The Mediterranean Millionaire's Mistress. Maggie Cox
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very aware of the silent but strong clamour of emotion surging through her heart.
‘Ianthe?’ Lysander prompted gently, his hand reaching for hers.
Contact with his firm, warm flesh was like being seared with a branding iron, and for a moment she was caught up in a vortex of shock and heat that robbed her of speech.
‘I’m not brave at all,’ she insisted after a while, her shock slowly subsiding as she stared down at her small slender hand, held possessively captive in his. ‘I’ve been the opposite all my life. Always playing safe, always erring on the side of caution. My parents tried to protect me from everything, you see, and I’m afraid I just let them.’
‘But now you are breaking free, yes? Like a beautiful butterfly emerging from a chrysalis.’
His words caused such a swell of emotion inside her that Ianthe pulled her hand free and rubbed it, biting down on her softly quivering lip to prevent herself from disgracing herself with tears. She had to change the subject to something less personal. ‘This is such a beautiful place…have you always lived here?’
She was determined to bring their conversation back to much more neutral and safe ground. When Lysander didn’t immediately reply, but instead surveyed her as though he understood every raw emotion that was threatening to submerge her—and understood it intimately, as though he was a kindred spirit—Ianthe found she couldn’t look away from him, no matter how hard she tried.
‘I don’t live here. I only visit now and then. I have a house on the island, and whenever I need to get away for a while…this is where I come. I live in Athens. And, yes, I agree with you, this is a beautiful place. It is a good place to come when you have lots of thinking about life to do.’ His voice was gently humorous, but not in any way derisive.
‘Is that why you’re here too?’ she asked him, feeling as though she stood precariously on the edge of a precipice that hypnotically begged her to leap into space. She took a hasty sip of the chilled white wine he had ordered for them with their meal, but her hand was trembling as her fingers curled round the stem of the glass.
Surprisingly his jaw clenched a little, as if her question disturbed him.
‘No. I am here on a kind of working vacation.’
‘Taking photographs, you mean?’
‘Ianthe?’
‘Yes?’
Startled by the suddenly authoritative tone in his voice, she felt her brown eyes collide anxiously with his searing gaze, like the fragile wings of a moth bumping against the dangerous yet compelling heat of a lightbulb.
‘As flattering as it is to have a woman so easily persuade me to talk about myself, I am much more interested in learning about you than in answering all your very polite questions about my own life.’
He was being perfectly serious. Especially since holding her hand just now had engulfed him in the kind of heat that stirred the blood to passion rather than friendship. Just an hour or so ago he had been feeling angry and in despair—hating his own morose company, but still unable to contemplate spending time with anyone else. And yet now…now, after being with the sweet, sexy woman sitting opposite him for just a few short minutes, he felt more vitality throbbing through his veins than he had experienced in months.
‘I don’t really want to talk about myself, if you don’t mind,’ she replied. ‘I’d just like to sit here and enjoy the sunshine and your company, and forget about my problems for a while. Is that all right with you?’
Apart from taking her to bed and tangling his limbs with hers for the rest of the afternoon in the trapped heat of his bedroom, with the blinds rolled down to shield them from the unforgiving sun, Lysander couldn’t think of anything he’d like better.
‘You don’t ask for much. And I would be happy to sit here and do just that.’ He raised his glass to her in the semblance of a toast. ‘I am very fortunate to have met you today, Ianthe. I thought it would be a day just like any other, but meeting you has proved me wrong, I do believe.’
Feeling her face radiate a heat to match that of the sun’s rays, Ianthe met his warm, searching glance with mixed feelings of pleasure and alarm fizzing inside her like lemonade bubbles. Turning her head away, she deliberately focused on the sublime scenery instead—silently and fervently calling upon divine help to prevent her from dangerously succumbing to the myriad and infinitely fascinating qualities of this wildly attractive and unusual man.
Lysander had been unable to resist inviting Ianthe to join him for dinner. He’d refused to consider the question of whether it was wise of him or not, and now he could barely contain his great desire to see her again as he sat at one of the best tables on the terrace of an exquisitely positioned restaurant overlooking a presently calm ocean, the sun almost ready to demand homage as it set.
He spied Ianthe at the entrance, talking to an animated young waiter, and his chest tightened oddly at the sight of her. Even though she stood several tables away from him, he could sense the hum of admiring interest that her appearance was generating. He experienced a small, yet almost violent reflex low down in his belly—part jealousy, part pride that for tonight at least she was his—and with every moment that passed he realised he was growing more and more impatient for her to join him.
She was wearing a simple red and white halter-necked cotton dress that paid loving homage to breast, hip and thigh before flaring slightly and falling elegantly to just below her knees. With her rich dark hair as shiny as a sunlit river flowing prettily down her slim back she was stunning, and observing her in those arresting few moments gave Lysander a picture that he would not soon forget. Sensual excitement dealt him another stunning blow.
He stood up as she arrived at their table, the young waiter deferentially arranging the chair opposite his for her to sit, and flushing ever so slightly beneath his perfect olive skin. Lysander guessed that perhaps the young man was embarrassed at being noticed talking so animatedly to the wealthy Lysander Rosakis’s new ladyfriend.
Thanking him in his native tongue for showing his guest to his table, Lysander waited until his charming dinner companion sat down before addressing her.
‘I am very glad that you could make it,’ he asserted, his gaze locking possessively onto her shy brown eyes.
‘Am I late?’ she anxiously returned, glancing down at her watch in dismay. ‘It was such a perfectly lovely evening that I couldn’t resist just strolling.’
‘I arrived early, so, no, you are not late. You are just in time to witness one of the most spectacular sunsets, in fact.’
They both glanced towards the blazing orb hovering just above the sea’s edge, sending a ricochet of intense orange flame scudding across the already darkening waters. Ianthe sucked in her breath.
Hearing the unbelievably sensual little sound, Lysander felt the smile on his lips melt abruptly away—so taken aback was he by her innocent yet at the same time passionate response to witnessing one of nature’s most awe-inspiring wonders.
‘Doesn’t that stir your soul?’ she demanded, her eyes wide, briefly moving her glance back to Lysander’s.
Marianna had never noticed a sunset in her life. He doubted it would ever have occurred to her to consider whether she had a soul, let alone ask him about his. Ianthe’s words struck an answering chord inside him, deeply and provocatively.
‘Yes, it does,’ he replied, his voice low and slightly husky. ‘No matter how many times I am privileged to witness it, its beauty and power never fail to move me.’
He had the most amazing voice, Ianthe thought as a flare of heat exploded inside her breast. Hearing it was like bathing in a warm bath scented with her favourite perfume. In fact, it was one of the most delicious sensory experiences she’d ever had…perfect for seduction.
The all too tempting idea escaped her characteristic self-restraint like wild horses chasing a dream, and for a while Ianthe succumbed to it with undeniable