Mediterranean Seduction. Кэрол Мортимер

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      ‘You are very kind, Marianna,’ Iannis remarked softly.

      Marianna contented herself with a knowing look and compressed her lips together in approval when Charlotte quickly put on the clothes she had brought from the villa.

      Iannis knew he would have to subdue his desire to read whatever Charlotte had written until that evening. He would not let it spoil his day. Turning to view her, he discovered Charlotte was every bit as alluring now she was respectably dressed.

      ‘Take it slowly,’ he advised as Marianna started back up the slope. ‘The day is growing warm, and you are not as young as you were, Marianna Lyknos.’

      As Marianna turned to wag an admonishing finger at him Iannis smiled. Okay, so Marianna had won this one. He’d have to work a little harder now to get at the goods—but how much of a delay would that amount to? A couple of seconds at most for the top, then the swimming costume and shorts would come off together in the same easy movement—ten seconds, maybe?

      He felt a small sense of triumph—but then a pang of regret hit him hard. Why? Iannis asked himself impatiently, trying to shut down his conscience. Why should he care? Charlotte Clare was no different from any other woman. They were all the same—all after the same thing. He thought of Charlotte naked on the beach the first time he saw her. It only served to fuel his anger. Was this how beautiful women cheapened themselves nowadays? Didn’t she know all she had to do was act normally, talk normally, dress normally? She could wear a sack and he would want her just as much. He made a sound of contempt.

      ‘Are you all right?’

      Charlotte stopped scrambling down the slope for a moment to take a look at him.

      ‘I’m just fine,’ Iannis confirmed, leaping past her onto the sand. Striding ahead, he made for a simple metal barbecue erected close to the cliff. If he remained close to her a moment longer she would see how angry she made him—and then all chance of a satisfactory conclusion to the day would be lost.

      The sand felt cool and firm beneath Charlotte’s feet, but the sun was hot, and she was glad that Iannis had chosen a spot for lunch beneath the shelter of an overhanging rock.

      ‘Do you like sardines?’ he asked, without turning as he lit the coals.

      ‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen such big ones,’ Charlotte admitted honestly.

      ‘You’ll like these,’ he said with confidence.

      Charlotte watched in fascination as he drew the knife from the scabbard at his waist. The blade was razor-sharp, and well used, and he wielded it with confidence and precision. Her gaze became fixed upon his hands. His lean tanned fingers were dexterous and delicate too—surprisingly so for such a powerful man, she noticed as she watched him prepare the food.

      The small fish cooked quickly, and by the time Iannis had finished with them there was only succulent pale brown meat on Charlotte’s plate, with not even a fine bone in sight. His knife glinted in the light again as he sliced a tomato, discarding the tough inner core and then balancing the moist slices on the blade to slip them onto her plate. He had salt and pepper grinders, as well as a glass bottle with a screw top containing oil. There were chilli peppers, bay leaves and peppercorns floating in the greenish gold liquid, and he added a little, together with a sprinkling of seasoning, to their food.

      If this was standard table tackle for fishermen on Iskos, she was definitely impressed, Charlotte thought as he produced a bottle of local wine. They drank out of pottery beakers, and the wine, chilled in the sea, was delicious.

      ‘This is wonderful. Thank you,’ Charlotte said as they clinked beakers. ‘It’s far more than I expected.’

      ‘I am delighted to have exceeded your expectations,’ Iannis replied, dipping his head in recognition of her praise.

      They shared the meal between them, balancing the plate on a flat rock and sitting either side of it. It was the most relaxed time Charlotte had spent on Iskos. She stole a glance at her companion, who seemed fully engrossed—either in the food or the view. He stared out to sea with the look of a man who was just at home there as on land. His eyes were narrowed and his glance was keen, and there was such depth there, Charlotte mused romantically, telling herself to note that down. Surely he had many more interests other than fishing. She longed to ask him about them, but at that moment his firm lips quirked slightly, as if he felt her staring at him, and she quickly looked away.

      ‘Good?’ he enquired, and with that one softly spoken word he drew her back into the ambit of his stunning gaze.

      ‘Absolutely delicious,’ Charlotte admitted softly. ‘I’ve never tasted sardines like this before.’

      ‘Because they are freshly caught,’ Iannis explained. ‘They are a different class of food altogether to those fish that have travelled for many hours before reaching their destination.’

      ‘I couldn’t agree more—’ Charlotte stopped, hearing that her voice had changed subtly to a tone she might employ at a drinks party back home. A foodie chat with Iannis Kiriakos?

      ‘Are you not lonely on your own at the villa?’

      Charlotte took a moment to refocus as he changed the subject. ‘If you mean do I need a man to feel secure there—or anywhere else, for that matter—the answer’s no, Iannis.’

      Charlotte knew the strength of her retort was unnecessary, but for some reason he had put her on the defensive. She studied him again, and as he turned to look at her she held his gaze a moment, to show she was quite capable of looking after herself.

      Iannis merely huffed a small silent laugh, as if in wry acceptance of the fact, and then turned back to face out to sea.

      ‘You don’t have to be defensive with me,’ he observed gently. ‘I like my own space too. I am content in my own company. I have learned that solitude can be as invigorating, as instructive as even the very best company.’

      Charlotte relaxed a little. It was so refreshing, so unexpected to find Iannis understood her without the need for lengthy explanation. They sat in silence together until he murmured, ‘I value silence too…time to listen to the sounds all around me, and the thoughts and feelings inside me.’

      She’d had no idea they shared so much, and the urge to question him about his thoughts and feelings was something Charlotte had to fight to subdue. Without words or physical contact, without much happening at all, they were growing closer, she realised warily.

      ‘Fisherman have to be patient,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘They must know their territory intimately and be prepared for the worst.’

      While Iannis conveniently chose to gaze out to sea, Charlotte forced herself to take an objective look at his faded tee shirt and battered shorts, his bare feet and tousled hair. She was not Shirley Valentine; she could not give up her successful career to live with a simple fisherman on a remote Greek island.

      ‘Has someone hurt you?’ he demanded, keeping his gaze fixed on some middle point.

      Probing her subconscious by stealth? ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

      ‘So they have,’ Iannis observed steadily, turning around to look at her.

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