The Greek's Secret Passion

He ordered coffee and they drank it on the terrace of his father’s hotel, with its breathtaking views over the sea. Only Molly found it hard to concentrate on the view.

So did Dimitri. He shook himself slightly, as if trying to shake off the inexplicable spell she seemed to have cast over him.

Beautiful young women came to his island every summer and he was no innocent. Greek men lived very defined lives. Greek women were strictly out of bounds until marriage. If a man had trouble-free temptations of the flesh, then why not enjoy them while he could?

But this Molly was different, and he could not work out why. It was not just her pure, clean beauty, nor the sparkle of mischief which lit her ice-blue eyes. She had something which he wanted, something which made him ache unbearably.

He gave them helmets and saw them safely away, but just before Molly put hers on he lifted a hand to lightly brush a stray strand of hair away from her brow and their eyes met in a long, spine-tingling moment.

It felt like the most erotic thing which had ever happened to her, but then maybe it was—for what fumbled kisses could compare to the touch of a man like Dimitri?

‘Can I take you for a drive some time?’ he said, and felt her tremble.

She didn’t hesitate. She wouldn’t play games. Games were a waste of time when she only had six weeks on this island and she wasn’t going to squander a single moment of them.

‘Oh, yes, please,’ she answered.

‘Tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow,’ she agreed.

And that was how it started.

She slept with him that very first day—she couldn’t not have done—and afterwards she wept with sheer pleasure as he held her tightly, his expression fierce as he looked down at her, smoothing his palms over her damp skin, his eyes burning as brightly as lanterns.

‘You were a virgin,’ he stated, and his voice sounded strained.

‘Not any more.’ She touched her lips to his arm.

He closed his eyes, his feelings confused. He hadn’t been expecting that, not from someone who looked like her. And he wondered if her virginity had been the indefinable something he had wanted. He had never slept with a virgin before, even though one day his wife would inevitably be one. And somehow it made it different. It shouldn’t do, but it did. His kisses were tender on her eyelids and he pulled her closer against his bare skin.

‘Sweet Molly,’ he said softly.

‘Sweet Dimitri,’ she said drowsily.

She was slipping in deep and then deeper still, and maybe it showed because Elena tried to warn her. ‘Molly, you know that Dimitri—’

‘Yes, I know. Believe me, I know. He’s Greek. I’m English.’ She saw Elena’s concerned face and smiled. ‘I’m only here for the summer,’ Molly said gently. ‘Then I’m off to university. Don’t worry, Elena—I’m not expecting to buy a white dress and have the people of Pondiki pin money onto it!’

Yet it was funny how you could know something on an intellectual level, but that didn’t stop your foolish heart yearning for more. But she never showed it. Not to Dimitri, nor to Elena. She even tried to deny it to herself. And even though she sometimes wove little fantasies which involved her changing her university course to read Greek and returning here to help Dimitri run his hotel, she just tried to live each day for what it was. Paradise.

His parents, naturally enough, disliked her. She had never actually been introduced to them, but the couple of times she saw his mother at the weekday market in the square she was met with a stony-eyed look of hostility. But she understood that, too. They probably thought that she was some kind of loose-moralled tourist out for a summer of hot sex and there were enough of those on the island. She could hardly go up and explain that her son had captured her heart as well as her body, could she?

And there was a girl, too—a beautiful dark-eyed girl with a curtain of raven hair which fell to her slender waist. Molly saw her sometimes, and caught her looking at her with a sad, reproachful look.

‘Who is that girl?’ she asked Dimitri one afternoon.

He stared out to sea. ‘Just a girl,’ he said, and his voice sounded distant.

Something in his voice made her narrow her eyes, but she didn’t ask another question; afterwards she suspected it was because she’d known what the answer would be.

Her time on Pondiki was slipping away like the soft white sand she trickled through her fingers, and, with only a couple of weeks until she had to return home, some American guys came to stay at the hotel.

One of them was gorgeous. Textbook perfect. James, with eyes as blue as her own and a lazy, outgoing manner. He liked her; he made that clear, and Molly thought how much simpler life would be if she liked him back.

But life was never that simple and she had eyes for only one man.

And then Dimitri rang, cancelling their date. It was her Sunday off and he had planned to take her climbing to the very top of Mount Urlin.

His voice sounded oddly strained. ‘Molly, agape mou, I cannot make it. Not today.’

Molly bit her lip, trying not to feel disappointed, determined not to quiz him, but for once her resolution failed her.

‘Oh, why, Dimitri?’ she asked him plaintively. ‘I’ve only got a couple more weeks and you’ve been promising to take me up there for ages!’ Her voice softened. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to it.’

And so had he. The summit of Mount Urlin was as stunning and as beautiful a spot as he had ever seen and he had planned to make love to her up there. The heat of desire warred briefly against the brick wall of duty. He sighed, then scowled at his reflection in the mirror. ‘I know. And there will be another time—just not today. It’s a family party.’

‘Oh, I see.’ And suddenly she did. Perfectly. Naturally, she would be excluded from anything which involved his family—his real life—for what did their time consist of other than deep, passionate kisses with their inevitable conclusion?