The Tycoon's Mistress. Sara Craven

brought her untrustworthy steed to a juddering halt and surveyed the damage, cursing herself mentally for having been lured into such an extensive trip.

      Now she was faced with a long walk back to the port, pushing the bicycle.

      The breeze had strengthened, whipping up the dust from the road and sending irritating particles into her eyes and mouth. She’d finished her water some time before, and she felt hot, thirsty and out of sorts. What was more, she suspected she was getting a blister on her foot.

      From now on, she promised herself, she’d confine her activities to the grounds of the Hellenic Imperial.

      She’d limped on for another quarter of a mile when she heard the sound of a vehicle on the road behind her.

      ‘More dust,’ she muttered, dragging herself and the bicycle on to the stony verge.

      A battered pick-up truck roared past, but not before Cressy had managed to catch a glimpse of the driver.

      She said a despairing, ‘Oh, no—it can’t be…’ as the truck braked sharply and began to reverse back to where she was standing.

      He said, ‘How good to meet again so soon. I did not expect it.’

      She said crisply, ‘Nor I. You were on board a boat, kyrie. Now you’re driving a truck. What next, I wonder?’

      ‘Probably my own two feet, thespinis—like you.’ Draco slanted a smile at her through the open window. ‘Get in, and I will drive you back to the port.’

      ‘I’m enjoying the walk,’ Cressy said regally, and he sighed.

      ‘More lies, matia mou. When will you learn?’ He swung himself down from the truck, picked up the bicycle and tossed it onto a pile of sacks in the back of the vehicle, then gave Cressy a measuring look. ‘You wish to travel like that, or with me?’

      Glaring at him, Cressy scrambled into the passenger seat. ‘Do you always get your own way?’

      He shrugged. ‘Why not?’

      She could think of a hundred reasons without repeating herself, but she said nothing, sitting beside him in mutinous silence as the pick-up lurched down the track.

      At least he’d changed out of those appalling shorts, she thought, stealing a lightning glance from under her lashes. He was now wearing clean but faded jeans and a white shirt, open at the neck with the sleeves turned back over his tanned forearms. And he seemed to have shaved.

      All ready for the evening conquests, no doubt.

      After a while, he said, ‘You are not in a very good mood after your day on the beach.’

      Cressy shrugged. ‘It started well,’ she said stonily. ‘Then went downhill fast.’

      ‘As you tried to do on Yannis’s bicycle?’ He was grinning. ‘Not wise.’

      ‘So I discovered,’ she admitted tautly. ‘Now all I want is to get back to Alakos.’

      ‘You don’t like my island?’

      ‘It isn’t that at all,’ she denied swiftly. ‘But I’m hot, dusty, and my hair’s full of salt. I need a shower, a cold drink and a meal.’

      ‘Katavaleno. I understand.’ He swerved to avoid a major pothole. ‘So, tell me what you think of Myros?’