The solution was so simple that Charlotte exclaimed out loud, but then she frowned again. Simple, maybe, but it didn’t resolve any of her personal issues. Work-wise, she could easily rejig the first draft of her article and send it off for comment. But she would still have to investigate Iannis the man for the sake of her own sanity, and find out who he really was…

The front door to the waterfront cottage was open. It seemed Iannis was at home. Charlotte’s heart began to race. She had no idea how he would react when he saw her, and sucked in a few deep breaths to try and steady herself.

It gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach just remembering how it had felt to wake and find him gone. No note, no small token—her imagination had conjured up a bunch of wildflowers, a few scribbled words, even in Greek, or better still a few words in English to reassure her, to tell her where and when they might meet next—even a sardine in the fridge, damn it!

It was beginning to look as if she should put the whole episode with Iannis Kiriakos down to bitter experience. Except she couldn’t do that, Charlotte realised. She would never forget him.

She tensed, hearing his voice, and peered cautiously in through one of the ground-floor windows. She saw he was talking on a mobile phone. It was pressed to his ear as he paced up and down the room. The expression on his face was intent and serious. He looked as if he was drawing up plans while he was listening.

A great yearning washed over her as she watched him. Did he think of her at all—or had she just been a night’s pleasure, easily forgotten? She flattened her palms against the rough stone as regret flooded through her. He looked amazing in jeans. His naked feet were slipped into simple thonged sandals of a type many people wore on the island, but that was his only nod towards island fashion. The shirt was undoubtedly pure linen, and his gold wristwatch too slim to be a fake.

Charlotte lurched back guiltily as he turned around to stare at her. Along with his other accomplishments he was incredibly intuitive—frighteningly so, she realised, pinning a smile to her face. But, far from returning her smile, his face was set into an angry mask.

She must have surprised him, Charlotte reasoned, raising her hand in greeting.

Cutting the line, he tossed the phone onto a low coffee table and crossed the room at a speed that suggested he intended to cut her off at the front door. Charlotte felt her stomach churn with apprehension. This was worse than she had imagined. He really didn’t want to see her.

When Iannis appeared, framed by the door, it was hard to believe this was the same man who only a few short hours before had held her in his arms and told her she was the most desirable woman on earth.

‘Charlotte.’

His voice was curt as he leaned one arm against the architrave, as if to bar her way. His eyes were cold and hard. Nothing about him suggested that she was welcome. And it wasn’t just his manner that had changed, Charlotte realised. He looked different.

Could it be just because his hair was tamed and he was wearing fresh clothes? He was certainly impeccably groomed, and that gave him more presence than ever. Then she realised that the man barring her way could have moved comfortably in any company in the world—it was she who felt out of place. She had thought herself suitably dressed for the visit, in a casual sundress with a cotton cardigan tied around her shoulders, but right now she felt downright unsophisticated, as well as totally unsure of herself.

‘Why have you come here, Charlotte?’

‘I had to speak to you.’ Why? Was it worth this much humiliation?

Iannis’s eyes registered nothing…no emotion, no warmth. Even anger would have been better than this. Again Charlotte was overcome by the sensation of sheer power that flowed from him. But it had nothing to do with physical strength—it was his will, she recognised, staring up at him.

His hair was swept back severely and curled around his powerful neck in luxuriant waves. Even now desire licked through her as she remembered touching, stroking, kissing and tasting that same bronzed flesh, moving on to lavish more kisses on the wide sweep of his shoulders and then, at his encouragement, going on to explore the whole of his daunting frame with her lips and her teeth and her tongue. Had that really been just a few short hours ago? It seemed impossible now. His expression was so guarded, almost hostile towards her.

‘How did you find me?’

His voice matched the expression in his eyes—cold, speculative, unforgiving.

Charlotte ran through a selection of excuses in her mind. It felt tawdry to admit to following him. ‘I asked,’ she said, shrugging aside the question in his eyes.

‘I said,’ Iannis repeated icily, ‘how did you find me?’ He spoke slowly, enunciating each word with precision, as if to emphasise the fact that he would only be satisfied with the truth. And when she remained silent he said coldly, ‘Do you need me to rephrase the question, Charlotte?’

‘No!’ Anger flared through her. It was obvious she had been used. The irony of the situation made Charlotte want to laugh out loud. Instead she dug her nails into her palms until the pain ordered her thoughts, and then admitted quietly, ‘I followed you.’

Her candour seemed to surprise him. Iannis brought his arm down and shifted position. It was only then she realised how tense he was.

Last night was to have been the end of it, Iannis reminded himself grimly. Yet here she was, making the call he had just received redundant. But why? Because deep down he knew that whatever wrong she did to him he still wanted her? He would always want her? More than that, he actually resented those words of condemnation coming from the lips of someone who had never met her. How could they know anything?

As his anger rose in Charlotte’s defence Iannis had to confess to a grudging admiration for the woman staring steadily at him now. Most people would have gone scurrying back down the path in the face of his anger, but she didn’t even flinch. She just stared straight back at him with that extraordinary emerald gaze, throwing off waves of defiance and disrespect. In spite of all the promises he had made to himself, desire tugged mercilessly at the edges of his control. It was an irresistible force. Countries had been lost for the sake of women as beautiful as Charlotte Clare.

Iannis smiled inwardly, knowing he should rejoice, because all he had at stake was his pride.

‘You’d better come in,’ he said coolly, standing aside. It was all he could do to keep his hands off her as she edged past him, and, hearing her sharp intake of breath, he knew she felt the same. Was it by chance that her magnificent breasts had brushed against his arm?

Charlotte had to remind herself that this was the man in whose arms she had slept all night. Could this really be the same man who had put her pleasure before his own and made her feel safe every step of the way? He seemed so cold, so distant. She had given him so much of herself—too much, she could see now—and it appeared that she would pay for her lack of judgement. Iannis had only taken what she had freely offered.

‘Marianna!’ Charlotte’s troubled thoughts were replaced by shock as the very last person she expected to see huffed down the internal staircase in a flurry of skirts. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I live next door. I take care of the cottage—and Iannis,’ Marianna explained, rolling her eyes to the heavens as she heaved a tolerant sigh.

Fresh flowers, clean shirts, pots in herbs. ‘I should have realised.’

‘Why should you?’ Marianna said, hurrying to reassure Charlotte with a pat on the arm. ‘You can’t be expected to know everything about Iskos. You have only been on the island five minutes.’

‘I don’t mean to interrupt—’

But he did, Charlotte thought, determined she would not be intimidated by Iannis, however autocratic and impatient his tone.

‘I have to go,’ Marianna said, distracting her. ‘There are things I must do in the village.’

‘Oh, no—’ The words froze on Charlotte’s lips as she realised that both Iannis and Marianna were staring at her.

‘I’m sorry, I must,’ Marianna replied with an apologetic shrug as she glanced up at Iannis.

Charlotte noticed the affectionate look that passed between them, but by the time Iannis turned back to her his expression had become impassive again.

‘Won’t you sit down?’ he invited politely and a little stiffly when Marianna had gone.

Charlotte accepted, sitting primly on the very edge of the hard upright chair. She felt his force field envelop her, even though he chose a seat far away from her, at the other side of the small table.

‘You came to see me,’ he said, easing back. ‘Why exactly?’

Hurt was a luxury Charlotte knew she could not afford. She hardened her heart. She had been a fool, but she had to put that behind her. She had to know who Iannis really was, understand the extent of the mistake she had made before she could move on. She didn’t need Iannis to like her, Charlotte reminded herself, meeting his searching gaze head-on. He was a resource…research for her article—for sex…

How had this happened? Iannis wondered, grinding his jaw with frustration. How could they sit like two strangers about to embark on a hostile discussion when all he wanted was take her in his arms?

How had he allowed this to happen? The final wall around his privacy had been breached. By Charlotte. The one person in the world he might have allowed in. But not now…not now that he understood why she had come here to Iskos.

And she thought it had come as a surprise to him that she had followed him! She shouldn’t have been so careless. Snoopers should make sure they are bug-proof, he mused, trying to read the thoughts behind her eyes—eyes that had grown as cold as green ice, he noted clinically.

The only good thing to be said in her favour was that she treated Marianna with respect. It intrigued him how the two women had built up such a close relationship in so short a time.

But no, that was not the only good thing about Charlotte, Iannis conceded as his gaze strayed to her breasts. He had the pleasure of seeing her nipples harden on demand through the flimsy cotton fabric of her dress…but her eyes were still hard, still calculating. His worth? The worth of her article about him? Let her suffer, let her wait, let her squirm beneath his interest. She had trespassed on his privacy, but that was the least of it, and now she had to pay.

He should have seen what was coming. Flaunting herself on the beach and then at the taverna…bringing herself to his attention. He should have walked away then, as he had walked away so many times before. But she had always stopped him—with her defiance, her passion, her vulnerability. Iannis ground his jaw, knowing that was the very last quality of Charlotte’s he wanted to examine right now.

He felt a familiar tug in his groin and hardened instantly. All he could think of was her face when he made love to her, the way she had called out to him, and his own immense satisfaction when he’d held her safe in his arms. And he had imagined his palate too jaded to respond with such eagerness, Iannis thought bitterly. Had she but known it, he was putty in her hands. But she had killed what might have been, in favour of reaping short-term benefits in cash!

He wanted revenge. He wanted it now—fiercely, overwhelmingly. For what she had destroyed she must pay.

She had such an appetite, he remembered, easing his position on the unyielding seat. He met Charlotte’s determined stare with a lazy, slanting gaze. An appetite for danger too—but that could be contained. He would contain it. And he would enjoy testing her defences. It would be interesting to see how much she would reveal under the most extreme form of coercion he could devise. She was angry now, he saw, as he looked at her, but it would take the merest shift to push all that passion onto quite a different track.

Holding Charlotte’s gaze, Iannis allowed his expression to soften just enough to snare her in his noose, and then, tightening it with a half-smile, he waited for the reaction he knew would come. He had the satisfaction of seeing Charlotte’s defiant gaze falter and her tongue creep out to moisten her lips. She was remembering, he thought with satisfaction. The explosive sex they had enjoyed was hardly something she would forget, he mused cynically, watching her eyes darken with desire.

Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat as Iannis looked at her. All the reasons for her visit drained from her mind. All she knew was that she wanted him. And when he stood and started moving round the table towards her it was like an irresistible force pulling her to her feet. Meeting him halfway, she felt nothing but a huge rush of relief when they crashed together and his arms closed around her.

She was home, she knew, and let out a soft cry as Iannis took possession of her mouth. Her lips were soft, still slightly swollen from the last time they had made love, and his mouth felt firm, hungry and demanding, just as she had dreamed it would, as he backed her to the door.

‘I want you, Iannis,’ Charlotte sobbed softly as she melted against him.

‘You shall have me,’ he promised huskily, lifting her into his arms.

He carried her up the stone steps as if she weighed nothing, and kicked open a door into the room she had seen once before—but from the other side of the open shutters—then laid her down on the bed and tugged off his clothes.

This was her Iannis’s home, her fisherman’s home. The two identities swam together and Charlotte sighed, whimpering with anticipation as he turned her on her side. She must try to remember…it was meat for her article…fuel for her soul. The headboard was taupe-coloured suede, the sheets crisp linen—

The details jarred. Iannis was already stripping off her clothes, and with them went her reason. And then he stretched out behind her, and all Charlotte knew as she groaned in expectation was that he was already naked and very much aroused. The warm touch of his flesh on hers and the jutting pressure of his erection sent a shower of sensation flooding through her, and when he tested her readiness with one skilful hand she angled herself in shameless invitation, so that he entered her smoothly in one deep thrust, bringing one of her legs over his to open her completely.

He rested a moment, to give them both a chance to savour the sensation, but Charlotte thrust her hips towards him and he began to move deeply and rhythmically, rocking her back and forth, controlling her with one hand while he stroked her very swollen centre of sensation with such an advanced skill and understanding of her needs she was soon sobbing with delight.

The dual sensation was almost too much for Charlotte to bear—the regular thrusts, the delicate attention to her clitoris made all the better by the fact that for once Iannis didn’t tease, he didn’t make her wait. Instead he took a very lenient view of how many times she could climax without him. Work could wait for ever, she told herself, melting into another violent maelstrom of sensation as he encouraged her with harsh words in his own language. She had no idea what he was saying, but it had the desired effect…

He dried her with a fluffy white towel after the shower they shared together. They had been kissing all the time under the stream of warm water—Charlotte’s hands reaching up to cup his beard-roughened cheeks, Iannis’s arms resting loosely around her waist. He had given her every bit of the reassurance she’d needed to hear. He was everything she had ever wanted; she was satiated and complete. All her doubts, all her anger had disappeared, and all she could remember was where they had been and what they had done.

This was the man who inhabited her thoughts every waking moment and was a welcome visitor in her dreams at night. She was in far, far too deep, Charlotte realised as Iannis dropped the lightest, most seductive of kisses on her neck. After what they had just shared she could not pretend to herself any longer that she wanted Iannis for nothing more than sex, or for research of any kind. Just the thought of how cold-bloodedly she had planned her campaign before she met him seemed preposterous now.

‘Would you like to take a look around when you’re dressed?’ he enquired, tenderly dabbing at the moisture on her face with the edge of the soft towel.

‘I’d love to,’ Charlotte admitted softly, watching him, drinking in his every move, filling her mind with him. This time she had no ulterior motive, Charlotte knew, and she gazed at Iannis with her eyes full of love. She didn’t care if he saw it, didn’t trouble to hide the devotion in her gaze. She never wanted to return to life before Iskos, before Iannis. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ she said, remembering how private he was.

‘Would I be asking if I did?’ Iannis countered, one corner of his mouth tugging up so that her gaze was drawn to the sexy, boyish crease down one side of his face. ‘You’re here now,’ he pointed out easily. ‘Be my guest.’

He couldn’t resist, Iannis realised. Maybe because, just like Charlotte, he had an appetite for danger. He had to torture himself. He had to see how she would react when he drew back the curtain on his life—even if just a chink. Would she show her true colours? Would she continue with the charade? He had to know.

He softened his expression as he jerked his chin towards the bedroom. ‘After you,’ he invited pleasantly.

‘My clothes—’ Charlotte said, shooting a rueful glance at the towel she was wearing.

‘I’ll find you something in the bedroom,’ Iannis promised, standing aside to let her pass.

The flutter of unease struck unexpectedly as Charlotte went past him. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it—access into his world? Then she relaxed again, recognising the cause of her concern. If she wasn’t careful her article would turn into one long love letter to the fisherman of Iskos—and that wouldn’t go down too well with her editor, or enhance her own professional reputation. If the piece was to carry real impact she had to remain objective. She had enough factual information for the article without laying bare her personal feelings for the man in question.

Charlotte’s gaze settled on a surprisingly elaborate music centre, which sat on top of an old wooden chest. There were CDs piled up all around it, running the gamut from country to classics and jazz. ‘Wow,’ she breathed softly, ‘quite a collection.’

‘Don’t you like music?’

‘I love it,’ Charlotte admitted, remembering that she had once as she ran her fingertips down the stack. ‘Miles Davis, Ella Fitzgerald—you have excellent taste,’ she said pointedly, hoping to provoke him into saying something revealing for a change.

‘Why, thank you,’ Iannis responded evenly.

Charlotte thought she heard an edge of sarcasm in his voice.

‘Would you like me to put some music on?’ he suggested.

She had imagined it, Charlotte told herself. He sounded so relaxed now. ‘You choose.’

‘Drink?’

She nodded in agreement, and then, as some blue notes issued softly from a number of speakers set at intervals around the room, turned full circle with surprise. ‘You really like your music,’ Charlotte remarked, when Iannis returned from the kitchen with an open bottle of wine and two glasses.

‘Yes, I do,’ he agreed, handing her a glass of chilled white wine.

‘My first husband loathed music—’ Charlotte’s stomach clenched. The words had slipped out while her brain was cruising in neutral, she realised. The soothing melody had lulled her into a false sense of security.

‘How many husbands have you had?’ Iannis said, slanting her a curious look.

‘Just one.’

‘One being enough?’

He wasn’t going to let it go. ‘Quite,’ Charlotte agreed, pressing her lips together.

‘Well, I think music can be very useful,’ Iannis said pointedly. ‘I can usually find a piece suitable for any given situation.’

I bet you can, Charlotte thought as their eyes met over the rim of the glass. Taking people off guard, perhaps? And what music would he choose for lovemaking? Nothing obvious, she was certain of that—a man with such refined skills would look for something subtle.

‘Here, wear my robe,’ he offered, tossing her a towelling dressing gown in thick cotton pile the colour of clotted cream. ‘You look beautiful,’ he said when she’d slipped it on, and, dragging the lapels together over the full swell of her breasts, he brought her close and dropped a kiss on her mouth.

Charlotte told herself to relax. She was looking for trouble where none existed. Everything was perfect. It didn’t matter who Iannis really was. If he turned out to be a small businessman on Iskos rather than a fisherman, she could live with that. The expression in his eyes, the firm curve of his mouth—that same mouth that had traced a path of sensation over every part of her—everything about him reassured her.

She loved the way he brought the robe tight over her sensitised body, loved the ownership in his firm clasp and the tickling sensation when his warm breath ruffled her hair. This was everything she wanted. She could stay, send back her work to England from Iskos; she didn’t need to go home ever again…this was home.

So why couldn’t she relax? Why was a worm of doubt creeping into her mind again? Charlotte wondered, gazing up to search Iannis’s eyes. Because nothing was as it seemed? Because the man she loved was an illusion, a figment of her imagination?

When you wanted something so badly, wanted to believe in someone so badly, you could talk yourself into anything. But, even accepting that, she wanted to hold reality at bay and lose herself in his piercing gaze. She wanted to believe everything Iannis had made her believe. And, worse still, she ached for her own fanciful ideas about him to be true. Iannis Kiriakos, fisherman of Iskos.

The phrase scorched a path of scorn right through her daydreams. Running her fingers over the dense weave of the blatantly luxurious robe, Charlotte could hardly credit the fact that she was still staring into his eyes, still wanting to believe. It was pathetic. She was pathetic! Mashing her lips together in anger, she dragged her glance away and waited until she had regained some semblance of control, then, turning back to Iannis, she smiled. Let him think she was still sucked into the deception. Then she might at least have the satisfaction of discovering the truth about him.

‘What are you looking so serious about?’ Iannis demanded softly.

There was such power in his voice, such authority—and he knew how to use it, Charlotte realised, feeling it raise all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. ‘Nothing,’ she managed casually.

‘Why don’t I believe you?’ he said, removing the glass from her hand.

‘I don’t know,’ Charlotte murmured. She swallowed convulsively, feeling her senses flare. If she was to go along with this deception she had to go along with all of it, she realised, quivering as Iannis used his hands as a musician might, running them lightly down the length of her arms, only to use a firmer touch as he brought them up to her shoulders again.

‘Kiss me,’ he demanded, dipping his head so that their lips were only a fraction apart.

The music changed. It had to be a compilation Iannis had put together, Charlotte realised, holding her breath as Aretha Franklin started singing.

‘This is wonderful music for—’

‘Dancing,’ Iannis supplied, slipping his hands around her waist to draw her close. ‘Do you like it?’ he murmured, and his mouth was so close to her ear that his breath threw a lasso of sensation around her senses.

Like it? Charlotte wasn’t able to think clearly enough about anything to give him an answer. She wanted only to burrow into Iannis, to drink in his warmth, to relish the way they fit together, like two pieces of the same jigsaw. She was suddenly relaxed, disarmed, completely contented. Her heart felt as if it was about to burst. Was this love? To see a fault in a relationship and refuse to acknowledge it, not allow it to intrude on the depths of your feelings?

She gazed up, knowing her emotions were plainly on show for him to see. But his gaze was hard, and a cold dash of reality intruded. Love was not an issue here, Charlotte realised—there was only lust between them. Lust and suspicion. Love was not a condition she could even contemplate where Iannis Kiriakos was concerned—not if her self-esteem really meant anything.

‘You’d better get dressed,’ he said as the track ended. ‘Your clothes are still in the bathroom.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Charlotte said, stepping back promptly to save her pride. ‘I’ll go and get ready.’

‘Are you hungry?’

The normality of the question made her pause. ‘A little,’ she admitted curiously.

‘I’d better feed you, then. I don’t want you fading away.’

There wasn’t the remotest chance, Charlotte thought, reading the message behind his eyes.

‘Feel free to look around when you’re ready,’ he suggested. ‘I’ll make an omelette. Marianna left some chocolate cake for me—if you’re good, I’ll share it with you.’

‘What do I have to do to be good?’ Charlotte pressed lightly with a provocative smile as she struggled to restore some of her confidence.

‘I’ll think of something,’ Iannis promised, catching hold of her around the waist for another kiss.

He made everything sound so innocent, so normal—if only it could be, Charlotte thought wistfully, softening as Iannis slipped his hand beneath her robe.

‘Theos, you have skin like silk,’ he murmured as Charlotte pressed against him. ‘Be quick,’ he murmured, pulling away. ‘Then come and join me.’

‘Quick’ wasn’t the word for it, Charlotte mused as she rifled through the last cupboard as quietly as she could. Her lightning search of the bathroom had confirmed all her suspicions. The cottage definitely wasn’t his main home—there was no clutter. But she had been surprised to discover an aftershave so exclusive she guessed it was hand-blended. And then there was the black leather Penhaligon toiletry bag, the wet shave kit from Tiffany’s, and a shower with enough power to stop an elephant in its tracks.

Simple fisherman? I think not, Charlotte mused tensely, relieved that she had already made plans to construct her article around an idealised version of the simple fisherman she had first imagined Iannis to be. If he ran a small business, it wasn’t here on Iskos.

A sound outside the door prompted her to replace everything as quickly as she could. Then, checking her appearance briefly in the mirror, Charlotte hurried to join Iannis.

* * *

‘Delicious,’ Charlotte exclaimed, finishing up the last scrap of her omelette. ‘You must be every woman’s dream.’

Iannis cast her an ironic glance. ‘Don’t get used to it,’ he warned as he collected up her plate. ‘I cook when I’m hungry, and that’s it.’

‘It will do for me,’ Charlotte murmured, helping him to load everything in the sink.

‘Will it?’ he said sardonically. ‘So, what do you think of my simple cottage?’

‘I like it a lot,’ Charlotte admitted cautiously. ‘I can see that you have a very good life here,’ she said, going along with the pretence.

‘I do, and I won’t allow anything—or anyone, for that matter—to spoil that for me.’

He dipped his head to look at her as he spoke, so that their eyes were on a level, and Charlotte had to make a conscious effort not to flinch as she looked at him.

‘I can understand that,’ she said, pinning a smile on her face. ‘You’ve got everything you need here.’ For a holiday home, she mused thoughtfully. But the way he talked of his life on Iskos made it sound so much more than that.

‘Some people certainly seem to think so,’ Iannis said, cutting into her thoughts. ‘Now, come here.’

Charlotte knew she should run—run as fast as she could away from this man she knew nothing about—run out of the cottage and out of his life for good. But invisible cords seemed to be drawing her towards him instead.

‘Iannis, I—’

‘Yes,’ he murmured softly, ‘I know. Come here, Charlotte. Come to me.’

He held out his arms to her and she took the single step necessary. Then, tilting her chin so that she had nowhere to look but into his eyes, Iannis brushed his lips very gently against her mouth.

That was all it took. Exhaling a ragged breath, Charlotte softened against him as he swung her into his arms. They didn’t make it as far as the bedroom this time. Laying her down on the padded banquette beneath the window, Iannis stripped off her clothes and lay down beside her as soon as he had rid himself of his own.

Rubbing his beard-roughened face against her fragrant skin, Iannis felt Charlotte quiver with desire as his hands moved around her to claim her breasts. They were both locked into a situation that was rapidly spiralling out of control, he admitted to himself grimly. The practical side was easy—he could handle that the usual way—but this…this was different, he mused, inhaling deeply, wanting to drown in Charlotte’s familiar and intoxicating scent. Even with everything she had tried to do to him, all he wanted was to give her pleasure.

It was madness, he realised, sifting her silky hair through his fingers, but it was a glorious obsession. She was beautiful and—he loved her. Iannis roughly cast the thought aside. Love was for fools. And he was no fool.

He turned his attention to safer matters…to the generous curve of her hip that only the very greatest artist would possess enough skill to lay down on canvas. He traced her shape with his hands, pausing to lavish attention on the swell of her buttocks, and took pleasure in hearing her whimpers of desire as he used his thumbs to part and then relax them again. It was a technique he already knew she loved—the promise of fulfilment held in suspension until she was consumed with desire. And the way he had positioned her meant she could look out across one of the most stunning views in all of Greece while he attended to her needs. He would pleasure all her senses together.

No sensation had ever been greater, Charlotte realised as she pressed herself invitingly into Iannis. No reasoned thoughts could intrude. She was still aroused from their lovemaking, and yet now it seemed he was able to lift her onto an even higher plane of awareness. Her lips were loosely parted and she was utterly relaxed. Iannis had left her with nothing to do but gaze languorously out at a view no money could buy while he worked his magic on her with lips and teeth and devastatingly sensitive fingers. She heard herself purr with delight as she angled herself ready for his possession.

When he entered her it was like a homecoming, and for a moment they were both forced to rest quite still, overcome by sensation, and by an emotional charge that was as unexpected to each of them as it was intensely pleasurable. But then he secured her hips in a firm grip and satisfied all her needs, plunging repeatedly until Charlotte lost count of how many times she climaxed, and only knew that she was lost in an erotic maelstrom from which she never wanted to escape.

He had chosen music for lovers, she thought, when he slowed his strokes to accord with the easy beat. It ought to be available on prescription—though she hardly qualified for help in that direction now. As she sighed with contentment Iannis changed position, moving on top of her.

‘That was a heavy sigh,’ he growled softly. ‘Not one of regret, I hope?’

Charlotte pushed the shadows away as she smiled at him, lifting her arms to link her hands behind his head. ‘I wish this moment could last for ever,’ she said honestly. And that reality might never intrude.

‘Iskos is a mystical, magical island,’ Iannis warned softly. ‘It may call you back.’

‘I’m sure it will,’ Charlotte agreed thoughtfully, and then she wondered what she had said to make him so tense.

Easing out of her, Iannis had pushed away from the banquette and straightened up. He swiped his clothes off the floor and moved towards the door.

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