‘Focus on the horizon. You won’t feel dizzy then,’ said Nikos. He had leant towards her, to speak above the noise of the engine.
She gritted her teeth, doing as he bade. Ahead of them the dark mass of Sospiris gradually grew closer. But horribly, horribly slowly. The hand was still at her spine, but she would not, would not, tell him to take it away. Would not pay him any attention. Would completely ignore him.
It was impossible to ignore the presence of Nikos Theakis beside her, his hand at her back, even though she was straining away from him as much as she could. His long legs were braced, one arm stretched out along the gunwale. Impossible to ignore the subtle scent of him—a mix of brandy, expensive aftershave, and something more. A scent of masculinity …
Never had the crossing seemed to take so long.
At her side, Nikos wondered to himself whether he were insane.
The evidence was certainly in favour of that judgement. Ever since he’d looked himself in the eye in his bathroom mirror and told himself he was playing with fire, he’d known what the smart thing to do would be. It would be to take full advantage of the fortuitous presence of Elena Constantis—even if it did only fuel her ambitions. It did not, most definitely did not, include what he’d done this evening, seeking Ann out. What he was doing right now.
Let alone what he wanted to do …
He dragged his mind away. He shouldn’t be here—he knew that. He shouldn’t have murmured insincere apologies to Elena, ignoring the snap of frustrated anger in her eyes. He shouldn’t have found his steps taking him in the direction of the old port, shouldn’t have found himself outside the taverna where he’d known the archaeologists would be. And when he’d heard the familiar, hypnotic, compelling age-old music coming out of the doors and windows he definitely should not have gone inside. And when he’d gone inside he should never have succumbed to the impulse to join in the dancing.
And he should never have allowed himself the pleasure of watching Ann Turner unable to tear her eyes away from him …
But that was just what he had allowed himself to do—and why? Because he’d wanted to. He’d seen her, and wanted her.
Very simple. Very stupid.
Wasn’t that why he’d been avoiding the girl as much as he could since the afternoon on the beach, spending time instead with Elena? He was playing with fire again. Because that incident had shown him vividly, urgently, that his grand plan for her was far too incendiary—for him. Yes, seducing the girl and keeping her as his mistress would be an excellent way of getting rid of her, spiking her guns, but the seduction had to be one way only. He would be seducing her—not the other way round. That was essential. He and he alone had to be calling the shots.
More logic impressed itself upon him impeccably, giving him exactly the answers he wanted to questions he didn’t want to ask in the first place. He spelt it out to himself. It was exactly because Ann Turner was what she was—a woman who would sell her own sister’s baby for cash—that he had fought his attraction to her. Of course he had! She was the very last woman he should sully himself with—however deceptively beautiful her packaging. But it had been precisely because he’d fought his attraction to her that it was now so powerful. He could see it with absolute clarity. Logic carried him forward inexorably. Which therefore meant that his reaction to her on the beach had been so extreme only because he’d been trying to suppress his attraction to her. And so now, if he simply gave free rein to his desire, stopped trying to suppress it, his reaction to her would be nothing more than what he was familiar with, comfortable with. The normal reaction he had to a woman he found sexually enticing …
Satisfaction eased through him. Problem analysed. Problem solved. He wanted Ann Turner. There were very good reasons for permitting himself to do so—and no good reason for denying himself what he wanted.
A highly pleasurable bedding. Followed by an equally satisfying removal of a thorn in his side. Once Ann Turner was his mistress, his mother would not invite her to Sospiris again …
His eyes moved over her. She was all unseeing of him. Beneath his palm the fine material of her top fluttered in the wind. Almost he pressed his hand forward, to feel the warmth of her flesh soft beneath his palm, the heat of her pliant body. For nothing more than an instant unease ghosted through his mind as the dark mass of Sospiris loomed closer and the launch came in under its lee, heading to the quay.
Then it was gone. Stavros cut the throttle, nosing the craft forward until he could reach for the mooring. They were back at Sospiris, and the night—Nikos got easily to his feet to alight, holding down his hand to Ann—the night had scarcely begun.
CHAPTER SIX
WITH DEEP RELUCTANCE Ann took the outstretched hand. It was warm, and large, and the strong fingers folded over hers effortlessly, drawing her up on to the stone quay. For a few seconds she felt unsteady, after the rocking of the boat, and yet again she stiffened as his hand moved to her spine again, performing the dual office of steadying her and impelling her forward with smooth pressure.
‘Mind the steps,’ his low voice reminded her. It was not a drawl, precisely, but it was lazily spoken, with a note to it that she was deeply aware of.
His hand was there again, and though with any other man it would not have signified anything other than common courtesy, with Nikos she knew it was quite, quite different. It was his brand on her. A brand that went right through the thin layer of her top.
In deafening silence she walked up the steps, gained the level ground at the top as he guided her through the stone archway that led into the main gardens. She went docilely, as if there was nothing awkward in the slightest about Nikos Theakis walking through the villa’s midnight gardens, with the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle filling the night air so that her breath caught the scent, rich and fragrant.
‘Eupheme planted them there deliberately,’ Nikos remarked.
‘So that you walk, as it were, into a wall of scent at just that point. The night air always gives so much more intense a fragrance, does it not?’
He paused on a little stone concourse, where massed vegetation softened the stone walls, the tiny white flowers of jasmine like miniature stars beneath the sky. Another, wider, shallower flight of stone steps led down from here into the garden spreading away below, and where they stood was a vantage point over the whole expanse. Without realising it, Ann paused as well, automatically taking in the landscaped vista beyond, from the artfully winding pathways, the sculpted vegetation, the little walls festooned in bougainvillea, their brilliant hues dimmed now, and out towards the stand of cypress trees at the garden’s far edge, their narrow forms spearing the night sky.
There was no moon, but starlight gleamed on the sea beyond, and caught, too, the iridescent surface of the swimming pool, nestled into its terrace between the villa and the garden.
Ann gazed out over the vista. ‘It really is beautiful,’ she said. It was impossible not to say so. Impossible not to stand there drinking it in and feel the heady intoxication of the flowers’ fragrance, the even headier intoxication of her blood. She wasn’t sure how much wine she had drunk—she could feel it suffusing her veins, feel it swirling gently through her—but it seemed to have put the world into a strange, seductive blend whereby she seemed both supersensitive to everything around her and yet everything seemed dissociated from her, unreal almost … as if she were drifting through it like a veil.
But she knew she should not go on standing here beside Nikos, gazing out over the starlit garden with the scent of flowers in her nostrils, the soft music of the cicadas playing in the vegetation. She should, in fact, walk briskly away along the stone pathway to the terrace and get inside the villa, go straight to her bedroom. Where, equally briskly, she should take off her make-up, brush out her hair, get into her nightdress, get into bed, and go peacefully, immediately to sleep.
That, she knew, was precisely what she should do. Right now.
Not