Her Greek Groom: The Tycoon's Mistress / Smokescreen Marriage / His Forbidden Bride. Sara Craven
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under her rock, she towelled herself down, applied sun cream with a lavish hand, drank some more water, then lay down on her front. She reached behind her and undid the clip of her bikini top. A suntan might not be fashionable, but it was inevitable that she would gain a little colour in this heat, and she didn’t want any unsightly marks to spoil the effect in the low-backed dresses she’d brought.
She felt bonelessly relaxed, even a little drowsy, as she pillowed her cheek on her folded arms.
There’s nothing I can’t handle, she told herself with satisfaction as she drifted off to sleep.
She would never be certain what woke her. There was just an odd feeling of disquiet—a sudden chill, as if a cloud had covered the sun—that permeated her pleasant dream and broke its spell.
Cressy forced open her unwilling eyelids. For a moment she could see nothing, because the dazzle of the sun was too strong.
Then, slowly, she realised that she was no longer alone.
That there was someone lying on the sand beside her, only a few feet away. Someone tall and bronzed in denim shorts, who was—dear God—smiling at her.
She wanted to scream, but her throat muscles seemed suddenly paralysed. And she couldn’t move either because she’d undone her top.
When she found her voice, it sounded small and husky. ‘What do you want?’
His smile widened. His mouth, she saw, was firm, although his lower lip had a betrayingly sensuous curve, and his teeth were very white. For the rest of him, he had a straight nose, just fractionally too long for classical beauty, strongly accented cheekbones, and deepset eyes the colour of agate flecked with gold.
He also needed a shave.
He said, ‘Why did you not come down and dance with me?’ His voice was deep, with a distinct undercurrent of amusement, and he spoke in English.
It was the last thing she’d expected him to say, and for a moment she was stunned. Then she rallied.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Ah, no.’ He shook his head reprovingly. ‘You should not tell lies—especially when you are so bad at it. Your eyes will always give you away.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Cressy said with hostility. ‘And also impertinent. You know nothing about me.’
‘I know that you were watching me from the cliff, and then you ran away.’ The return was imperturbable.
‘I didn’t run,’ Cressy said with as much dignity as she could evoke when she was lying, prone, wearing only the bottom half of a bikini. ‘I just wanted to find some peace and quiet. And I didn’t mean to disturb you. Please go back to your—rehearsal.’
‘That is finished for the day. Now it is time to eat.’ He reached behind him and produced a small rucksack.
Cressy groaned inwardly. How on earth was she going to get rid of him, she wondered wildly, without insulting his Greek machismo? She was uneasily aware of how isolated this little beach was. And that they were both almost naked. The last thing she needed to do was provoke him in any way. Even to anger.
She made a business of looking at her watch. ‘So, it is. Well, I must get back to the village. Yannis is expecting me to eat at his taverna.’
‘But not in the middle of the day,’ he said. ‘In the middle of the day he likes to drink coffee and play tavli. He’ll cook for you tonight.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Cressy made a discreet effort to fasten the hook on her bikini top. ‘I have to get the evening ferry back to Alakos.’
Her unwanted neighbour watched her struggles with interest, but didn’t volunteer his assistance as she’d been half afraid he might. ‘You are staying in a hotel on Alakos?’
‘Yes.’ At the third attempt, Cressy managed the hook, and felt marginally more secure. ‘At the Hellenic Imperial.’
‘The Imperial? Po po po.’ His dark brows lifted. ‘You would need to be very rich to stay at such a place.’
‘Not at all,’ Cressy said with a certain crispness, wondering if he was planning to kidnap her and hold her to ransom. ‘I work for my living like everyone else.’
‘Ah—you are a model, perhaps—or an actress?’ He produced a paper bag from his rucksack and opened it. Cressy saw that it contained pitta bread with some kind of filling.
‘Of course not,’ she denied swiftly. ‘I work in an office—as a taxation accountant.’ She reached for her shirt. ‘And now I must be going.’
‘It is a long time until evening—and your ferry.’ He divided the envelope of pitta bread into two and held out half to her, using the paper bag as a plate.
‘No,’ Cressy said. ‘It’s very kind of you, but I couldn’t—possibly.’
He leaned across and put the improvised plate on the corner of her towel.
‘Why are you frightened?’ He sounded as if he was merely expressing a friendly interest.
‘I’m not.’
He sighed. ‘You are lying again, matia mou. Now eat, and tell me about your work in England, and later we will swim. And do not tell me you cannot swim,’ he added, as her lips parted in negation, ‘because I too was watching.’
Cressy sat very upright. She said, quietly and coldly. ‘Does it occur to you, kyrie, that I might not want to spend the afternoon with you? That I prefer to be alone?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But that will change when you know me better. And no one so young and so lovely should wish to be alone. It is a sad thing.’
There was lamb tucked into the pitta bread. The scent of it was making her mouth water.
She glared at him. ‘I’ve no taste for meaningless compliments, kyrie.’
He said, ‘Nor do I, thespinis. You know that you are young, so accept that you are also beautiful. And my name is Draco.’ He smiled at her. ‘Now eat your food, and don’t be afraid any more.’
But that, thought Cressy, looking down at the pattern on the towel—or anywhere rather than at him—that was easier said than done.
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