When she told them at Reception that she was going back to Myros to stay for a while she half expected they would try to dissuade her, but her decision was accepted almost casually.
Down at the harbour, she didn’t wait for the ferry, but paid one of the local boatmen to take her across to the other island.
She was trembling as she walked up from the quay towards the taverna. This was madness, and she knew it, and it would serve her right if she walked in and found Draco with someone else, she thought, pain twisting inside her. But one swift glance told her that he wasn’t there.
Yannis was playing tavli, and his jaw dropped when he saw her. Then he recovered himself, and got to his feet smiling broadly.
The thespinis was welcome. It was good that she had come back. Especially as he had mended the wheel on his sister’s bicycle.
Up in her room, Cressy changed into a black bikini, topping it with a scooped neck T-shirt in the same colour and a wrapround skirt in a black and white swirling print.
All the way to the beach she was straining her ears to hear music, but there was only silence and solitude. She left the bicycle on the clifftop and scrambled down to the sand. The heat was intense, but she felt cold with disappointment.
She had been so ridiculously sure that he’d be there—waiting for her.
Was it really only twenty-four hours? she wondered, spreading her towel in the same spot. It seemed more like a year.
She slipped off her skirt and top, kicked off her sandals, and ran down to the sea, welcoming its cool caress against her overheated skin.
She needed to work off some of this emotion somehow, and a long, strenuous swim would do the trick. If only it could restore her common sense at the same time.
She drove herself on, pounding up and down as if she was covering lengths in a pool, until her arms and legs were heavy with tiredness and she knew it was time to go back.
She put a foot down, finding sand and shingle, and began to wade towards the beach, wringing the excess water out of her hair.
Out of the dazzle of the sun she saw him, standing motionless on the edge of the sea, small waves curling round his bare feet.
She began to run, cursing the pressure of the water which held her back.
He was holding her towel, she realised, and as she reached him he wrapped it round her, pulling her into his arms. She lifted her face mutely, and for the first time experienced the hungry demand of his mouth on hers.
The kiss seemed to last an eternity, as if, with that first taste, they could not get enough of each other.
He was not gentle, nor did she require him to be. His mouth clung, burned, tore at hers as if he was trying to absorb her into his being.
Her own lips parted breathlessly, welcoming the thrust of his tongue, inciting the dark, heated exploration to go deeper still. Offering herself without reserve.
Sun, sea and bleached sand were performing a crazy, spinning dance around her, and she put up her hands to grip his bare shoulders. She was trembling under this wild onslaught on her senses, her legs shaking under her.
Just as she thought she might collapse on the sand at his feet, Draco lifted her into his arms and carried her up the beach. He’d spread a rug in the shadow of some rocks and he lowered her on to it, coming down beside her, seeking her mouth again, his hand tangling in her damp blonde hair.
She surrendered her lips eagerly to the sensuous rapture of his possession. She felt as if she was drunk—or that she’d entered some other undreamed of dimension.
Her hands caressed his back, holding him to her as his mouth travelled downwards, questing the curve of her throat and the small hollows at its base.
His tongue found the cleft between her breasts and lingered, and she gasped, her body arching involuntarily, her nipples hardening in excitement under the damp fabric.
His lips brushed each soft swell of flesh above the confines of the bikini top as one hand stroked down her body to find and cup the delicate contour of her hip with total mastery. Making no secret of his intention.
He lifted his head and stared down at her, the dark eyes slumbrous, a flush of deeper colour along the high cheekbones, as if he was waiting for some sign from her.
Watching him, Cressy raised a hand and undid the halter strap of her bikini, then released the little clip, freeing the tiny garment completely.
Draco bent his head and with great precision took it from her with his teeth.
He tossed it aside and lowered his mouth fully to her bare breasts, paying them slow and languorous homage, his lips moulding their soft fullness. As she felt the provocative flicker of his tongue across the puckered rose of her nipples a little moan of surprise and longing escaped her.
His mouth enclosed each hot, excited peak in turn, pleasuring them softly and subtly. Eyes closed, Cressy gave herself up to delight, feeling her last remaining inhibitions sliding away.
At the same time his fingers were feathering across her thighs, brushing the delicate mound they guarded, and her body responded with a rush of scalding, passionate heat.
His mouth moved down her body slowly, almost druggingly, paying minute attention to each curve and hollow. He murmured softly in his own language, resting his cheek against the concavity of her stomach.
She was dimly aware that at some point he had discarded the swimming trunks that were his sole covering, but it was only when she felt the glide of his fingers against the heated, throbbing core of her womanhood that she realised that she too was now naked.
He kissed her mouth again, his tongue teasing hers as his hands continued their gentle erotic play, taking her ever closer to some brink she’d never known existed.
As her breathing quickened she felt him move slightly, his body covering hers, his hands sliding under her to lift her for his possession.
For a fleeting moment she experienced the heated pressure of him against her, seeking her. And then there was pain, and she heard her voice, muffled against his shoulder, crying out in shock and sudden panic.
He was instantly still. Then he rolled away from her almost frantically, his breath rasping in his throat.
When she dared look, he was sitting a few feet away, one leg drawn up, his forehead resting on his knee. There was a faint sheen of perspiration gleaming on his skin, and his chest heaved as he fought for control.
She whispered his name, and when there was no response reached across and put her hand lightly on his arm.
He shook her off almost violently. His voice was a snarl. ‘Do not touch me. It is not safe.’
She said in a whisper, ‘What is it? I don’t understand…’
As the silence lengthened between them she said, more urgently, her voice shaking a little, ‘Talk to me, please. Tell me what’s wrong. What I’ve done.’
Draco turned and looked at her, his dark eyes hooded, the firm mouth compressed.
He said, ‘You have done nothing wrong. The mistake, God help us both, is mine.’
He reached for his trunks and pulled them on, his face taut.
Colour stormed into her face and she grabbed clumsily for her towel, holding it in front of her defensively, just as if there was an inch of her that he’d left undiscovered.
‘You lied to me, Cressida. Why?’ His voice was harsh.
‘Lied?’ she repeated uncomprehendingly.
‘You let me think you had a lover. But it is not true. So why did you pretend.’
‘What