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A little moan escaped her. She was consumed by bewildered longing, her body torn apart by physical needs that she’d never known before.
She twisted restlessly on the bed, trying to find peace and calm, but failing.
She got up and went out on to the balcony, but the indigo shimmer of Myros on the horizon drove her inside again.
She stayed in her room until midday, when she made herself go down and join the queue at the lavish buffet on the hotel’s terrace.
She’d never realised before how many couples seemed to be staying at the hotel, wandering around hand in hand, or with their arms round each other.
Making her blindingly—piercingly aware of her own isolation—her own loneliness.
Making her realise that she couldn’t bear it any longer. And that she didn’t have to—that she too could choose to be happy for a little while.
A few days—even a few hours, she thought. I’d settle for that. Whatever the ultimate cost.
She could tell herself a thousand times that she was crazy even to contemplate such a thing, but it made no difference. Her will power—her control didn’t seem to matter any more. The ache of yearning was too strong, too compelling, and it was drawing her back.
When she told them at Reception that she was going back to Myros to stay for a while she half expected they would try to dissuade her, but her decision was accepted almost casually.
Down at the harbour, she didn’t wait for the ferry, but paid one of the local boatmen to take her across to the other island.
She was trembling as she walked up from the quay towards the taverna. This was madness, and she knew it, and it would serve her right if she walked in and found Draco with someone else, she thought, pain twisting inside her. But one swift glance told her that he wasn’t there.
Yannis was playing tavli, and his jaw dropped when he saw her. Then he recovered himself, and got to his feet smiling broadly.
The thespinis was welcome. It was good that she had come back. Especially as he had mended the wheel on his sister’s bicycle.
Up in her room, Cressy changed into a black bikini, topping it with a scooped neck T-shirt in the same colour and a wrapround skirt in a black and white swirling print.
All the way to the beach she was straining her ears to hear music, but there was only silence and solitude. She left the bicycle on the clifftop and scrambled down to the sand. The heat was intense, but she felt cold with disappointment.
She had been so ridiculously sure that he’d be there—waiting for her.
Was it really only twenty-four hours? she wondered, spreading her towel in the same spot. It seemed more like a year.
She slipped off her skirt and top, kicked off her sandals, and ran down to the sea, welcoming its cool caress against her overheated skin.
She needed to work off some of this emotion somehow, and a long, strenuous swim would do the trick. If only it could restore her common sense at the same time.
She drove herself on, pounding up and down as if she was covering lengths in a pool, until her arms and legs were heavy with tiredness and she knew it was time to go back.
She put a foot down, finding sand and shingle, and began to wade towards the beach, wringing the excess water out of her hair.
Out of the dazzle of the sun she saw him, standing motionless on the edge of the sea, small waves curling round his bare feet.
She began to run, cursing the pressure of the water which held her back.
He was holding her towel, she realised, and as she reached him he wrapped it round her, pulling her into his arms. She lifted her face mutely, and for the first time experienced the hungry demand of his mouth on hers.
The kiss seemed to last an eternity, as if, with that first taste, they could not get enough of each other.
He was not gentle, nor did she require him to be. His mouth clung, burned, tore at hers as if he was trying to absorb her into his being.
Her own lips parted breathlessly, welcoming the thrust of his tongue, inciting the dark, heated exploration to go deeper still. Offering herself without reserve.
Sun, sea and bleached sand were performing a crazy, spinning dance around her, and she put up her hands to grip his bare shoulders. She was trembling under this wild onslaught on her senses, her legs shaking under her.
Just as she thought she might collapse on the sand at his feet, Draco lifted her into his arms and carried her up the beach. He’d spread a rug in the shadow of some rocks and he lowered her on to it, coming down beside her, seeking her mouth again, his hand tangling in her damp blonde hair.
She surrendered her lips eagerly to the sensuous rapture of his possession. She felt as if she was drunk—or that she’d entered some other undreamed of dimension.
Her hands caressed his back, holding him to her as his mouth travelled downwards, questing the curve of her throat and the small hollows at its base.
His tongue found the cleft between her breasts and lingered, and she gasped, her body arching involuntarily, her nipples hardening in excitement under the damp fabric.
His lips brushed each soft swell of flesh above the confines of the bikini top as one hand stroked down her body to find and cup the delicate contour of her hip with total mastery. Making no secret of his intention.
He lifted his head and stared down at her, the dark eyes slumbrous, a flush of deeper colour along the high cheekbones, as if he was waiting for some sign from her.
Watching him, Cressy raised a hand and undid the halter strap of her bikini, then released the little clip, freeing the tiny garment completely.
Draco bent his head and with great precision took it from her with his teeth.
He tossed it aside and lowered his mouth fully to her bare breasts, paying them slow and languorous homage, his lips moulding their soft fullness. As she felt the provocative flicker of his tongue across the puckered rose of her nipples a little moan of surprise and longing escaped her.
His mouth enclosed each hot, excited peak in turn, pleasuring them softly and subtly. Eyes closed, Cressy gave herself up to delight, feeling her last remaining inhibitions sliding away.
At the same time his fingers were feathering across her thighs, brushing the delicate mound they guarded, and her body responded with a rush of scalding, passionate heat.
His mouth moved down her body slowly, almost druggingly, paying minute attention to each curve and hollow. He murmured softly in his own language, resting his cheek against the concavity of her stomach.
She was dimly aware that at some point he had discarded the swimming trunks that were his sole covering, but it was only when she felt the glide of his fingers against the heated, throbbing core of her womanhood that she realised that she too was now naked.
He kissed her mouth again, his tongue teasing hers as his hands continued their gentle erotic play, taking her ever closer to some brink she’d never known existed.
As her breathing quickened she felt him move slightly, his body covering hers, his hands sliding under her to lift her for his possession.
For a fleeting moment she experienced the heated pressure of him against her, seeking her. And then there was pain, and she heard her voice, muffled against his shoulder, crying out in shock and sudden panic.
He was instantly still. Then he rolled away from her almost frantically, his breath rasping in his throat.
When she dared look, he was sitting a few feet away, one leg drawn up, his forehead resting on his knee. There was a faint sheen of perspiration gleaming on his skin, and his chest heaved as he fought for control.
She whispered his name, and when there was no response reached across and put her hand lightly on his arm.
He shook her off almost violently. His voice was a snarl. ‘Do not touch me. It is not safe.’
She said in a whisper, ‘What is it? I don’t understand…’
As the silence lengthened between them she said, more urgently, her voice shaking a little, ‘Talk to me, please. Tell me what’s wrong. What I’ve done.’
Draco turned and looked at her, his dark eyes hooded, the firm mouth compressed.
He said, ‘You have done nothing wrong. The mistake, God help us both, is mine.’
He reached for his trunks and pulled them on, his face taut.
Colour stormed into her face and she grabbed clumsily for her towel, holding it in front of her defensively, just as if there was an inch of her that he’d left undiscovered.
‘You lied to me, Cressida. Why?’ His voice was harsh.
‘Lied?’ she repeated uncomprehendingly.
‘You let me think you had a lover. But it is not true. So why did you pretend.’
‘What did you expect me to do?’ Her eyes blurred with humiliated tears. ‘It was what you wanted to hear—wasn’t it? And it seemed—safer.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘It was not safe. It was a stupid lie, and a dangerous one. You thought I would not know?’
She bent her head. ‘I—I didn’t think so. I didn’t realise it would make any difference…’
She heard him whisper something sharp and violent, then he was beside her again. He drew her towards him, cupping her face gently between his hands, making her meet his searching gaze.
He said quietly, ‘It makes all the difference in the world, agapi mou. But I am also to blame. I should have realised that you were claiming a sophistication you did not possess.’
She said tautly, ‘Of course, you know so much about women.’
‘More than you know of men, certainly.’
Cressy bit her lip, unable to deny his curt response. Her voice shook slightly. ‘Draco—I’m so sorry…’
‘Sorry?’ he repeated, his voice incredulous. ‘You offer me the ultimate gift—and say you are sorry?’
She said flatly, ‘But it’s a gift you don’t seem to want.’
His mouth relaxed into the shadow of a smile. ‘You think I don’t want you, agapi mou?’ He took her hands and carried them fleetingly to his body. ‘You are wrong. But a woman’s innocence should not be thrown away to feed the hunger of the moment. You deserve better.’
His lips touched hers, swiftly and gently. ‘Now dress yourself, and we will go back to the town, where there are more people and less temptations.’
He got to his feet and walked down the beach, where he stood, his back turned, gazing at the sea, while Cressy huddled into her clothing.
When he came back to her, she said, ‘I think I’d better go back to Alakos.’
‘Why should you do that?’ His dark brows drew into a frown.
‘Because I’m very embarrassed.’ She made a business of folding her towel. ‘I’ve made a real fool of myself.’ She added carefully, ‘And I’d just be in the way if I stayed.’
‘Ah,’ Draco said softly. ‘You feel you might hinder my search for the next willing body.’ He cast a despairing look at the heavens. ‘Is that truly what you think of me?’
She said, ‘Draco—I don’t know what to think. I don’t know you.’
‘Then why did you come back?’ He spoke gently, but there was an inflexible note in his voice. ‘Just so that I could rid you of your unwanted virginity? I don’t believe that.’
She bit her lip. ‘Because I found I couldn’t stay away. And now I’ve ruined everything.’
He sighed. ‘Nothing is spoiled—unless you wish it to be.’ There was a silence, then he stroked the curve of her face with one long finger. ‘Is that what you want, pethi mou? Or shall we begin all over again? Start to learn about each other, not just with our bodies, but our minds?’
She said on a little sob, ‘Oh, Draco, please.’
‘Then so be it.’ He took her hand, held it in his, his fingers strong and warm. ‘But understand, Cressida, that this changes everything. And if you leave me now, I shall follow. However long, however far.’ He paused. ‘You accept this?’
And, from some great distance, she heard herself answer, ‘Yes.’
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_27df8795-c7ca-5bc2-b8e2-22d4e6034332)
IT HAD just seemed a romantic thing to say on a beach, Cressy told herself as she drove home from the hospital. After all, they’d both known that their time together was going to be limited. That sooner or later the idyll would end, and she would fly back to real life.
What she hadn’t foreseen was that it would indeed be much sooner.
At first, as the sunlit days had passed, she’d felt she was living in a dream, or under a spell that Draco had cast around her.
Most of her waking hours had been spent in his company, and even when she’d been asleep the image of him had never been far from her mind.
The first part of the morning she’d usually spent alone. She’d assumed that Draco was out in his boat, fishing, but when she’d mentioned this to Yannis he’d shrugged and said, ‘I think he is at his house, Kyria Cressida. He is having some building done.’
Cressy understood. A lot of local houses seemed to be built in instalments, the owners occupying the ground floor until they could afford to add further storeys.
Draco had clearly made enough money to build another floor on to his, and if there was a vaguely troubling query at the back of her mind as to exactly where that money came from, she dismissed it. Nothing was allowed to impinge on her happiness.
Sometimes she wondered wistfully whether she would ever be asked to see his house, but assumed it would never happen. These close-knit village communities might not be pleased to see one of their number with an anglitha, especially if he’d been earmarked for one of their daughters, she thought with a pang.
Anyway, if Draco wished to keep his private life to himself, that was his concern. He would have to go on living here after she’d gone…
She sighed. The realisation that her time in Greece was running out was causing her real pain.
I didn’t really want to come here, she thought, grimacing. Now I don’t want to leave.
It was hard to separate one day from another, when all of them were touched with gold. Sometimes they went out on the boat, landing on some quiet beach to swim, and cook the fish they’d caught over a wood fire.
At other times Draco drove the pick-up to the island’s peaceful beauty spots, along the coast, or up into the high bare hills. And at night they danced together.
She was relaxed with him now. They shared a lot of laughter, but they could be quiet together too. When he teased her, she teased back. They had, she thought, become friends—and that was good.
But she couldn’t deny the painful, ecstatic lift of her heart that happened each time he strode into the courtyard of the taverna to find her. Or the sweet, sensual ache that any physical contact with him seemed to evoke.
For much of the time he kept her at a distance, and she knew it. Just sometimes, in the drowsy afternoons, he would draw her into his arms and explore her mouth gently with his. Her hair seemed to entrance him. ‘Like pale silk,’ he would whisper, winding strands round his fingers and carrying them to his lips.
But—so far and no further, it seemed. The merest touch of his lips could ignite her desire, making her burn and melt with longing for the intimacy of his touch, for the consummation that her aroused flesh had been denied, but if he was aware of that, he gave no sign.
