Mediterranean Seduction. Кэрол Мортимер

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      Charlotte contained her excitement as she watched Iannis settle the boat between some rocks, where even a freak tide couldn’t hope to drag it out to sea. It would make it so much easier to follow him if he was on foot.

      It was a great hiding place for the boat, she realised as he straightened up. That was why she hadn’t spotted it before. What else was he hiding from her? She had to know, to save anyone else who might be involved—and save herself, Charlotte accepted grimly. Normally she wouldn’t consider sneaking about, but she wasn’t going to be a doormat either.

      Charlotte concealed her impatience as she waited for Iannis to leave. ‘I’m going to sunbathe a little before I go back,’ she said, stretching her arms languidly, as if to emphasise the fact that she wasn’t going anywhere fast.

      ‘Well, don’t take your costume off,’ he warned in a low growl. ‘Marianna’s son will be down here soon, to collect up everything I’ve left behind.’ Slanting her a glance, he frowned. ‘Do you frequently sunbathe at dusk?’

      The day was slipping away fast, and Charlotte realised she needed to come up with a reasonable explanation. ‘I have fair skin. I prefer to sunbathe when it is cooler.’

      ‘In that case you will have your wish,’ Iannis agreed sardonically, dipping his head towards the sun, suspended like a giant orange balloon above the horizon. ‘I will call on you before I set my bait this evening.’ By which time I will have read your notes, he thought with satisfaction, and will have judged you guilty or not guilty.

      Would she make it back in time after following him home? Charlotte wondered anxiously. Iannis would move fast, and he knew the island far better than she did. He might take some shortcut…

      ‘Is that not convenient?’ he demanded when she remained silent.

      ‘When, exactly?’ Charlotte pressed cautiously.

      ‘Some time before Marianna leaves,’ Iannis replied. ‘I wish to speak with her, and I think it may be easier for me to find her at your villa than to catch her at home.’

      Was he resentful of her relationship with Marianna? Charlotte wondered curiously. ‘If you call after seven you will miss her,’ she said. And if you call much before half-past six I won’t be there. ‘Six forty-five?’ she offered with a shrug.

      ‘A small window of opportunity,’ Iannis remarked ironically.

      ‘I’ll need a bath…wash my hair—’

      ‘I am coming to see Marianna,’ he reminded her coolly.

      ‘Ah, yes, but that is the best time to see Marianna,’ Charlotte said, making it up as she went along. ‘She doesn’t like to be disturbed when she is working—she will be getting ready to leave at that time.’

      ‘Very well. I will try and accommodate Marianna’s hectic schedule,’ Iannis agreed with a mocking bow.

      And by then I will know a lot more about you, Charlotte thought with satisfaction as she watched him collect his things. ‘Why don’t you use this?’ she suggested, pressing Marianna’s basket into his hands to make her own task easier. ‘You can return it to Marianna tonight.’

      ‘That would be useful,’ he conceded with a nod.

      ‘Thanks again,’ Charlotte called, hopping with impatience until he finally made off towards the cliff path.

      Anticipation was coiled up inside her like a tightly wound spring, and she was barely able to wait until he disappeared out of sight. But Charlotte made herself count up to twenty, and then ran lightly across the sand in his tracks.

      As she had suspected, he moved fast over the rugged terrain. As they dropped down towards the town Charlotte pictured him in a bare room somewhere amidst the brightly painted houses that fringed the small harbour. He would have few luxuries, and everything would have been carefully chosen. Usefulness would be all that mattered where his possessions were concerned.

      Marianna had explained to her that the colourful harbour dwellings, so unlike the stark white houses clinging to the hillsides, owed their individuality to a time when only fishermen had lived there. If a distress signal was raised at any one of them, men fishing out in the bay could easily identify the household in question.

      But Iannis strode straight past each gaily painted doorway without a second glance, and apart from acknowledging the greetings of the local inhabitants didn’t break stride once. He would be in a hurry, Charlotte reasoned. There was hardly time for him to get back home, shower, change, and then return to the villa to see Marianna.

      She tried to keep the chase low-key, but it was hard not to draw attention when she was the only newcomer in the area. Seeing her anxiety, the local women were keen to help, and she was forced to stop every few steps and back into the shadows to reassure them with signs and the few words of Greek she had picked up. But it worked to her advantage too. She was able to take cover amongst the friendly groups and wait until Iannis was a safe distance away before starting after him again.

      He took a steep path out of the village—little more than a track hidden between two buildings. Charlotte might have missed it completely had she not been close behind. She saw that it wound up the hill that rose behind the village, and would be completely inaccessible except by foot.

      The light was dwindling fast. It was time to make a decision. Maybe she should turn back and try tomorrow, earlier in the day? But then Iannis suddenly veered off to the right and disappeared into a parched clump of trees.

      Starting up the track after him, Charlotte began to run. But once she had followed him into the trees she had to move more carefully. The woodland path was strewn with dried twigs that crunched beneath her feet, and each time she stopped she had to strain to hear over the noise of her thundering heart that he was still moving ahead of her.

      Then, quite abruptly, the trees opened out and she found herself back on top of the cliff, at the opposite side of the horseshoe bay to where her own villa was situated. She caught a brief glimpse of Iannis, but then he disappeared completely, taking a route she could only guess led down to the beach again. There was no cover as she crept forward to the cliff-edge, and she was forced to lie flat and crawl on her belly in order to peer down.

      Close by the water’s edge, two white cottages sat side by side. There was no sign of Iannis. His rowing boat had been brought back and tied up at a small wooden jetty in front of the cottage. Other than that there were no clues: nothing carelessly left outside, no scattering of possessions that might flesh out the man who lived there—nothing apart from his boat. She would have to get closer, Charlotte realised reluctantly.

      Forced to stop each time her feet dislodged a flurry of loose stones, she made achingly slow progress down the steep staircase that cut through the cliff, but when she reached the shale path Charlotte saw that lights had been switched on inside both cottages. Running the last few steps, she ducked down beneath one of the lighted windows and waited until her breathing steadied. Then, still half-crouching, she peered over the window ledge into the brightly illuminated room. A shadow passed by an open doorway and she saw that she had got the right house.

      The interior of Iannis’s cottage was as unhelpful as the outside had been. Immaculately neat, with freshly whitewashed walls, and its furniture simple and basic. But there was an arrangement of local flowers on the scrubbed wooden table, she noticed, as well as several pots of herbs on a ledge inside the window.

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