‘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 writing about you—passing opinions, leaping to conclusions to make 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. Sees things 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?
‘I need an answer. I’m hungry,’ he said abruptly, slicing through her cogitations.
There was an acuity flaring in his gaze that made her uncomfortable. It was as if he knew everything about her just by searching her eyes. She was beginning to feel as if her whole body might just surge towards him if she didn’t wake up fast. There was such an air of arrogance about him too. Charlotte knew she should feel needled by it—infuriated. But instead all she wanted to do was to rest her arms around his waist and gaze adoringly into his eyes.
What the hell had got into her? Charlotte wondered angrily. The logical side of her brain gave an answer: something primal, some irresistible; she was in lust.
Iannis angled his head as he waited for her reply, and there was a suggestion of amusement in his eyes, as if mind-reading skills should be added to his list of accomplishments.
‘I…I’d like that. Thank you,’ Charlotte said, consciously making herself relax when she realised she was hugging herself defensively.
‘Should you clear up your work first?’ he suggested in a low drawl
‘Yes, yes. Good idea,’ Charlotte agreed, flashing him a strained smile as she hurried to the table. Flipping back the rug, she gathered everything up as quickly as she could. ‘There. All done,’ she said ingenuously.
‘Why don’t you go and change? Put on your swimming costume?’
How was it drawled questions became commands when they issued from this man’s lips? Charlotte wondered, tensing up again. There was something in his gaze that warned her that he was remembering their first encounter. He must have seen her naked—she just couldn’t mistake that look in his eyes. Even Iannis Kiriakos couldn’t resist gloating a little.
Maddeningly, it only made her body ache the more. Her nipples were painfully engorged, while her lips, her breasts—in fact every sexual organ she possessed—were in the same painful condition, and likely to remain so until something was done about it. She had no doubt he would be only too pleased to oblige. But erotic daydreams were one thing—they were safe. Iannis Kiriakos in the flesh was not.
The fisherman in her article was safe, and predictable too—simply because she pulled his strings. But the man standing in front of her now was a very different proposition. Charlotte doubted Iannis Kiriakos possessed strings.
‘Well?’ he prompted, with more than a hint of impatience.
Charlotte got the impression that he was unaccustomed to having to ask for anything twice. But this was her home—at least until the end of the week. He had to know that she was in charge here at least. ‘I’ll go and get changed,’ she said, with a flash in her eyes that warned him not to push too hard.
His hard mouth quirked slightly, as if her show of spirit only pleased him more, and once again to her annoyance Charlotte found her body responded eagerly to even the smallest sign of his approval. He would be incredible in