Читать книгу Won by the Wealthy Greek: The Greek's Seven-Day Seduction / Constantinou's Mistress / The Greek Doctor's Rescue - Кэтти Уильямс, Susan Stephens, Cathy Williams - Страница 15

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.