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

Glamour personified, Charlotte decided happily when she had dragged it on and examined her reflection. Even a Greek chauvinist like Iannis Kiriakos could not possibly find such a hideous garment provocative. She turned to view herself again in the full-length mirror. The costume was desexing, dehumanising—absolutely perfect. She looked like a porpoise with a wig on.

Beautiful, Iannis mused, looking down at Charlotte on the beach. She was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his life—and he’d seen a few. But her swimming costume was an insult to that glorious frame. He watched as she tossed back her hair and then secured it on top of her head with a band. He could sit all day just watching her, Iannis realised, easing his position on the uncomfortable rocky ledge.

Settling back to enjoy himself, he sighed, feeling his whole body relax. When had that last happened? When was the last time he had slowed down long enough to take account of the scent of myrtle and thyme mixing with the faintly salty tang of the sea?

A sleepless night had brought him back to the cliff overlooking the bay. When he’d woken he’d hardly been able to wait to pull on his shorts and an old vest. He hadn’t even bothered with sandals, such had been his need to get out of the cottage and marvel at the Technicolor light show that was dawn on Iskos. But it was more than that…much more than just the promise of a visual treat, Iannis accepted, as he watched Charlotte tiptoe into the sea.

Need, he mused thoughtfully. Need drove everything. Where would he be without it? What would he ever have accomplished?

She was taking it slowly this morning, he noticed, leaning forward a little with concern.

Oblivious to the fact that she was being observed, Charlotte stretched out her arms above her head, stretching her fingertips towards the sky as if reaching for something.

Like a salutation to the rising sun, Iannis thought, questioning his sanity at the romantic image as he caught himself smiling faintly, indulgently.

Charlotte Clare was dangerous—if only because he could think of nothing else while she was here on his island. Did she call out to the sky as she made her gesture? He couldn’t be sure and wished he had been closer to hear. But then, almost before he’d realised what she meant to do, she turned and bolted towards the rising surf, plunging in head first without a moment’s hesitation.

He watched her swimming out strongly towards his floats and smiled, wondering what the attraction could be. If he had known she was going to make them her goal each morning he would have left a pontoon instead, and joined her there.

The thought was enough to arouse him, and the tug of sexual attraction reminded him all too painfully of Marianna’s unwelcome interference in his plans. If it had been anyone else but Marianna he would have ignored her interference—the Englishwoman was clearly looking for adventure. Why did it have to be Marianna of all people who took her part?

A muscle worked in his jaw as Iannis wondered about the older woman’s interest in Charlotte Clare. Had her judgement become suspect with age? He thought not—but this just didn’t make sense. Nevertheless, on Iskos, on his island, like everyone else he was subject to tradition, and Marianna had earned the position of matriarch through long years of wise council and selfless service to everyone connected with the island. She was respected and listened to by all, and even Iannis Kiriakos would not presume to go against her.

Springing to his feet, Iannis made a rough sound of impatience. Discretion at the taverna in front of half the island was one thing, but that situation was no longer in play. Marianna would not overstep the mark by interfering in his private life.

His glance swept the tranquil surface of the ocean. Charlotte was already turning for the shore and making swift headway towards the apple-green shallows. It seemed important for him to know that she was safe, Iannis realised, making a short dismissive sound—goodness knows why he should care when Charlotte Clare, if her behaviour the previous night had been any guide, chose to live her life on the edge. But she was obviously needy, he thought with an ironic and very masculine smile, and he felt like being accommodating. Seeing her dressed like an overripe fruit had made the urge to peel her clothes off a priority. Maybe he could do them both a favour.

Turning for the cliff path that led down to the road, Iannis smiled to himself, a plan already brewing in his mind.

Her work was going so well Charlotte’s fingers could barely keep up with her thoughts. Iannis Kiriakos close up and personal had provided more inspiration for her to work on than the word-count for her article allowed. She was having trouble deciding what to leave out rather than finding enough material to include. And the cooling swim in the sea had worked its magic, as she’d hoped it would. The beauty of dawn on Iskos had been like balm to her troubled mind, unscrambling her thought processes so that by the time she’d returned to the villa she had had the article at her fingertips.

All she had to do was allow Iannis to float into her mind and the words flowed effortlessly onto the screen. She felt she knew him, this fabulous-looking man who was king in his own way of his Greek island paradise. Why should he want for anything more when he had everything he needed right here?

Gazing out to sea, Charlotte sighed. There was no sign of either Iannis or his boat. There were just the two red floats to remind her that he really was a flesh and blood man. As her thoughts travelled back to the taverna she felt a ripple of awareness shimmer down her spine and a smile of satisfaction curl around her lips. He wanted her. There was no doubt in her mind. Just knowing that was intoxicating—and exciting. She could never remember feeling like this before. She had never reacted with such schoolgirl enthusiasm, never felt such gut-wrenching hope where a man was concerned.

There had been more fall-out from her marriage than she knew, Charlotte realised suddenly. The internal wounds had cut far deeper than those carved by harsh words and insults. Spiritual neglect, spiritual abuse had led to spiritual shrinkage, but the time had come when she could do something about it. Good-looking men were rare enough, and men who attracted her were an endangered species—but Iannis Kiriakos was most definitely in a category of his own.

Hearing a movement behind her, she whirled around.

‘Pardon me, Thespinis Clare,’ Iannis Kiriakos murmured, slouching on one hip as he regarded her from the shady end of the terrace. ‘I did not mean to alarm you.’

But she was alarmed—more than alarmed. Something fundamental rocked on its axis deep inside her—and it had nothing to do with the fact that this man’s towering presence didn’t reveal the slightest degree of repentance, either for his intrusion or for frightening her half out of her wits.

When Marianna had come between them the previous night Charlotte’s first reaction had been bitter disappointment, but as they had walked away from the seaside restaurant she had been overwhelmed with relief. The fisherman’s gaze boring into her back, much as it was scorching her face right now, had been enough to tell her she was mad to imagine she could ever be ready to embark on an affair with a man like Iannis Kiriakos—a man who was infinitely more sexually experienced than she was, and who inhabited a very different world from her own.

‘Am I interrupting your work?’

Work! She had forgotten all about it! Charlotte covered the notepad she had been scribbling rough ideas on with her hands, in an instinctive gesture of concealment, but it was one she knew too late would only arouse his suspicions.

How would you feel if you discovered someone was writingabout you—passing opinions, leaping to conclusions tomake good copy and generally judging you?

Not too pleased, Charlotte answered herself grudgingly—though looking up at Iannis she guessed ‘not too pleased’ would be putting it mildly. He had the pride of his Grecian ancestry combined with something extra, something indefinable—something she guessed must come from his prowess as a fisherman, battling the elements on a daily basis. She could feel it now. There was a stillness about him, and it was the stillness of a hunter assessing his prey.

Feeling the need to keep watching him, she reached for her pen and jotted rapidly. Reflective and insightful. Seesthings in life that you and I miss. She laid her pen down with an air of finality.

‘I was just finishing,’ she said, pinning a confident smile to her face.

‘Are you working on something interesting?’ he asked, with the crazy crooked smile that could so easily put her off her guard.

Charlotte’s smile faltered. ‘Just something I have to finish before I go home.’

‘Which is when?’ he asked bluntly.

‘Sunday.’ Charlotte tensed as he moved towards her, out of the shadows. She swallowed convulsively, still holding his gaze as she began sweeping up the untidy stack of printed sheets.

His mouth tugged down at the corners in an expression of wry understanding. ‘You don’t have too much time left, then.’

Charlotte’s heart lurched. Then she saw his gaze switch to her littered workstation. ‘Three days. Look, I’m sorry,’ she said, anxious to change the subject, ‘did you want to see Marianna? Only you’ve just missed her.’

The rhythmic pulse of the cicadas stilled suddenly, as if they too were keen to hear his reply.

‘I came to see you.’

‘I see.’ Charlotte cleared her throat. Her heart was trying to set a new record. He came a step closer. As if he was testing her.

She brought the lid of her laptop down to hide the screen and scrabbled some blank sheets of paper across her handwritten notes. She reached for the travelling rug on the back of her chair and tossed that across everything for good measure.

‘The wind gets up here on top of the cliff,’ Charlotte explained lamely, as if he wouldn’t already know that.

Scrambling to her feet, she almost knocked the chair over in her haste to draw his attention away from the table, and failed to notice the couple of pages that went floating to the floor.

‘Now, then.’ Charlotte clasped her hands, stopping just short of wringing them. ‘How can I help you?’

Iannis leaned over the balcony and rested his own strong hands on the low balustrade overlooking the sea, cupping his supple fingers over the edge to enclose the smooth round rail. ‘I thought you might like to come down to the beach and have lunch with me.’ He inclined his head towards her as he waited for her answer.

Might… Might like! Charlotte dragged in a few necessary breaths. Lunch was a harmless activity—and he said down on the beach, the public beach. She could do that.

‘Well?’ Iannis pressed in a low voice. ‘I have some fresh sardines I caught this morning. I will barbecue them.’

‘Oh!’ Charlotte cursed herself for sounding so obviously relieved. It was just that a barbecue was so wonderfully innocent. She was struck once again by his command of her language, and wished she could see his face clearly and judge his expression. But with the heat haze shimmering around him even his form was indistinct.

He was still waiting for an answer, she realised. Charlotte’s eyes flickered back to her temporary workplace. Had Iannis realised that she was trying to hide something?

‘So, will you come?’

He came towards her now, and at last she could see him clearly. She had forgotten how tall, how imposing he was. In one stomach-churning moment she took in everything—naked feet tanned to the colour of nutmeg, faded denim shorts cut off from some old jeans, so that their edges were frayed and bleached white. Hard-muscled thighs, and an impressive spread of chest. The wide sweep of his shoulders led her gaze with inevitable finality to the familiar watchful expression on his improbably handsome face. His hair was tousled and he needed to shave.

Did she prefer him this way—rough and earthy in fisherman mode? Or polished like a hard black diamond, for dancing?