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More, she wanted to touch him. Run the tips of her fingers down his chest and past the flat planes of his belly. Stray lower into forbidden territory and explore the aroused shape of him. Test its smooth, naked weight in her hand. He would be big and powerful, just like the attraction flaring between them. He would be like no other man she’d ever met. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name.
Her realizing the direction of her thoughts was the only thing that prevented her from acting on her impulses.
Horrified at how close she’d come to embarrassing herself, she pulled away, shocked to the core.
What was wrong with her, that she was behaving like a…a floozy and practically throwing herself at a stranger? Had she been bitten by some exotic foreign bug and contracted brain fever? Admittedly she wasn’t a complete innocent where sex was concerned. She’d lost her virginity at twenty-two to Paul Johnson, her then-fiancé, who’d eventually changed his mind about marrying her when he’d realized it meant taking on her mother, too. But she’d never been “easy,” never cheapened herself with loose behavior.
Of course, some people might say she hadn’t had much choice in the matter because, after Paul broke things off and she went back to the island for good, her social life had pretty much hit rock bottom, especially when it came to dating. The limited number of eligible men she’d met there weren’t interested in a woman forever preoccupied with the doings of a sixty-year-old child.
But this was Athens, Greece, and incredible, beautiful Mikos Christopoulos had kissed her twice, and in doing so had awakened all the pent-up female needs and yearnings she’d suppressed for over five years, and set them free with a vengeance.
It had nothing to do with attraction, although Mikos surely was the most attractive man to walk the earth. It had to do with hunger; with the basic need to be acknowledged as a woman who amounted to more than a daughter and caregiver. But for her to give in to it like this? Never!
“Oh, my…!” she gasped, putting more distance between him and her, and sitting on her hands to keep them from wandering where they most definitely didn’t belong. “I think that’s enough for now.”
He didn’t attempt to dissuade her. If anything, he seemed almost relieved that she’d called a halt to things. “I’ll drink to that,” he said, reaching for the bottle and topping up their champagne.
Bewildered by the mixed messages he was sending—so hot for her one minute, yet able to cool his ardor so effectively the next—she gestured at the luxurious appointments of the limousine. “This isn’t exactly how I expected the evening to end, when I came to the party tonight.”
“Exactly what did you expect, Gina?”
“Why, that I’d go back to my hotel as soon as I’d gathered enough information.”
“Information?”
“For my magazine article.”
“Ah, yes, the magazine article,” he echoed suavely.
Too suavely.
“Yes,” she said, brought up short by the veiled cynicism she detected in his voice. “Don’t you believe me?”
“Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” she lied, taking umbrage at his answering her question with one of his own. “But you sound awfully suspicious suddenly.”
“Do I?” He flicked a glance her way, then turned his attention to the bubbles rising in his glass as if they were the most fascinating things he’d ever come across.
“Yes,” she said again, and when he made no attempt to deny the fact, continued, “Are you?”
He deliberated at length before replying, “Let me put it this way. I’m not a man easily swayed by a beautiful face or an alluring body. It takes more than that to capture my interest. But I’m so strongly drawn to you that I’m at a loss to know how to deal with it.”
“You don’t strike me as the type to be at a loss about anything or anyone.”
“Normally I’m not. But I’d be lying if I said I find this situation normal. In truth, I consider it to be quite extraordinary.”
“And you don’t like not being in charge.”
“No, I don’t,” he said. “I am, as you say in your part of the world, a control freak. It’s what makes me so good at my job.”
“Which is what, exactly? You told me you work for Mr. Tyros, but you never said what it is you do.”
“I’m in management. An executive vice president, in fact.”
Which told her precisely nothing. Well, I didn’t think you were a janitor! she almost retorted, struck by the sense that he’d edited his answer very carefully.
Realistically she supposed it wasn’t surprising. Likely no employee of a high-powered tycoon like Angelo Tyros, was at liberty to share top-level information with an outsider, and she only had to remember his imperious commandeering of the limousine to recognize that Mikos was very top-level indeed. “Do you like your job?” she asked him instead.
The interior car lights were dim, but not enough to hide the grimace that passed over his face. “Not always,” he admitted. “But then, who does? Take you, for instance. Are you entirely happy with what you do every day?”
She turned and looked out of the window, her reasons for coming to Greece suddenly back in the forefront of her mind where they rightly belonged.
Ms. Hudson…Gina, this is very awkward, but I’m quite sure I left my earrings on the dresser before we went out this morning, and they’re not there now….
Gina, is that you? I just caught your mother down on the beach, waist-deep in the water…in November, Gina…!
Seen Maeve? Not since this morning, Gina, no. When did you realize she was missing…?
How did one rate a labor of love, she wondered, leaning her forehead against the cool glass. She hated what had happened to her mother. Hated the slow slipping away of the woman who’d once been the mainstay of her life. So, to answer his question, no, she wasn’t happy with what she had to do every day. But not for the reasons he might think.
Turning to face him again, she said, “Some days are better than others. I guess that’s true of every job.”
“Tell me about that.”
“What?”
“Your job. You said you live on one of the Gulf Islands.”
“That’s right.”
“Isn’t that rather inconvenient? If my memory serves correctly, they lie quite some distance from the mainland. I’d have thought that rather limiting for a writer interested in covering the international social set.”
“Many people commute from the islands to Vancouver. I can make it by seaplane in twenty minutes, if I need to.”
“But what made a young woman like you decide to live at home again?”
“How do you know I live at home?”
“You told me so, when we were dancing.”
Oh dear! She’d have to keep a tighter rein on her tongue or he’d definitely become suspicious. Or was it just that he was killing time in idle conversation and hoping she wouldn’t notice that they’d left the city behind and were approaching a bridge spanning a stretch of dark water? A lake? The sea? And if the latter, which one?
Her earlier fears resurfacing suddenly, she said, “Why don’t you tell me where you’re taking me?”
“To a place where we can be alone.”
“We’re already alone.”
“Not quite.” He glanced meaningfully at the smoked glass partition separating them from the driver. “My work is such that I’m seldom able to escape it, but tonight…” He traced the tip of his forefinger lightly over her lower lip, leaving it throbbing for more. “Tonight, I’m playing hooky. With you.”
Soon, they’d crossed the bridge and were passing through a fair-size town where lamps still shone from many houses. “Are we still on the mainland?”
“No. We’re on Evia, our second largest island after Crete. Many Greeks consider it to be the most beautiful, but because it lies so close to the mainland, it’s often overlooked by tourists and, as a result, has retained much of its traditional customs and charm.”
“Is it where you have your weekend place?”
He folded his fingers around hers. “No,” he said again.
The blood raced through her veins, not only because the simple touch of his hand on hers electrified her senses, but also from growing apprehension. Too soon, the lights of the town faded into the night. About fifteen minutes later, they passed through a village. Not long after that, the car cruised to a stop on a deserted stretch of coast road far from any sign of civilization. “Come,” Mikos said, drawing her out of the vehicle, the very second the driver raced around to hold open the door.
She stepped onto the road, stumbling a little in her high heels. Steadying her, Mikos spoke to his chauffeur who, to her dismay, climbed back into the Mercedes, turned the car around and sped back toward the village they’d left behind.
Within seconds, the night was filled with nothing but star-shine, the swish of the restless sea and the erratic thud of her heart. At her side, Mikos stood tall and dark as a monolith, his grip still firm on her elbow. Struggling to keep her tone even, she said, “I’m really not very comfortable with this situation. Exactly what do you have in mind?”
“A walk on the beach. What did you think?”
“That it’s almost three o’clock in the morning, and most people are in bed at this hour.”
He laughed softly. “Are you saying you’d rather be in bed with me, Gina?”
The thought had crossed her mind often enough over the course of the evening that she was glad the night hid her blush. “No,” she snapped. “I’m saying that I don’t understand why we’re here.”
“Well, look around you.” He looped his arm over her shoulders and turned her to face the water. “See how the reflection of the stars dances over the sea. Feel how softly the air caresses your skin. Breathe in the scent of the pine trees and oleanders. Then tell me that you’d rather be alone in your hotel room in Athens, a city that never sleeps.”
How could she, when every word he spoke was the indisputable truth? “It is beautiful here.”
He drew her closer so that the rough velvet of his voice rasped intimately against her ear. “Then put your doubts to rest and come with me.”
Did she have any other choice? Did she want one? That she risked breaking both ankles as she tottered behind him down a narrow path to the shore, was answer enough. “I’m wearing high-heeled sandals,” she panted, when at last she reached the beach, “and they don’t lend themselves to navigating rough terrain like this.”
He shrugged. “So take them off,” he said, and before she knew what he was about, he squatted in front of her, his fingers warm around her right ankle. “Lean on me.”
Such was his effect on her, it simply never occurred to her to refuse. Pathetic, docile fool that she was, she complied without protest, resting a hand on his shoulder to keep her balance and raising first one foot, then the other.
“There,” he said, swiftly completing his task. “How’s that?”
The sand drifted cool and soft as flour against the soles of her feet and between her toes. “Heavenly,” she admitted on a sigh of relief. But oh, how disturbing, that he could so easily bend her to his will!
Releasing her left ankle, he grasped the full skirted hem of her dress and slid it up her calf. “Be careful not to trip over this. It would be a pity to see such a lovely thing damaged.”
He sounded matter-of-fact enough, but there was nothing the least bit matter-of-fact about the way she turned limp with pleasure as his fingers whispered impersonally against her leg. “What next?” she asked faintly, bunching the yards of filmy fabric in her fist.
“We’ll walk along the water’s edge and make our way back to the village. It’s only about three kilometers, and won’t take more than half an hour.”
In fact, it took close to two. How did it happen that, during that time, she found herself holding hands with him? That she frequently caught him looking at her as if he couldn’t get enough of the sight of her? That, every once in a while, he grazed his mouth over hers in a fleeting kiss?
When did she abandon the dry sand and decide instead to let the waves splash cool around her ankles, and not care that they sometimes soaked the bottom of her dress? At what point did he remove his shoes and socks, roll his trouser legs up to midcalf and join her?
She couldn’t say, nor did she care. It was enough that, for a few short hours, she believed in fairy tales; in a handsome prince discovering Cinderella and freeing her, just for a little while, from the cares of real life.
Even when the tile roofs of the village rose up against a horizon faintly touched with the hint of dawn, the magic didn’t end. Mikos led her past a fleet of fishing boats rocking against a wooden pier, to a kafenion set right on the beach itself. Its window shutters stood open, releasing the aroma of strong Greek coffee, and spilling yellow light onto several small iron tables and chairs set on a cobbled terrace.
“Have a seat,” Mikos invited, pulling back one of the chairs.
She sat and gave an involuntary shiver. The metal struck cold through the thin stuff of her dress, and now that she wasn’t moving, the morning air struck unpleasantly against her damp legs and feet.
Noticing, he removed his jacket and draped it around her shoulders before taking his place opposite. Like her, he was barefoot still. His bow tie hung loose around his neck, his shirt collar open at the throat. Damp and salt-stained, his trouser legs hung in wrinkles about his ankles, their former knife-sharp crease washed away by the sea, but although he might have ruined what was surely a thousand-dollar dinner suit, he still carried himself with that leisurely self-confidence that made him stand out from the crowd.
Just then, the coffee shop owner appeared. “This is probably stronger than what you’re used to,” Mikos remarked, after the man had served them each a glass of water and a thimble-size cup filled with a black, evil-looking brew topped with a light layer of brownish foam, “but it’s how we Greeks like our coffee, especially when we’ve been up all night.”
“It’s fine,” she said, controlling a grimace as it ate a corrosive path over the lining of her stomach. “Um…do you have to work today?”
“No. My weekends are mine to do with as I please. What about you?”
My time’s my own, as well, she thought, swallowing half the contents of the water glass in one gulp. Then remembering why she was supposed to be in Athens, said, “I’ll go over my notes and get started on my article.”
“After you catch up on your sleep, of course.”
“Of course,” she echoed, her fairy tale morphing into reality when he didn’t follow up by suggesting they meet later on in the day.
Instead he cradled his demitasse in his hand—the cups hadn’t come with saucers, she noticed—settled his big frame on the uncomfortable little chair with the casual grace of a cat lounging on a cushion, and gave her his undivided attention. “Were you able to get enough material to satisfy your editor?”
You don’t have to bring me back anything, Gina, you know that, Lorne MacDonald, her former boss had told her, when she appealed to him for a press pass to get her into the Tyros birthday bash. I’m happy to help you out any way I can. But if it clears your conscience any, give me something I can publish—names of the rich and famous, what the women wore, what they were eating and drinking, who was cosying up to whom. You know the drill. You did it well and often enough in the old days.
“Not really,” she told Mikos. “I was hoping I’d get the chance to interview Mr. Tyros in person, but I suppose that was expecting too much.”
“Definitely,” he said. “Angelo seldom grants private interviews anymore. But if you have questions, I can probably answer them, so fire away.”
Oh, she had questions, although she seriously doubted he, or anyone but Angelo Tyros himself, could provide the answers! But this much she did know: one way or another, she’d find a way to corner the miserable old goat and force him to meet her demands. She hadn’t depleted her savings account and come all this way, just to go home empty-handed. There was too much at stake.
CHAPTER THREE
HE WATCHED her closely, veiling his scrutiny behind dark, reflective glasses as the sun conveniently inched above the horizon just enough to warrant his wearing them. “Don’t be shy, Gina,” he said. “Ask me anything. Anything at all.”
She took another sip of coffee and shuddered at its taste. “You mentioned he was a widower. Was he married just the one time?”
He couldn’t hold back his grin. His employer’s appetite for women was legendary. At the same time, it struck him as odd that she’d been sent on foreign assignment and not bothered to do her research beforehand. Five minutes on the Internet would reveal that Angelo had definitely been to the altar more than once. “Make that five times,” he told her. “His first wife, the mother of his son, died in her forties. He divorced the second and third within a year of marrying them, the fourth after six months and outlived the fifth who passed away eight years ago.”
“Is he likely to marry again, do you think?”
“It’s entirely possible. Angelo doesn’t like being alone, and he does very much like beautiful women.”
Gina’s laugh, brittle as ice cracking under pressure, struck a discordant note. “In other words, he uses them.”
“No,” he said flatly. “That is not what I said, and I caution you to exercise great accuracy when quoting me.”
Bright spots of color stained her cheeks. Clearly stung by his rebuke, she turned to study the fishermen tending their nets. “I apologize. Rest assured I shall treat my subject with all the respect he deserves,” she replied stiffly.
