Was it her corresponding blush which had amused him—which had deepened when he’d pointed out, in his drawling Greek accent, that it was a rare thing to see a woman blush these days? Or was it simply curiosity which had made him hang around as the reunion was coming to an end, and the headmaster was imploring him to join him and his wife for supper? But Drakon hadn’t stayed. Amid a torrent of thundering rain, he had insisted on giving her a lift home in his fancy car and naturally Lucy had been tongue-tied by all that opulence.
It had been pretty scary to discover that her crush on him was as powerful as ever, and slightly unsettling that she couldn’t seem to keep her gaze from straying to the muscular thrust of his thighs. She remembered the potent rush of warmth deep at her core, which had made her feel both excited and a little bit embarrassed, because she wasn’t the type of person who usually thought about stuff like that. She never really came across eligible men and certainly nobody of Drakon’s calibre ever entered her life. Even the ones who were more her type tended to glance over her shoulder whilst chatting at parties, as if searching the room for someone more interesting to talk to.
Yet after the reunion, when the throaty car had slid to a halt outside her tiny riverside cottage, Drakon had turned to her and said, ‘So how are you, Lucy? I mean, really?’
Was it the sense of what had sounded like genuine interest—something she suspected was rare for a man like him—which had made her blurt out everything which had been on her mind? Well, not everything. She’d missed out the part which explained why she’d given up her beloved job in midwifery—because the reasons for that made her feel even less of a woman, and who in their right mind would wish to do that in the presence of such a gorgeous man? Instead Lucy had found herself telling him about her brother in the army, who had lost his life in that awful conflict, just as her father had done in a different war before that. And how afterwards her mother had seemed to lose the will to live and had just faded away—like one of those dusky pink roses which bloomed in the lavish walled gardens of Milton school.
She remembered the deep frown which had crossed the tycoon’s face as he’d studied her admittedly pale skin and told her that what she needed was a holiday in the sun. Had she explained that such luxuries were far beyond her grasp on her wages as a waitress, or had he just guessed? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that he had extended a careless invitation for her to holiday on his own personal Greek island.
‘You actually own an island?’ she remembered querying in disbelief.
‘Sure.’ He had glittered her a smile. ‘And my house is empty a lot of the time. It’s yours any time you want to use it.’
So she had gone. It had been an uncharacteristic response to what had probably just been a throwaway gesture on his part, but it had been too good an opportunity to miss. Although he had casually mentioned that his private jet was available, Lucy had scraped together enough money to fund a cheap flight to Athens instead and then caught the staff ferry to his private island of Prasinisos, with a pile of engrossing books to read. It had been the most impetuous thing she’d ever done and she wasn’t sure what she had expected. She certainly hadn’t expected Drakon to suddenly arrive on a glittering super-yacht the size of Jupiter later that day, when she was emerging from the swimming pool looking like a drowned rat. Nor for him to join her beside the aqua glitter of the infinity pool once she’d showered all the chlorine out of her hair and the fierce beat of the sun had made her feel all lazy and laid-back.
For a while she’d said nothing, because instinct had told her he was a man who valued silence, and gradually she had seen Drakon relax—something she’d suspected he didn’t do very often. He’d shown her the faint scar from the gash on his leg which she’d helped her mother to suture all those years ago, and something about that distant memory had made them both laugh. She remembered their eyes meeting and something intangible shimmering in the air around them. Lucy had been inexperienced, innocent and slightly out of her depth—all those things, yes. But she had also been excited and eager for what had happened later, after a delicious dinner on the terrace once his housekeeper had gone home. For Drakon to fold her into his arms and kiss her and then kiss her some more. It had been as if her every dream had come true in that moment. As if her body had been poised on the brink of something very beautiful.
She’d thought he would quickly get bored with someone who wasn’t at all experienced but her tongue’s tentative exploration of his mouth had caused a low growl of pleasure to rumble up from his throat. He’d held her so tight that her soft body had moulded into the muscular hardness of his, so that when he had carried her off to his bedroom it had felt nothing but right. Even that slight awkwardness when he had stilled inside her and momentarily glared at her hadn’t lasted longer than a couple of seconds.
The following morning she had woken naked in his bed and he had brought her dark coffee, which was thick and sweet, before taking her in his arms again, and the next few days had passed by in a sensual blur. He’d made love to her on the terrace, and in the cabin of his yacht as he’d sailed her round his island and showed her all the little bays and coves. He’d fed her grapes and trickled Greek honey onto a belly which had quivered as he’d licked it off.
And three days later it had all been over, without anything actually being said. There had been no awkward conversation or protracted farewells. He hadn’t insulted her by telling her that his diary was too jam-packed for him to be able to see her again. He’d just given her a deep kiss, said goodbye and dropped her off at the airport by helicopter so at least she hadn’t had to endure that rather bumpy ferry ride back to Athens. She hadn’t heard a squeak from him since and, once she’d realised it wasn’t going to happen, her hurt and disappointment had gradually faded into the recesses of her mind, because Lucy was nothing if not practical. She’d told herself to remember all the good bits and she’d tried not to have unrealistic expectations, because that way you could avoid hurt and disappointment as much as possible. She had been getting on with her life—her rather ordinary and predictable life—until the Greek tycoon had blazed back into it with the most implausible suggestion she’d ever heard!
‘I can’t believe you’re asking me to marry you,’ she breathed.
‘Well, believe it,’ he returned softly. ‘Because it’s true.’
‘But why me?’ she questioned, wishing that her heart would stop thundering. ‘There must be a million women who would make a more suitable wife for a man like you.’
He didn’t even pay her the compliment of pretending to consider her remark and certainly didn’t bother to deny it, just answered with a bluntness which somehow managed to be supremely insulting.
‘There are indeed,’ he agreed. ‘In fact, if I were to measure suitability in terms of sophistication and familiarity with my world, you would be right at the back of the queue, Lucy.’
She swallowed. ‘You don’t pull your punches, do you, Drakon?’
‘Do you think I should?’ he mused. ‘I’ve always been of the mindset that life is too short for prevarication and Niko’s death has only confirmed that.’
He paused and as his night-dark gaze shimmered over her, Lucy wanted to tell him not to look at her like that—yet the craziest