The Tycoon's Mistress. Sara Craven
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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.
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