Mediterranean Seduction. Кэрол Мортимер
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long all the more for pressure, for confinement, and all the subliminal messages that could pass between a man and woman through the merest adjustment of a finger. But as they eased into the slow steps of the dance Iannis continued to hold her at a distance, until Charlotte felt as if she was skirting the fringes of a hurricane and could only hope that at any moment she might be sucked in and lost.
She tried to act cool while she lost herself in sensation, and all the time Iannis kept her steady and in step with him, using the same maddeningly light touch.
What better revenge could she exact for his arrogance than this? Allowing Iannis to arouse her without giving him the satisfaction of knowing what was happening. A contented smile curled around Charlotte’s lips as she relished the softening, swelling and yielding sensations that came with the moist preparations her body was making. The fact that it was her secret only made the tiny but delicious spasms all the more intense. Her fisherman’s power might be awesome, and the forces he could unleash immense, but she had his measure now. He liked to tease and provoke—and that was one game in which she could excel too.
But the only trouble with subterfuge was that it didn’t bring satisfaction—the heat gathering between her thighs bore witness to that. And the longer they danced together the greater grew Charlotte’s need for release. Finally she was aching so much she knew she had to thrust her pride aside and take the direct approach.
But he knew, she realised, staring up at him. His lips had tugged up at one corner, revealing his amusement and satisfaction at her plight.
As she struggled to pull herself away Iannis proved too fast for her again, and, changing his grip, he allowed her to feel his arousal, huge and hard, pressing into the soft cushion of her belly.
Charlotte’s breath quickened to rapid, greedy gusts. It was a brush with nature, primitive and intense. And one she didn’t want to avoid, Charlotte realised, meeting his hard, knowing gaze. Everything about Iannis Kiriakos promised an understanding of her needs that no other man could hope to match. He offered anonymity too, she remembered, and that gave her the freedom to indulge her senses to a degree she would never have risked before.
She stared into his face, meaning to accept his challenge, but his dark and very dangerous eyes were hooded now, their expression hidden from her.
Good. She had no desire to commune with the fisherman on an everyday level. She wanted him for one thing, and one thing only.
Iannis Kiriakos would banish all the ghosts from her past. She was starved of the type of attention he could give her, and she would have him, Charlotte determined as she relaxed, allowing his warmth to invade her. It slicked through her limbs, leaving no area untouched, and as her body grew soft and pliant she was conscious of his unyielding frame pressed against her like a coiled spring.
The compulsion to wrestle with him and lose overwhelmingly swept over her in waves. His hands were so strong, so smooth, she thought, moving sinuously beneath them. That was good—she needed all his skill, wanted none of that sensitivity lost beneath workworn skin or calluses. His sense of rhythm augured well too. He moved easily to the beat, bringing her with him just by holding her so lightly—too lightly, Charlotte acknowledged again, moving restlessly beneath his hands. She wanted more, so much more…
He didn’t need to ask himself what Charlotte Clare wanted, or what she needed, Iannis reflected, taking pleasure in moving away every time she tried to range herself a little closer to him in the dance. He would make her wait, he decided, a harsh smile tilting the corners of his mouth. She would be insatiable. He could afford to wait as long as he chose when the outcome was so certain.
He stared over Charlotte’s head, dismissing her in favour of the towering cliffs that showed vaguely on the other side of the shore like smoke trails against the inky sky. Iskos was his island, beautiful and uncomplicated—that was why he loved it so passionately. But there was nothing uncomplicated about the woman in his arms, he realised uneasily, tensing a little as she intruded on his thoughts.
On the surface she resembled any of the other sex-tourists who came to the Greek islands in search of a meaningless coupling to brag about to their friends back home. Any Greek man would do, so long as he had a foreign-sounding name and a pulse—the rest they could invent. The obligatory conquest was as necessary to them as the suntan they took away with them. And the closer they came to the end of the holiday, the more desperate for a man they became.
He smiled as he thought of the youths lining the sea walls each summer to gauge the level of frustration of each passing beauty. They could pick off their prey with absolute confidence. He glanced down again. Charlotte’s flight home must be imminent, judging by the amount of make-up she was wearing, not to mention the abundant décolletage and skintight outfit.
Purely out of curiosity he channelled his senses into the hand resting lightly on her back. Her skin was fine and smooth and warm. At least she wasn’t tomato-red and flaky.
Charlotte sensed the fisherman’s interest shift a gear, and glanced up. He danced so well. Probably got lots of practice in the tourist season. Would it be one dance or two? What price was he prepared to pay? She tensed as their gazes clashed and looked away. She didn’t want conflict. Conflict was provocative and called for resolution. She wanted straightforward sex and a pain-free goodbye. No regrets, no consequences.
Was this part of the evening tedious for him? Was it necessary courtship for the sake of injecting a little decency into the proceedings—the paying of dues before they got down to business? Was this his equivalent of a romantic dinner for two—the tab picked up by the man until you got back to his place, where you were expected to come up with your slice of the bill? Maybe that was why she had always insisted on paying for herself on the few occasions she had been out since the divorce, Charlotte mused, pressing her lips together in ironic acceptance.
He was right to be suspicious, Iannis decided. Even if he cut her some slack where the outfit was concerned—and he would, since in his experience women from northern climes never wore summer clothes well—Charlotte Clare could keep her ‘butter wouldn’t melt’ look. It didn’t work for him—not with everything else he could see going on behind her eyes. This was no innocent abroad; this was an intelligent, thoughtful, and possibly very dangerous woman—or else how had she slipped beneath the guard of Marianna, the shrewdest woman on the island? He could tell Marianna thought a lot of her. Theos, she had chosen to appoint herself unofficial guardian, and when had that ever happened before? Like everyone else on the island, Marianna was usually content to let him have his own way over everything—especially women.
Iannis dipped his head and smiled faintly in acknowledgement as Marianna caught his gaze. He should be angry with her for setting this hoyden loose on him—but he had too much respect for Marianna Lyknos, Iannis realised, grinding his jaw in frustration. But maybe, just maybe, she had got it wrong this time. Charlotte Clare would have to be watched, and watched closely. Not that that would be hard—she was fairly easy on the eye.
Iannis forced himself to relax, realising that his grip on Charlotte’s arm had tightened. That was exactly what she wanted, he thought, feeling the resulting tremor run right through her. Her response had only confirmed his thoughts. She was looking for action—of that there was no doubt. It was up to him now to decide if, when and where he would give her what she wanted.
Dancing was so like sex it was amazing it was permitted in public, Charlotte decided, as someone began to strengthen the beat by patting gently on a drum. The sound was muffled and persuasive, seeming to ripple through her like an electric current invading a supple cable. Her whole body was vibrating to the low, insistent sound. It made her want to sway her hips, to entice Iannis all the more.
Touching the tip of her tongue to her lips, Charlotte cast a slanted glance at the man who maddeningly insisted on holding her as if she was a precious piece of china, when all she wanted was to be gripped, mastered, taken somewhere far away from the crowded dance floor where she could be served, plundered, ravished and sated.
Ravishing, Iannis thought, approving Charlotte’s seductive moves. She would be pretty too—if she gave her face a good wash. For once, he was impressed—and he couldn’t remember