Finn's Pregnant Bride. Sharon Kendrick

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      ‘Women like Finn Delaney.’

      ‘I can imagine,’ said Catherine wryly, thinking of those compelling blue eyes, the thick, unruly hair and the spectacular body. She might not be interested in him as a man, but her journalistic eye could appreciate his obvious attributes.

      ‘He brave man, too,’ added Nico mournfully.

      Catherine paused in the act of lifting her cup and looked up. Brave was not a commonly used word, unless someone had been sick, or fought in a war, and her interest was aroused. ‘How come?’

      Nico pushed the figs into her line of vision. ‘The son of Kirios Kollitsis—he nearly die. And Kirios Delaney—he save him.’

      ‘How?’

      ‘The two of them take scooters across the island and Iannis, he crash. So much blood.’ He paused. ‘I was young. They brought him here. The man from Irlandia carry him in in his arms and they wait for the doctor.’ Nico narrowed his eyes in memory. ‘Kirios Delaney had white shirt, but now it was red.’ And he closed his eyes. ‘Red and wet.’

      Oh, the power of language, thought Catherine, her coffee forgotten. For some reason the stark words, spoken in broken English, conjured up a far more vivid impression of life and death than a fluent description of the accident could ever have done. She thought of the wet and bloody shirt clinging to Finn Delaney’s torso and she gave a shiver.

      ‘They say without Kirios Delaney then Iannis would be dead. His father—he never forget.’

      Catherine nodded. No, she imagined that he wouldn’t forget. A son’s life saved was worth more than a king’s ransom. But even if he hadn’t acted as he had Finn Delaney was still an unforgettable man, she realised, and suddenly the casually arranged meeting on the beach didn’t seem so casual at all.

      She should have said no, she thought.

      But her reservations didn’t stop her from picking her way down the stone steps which led to the beach. When she had reached the bottom she stood motionless. And breathless.

      The beach—a narrow ribbon of white bleached sand—was empty, save for Finn himself. His back was the colour of the sweetest toffee and the lean, hard body was wearing nothing but a pair of navy Lycra shorts. Catherine’s mouth felt like dust and she shook herself, as if trying to recapture the melancholy of yesterday.

      What the hell was the matter with her? Peter had been her life. Her future. She had never strayed, nor even looked at another man, and yet now she felt as though this dark, beautiful stranger had the power to cast some kind of spell over her.

      He was lost in thought, looking out over the limitless horizon across the sea, but he must have heard or sensed her approach, for he turned slowly and Catherine suddenly found that she could not move. As if that piercing, blue-eyed stare had turned her to stone, like one of the statues which guarded Pondiki’s tiny churches.

      ‘Hi!’ he called.

      ‘H-hello,’ she called back, stumbling uncharacteristically on the word. But didn’t his voice sound even more sensual today? Or had the discovery that another man could set her senses alight made her view him in a completely different light?

      Finn watched her, thinking how perfect she looked—as though she was some kind of beautiful apparition who had suddenly appeared and might just as suddenly fade away again. A faery lady. ‘Come on over,’ he said huskily.

      Catherine found moving the most difficult thing she had ever had to do, taking each step carefully, one in front of the other, like a child learning how to walk.

      Still, he watched her. No, no ghost she—far too vivid to be lacking in substance. The black hair was scraped back and barely visible beneath her hat, emphasising the delicate structure of her face, the wariness in the huge emerald eyes.

      The swimsuit she wore was a shade darker than those eyes, and it clothed a body which was more magnificent than he had been expecting. The lush breasts looked deliciously cuppable, and the curve of her hips was just crying out for the lingering caress of a man’s palm.

      Realising that his heart was thundering like a boy’s on the brink of sexual discovery, and aware that he must just be staring at her as if he’d never seen a woman before, Finn forced his mouth to relax into a smile as she grew closer.

      ‘Hi,’ he said again.

      She felt strangely shy—but what woman wouldn’t, alone with such a man on a deserted beach? ‘Hi.’ She managed a bright smile. She wasn’t a gauche young thing but a sophisticated and successful woman who was slowly recovering from a broken romance. And as soon as the opportunity arose she would tell him that she was interested in nothing more than a pleasant and companionable last day on Pondiki.

      Finn smiled, so that those big green eyes would lose some of their wariness. ‘Sleep well?’

      She shook her head. ‘Not really. Too hot. Even with the air-conditioning I felt as though I was a piece of dough which had been left in a low oven all night!’

      He laughed. ‘Don’t you have one of those big old-fashioned fans in your room?’

      ‘You mean the ones which sound as though a small plane has just landed beside the bed?’

      ‘Yeah.’ He wanted something to occupy himself, something which would stop him from feasting his eyes on her delicious breasts, afraid that the stirring in his body would begin to make itself shown. ‘What would you like to do?’

      The words swam vaguely into the haze of her thoughts. In swimming trunks, he looked like a pinup come to life, with his bright blue eyes and dark, untidy hair.

      Broad shoulders, lean hips and long, muscled legs. Men like Finn Delaney should be forbidden from wearing swimming trunks! More to distract herself than because she really cared what they did, she shrugged and smiled. ‘What’s on offer?’

      Finn bit back the crazy response that he’d like to peel the swimsuit from her body and get close to her in the most elemental way possible. Instead, he waved a hand towards the rocks. ‘I’ve made a camp,’ he said conspiratorially.

      ‘What kind of camp?’

      ‘The usual kind. We’ve got shelter. Provisions. Come and see.’

      In the distance, she could see a sun-umbrella, two loungers and a cool-box. An oasis of comfort against the barren rocks which edged the sand, with the umbrella providing the cool promise of relief from the beating sun. ‘Okay.’

      ‘Follow me,’ he said, his voice sounding husky, and for a moment he felt like a man from earlier, primitive times, leading a woman off to his lair.

      Catherine walked next to him, the hot sand spraying up and burning her toes through her sandals.

      The sound of the sea was rhythmical and soothing, and she caught the faint scent of pine on the air, for Pondiki was crammed full of pine trees. Through the protective covering of her sun-hat she could feel the merciless penetration of the sun, and, trying to ignore the fact that all her senses felt acutely honed, she stared down instead at the sizeable amount of equipment which lay before her.

      ‘How СКАЧАТЬ