Her Greek Groom. Sara Craven

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      She shook her head. ‘One of these days all these calories will suddenly explode, and I’ll turn into a mountain.’

      ‘No.’ The dark eyes travelled over her in smiling, sensuous appraisal. ‘For me, you will always look as you do now, agapi mou.’

      Cressy frowned. ‘What does that mean?’ she asked suspiciously.

      He laughed. ‘It is best that you don’t know.’

      Cressy felt her colour deepen helplessly. To cover her confusion, she turned to watch the bouzouki players, tapping her fingers on the table to the music.

      Draco was watching her. ‘You like bouzouki?’

      ‘I don’t know very much,’ she admitted. ‘Just “Zorba’s Dance”, like everyone else.’ She hesitated. ‘I liked what you were dancing to this morning.’

      ‘That was also by Theodorakis.’ He smiled faintly. ‘He is still very much a hero. A man whose music spoke to the people.’

      She said, ‘I—I hope you’re going to dance tonight.’

      ‘Only if you will promise, just once, to be my partner.’

      ‘But I couldn’t,’ Cressy protested. ‘I’ve never done any Greek dancing.’

      ‘I did not mean that. When the entertainment is over, Yannis plays other music.’ The agate eyes glittered at her. ‘We will choose something very slow—very sweet—so that you won’t hurt your foot.’

      ‘Oh.’ Cressy felt hollow inside, but she mustered a smile. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Would you like some dessert? Halva, perhaps—or baklava?’

      ‘Just coffee, please.’

      He said, ‘I’ll fetch it.’

      She watched him lithely threading his way between the tables, and saw without surprise that several of the woman holidaymakers from the large party were watching him too, nudging each other and exchanging whispered comments and giggles.

      I could always send a note over saying, ‘He’s available,’ Cressy thought sourly. Only people might get killed in the rush.

      She’d come away on holiday to relax, yet she’d never felt so edgy and restless in her life.

      She’d had her day and her evening neatly planned, but here she was, in another woman’s wedding dress, having dinner with a man who supplemented his income by ‘befriending’ lonely women.

      And she wasn’t lonely, she told herself vehemently. Yes, she missed her father’s company, but she had plenty of friends. She could go out every night, if she wanted. And there were plenty of men who’d be keen to escort her.

      Which was fine. It was when they tried to get closer that warning bells started to ring and she felt herself freeze.

      No man was prepared to be held at arm’s length for ever. She understood that perfectly well. She’d always assumed that one of her casual friendships would eventually bloom into something deeper. Something based on liking and respect, rather than casual physical attraction.

      She’d always sworn she’d never be caught in that trap.

      So a holiday romance had never been on the cards.

      Draco was good-looking, with a sexual aura as powerful as a force field, but this time he’d chosen the wrong target, she told herself with determination.

      Their acquaintance would end with dinner, as she would make clear.

      I’ll pay Yannis for the meal, she thought, and ask him to tell Draco goodbye for me.

      And then she’d never set foot on Myros again. She would arrange for the hotel to launder and return Maria’s dress and collect her own things. And that would be an end to it.

      She looked round for Yannis, but at the same moment the bouzouki players struck up again, and she saw that he and three other men had formed a line and begun to dance, their hands resting on each other’s shoulders. It was a slow, intricate dance, but their movements were perfectly synchronised, and strangely dignified, Cressy thought, watching, entranced.

      This wasn’t just a cabaret act, as it was at the hotel, she realised as she joined the rest of the audience in clapping in time to the music. These were men to whom their own culture was a living, breathing thing.

      The music quickened its pace. The dance changed to include Maria and a couple of other women, and, gradually, the crowd from Alakos were persuaded to join in too, weaving their way between the tables in a long, twirling chain.

      A waiter appeared at her side with coffee. ‘For you, thespinis. Kyrios Draco says he is to dance next.’

      Giving her an ideal chance to slip away, thought Cressy. As the waiter moved off, she stopped him. ‘O logariasimos, parakolo?’ Adding, ‘May I have the bill, please?’ in case he didn’t understand her attempt at Greek.

      But he didn’t seem to have much grasp of English either, because he shrugged, smilingly spread his hands, and kept on walking.

      The dance finished and everyone sat down, laughing and talking.

      When the music started again, it was slow and haunting, almost plaintive.

      Cressy knew that Draco had appeared, because the chattering voices were stilled suddenly, and there was a new tension in the air. She stared down at her coffee, not wanting to look up—not wanting to watch, but eventually impelled to.

      Across the distance that divided them, above the heads of the crowd, his eyes met hers—held them steadily. He inclined his head in silent acknowledgement. Then he began to dance.

      Yannis and the other men knelt in a half-circle around him, clapping the rhythm. Tonight, there was none of the exuberance she’d seen that morning. The movements were as passionate, but they spoke of pain and isolation. The music seemed to wail and weep, emphasising the yearning expressed by his taut body.

      Cressy, totally enthralled, saw weariness and suffering. And every so often a dangerous flicker of wildness.

      She thought, with an odd certainty, This is about love—and the loss of love…

      When it stopped, there was silence for a moment, and then the applause broke out, wave after wave of it, and people were standing to take photographs.

      When disco music began to play over the sound system it was almost a shock. But no one else could have followed Draco, she thought.

      Everyone was up on their feet, joining in, jigging around vigorously. Glad, she thought, to dispel some of the emotion of the last few minutes.

      Cressy noticed the girl at once. She was red-haired and pretty, wearing a tiny Lycra skirt and a skimpy top displaying a generous amount of cleavage. Her hand was on Draco’s arm and she was smiling up at him, moving closer, her whole body an invitation.

      Cressy put down her coffee cup, aware that her hand СКАЧАТЬ