Won by the Wealthy Greek: The Greek's Seven-Day Seduction / Constantinou's Mistress / The Greek Doctor's Rescue

Charlotte concealed her impatience as she waited for Iannis to leave. ‘I’m going to sunbathe a little before I go back,’ she said, stretching her arms languidly, as if to emphasise the fact that she wasn’t going anywhere fast.

‘Well, don’t take your costume off,’ he warned in a low growl. ‘Marianna’s son will be down here soon, to collect up everything I’ve left behind.’ Slanting her a glance, he frowned. ‘Do you frequently sunbathe at dusk?’

The day was slipping away fast, and Charlotte realised she needed to come up with a reasonable explanation. ‘I have fair skin. I prefer to sunbathe when it is cooler.’

‘In that case you will have your wish,’ Iannis agreed sardonically, dipping his head towards the sun, suspended like a giant orange balloon above the horizon. ‘I will call on you before I set my bait this evening.’ By which time Iwill have read your notes, he thought with satisfaction, and will have judged you guilty or not guilty.

Would she make it back in time after following him home? Charlotte wondered anxiously. Iannis would move fast, and he knew the island far better than she did. He might take some shortcut…

‘Is that not convenient?’ he demanded when she remained silent.

‘When, exactly?’ Charlotte pressed cautiously.

‘Some time before Marianna leaves,’ Iannis replied. ‘I wish to speak with her, and I think it may be easier for me to find her at your villa than to catch her at home.’

Was he resentful of her relationship with Marianna? Charlotte wondered curiously. ‘If you call after seven you will miss her,’ she said. And if you call much before half-past six I won’t be there. ‘Six forty-five?’ she offered with a shrug.

‘A small window of opportunity,’ Iannis remarked ironically.

‘I’ll need a bath…wash my hair—’

‘I am coming to see Marianna,’ he reminded her coolly.

‘Ah, yes, but that is the best time to see Marianna,’ Charlotte said, making it up as she went along. ‘She doesn’t like to be disturbed when she is working—she will be getting ready to leave at that time.’

‘Very well. I will try and accommodate Marianna’s hectic schedule,’ Iannis agreed with a mocking bow.

And by then I will know a lot more about you, Charlotte thought with satisfaction as she watched him collect his things. ‘Why don’t you use this?’ she suggested, pressing Marianna’s basket into his hands to make her own task easier. ‘You can return it to Marianna tonight.’

‘That would be useful,’ he conceded with a nod.

‘Thanks again,’ Charlotte called, hopping with impatience until he finally made off towards the cliff path.

Anticipation was coiled up inside her like a tightly wound spring, and she was barely able to wait until he disappeared out of sight. But Charlotte made herself count up to twenty, and then ran lightly across the sand in his tracks.

As she had suspected, he moved fast over the rugged terrain. As they dropped down towards the town Charlotte pictured him in a bare room somewhere amidst the brightly painted houses that fringed the small harbour. He would have few luxuries, and everything would have been carefully chosen. Usefulness would be all that mattered where his possessions were concerned.

Marianna had explained to her that the colourful harbour dwellings, so unlike the stark white houses clinging to the hillsides, owed their individuality to a time when only fishermen had lived there. If a distress signal was raised at any one of them, men fishing out in the bay could easily identify the household in question.

But Iannis strode straight past each gaily painted doorway without a second glance, and apart from acknowledging the greetings of the local inhabitants didn’t break stride once. He would be in a hurry, Charlotte reasoned. There was hardly time for him to get back home, shower, change, and then return to the villa to see Marianna.

She tried to keep the chase low-key, but it was hard not to draw attention when she was the only newcomer in the area. Seeing her anxiety, the local women were keen to help, and she was forced to stop every few steps and back into the shadows to reassure them with signs and the few words of Greek she had picked up. But it worked to her advantage too. She was able to take cover amongst the friendly groups and wait until Iannis was a safe distance away before starting after him again.

He took a steep path out of the village—little more than a track hidden between two buildings. Charlotte might have missed it completely had she not been close behind. She saw that it wound up the hill that rose behind the village, and would be completely inaccessible except by foot.

The light was dwindling fast. It was time to make a decision. Maybe she should turn back and try tomorrow, earlier in the day? But then Iannis suddenly veered off to the right and disappeared into a parched clump of trees.

Starting up the track after him, Charlotte began to run. But once she had followed him into the trees she had to move more carefully. The woodland path was strewn with dried twigs that crunched beneath her feet, and each time she stopped she had to strain to hear over the noise of her thundering heart that he was still moving ahead of her.

Then, quite abruptly, the trees opened out and she found herself back on top of the cliff, at the opposite side of the horseshoe bay to where her own villa was situated. She caught a brief glimpse of Iannis, but then he disappeared completely, taking a route she could only guess led down to the beach again. There was no cover as she crept forward to the cliff-edge, and she was forced to lie flat and crawl on her belly in order to peer down.

Close by the water’s edge, two white cottages sat side by side. There was no sign of Iannis. His rowing boat had been brought back and tied up at a small wooden jetty in front of the cottage. Other than that there were no clues: nothing carelessly left outside, no scattering of possessions that might flesh out the man who lived there—nothing apart from his boat. She would have to get closer, Charlotte realised reluctantly.

Forced to stop each time her feet dislodged a flurry of loose stones, she made achingly slow progress down the steep staircase that cut through the cliff, but when she reached the shale path Charlotte saw that lights had been switched on inside both cottages. Running the last few steps, she ducked down beneath one of the lighted windows and waited until her breathing steadied. Then, still half-crouching, she peered over the window ledge into the brightly illuminated room. A shadow passed by an open doorway and she saw that she had got the right house.

The interior of Iannis’s cottage was as unhelpful as the outside had been. Immaculately neat, with freshly whitewashed walls, and its furniture simple and basic. But there was an arrangement of local flowers on the scrubbed wooden table, she noticed, as well as several pots of herbs on a ledge inside the window.

Charlotte felt her stomach contract. She could imagine Iannis doing many things, but arranging flowers wasn’t one of them. A woman’s touch? She scanned the row of flourishing green herbs lined up in their small terracotta pots and then looked around the room for more clues.

There was a battery of unsophisticated cooking utensils hanging from hooks on the walls, as well as several decorative plates in traditional blue and cream earthenware on a wooden shelf…but they were all too perfectly positioned. And in spite of the flowers and herbs there was something sterile about the interior. Perhaps it was the absolute lack of clutter, but it looked more like a swanky holiday cottage than a local home.

She ducked down as Iannis walked into the room. From his damp hair she deduced that he had taken a quick shower. It made her all the more aware of her own salt-caked discomfort. Peering cautiously over the sill again, she saw that he had changed into a pair of beautifully cut black trousers, and had a towel slung casually around his neck. The trousers were gaping open at the front, and she saw the reason for it as he reached for a freshly ironed shirt hanging on the back of a chair.

She ducked down again fast when he turned to stare out of the window, almost as if he sensed she was there. Pressing herself back against the wall, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and waited for her heart to calm down. She was such a fool. Had she really imagined he would live alone? Iron his own shirts?

When the kitchen light went off again she scuttled around the corner of the cottage to where another band of light striped the stony ground. Cautiously straightening up, Charlotte peered through the window into what she guessed was the main reception room. Elegantly furnished, it reinforced her suspicions that this was no usual fisherman’s home. The traditional woven rug with a graphic design in neutral colours could have passed in a modern loft conversion, there was a deeply padded banquette covered in what looked like cream linen skirting two sides of the room, and a large stone fireplace with a cast-iron hearth full of logs. But there wasn’t a single personal possession as far as she could see.

Maybe Iannis was just incredibly tidy… But she had to be sure. She had to find his bedroom.

She was beginning to feel like a character in a not-very-funny cartoon, Charlotte thought, as she bunny-hopped her way around the cottage. But fortunately the building wasn’t large, and she soon found an exterior staircase that led to a veranda at first-floor level. It seemed likely that his bedroom would be at the top of the steps.

Climbing soundlessly in her bare feet, Charlotte saw that the double doors were wide open. And she could hear music. Jazz? Soft, smoochy jazz. She jerked back in surprise and took some thinking time. She couldn’t have been more taken aback if there had been a brass band playing. The only music she had heard so far on the island was either pop or traditional Greek tunes at the taverna.

Creeping onto the balcony, she cautiously peered into the bedroom. There was just one bank of pillows on the bed. No sign of a woman’s touch here, at least…in fact no sign of anyone’s touch. It looked exactly like a hotel bedroom.

She spotted the shorts and top he had been wearing cast on a chair, but there wasn’t a photograph or even an ornament to soften the room—a disappointment for her professional curiosity, but otherwise a relief.

Charlotte tensed and pulled back quickly as Iannis strode into the room. She saw him snatch up the shorts, but then a large moth, attracted by the light, brushed against her face. With a soft cry of alarm she raised her arms to ward it off. Iannis froze, and then moved with frightening speed towards the open doors.

Charlotte had a head start. She ran ahead of him with a speed born of utter panic. If she could just get down to the beach she felt sure she could get back to the villa before he guessed what she had done.

The moon was stubbornly fixed behind a cloud, which was to her advantage. She heard shutters closing, and knew he must have gone back to lock up. Pausing to catch her breath, with her hands resting on her legs, Charlotte smiled. It had been a close call, but she had got away with it.

After a few minutes of rapid walking along the beach she heard something else, and stopped again. It was the unmistakable sound of oars clopping into still water. And then she saw the small rowing boat moving steadily across the bay.

Charlotte uttered a small sound of alarm. She had never dreamed that Iannis would row across the bay—not when he had changed into decent clothes. There wasn’t the slightest chance she could catch up with him now. Marianna would be worried out of her mind when Iannis arrived without her.

And where would she say she had been?

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHARLOTTE had no intention of skulking in the shadows outside her own villa. She could hear Iannis and Marianna talking on the terrace and decided to brazen it out.

‘Good evening, Iannis,’ she said, strolling casually towards him.

He tensed as he swung around to view her through narrowed eyes.

‘Where have you been?’ Marianna exclaimed.