Won by the Wealthy Greek. Cathy Williams
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steam lifted as if some giant hand had brushed it aside, and Charlotte felt a wave of interest envelop her long before she identified the source. Apprehension mounted inside her until she felt as if a fist was lodged in her throat. And as her gaze was drawn across the room she found the fisherman staring back at her.
There was no mistaking him. She would have known him anywhere, though his eyes were even more extraordinary close up than she had suspected when she’d first caught sight of him on the beach. Their colour was that of a semiprecious stone—tiger’s eye, maybe—sepia, shot through with gold. He wore a critical expression, but he didn’t trouble to mask his interest, and the expression in his eyes ran a shaft of awareness right through her. It was as if they were weighing each other up, like combatants about to enter the ring, Charlotte registered uneasily.
Not for one moment had she thought to find her fisherman in the kitchen at the taverna—and what exactly had she done to merit his disapproval? She began to bridle as he refused to break eye contact, and then she felt her cheeks flare red. He had almost certainly seen her naked on the beach, which accounted for the sardonic stare. She glared straight back at him and tried not to care that he had changed out of his simple work clothes into hip-skimming black trousers secured with a slim black leather belt. These were teamed with a crisp white shirt that had just enough buttons left undone to tease her senses with the sight of a hard, bronzed chest shaded with dark hair.
‘Iannis!’
Charlotte started guiltily at the sound of Marianna’s voice. It was as if, right on cue, the older woman had sensed the undertow of emotion snapping between them and stepped into the ring like a referee.
‘I did not expect to see you here tonight!’ she said, speaking in English for Charlotte’s benefit. And then, holding out her hands to Charlotte as if inviting her forward to be introduced, Marianna made it impossible to avoid the inevitable.
Iannis smiled at Marianna. So he did have teeth, Charlotte mused ironically, and rather nice ones at that—strong and white and even. She was surprised too at the warm welcome he received from Marianna, whose judgement she had come to trust. He said something cynical in Greek—or at least Charlotte took it to be cynical from the mocking tone of his voice and the sardonic curve of his lips. But Marianna only slapped him playfully on the arm, and was rewarded by an affectionate hug, followed by a kiss on both cheeks.
‘Come, come,’ she said, turning back to Charlotte. ‘Come and meet Iannis Kiriakos.’
There was no escape, so she might as well face up to him, Charlotte mused wryly. What a ring to his name—she loved it! Best of all, Kiriakos was a popular surname on the island—and his first name was popular in all of Greece. She couldn’t have named him better, as far as her article was concerned—but she would have to keep him anonymous, she remembered with disappointment, or ask permission to name him.
Anonymity was the safer option, she decided, the moment his hand locked with her own.
‘We’ve already met—on the beach,’ he reminded her in a voice that was low and steady, as if he wanted to remind her fully of her humiliation without alerting Marianna to trouble.
Charlotte felt a tremor run through her as his strength closed around her. The possibility that he was intimately acquainted with every inch of her left her feeling at a distinct disadvantage.
She refused to look at him, but his handshake was firm and confident, his hand warm and strong, and surprisingly smooth. He made her think of a powerful engine idling, and her imagination leapt to fill in the blanks. She couldn’t even begin to guess at the consequences of stirring such immense potential into action. He would need ten women to satisfy him, at least, she thought wildly, instinctively backing away when he released her hand—which he did disappointingly soon.
There was something about Iannis Kiriakos that insanely made Charlotte want to rest against him for a moment. He made her feel so tiny and defenceless, made the air around her seem charged with an energy that hadn’t been there before. And, as hard as she tried to ignore him, a determined heat was busily invading every inch of her—filling her with hunger. And not for food.
She detected a faint, spicy edge to the food-fragranced air. Sandalwood, Charlotte decided, inhaling appreciatively, one of her favourite scents, and a sophisticated choice for a fisherman.
As curiosity got the better of her she glanced up, only to be met by a slanting ironic stare that made her stomach quiver in response. A day’s worth of stubble darkened his tanned face which, with the black waves curling over the collar of his shirt, made her fisherman look exactly like a pirate.
His hair was thick and glossy, and she imagined running her fingers through it—if only she could have reached. When he shifted position in response to a question from one of the cooks he moved so close to her that Charlotte felt as if an electric current had just surged through her body.
Now most of her view was taken up by the broad sweep of his shoulders, and the ease with which he moved suggested he was a lot more relaxed about their close proximity than she could ever be.
Concentrate on gathering facts for your article, Charlotte told herself primly. But her thoughts centred on their encounter at the beach, and the deep, challenging voice suggesting she should come out of her hiding place stark naked to claim her clothes.
Steadying her breathing, Charlotte tried again to revive her professional nose for a story. Iannis Kiriakos is completely at ease with himself and the world he inhabits, she logged mentally. Materially, he may have little, in comparison to many men, but he is infinitely more assured than most. He talks easily to everyone, and everyone appears to take pleasure in his company. Except me, Charlotte realised, swallowing nervously when he swung around to stare at her.
‘That’s enough time spent in the kitchen,’ Marianna said, startling Charlotte as she took hold of her arm. Nudging Iannis out of the way, Marianna positioned herself between them. ‘I have chosen our food, and now we will return to our table,’ she said firmly, and steered Charlotte towards the door.
Charlotte was ready to believe she had never been more grateful to anyone in her life as they exited the kitchen. But on their way back to the table Marianna had no hesitation in throwing the blackest of glances at any man who presumed to show interest in her charge. It was as if she was already spoken for, Charlotte realised with amusement. And she was more than happy to go along with that—as long as Marianna’s plans for her had nothing to with Iannis Kiriakos.
‘Marianna, who is Iannis?’ Charlotte said, the moment they sat down again.
But just as Marianna was on the point of answering some friends at a neighbouring table attracted her attention.
Charlotte was beginning to feel vaguely threatened by the mysterious fisherman, and her lack of knowledge about him only added to the uncertainty.
She had never been confronted by such an overload of testosterone in her life, Charlotte told herself, thinking that must be the reason for her worry. Forcing herself to relax, she leaned forward to put the question to Marianna again. But before Marianna had a chance to say anything everyone started to applaud. The evening’s entertainment had begun.
‘Ah, the musicians,’ Marianna said, clapping her hands with pleasure and pointing as the bouzouki band assembled on the low stage at the far end of the jetty. She beamed at Charlotte. ‘I do hope you will enjoy this evening,’ she said, leaning over the table to pat Charlotte’s hand.
‘I know I will,’ Charlotte said warmly, putting her doubts to one side. But the smile soon froze on her face when Iannis Kiriakos walked across the dance floor and chose a table directly facing her.
As he settled down people called to him from other tables, and lifted their glasses to him in a toast. The whole of the taverna seemed to vibrate at a different frequency now he was here, Charlotte realised, wondering why that should be so. It was as if his presence was the signal for the music to strike up too.
Maybe he had been away from the island for some time, she reasoned. The welcome he was getting suggested something of the sort. But where