Читать книгу His Forbidden Bride - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 7

I’M MAKING altogether too much of this, Zoe told herself determinedly. He’s gone. And it’s time I pulled myself together, and forgot about him.

She’d had a wonderful swim, and now, having applied sun lotion to every exposed portion of her skin, she was stretched out on her towel with her book. But she could not concentrate on the printed words. They seemed to dance away out of reach, leaving her to focus almost helplessly on a dark face, with eyes that smiled, looking up at her from the foot of a marble staircase.

In a way it was understandable that he should be imprinted so firmly on her mind. After all, he’d caught her in the act of having a humiliating snoop on private property. He could have handed her over to the police, or even exacted a very different form of retribution, she thought, swallowing.

But she had to put all that behind her now, and plan her next move instead.

I’m here for a purpose, she told herself strongly. And I’m certainly not a lonely heart tourist looking for a holiday romance with some Greek version of Casanova.

Or even a mild flirtation, she made the hasty addendum. Although, to someone like him, it would probably be as natural as breathing. See a woman. Chat her up. Tell her that she’s beautiful and desirable. Make her day.

Well, it hasn’t made my day, she thought, broodingly.

She sat up, rummaging in her bag for her bottle of water. There wasn’t a great deal left, she realised with a frown. She would have to ration herself.

She tossed her book aside, and turned onto her front, undoing the clasp of her bikini top. A little serious sunbathing, she decided, and then she would go back to the hotel, and sit in the shade with a cold drink.

She pillowed her head on her folded arms, and closed her eyes. The murmur of the sea seemed to fill her head, soothing away the doubts and alarms of the day.

It’s just so perfect here, she thought drowsily as everything slid away. It seemed that she was standing in front of Gina’s picture, stepping into it like Alice, and entering its world. Retracing her steps in slow motion through every room. Taking a dream-like possession.

She did not fall deeply asleep. She was aware of sand under her fingers, the texture of the towel beneath her bare breasts, and the strength of the sun on her back, like the caress of warm hands. She sighed a little, wriggling her shoulders slowly and pleasurably, then let herself drift again.

Until she found herself once more at the top of the stairs—looking down. Meeting his gaze. And, this time, watching him walk up the steps towards her…

She came back to reality with a sudden jolt, heart thudding. She propped herself up on an elbow, staring around her in sudden, inexplicable alarm, but the rest of the beach was deserted.

She sank back onto the towel with a little groan of relief, then paused, her brows snapping together. Because the bottle of sun lotion that she’d replaced in her bag after use was there in front of her on the sand, propped against an insulated cool-box, which had appeared from nowhere.

Both of them telling her quite clearly that, although she might be alone now, she’d had company quite recently. While she’d been asleep, in fact, and vulnerable.

Her throat tightened as she smelt the distinctive scent of freshly applied lotion on her skin, and remembered the vivid sensation of stroking hands on her bare back. And her drowsy, sensuous reaction…

Oh, God, she thought, he’d been here—touching her. Seeing her next door to naked. And making no secret of it either. Feverishly, she snatched up her bikini top, and fastened it round her with shaking hands. Locking the stable door, she realised, after the horse was long gone.

He’d said he was leaving, she thought numbly. She’d heard him drive off. And now he’d come sneaking back. All Adele’s warnings returned in Technicolor to haunt her. To tell her to get out while the going was good.

She grabbed her bag, and pushed her book and the sun lotion into it. He’d mentioned another way off the beach that Sherry used, and she didn’t care how steep or stony it was. It would certainly be safer than going up to the villa, and encountering him again.

Then as she reached for her dress she saw him coming down the steps, a sun umbrella under one arm, and a bottle of water in his other hand. And a towel, she noted, draped round his shoulders.

Too late to run now, she thought, cursing under her breath. She got to her feet, and watched him approach, hands on her hips.

She said glacially, ‘I thought you had other duties elsewhere.’

‘I also have a lunch break.’ He indicated the cool-box, apparently oblivious to the hostility in her tone. ‘I thought you might like to share some food with me.’

‘Then you thought wrong.’ She gave him the full glare that worked so well with stroppy teenagers, both eyes like lasers.

‘As you wish.’ His own tone was equable. ‘But at least drink some of this water I have brought for you. It is dangerous to become dehydrated, and your own supply has nearly gone.’

He pushed the tip of the umbrella he was carrying deep into the sand, and adjusted it, so the shade fell across her towel.

‘You dared to go through my things…’

He shrugged. ‘I was looking for the lotion to put on your back. You were in danger of burning. I saw then how little water you had.’

Oh, God, he made it all sound so bloody reasonable, she raged inwardly. As if his motives were of the purest.

She said stiffly, ‘I’m sure you meant to be kind…’

‘Is that what I intended?’ He grinned at her. ‘Well, maybe. A little. Or, perhaps, I was thinking how angry my employer would be if he found you were in the clinic with first-degree burns or heatstroke, and unable to talk business with him.’ He held the bottle of water out to her. ‘Now drink some of this.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ she denied swiftly. ‘I’m going back to the hotel. I can get a drink there.’

‘I see.’ He was quiet for a meditative moment. ‘Have you been to Greece many times before?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘This is actually my first visit, but…’

‘But it is wiser to rest in the heat of the day,’ he supplied decisively. ‘And not go walking when there is no necessity.’ He put the bottle down on her towel, and paused. ‘Don’t you like the beach?’

‘It’s perfect,’ Zoe said shortly.

‘Until I came to spoil it for you,’ he added drily. ‘You have a very eloquent face, thespinis.’

‘Yet you seem determined to stay, all the same.’ She observed him spreading his towel on the sand with misgiving.

‘I come every day at this time,’ he said. ‘Whereas you, thespinis, are here only at my invitation.’ He allowed that to sink in. ‘And the beach is surely big enough for us to share for a short while.’

‘I’m not sure your employer would agree,’ she said tautly. ‘Does he know this is how you spend your time?’

‘He would certainly consider it one of my duties to offer hospitality to his guest.’

‘I am not,’ she said. ‘His guest. Officially. And you have a very strange idea of hospitality.’

‘Why?’ His brows lifted. ‘I have brought you food, drink and shelter.’ He stood, hands on hips, and looked her up and down slowly, and with unconcealed appreciation, his eyes lingering on the smooth rise of her breasts above the flimsy cups of her bikini. ‘But if there is any requirement I have not supplied, you have only to tell me,’ he added silkily.

‘Thank you,’ Zoe said through gritted teeth. ‘You’ve already done more than enough.’

He laughed. ‘Then shall we declare a truce, thespinis? It is too beautiful a day to fight. And if you won’t eat with me, at least drink some water.’

Zoe gave him a mutinous look, then knelt, and carefully decanted some of the water he’d brought into her own container. ‘Thank you.’ Stonily, she placed the bottle on the outermost corner of the towel, where he had now stretched himself, very much at his ease.

‘Efharisto,’ he corrected, lazily. ‘If you are going to stay on the island for any length of time, you need to learn a little Greek.’

‘I have a phrase book,’ she said. ‘So I don’t need personal tutoring—thanks.’

His brows drew together. ‘You also have attitude,’ he told her drily. ‘Maybe you could learn, instead, a little philoxenia—the Greek warmth towards strangers. Because others may not understand.’

‘Perhaps,’ Zoe said, lifting her chin coolly, ‘this is not a situation where warmth is advisable.’

He propped himself up on one elbow and looked at her measuringly. ‘What makes you so nervous?’ he asked. ‘You think that I intend, maybe, to force myself upon you?’ He shook his head. ‘No, thespinis. In the first place, it is far too hot. In the second, rape has no appeal for me.’

He lay back, looking up at the cloudless sky, lacing his fingers behind his head, his voice meditative.

‘I prefer a cool room, with the shutters drawn, a comfortable bed, a bottle of good wine, and a girl who wishes to be with me as much as I want her.’

He turned his head, sending her a faint smile. ‘And nothing less will do. So, you see, you are quite safe.’

Her face warmed. She said huskily, ‘You paint—a vivid picture.’

‘And, I hope, a reassuring one.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Oh, yes.’ And tried to subdue the betraying quiver deep inside her.

‘Enough to tell me your name?’

She hesitated. ‘It’s—Zoe.’

‘A Greek name,’ he approved softly. ‘And I am Andreas.’ He paused. ‘So now that we are properly acquainted, will you share some lunch with me?’

There seemed no good reason to refuse. And perhaps it would be sensible to be a little conciliatory to someone who might be in a position to help her.

So she gave a constrained smile, and murmured, ‘That would be—nice.’

The cool-box contained cold chicken, a bag of salad leaves, black olives, tomatoes, feta cheese and some fresh bread. There was also, she noted, a plastic box containing dark grapes and peaches, as well as two chilled bottles of beer, two glasses wrapped in napkins, paper plates, and some cutlery.

This had never been planned as a solitary meal, she thought. And her agreement, it seemed, had been taken for granted. But then he probably didn’t get many refusals, she thought, with an inward grimace. And at least he’d brought beer, and not the bottle of good wine he’d mentioned earlier. So attempted seduction did not appear to be on the menu.

It was also clear that she was expected to set out the plates, and divide the food between them. Woman’s work, she supposed with irony. And found herself wondering who had assembled the picnic in the first place.

Yet, in spite of her reservations, she enjoyed the meal. The chicken was succulent and the olives and tomatoes had a superb tangy flavour that made those in the supermarket at home seem pallid by comparison.

‘Would you like a peach?’ He peeled it for her deftly, and she watched his hands, observing the long fingers and well-kept nails. Pretty fastidious for a gardener, she thought. And although his deep voice with its husky timbre was faintly accented, his English seemed faultless.

Andreas, she thought, and wondered…

The fruit was marvellous, too, ripe and sweet, although she was embarrassed to find the juice running down her chin, and into the cleft between her breasts. Something that was not lost on him, she realised with vexation, trying to mop herself discreetly with her napkin.

To deflect his attention, she said, ‘Do you like gardening?’

‘I enjoy seeing the results,’ he said. ‘Why? Are you thinking of hiring my services when you come to live at the house?’

She dried her fingers. ‘I haven’t given it a thought,’ she fibbed.

He shrugged a shoulder. ‘Then think of it now.’

‘Are you so much in demand?’

‘Of course,’ he said promptly. ‘But I could be persuaded to make time for you in my busy schedule.’

He either had the biggest ego in the western world, Zoe told herself seething, or it was a wind-up, and she was sure it was the latter.

But whichever it was, it remained light years away from the taciturn attitude of Mr Harbutt, who wore heavy boots and corduroy trousers summer and winter, and smelled faintly of compost, and who’d done the heavy digging at the cottage for her mother.

She said coolly, ‘I think you could prove too expensive for me.’

‘You devastate me,’ Andreas said lightly. ‘Perhaps we could work out a deal together—some kind of reciprocal arrangement.’ He watched her stiffen, then went on silkily, ‘Much of the island’s economy is conducted on the barter system. If you are to live here you will have to accustom yourself.’ He paused. ‘Tell me, Zoe mou, what do you do for a living?’