The Greek's Ultimate Revenge

Right now he felt like relaxing.

Halfway up, the stone steps widened into a little parapet, affording a view down to the beach through the vegetation. Janine paused. She couldn’t resist looking back.

Immediately she saw him. He’d occupied the other lounger and was lying there, hands behind his head, face tilted into the sun. She let her eyes move over his body. From here, at this safe distance, she could let herself do that. Let her eyes run over the smooth, bronzed, muscled torso, down over the taut, tight abs, and pick out the darker arrow that disappeared under the drawstring of his trunks. For a second her gaze lingered, then hastily moved on, down over the powerful hair-fuzzed thighs and down the long length of his legs.

He did not move—lay there completely motionless.

He looked, she thought, like a leopard drowsing in the sun.

The little shiver came again, that disturbing eddy that set her nerves tingling.

She wanted to go on gazing at him.

No! With an effort she pulled away, pushing back from the wooden railing that edged the pathway. Resolutely she twisted around and went on up the steps, not looking back.

The pool area was emptying now, much quieter. She did not linger but made her way indoors, her sandals flapping on the stone tiles, under the arching honeysuckle whose fragrance caught at her. Inside the hotel it was cooler, but only just. Her room was much colder, chilly even, with its background air-conditioning.

For the next hour she occupied herself showering, washing her hair, giving herself a facial and manicure, washing out her underwear, and finally pulling a sundress over her head. She phoned Room Service for coffee and watched an international news channel on television until it arrived. Then, tray in hand, she went out onto her balcony.

The sun was nearly setting now, licking the sea with gold. Janine sat herself down at the little table, stretching out her legs as she poured her coffee. Her still damp hair curled around her shoulders and she idly fingered it as she sipped her coffee, gazing out over the view.

It certainly was a fantastic setting for a hotel. From here the sea spread out before her as far as the eastern coast of Sicily. She sat and watched the sun slipping over the horizon, silhouetting the tall cypress trees, sure that she could see Pheobus’s fiery chariot pulling the sun to its watery bed.

A strange, powerful feeling went through her. My first visit to Greece, she thought. All these years and I’ve never been here. Never known why it’s so emotional a place for me.

Her thoughts slipped to Stephanos. If he wasn’t in New York yet he must be very shortly, surely. He seemed very far away. Very distant from her.

Something—she did not know what—made her glance down, over the hotel gardens. Someone was strolling around the edge of the pool, shirt pulled on but unbuttoned, towel casually slung over his shoulder.

Nikos Kiriakis.

Hastily, lest he suddenly glance up and see her looking down at him, she dipped her head, pouring out more coffee. By the time she had lifted the cup to drink from it he had reached the hotel and she could see him no more.

The phone rang in her room some twenty minutes later. She was reading her book still out on the warm balcony, though she could hardly see to read any more. Already the lights in the gardens had been illuminated, including those in the pool, which glowed brilliantly. People had started to stroll out for the evening, making their way to the pool bar for a drink before dinner. Children’s voices piped.

She would have an early dinner in the buffet dining room, where all the families ate with their children. Nikos Kiriakis would doubtless eat much later, and in the à la carte dining room reserved for adults.

The soft beeping of the phone interrupted her. Assuming it was Reception, she was completely unprepared for the dark, liquid tones of Nikos Kiriakis in her ear.

‘I’ve reserved a table for nine. I’ll meet you on the terrace at half past eight. Does that give you enough time to be ready?’

There was a note of humour in the voice, as though its owner were acknowledging that a woman needed a large amount of time to be ready to dine.

It took Janine a good few seconds to gather her wits. Even then she sounded no better than half-witted.

‘Um—you don’t have to reserve tables. You just wander in whenever you want. The buffet runs till ten.’

‘We are not dining in the buffet restaurant.’ The smile in his voice was even more pronounced now. ‘Fond as I am of children, I prefer something a little more peaceful for dinner.’

‘Please—you don’t have to ask me to dinner.’ The words blurted from her.

‘But I would like very much to dine with you, Janine,’ replied Nikos. ‘So I look forward to seeing you at half past eight, ne?’

He rang off, giving her no chance to argue the point any more. For a moment she stood there, receiver in hand. Feeling dazed.

She bit her lip. The way he had looked at her as she came out of the water sprang vivid in her mind. The way he had looked at her when she’d been lying by the pool. The way he had looked at her at the pool bar.

It doesn’t mean squat! He’s the kind of male who does that to every female. And every female does it back to him. I bet you every single female head will turn when he walks into the dining room tonight—and so what? He’s only having dinner with you because of Stephanos. Got it?

She drew in her breath and felt better.

Promptly, a different cause for anxiety assailed her. She hurried over to her wardrobe and flung it open, staring at the contents.

She didn’t have a thing to wear! Not for dinner in the à la carte restaurant! When Stephanos had been here she hadn’t really bothered much with anything other than the expensive beachwear he’d bought her from the hotel’s boutique. It had been perfectly OK to wear a long hibiscus-print wrap-around skirt and matching bolero top when she’d spent time in his suite.

But the à la carte restaurant was sophisticated and glizty—and her wardrobe definitely wasn’t!

For a moment it seemed like fate. No suitable clothes, therefore a sign that she should not dine with Nikos Kiriakis. She would dial Reception and get them to put her through to his room, and she would make her excuses.

Or, of course, she could simply go down to the hotel boutique and buy something that would pass muster…

The boutique certainly did stock evening wear. Very expensive evening wear too. But then those who could afford to stay here could afford those prices. Not that she would have to pay—Stephanos had made it clear she could get anything she wanted from the hotel’s select collection of shops and simply charge it to her room.

With sudden decision, she fetched her room key and set off for the boutique.

Nikos glanced at his watch. She was late. Well, that was no surprise. Women usually were. He sipped his beer contemplatively, eyes scanning the gardens, artfully spotlit here and there, and splashed with light from the pool’s underwater lighting.

There was a swish of skirts, and someone hurried up to the table.

‘I’m sorry I’m late!’ The voice sounded slightly breathless.

He turned his head.

Slowly, very slowly, he drank her in. He felt his gut kick as if in slow motion.

She looked—breathtaking!

And as he slowly, very slowly, exhaled he realised that that was exactly what she had done. Taken his breath away.

She was wearing saffron. It shouldn’t have gone with her fair hair and golden looks. It was a colour meant for a Greek complexion, dark hair, dark eyes.

Yet on this particular blonde it looked, quite simply, ravishing.

It was chiffon, layers of it, and it seemed to float, skimming over that beautiful body of hers like a kiss. Her hair was caught up—not in a rough-and-ready knot, the way it had been when she was swimming—but in an elegant, flawless style that lent her height and grace. A few tendrils whispered at her face, the nape of her neck.

He felt himself relax back in his seat as he drank her in.

Tiny earrings glinted at her lobes. Gold, like the delicate chain that encircled her neck, and each wrist. Her waist was very slender—he could have spanned it with his hands. The bones of her shoulders were exquisitely sculpted. Her neck was graceful, holding her head poised, erect.