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A further five minutes’ walk brought her to another cove, and this one was deserted, she noted as she scrambled thankfully down to the sand.
She stood for a moment, listening to the silence, then spread her towel in the shade of a rock, kicked off her canvas shoes, and slipped out of her navy cotton trousers and shirt to reveal the simple matching bikini beneath.
The sea was like cooling balm against her overheated skin. She waded out until the water was waist-high, then slid gently forward into its embrace, breaking into her strong, easy crawl.
When she eventually got tired, she turned on her back and floated, her eyes closed against the dazzle of the sun.
She felt completely at peace. London, the office and its problems seemed a lifetime away. Even the rift with her father no longer seemed quite so hurtful—or so insoluble. Eloise had driven a wedge between them, but—with care—wedges could be removed. Maybe she’d needed to distance herself in order to see that.
Back under her rock, she towelled herself down, applied sun cream with a lavish hand, drank some more water, then lay down on her front. She reached behind her and undid the clip of her bikini top. A suntan might not be fashionable, but it was inevitable that she would gain a little colour in this heat, and she didn’t want any unsightly marks to spoil the effect in the low-backed dresses she’d brought.
She felt bonelessly relaxed, even a little drowsy, as she pillowed her cheek on her folded arms.
There’s nothing I can’t handle, she told herself with satisfaction as she drifted off to sleep.
She would never be certain what woke her. There was just an odd feeling of disquiet—a sudden chill, as if a cloud had covered the sun—that permeated her pleasant dream and broke its spell.
Cressy forced open her unwilling eyelids. For a moment she could see nothing, because the dazzle of the sun was too strong.
Then, slowly, she realised that she was no longer alone.
That there was someone lying on the sand beside her, only a few feet away. Someone tall and bronzed in denim shorts, who was—dear God—smiling at her.
She wanted to scream, but her throat muscles seemed suddenly paralysed. And she couldn’t move either because she’d undone her top.
When she found her voice, it sounded small and husky. ‘What do you want?’
His smile widened. His mouth, she saw, was firm, although his lower lip had a betrayingly sensuous curve, and his teeth were very white. For the rest of him, he had a straight nose, just fractionally too long for classical beauty, strongly accented cheekbones, and deepset eyes the colour of agate flecked with gold.
He also needed a shave.
He said, ‘Why did you not come down and dance with me?’ His voice was deep, with a distinct undercurrent of amusement, and he spoke in English.
It was the last thing she’d expected him to say, and for a moment she was stunned. Then she rallied.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Ah, no.’ He shook his head reprovingly. ‘You should not tell lies—especially when you are so bad at it. Your eyes will always give you away.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Cressy said with hostility. ‘And also impertinent. You know nothing about me.’
‘I know that you were watching me from the cliff, and then you ran away.’ The return was imperturbable.
‘I didn’t run,’ Cressy said with as much dignity as she could evoke when she was lying, prone, wearing only the bottom half of a bikini. ‘I just wanted to find some peace and quiet. And I didn’t mean to disturb you. Please go back to your—rehearsal.’
‘That is finished for the day. Now it is time to eat.’ He reached behind him and produced a small rucksack.
Cressy groaned inwardly. How on earth was she going to get rid of him, she wondered wildly, without insulting his Greek machismo? She was uneasily aware of how isolated this little beach was. And that they were both almost naked. The last thing she needed to do was provoke him in any way. Even to anger.
She made a business of looking at her watch. ‘So, it is. Well, I must get back to the village. Yannis is expecting me to eat at his taverna.’
‘But not in the middle of the day,’ he said. ‘In the middle of the day he likes to drink coffee and play tavli. He’ll cook for you tonight.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Cressy made a discreet effort to fasten the hook on her bikini top. ‘I have to get the evening ferry back to Alakos.’
Her unwanted neighbour watched her struggles with interest, but didn’t volunteer his assistance as she’d been half afraid he might. ‘You are staying in a hotel on Alakos?’
‘Yes.’ At the third attempt, Cressy managed the hook, and felt marginally more secure. ‘At the Hellenic Imperial.’
‘The Imperial? Po po po.’ His dark brows lifted. ‘You would need to be very rich to stay at such a place.’
‘Not at all,’ Cressy said with a certain crispness, wondering if he was planning to kidnap her and hold her to ransom. ‘I work for my living like everyone else.’
‘Ah—you are a model, perhaps—or an actress?’ He produced a paper bag from his rucksack and opened it. Cressy saw that it contained pitta bread with some kind of filling.
‘Of course not,’ she denied swiftly. ‘I work in an office—as a taxation accountant.’ She reached for her shirt. ‘And now I must be going.’
‘It is a long time until evening—and your ferry.’ He divided the envelope of pitta bread into two and held out half to her, using the paper bag as a plate.
‘No,’ Cressy said. ‘It’s very kind of you, but I couldn’t—possibly.’
He leaned across and put the improvised plate on the corner of her towel.
‘Why are you frightened?’ He sounded as if he was merely expressing a friendly interest.
‘I’m not.’
He sighed. ‘You are lying again, matia mou. Now eat, and tell me about your work in England, and later we will swim. And do not tell me you cannot swim,’ he added, as her lips parted in negation, ‘because I too was watching.’
Cressy sat very upright. She said, quietly and coldly. ‘Does it occur to you, kyrie, that I might not want to spend the afternoon with you? That I prefer to be alone?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But that will change when you know me better. And no one so young and so lovely should wish to be alone. It is a sad thing.’
There was lamb tucked into the pitta bread. The scent of it was making her mouth water.
She glared at him. ‘I’ve no taste for meaningless compliments, kyrie.’
He said, ‘Nor do I, thespinis. You know that you are young, so accept that you are also beautiful. And my name is Draco.’ He smiled at her. ‘Now eat your food, and don’t be afraid any more.’
But that, thought Cressy, looking down at the pattern on the towel—or anywhere rather than at him—that was easier said than done.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_133bed27-5938-5f4b-ae3b-b1e6f9dfbe30)
IN SPITE of all Cressy’s misgivings about the risks of her situation—and they were many and various—she supposed she had better accept Draco’s offer of food. One placatory gesture, she told herself, and then she would go.
If she was allowed to, said a small, unpleasant voice in her head. She’d seen his athleticism when he was dancing. She might be able to out-think him, but did she really imagine she could outrun him up that lethal track?
So much for striking out and being independent, she derided herself. She should have stayed safely in the hotel precincts.
She had expected she would have to force a few mouthfuls past the unremitting tightness of her throat, but to her astonishment the lamb, which had been roasted with herbs and was served with a light lemon dressing and sliced black olives, tasted absolutely wonderful, and she finished every bite.
‘It was good?’ Draco asked as Cressy wiped her lips and fingers on a tissue.
‘It was terrific,’ she admitted. She gave him a taut smile. ‘You speak English very well.’
His own smile was slow, touched with overt reminiscence. ‘I had good teachers.’
‘Women, no doubt,’ Cressy heard herself saying tartly, and could have bitten her tongue in half. The last thing she needed to do was antagonise him, and his personal life was none of her business anyway, so what had possessed her to make such a comment?
She saw his face harden, the firm mouth suddenly compressed. For a moment she felt the crackle of tension in the air between them like live electricity, then, totally unexpectedly, he began to laugh.
‘You are astute, thespinis.’ Propped on one elbow, he gave her a long and leisurely assessment, missing nothing, making her feel naked under his agate gaze. ‘But my grammar—my pronunciation—are not perfect. I am sure there is room for improvement—with the right help.’
Cressy was burning from head to foot, and it had nothing to do with the sun.
She said, ‘I’m afraid that you’ll have to find another tutor, kyrie. I’m not in the market.’
‘Life has taught me that most things are for sale, kyria—if the price is right.’
There was real danger here. Every instinct she possessed was screaming it at her.
She said coolly and clearly, ‘But I am not. And now I think I’d better go.’
‘As you wish.’ The powerful shoulders lifted in a negligent shrug. ‘But understand this. I take only what is freely given. Nothing more. And, in any case, you are the stranger within my gates, and you have eaten my bread, so you have nothing to fear.’
He lifted himself lithely to his feet. ‘Now I am going to swim. Naturally, I hope you will still be here when I return, but the choice is yours, kyria.’
For a moment he stood looking down at her. He said softly, ‘So beautiful, and such a sharp tongue. And yet so afraid of life. What a pity.’
The damned nerve of him, Cressy seethed, watching him lope down the sand. Translating her natural caution into cowardice.
And, for all his assurances, it was quite obvious that he was just another good-looking Greek on the make. She’d seen it happening at the hotel. Watched them targeting the single women, the divorcees, the ones with hunger in their eyes.
Cressy had avoided their attentions by being busy and absorbed.
But I should have known I couldn’t escape for ever, she thought angrily.
Except that she could. Draco was swimming strongly away from the beach. She could see the darkness of his head against the glitter of the sea.
All she had to do was grab her things, put on her shoes, and she would be free.
Free to go back to the village and wait for the evening ferry, at any rate, she reminded herself with an inward groan. Where Draco would know exactly where to find her…
She was caught in a trap of her own making, it seemed. And to sneak away as if she was genuinely scared appeared oddly demeaning anyway.
It would certainly be more dignified to stay where she was. To treat any overtures he might make with cool and dismissive courtesy. And then return to the village in time for a meal at the taverna and her homeward boat trip exactly as she’d planned.
Maybe Draco needed to learn that, for all his good looks and sexual charisma, not all tourists were pushovers.
And he’d virtually guaranteed that she was safe with him, that traditional Greek hospitality would remain paramount, and, in a strange way, she believed him.
Unless, of course, she chose differently. And there was no chance of that.
So she would stay—for a while. Because she was in control of the situation.
But only because he’s allowing you to be, niggled the small, irritating voice.
Ignoring it, Cressy reapplied her sun cream, put on her dark glasses and reached for the book she’d brought with her.
When Draco came back he’d find her composed and occupied, and not prepared to be involved in any more verbal tangles.
Distance was the thing, she told herself. And this beach was quite big enough for both of them.
She did not hear his return up the beach—he moved with the noiseless, feline grace of a panther—but she sensed that he was there, just the same. She kept her shoulder slightly turned and her eyes fixed rigidly on the printed page, a silent indication that the story was too gripping to brook interruption.
At the same time she’d expected her signals to be ignored. That he’d at least make some comment about her decision to remain. But as the soundless minutes passed Cressy realised she might be mistaken.
She ventured a swift sideways look, and saw with unreasoning annoyance that Draco was lying face down on his towel, his eyes closed, apparently fast asleep.
She bit her lip, and turned her page with a snap.
But it was all to no avail, she realised five minutes later. She simply couldn’t concentrate. She was far too conscious of the man stretched out beside her.
She closed her book and studied him instead. She wondered how old he was. At least thirty, she surmised. Probably slightly more. He wore no jewellery—no medallions, earrings or other gifts from grateful ladies. Just an inexpensive wristwatch, she noted. And no wedding ring either, although that probably meant nothing. If part of his livelihood involved charming foreign woman holidaymakers, he would hardly want to advertise the fact that he was married.
And she could just imagine his poor wife, she thought with asperity, staring up at the sky. Dressed in the ubiquitous black, cooking, cleaning and working in the fields and olive groves while her husband pursued his other interests on the beaches and beside the swimming pools on Alakos—and nice work if you could get it.
‘So what have you decided about me?’
Cressy, starting violently, turned her head and found Draco watching her, his mouth twisted in amusement and all signs of slumber fled.
There was no point in pretending or prevaricating. She said flatly, ‘I don’t have enough evidence to make a judgement.’
His brows lifted. ‘What can I tell you?’
‘Nothing.’ Cressy shrugged. ‘After all, it’s unlikely that we’ll meet again. Let’s be content to remain strangers.’
‘That is truly what you want?’ His tone was curious.
‘I’ve just said so.’
‘Then why did you stare at me as if you were trying to see into my heart?’
‘Is that what I was doing?’ Cressy made a business of applying more sun cream to her legs. ‘I—I didn’t realise.’
He shook his head reprovingly. ‘Another foolish lie, matia mou.’
Cressy replaced the cap on the sun cream as if she was wringing someone’s neck.
