Читать книгу The Tycoon's Mistress - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 8

IN SPITE of all Cressy’s misgivings about the risks of her situation—and they were many and various—she supposed she had better accept Draco’s offer of food. One placatory gesture, she told herself, and then she would go.

If she was allowed to, said a small, unpleasant voice in her head. She’d seen his athleticism when he was dancing. She might be able to out-think him, but did she really imagine she could outrun him up that lethal track?

So much for striking out and being independent, she derided herself. She should have stayed safely in the hotel precincts.

She had expected she would have to force a few mouthfuls past the unremitting tightness of her throat, but to her astonishment the lamb, which had been roasted with herbs and was served with a light lemon dressing and sliced black olives, tasted absolutely wonderful, and she finished every bite.

‘It was good?’ Draco asked as Cressy wiped her lips and fingers on a tissue.

‘It was terrific,’ she admitted. She gave him a taut smile. ‘You speak English very well.’

His own smile was slow, touched with overt reminiscence. ‘I had good teachers.’

‘Women, no doubt,’ Cressy heard herself saying tartly, and could have bitten her tongue in half. The last thing she needed to do was antagonise him, and his personal life was none of her business anyway, so what had possessed her to make such a comment?

She saw his face harden, the firm mouth suddenly compressed. For a moment she felt the crackle of tension in the air between them like live electricity, then, totally unexpectedly, he began to laugh.

‘You are astute, thespinis.’ Propped on one elbow, he gave her a long and leisurely assessment, missing nothing, making her feel naked under his agate gaze. ‘But my grammar—my pronunciation—are not perfect. I am sure there is room for improvement—with the right help.’

Cressy was burning from head to foot, and it had nothing to do with the sun.

She said, ‘I’m afraid that you’ll have to find another tutor, kyrie. I’m not in the market.’

‘Life has taught me that most things are for sale, kyria—if the price is right.’

There was real danger here. Every instinct she possessed was screaming it at her.

She said coolly and clearly, ‘But I am not. And now I think I’d better go.’

‘As you wish.’ The powerful shoulders lifted in a negligent shrug. ‘But understand this. I take only what is freely given. Nothing more. And, in any case, you are the stranger within my gates, and you have eaten my bread, so you have nothing to fear.’

He lifted himself lithely to his feet. ‘Now I am going to swim. Naturally, I hope you will still be here when I return, but the choice is yours, kyria.’

For a moment he stood looking down at her. He said softly, ‘So beautiful, and such a sharp tongue. And yet so afraid of life. What a pity.’

The damned nerve of him, Cressy seethed, watching him lope down the sand. Translating her natural caution into cowardice.

And, for all his assurances, it was quite obvious that he was just another good-looking Greek on the make. She’d seen it happening at the hotel. Watched them targeting the single women, the divorcees, the ones with hunger in their eyes.

Cressy had avoided their attentions by being busy and absorbed.

But I should have known I couldn’t escape for ever, she thought angrily.

Except that she could. Draco was swimming strongly away from the beach. She could see the darkness of his head against the glitter of the sea.

All she had to do was grab her things, put on her shoes, and she would be free.

Free to go back to the village and wait for the evening ferry, at any rate, she reminded herself with an inward groan. Where Draco would know exactly where to find her…

She was caught in a trap of her own making, it seemed. And to sneak away as if she was genuinely scared appeared oddly demeaning anyway.

It would certainly be more dignified to stay where she was. To treat any overtures he might make with cool and dismissive courtesy. And then return to the village in time for a meal at the taverna and her homeward boat trip exactly as she’d planned.

Maybe Draco needed to learn that, for all his good looks and sexual charisma, not all tourists were pushovers.

And he’d virtually guaranteed that she was safe with him, that traditional Greek hospitality would remain paramount, and, in a strange way, she believed him.

Unless, of course, she chose differently. And there was no chance of that.

So she would stay—for a while. Because she was in control of the situation.

But only because he’s allowing you to be, niggled the small, irritating voice.

Ignoring it, Cressy reapplied her sun cream, put on her dark glasses and reached for the book she’d brought with her.

When Draco came back he’d find her composed and occupied, and not prepared to be involved in any more verbal tangles.

Distance was the thing, she told herself. And this beach was quite big enough for both of them.

She did not hear his return up the beach—he moved with the noiseless, feline grace of a panther—but she sensed that he was there, just the same. She kept her shoulder slightly turned and her eyes fixed rigidly on the printed page, a silent indication that the story was too gripping to brook interruption.

At the same time she’d expected her signals to be ignored. That he’d at least make some comment about her decision to remain. But as the soundless minutes passed Cressy realised she might be mistaken.

She ventured a swift sideways look, and saw with unreasoning annoyance that Draco was lying face down on his towel, his eyes closed, apparently fast asleep.

She bit her lip, and turned her page with a snap.

But it was all to no avail, she realised five minutes later. She simply couldn’t concentrate. She was far too conscious of the man stretched out beside her.

She closed her book and studied him instead. She wondered how old he was. At least thirty, she surmised. Probably slightly more. He wore no jewellery—no medallions, earrings or other gifts from grateful ladies. Just an inexpensive wristwatch, she noted. And no wedding ring either, although that probably meant nothing. If part of his livelihood involved charming foreign woman holidaymakers, he would hardly want to advertise the fact that he was married.

And she could just imagine his poor wife, she thought with asperity, staring up at the sky. Dressed in the ubiquitous black, cooking, cleaning and working in the fields and olive groves while her husband pursued his other interests on the beaches and beside the swimming pools on Alakos—and nice work if you could get it.

‘So what have you decided about me?’

Cressy, starting violently, turned her head and found Draco watching her, his mouth twisted in amusement and all signs of slumber fled.

There was no point in pretending or prevaricating. She said flatly, ‘I don’t have enough evidence to make a judgement.’

His brows lifted. ‘What can I tell you?’

‘Nothing.’ Cressy shrugged. ‘After all, it’s unlikely that we’ll meet again. Let’s be content to remain strangers.’

‘That is truly what you want?’ His tone was curious.

‘I’ve just said so.’

‘Then why did you stare at me as if you were trying to see into my heart?’

‘Is that what I was doing?’ Cressy made a business of applying more sun cream to her legs. ‘I—I didn’t realise.’

He shook his head reprovingly. ‘Another foolish lie, matia mou.’

Cressy replaced the cap on the sun cream as if she was wringing someone’s neck.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘If you want to play silly games. What do you do for a living, kyrie?’

He lifted a shoulder. ‘A little of this. A little of that.’

I can imagine. Aloud, she said, ‘That’s hardly an answer. I suppose the caique moored in the next cove is yours, and I’ve seen you dance, so I’d guess you’re primarily a fisherman but you also do hotel work entertaining the guests. Am I right?’

‘I said you were astute, thespinis,’ he murmured. ‘You read me as you would a balance sheet.’

‘It really wasn’t that difficult.’

‘Truly?’ There was slight mockery in his tone. ‘Now, shall I tell you about you, I wonder?’

‘There’s very little to say,’ Cressy said swiftly. ‘You already know what my work is.’

‘Ah.’ The dark eyes held hers steadily for a moment. ‘But I was not thinking of work.’ He got to his feet, dusting sand from his legs. ‘However, you have reminded me, thespinis, that I cannot enjoy the sun and your company any longer. I have to prepare for this evening’s performance.’ He slung his towel over his shoulder and picked up his rucksack.

He smiled down at her. ‘Kalispera, matia mou.’

‘You keep calling me that, kyrie,’ Cressy said with a snap, angrily aware of an odd disappointment at his departure. ‘What does it mean?’

For one fleeting moment his hand brushed her cheek, pushing back an errant strand of silky hair.

He said softly, ‘It means “my eyes”. And my name, if you recall, is Draco. Until we meet again.’

He’d hardly touched her, Cressy repeated to herself for the fourth or fifth time. There was nothing to get upset about. He’d pushed her hair behind her ear, and that was all. He hadn’t touched her breast or any of her exposed skin, as he could so easily have done.

All that time she’d carefully kept her distance. Built the usual invisible wall around herself.

And then, with one brief, casual gesture, he’d invaded her most personal space. And there hadn’t been a damned thing she could do about it.

Oh, there’d been nothing overtly sexual in his touch—she couldn’t accuse him of that—yet she’d felt the tingle of her body’s response in the innermost core of her being. Known a strange, draining languor as he had walked away. And a sharp, almost primitive need to call him back again.

And that was what she couldn’t accept—couldn’t come to terms with. That sudden dangerous weakness. The unexpected vulnerability.

God knows what I’d have done if he’d really come on to me, she brooded unhappily.

But the most galling aspect of all was that he’d been the one who’d chosen to leave, and not herself.

I should have gone the moment I woke up and saw him there, Cressy told herself in bitter recrimination. I should have been very English and very outraged at having my privacy disturbed. End of story.

For that matter, the story was over now, she admitted with an inward shrug. She just hadn’t been the one to write Finis, that was all. And, while she might regret it, there was no need to eat her heart out either.

When she’d heard the thrum of the caique’s engine as it passed the cove she’d tried hard to keep her attention fixed on her book. When she’d finally risked a quick glance she had found, to her fury, that he was waving to her from the tiller.

But at least he had been sailing in the opposite direction to the harbour, and she wouldn’t run the risk of bumping into him there while she was waiting for the ferry.

And now she had the cove to herself again, just as she’d wanted. Except that it was no longer the peaceful sanctuary that she’d discovered a few hours before. Because she felt restless, suddenly, and strangely dissatisfied.

She wanted to cry out, It’s all spoiled, like an angry, thwarted child.

But there was nothing to be gained by sitting about counting her wrongs, she thought with a saving grace of humour.

She went for a last swim, relishing the freshness of the water now a slight breeze had risen, hoping wryly that it would cool her imagination as well as her body.

She collected the bicycle and stood for a moment, debating what to do next. It was too early for dinner and, now that the searing afternoon heat had abated, she decided she might as well see what remained of Myros. It was only a small island, and the circular tour would probably take no more than an hour.

It was very much a working island, she soon realised. The interior might be rocky and inhospitable, but on the lower slopes fields had been ploughed and vines and olives were being cultivated, along with orchards of citrus fruits. The scattered hamlets she passed through seemed prosperous enough, and the few people she encountered offered friendly smiles and greetings.

And, contrary to what Yannis had suggested, the road to the north of the island even had some sort of surface.

So Cressy was disconcerted to find her path suddenly blocked by tall wrought-iron gates and a stone wall.

It seemed that the public road had suddenly become private.

Cressy dismounted and tried the gates, but they were securely locked and she could only rattle them in mild frustration. Beyond them she could see a drive winding upwards between olive groves, then, intriguingly, curving away out of sight, making it impossible to guess what lay further on.

She walked along the side of the wall for a while, but it seemed to stretch for ever, and eventually she was forced to retrace her steps.

Apparently, a whole section of the island had been turned into a no-go area. And all she could do was turn back.

After that disappointment, the puncture was almost inevitable.

Cressy brought her untrustworthy steed to a juddering halt and surveyed the damage, cursing herself mentally for having been lured into such an extensive trip.

Now she was faced with a long walk back to the port, pushing the bicycle.

The breeze had strengthened, whipping up the dust from the road and sending irritating particles into her eyes and mouth. She’d finished her water some time before, and she felt hot, thirsty and out of sorts. What was more, she suspected she was getting a blister on her foot.

From now on, she promised herself, she’d confine her activities to the grounds of the Hellenic Imperial.

She’d limped on for another quarter of a mile when she heard the sound of a vehicle on the road behind her.

‘More dust,’ she muttered, dragging herself and the bicycle on to the stony verge.

A battered pick-up truck roared past, but not before Cressy had managed to catch a glimpse of the driver.

She said a despairing, ‘Oh, no—it can’t be…’ as the truck braked sharply and began to reverse back to where she was standing.

He said, ‘How good to meet again so soon. I did not expect it.’

She said crisply, ‘Nor I. You were on board a boat, kyrie. Now you’re driving a truck. What next, I wonder?’

‘Probably my own two feet, thespinis—like you.’ Draco slanted a smile at her through the open window. ‘Get in, and I will drive you back to the port.’

‘I’m enjoying the walk,’ Cressy said regally, and he sighed.

‘More lies, matia mou. When will you learn?’ He swung himself down from the truck, picked up the bicycle and tossed it onto a pile of sacks in the back of the vehicle, then gave Cressy a measuring look. ‘You wish to travel like that, or with me?’

Glaring at him, Cressy scrambled into the passenger seat. ‘Do you always get your own way?’

He shrugged. ‘Why not?’

She could think of a hundred reasons without repeating herself, but she said nothing, sitting beside him in mutinous silence as the pick-up lurched down the track.

At least he’d changed out of those appalling shorts, she thought, stealing a lightning glance from under her lashes. He was now wearing clean but faded jeans and a white shirt, open at the neck with the sleeves turned back over his tanned forearms. And he seemed to have shaved.

All ready for the evening conquests, no doubt.

After a while, he said, ‘You are not in a very good mood after your day on the beach.’

Cressy shrugged. ‘It started well,’ she said stonily. ‘Then went downhill fast.’

‘As you tried to do on Yannis’s bicycle?’ He was grinning. ‘Not wise.’

‘So I discovered,’ she admitted tautly. ‘Now all I want is to get back to Alakos.’

‘You don’t like my island?’

‘It isn’t that at all,’ she denied swiftly. ‘But I’m hot, dusty, and my hair’s full of salt. I need a shower, a cold drink and a meal.’

‘Katavaleno. I understand.’ He swerved to avoid a major pothole. ‘So, tell me what you think of Myros?’