The Thirty-Day Seduction

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Copyright

The kiss left Chelsea breathless.

He’d made no attempt to do more than just kiss her, yet she’d felt as if every part of her body was under siege.

“Why?” she got out, and saw Nikos’s lips curve ironically.

“Because I wanted to.”

“Do you always do exactly as you want?” she countered.

“Not always, but you have a mouth made for kissing.”

KAY THORPE was born in Sheffield, England, in 1935. She tried out a variety of jobs after leaving school. Writing began as a hobby, becoming a way of life only after she had her first completed novel accepted for publication in 1968. Since then she’s written over fifty, and lives now with her husband, son, German shepherd dog and lucky black cat on the outskirts of Chesterfield in Derbyshire. Her Interests include reading, hiking and travel.

The Thirty-Day Seduction

Kay Thorpe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

STEADYING herself as the boat rode the spreading bow wave from a passing tourist carrier, Chelsea viewed the island ahead with anticipation tempered by a certain disquiet. Ethics at war with ambition again, she acknowledged wryly; the bane of her professional life at times. Given the same opportunity, how many in her line would hesitate to take advantage?

“Skalos,” declared the man at the wheel of the luxurious cabin cruiser, reducing speed. “Welcome to my home.”

Chelsea turned her head to smile at the handsome young Greek, admiring the lithe lines of his olive-skinned body, clad only in denim shorts at present.

“I hope your family feel the same way.”

White teeth sparkled in the sunlight. “My friends are always welcomed!”

“Even foreign ones?”

He laughed. “We have no quarrel with the English.”

“All the same,” she murmured, “we’re not exactly old friends.”

“We’re neither of us old enough to be old friends,” he returned equably. “And why should it make a difference how long we’ve known each other? Two days or two years; it would be the same. We are-how do you say it-comparable?”

“Compatible.” Which they certainly appeared to be, Chelsea reflected. From the first moment of meeting, back there in Skiathos, they had got on like the proverbial house on fire. All the same, it was doubtful if she would be doing this had Dion not been who he was.

“How many Pandrossoses live on the island altogether?” she asked casually as the low-hilled, wooded landscape took on detail in the hot afternoon sunlight.

“Nikos is the only one, apart from ourselves,” Dion confirmed. “But there are several other families allowed to make their homes there too.”

“It’s privately owned?”

“Owned by the company.” The handsome features darkened for a moment. “The company my father should have been made president of four years ago when his brother died.”

From what she knew of Pandrossos affairs, the deceased president’s son, Nikos Pandrossos, had inherited too much power in the way of company shares to be ousted by his uncle, Chelsea mused. Nor could he be faulted in his handling of the business since. Pandrossos Shipping had gone from strength to strength.

He would be thirty-six now, which was young still to be in such a position. A multi-millionaire, it went without saying. Three years ago his wife and mother had both been drowned in a boating accident, leaving him with a young son. That was all the personal detail anyone appeared to know of the man. An enigma, that was Nikos Pandrossos. As stirring a challenge to any selfrespecting journalist as a red rag to a bull.

Coming into an inheritance at eighteen from her maternal grandfather, sufficient to keep her in a reasonable degree of comfort, Chelsea had seen no reason to opt out of university, emerging three years later with a firstclass degree and an overriding desire to become something big in the world of journalism. She’d been lucky enough to land a job on a leading newspaper, which had supplied the grounding she needed, and moved on from there to World Magazine for a year, during which she had made something of a name for herself. With no financial pressures, she’d been able to go freelance after that, enjoying the freedom of being able to choose her own storylines, most of which she had found little difficulty in selling. At twenty-five she had what most people-including herself-would consider an enviable lifestyle.

Her decision to take a couple of months out, flitting around the Greek Islands, had elicited no more than a resigned injunction to take care from her parents, who had long ago learned to accept her independence. Skiathos had been her third port of call, after Limnos and Alonissos, with the intention of fitting in as many points south as she could manage over the coming weeks. Something she had always wanted to do, and from which she hoped to gain enough material for a whole series of articles.

She had been sitting over morning coffee at one of the harbour tavernas, watching the boats coming and going, when Dion had arrived, drawing every female eye in the vicinity as he leapt ashore after securing his craft. A young man well accustomed to having his pick, Chelsea had judged, as he’d stood, hands thrust into the pockets of his tight-fitting designer jeans, viewing the immediate prospects. She’d looked away before the discerning dark eyes found her, but she’d sensed his gaze coming to rest on her.

He hadn’t been the first Greek male to find her combination of long wheat-gold hair and vivid blue eyes an instant attraction by any means. She had formulated a nice line in cool, composed rejection of all take-over bids, which had stood her in pretty good stead up until then. Dion, however, was made of sterner stuff. Instead of moving on, he’d laughed and taken a seat, introducing himself with a charm calculated to melt the most resistant of hearts.

The name alone had been enough to dry any protest she might have made, the discovery by dint of carefully casual questioning that he was indeed a relative of the man so many had tried and failed to interview a potent force.

Even so, if she hadn’t liked Dion as a person that would have been it, Chelsea assured herself now. She’d enjoyed every minute of the time they’d spent together-especially after Dion had proved himself unexpectedly willing to accept their relationship on her terms. His announcement that he had to return home in order to attend his young cousin’s fifth birthday celebrations, and his invitation to accompany him, had elicited mixed feelings, but the enticement had proved too strong in the end. This would be the closest anyone from her part of the world had ever managed to get to Nikos Pandrossos the man. If she could manage to talk him into granting her an interview, it would be a real feather in her journalistic cap.

They were coming into a small bay where a graceful twin-masted yacht already rode at anchor. Trees backed the curve of sand, giving way to one side to reveal what looked like the start of a narrow roadway-if the car parked there was anything to go by. A man alighted from the vehicle as Dion cut the engine to bring the launch in to a well-timed stop at the jetty built out from a rocky platform, lifting a hand in brief greeting.

“Cousin Nikos,” said Dion. “He must have just got in himself.”

Chelsea made no reply, aware of her suddenly increased creased pulse-rate as she studied the waiting figure. Taller than the average Greek, with shoulders like an ox beneath the tautly stretched white T-shirt, he looked intimidating even from this distance. He was wearing jeans, close-fitting about lean hips and outlining the muscular strength of his thighs. Masculine as they cameand dangerous with it, came the mental rider.

Dion leapt out and tied up the boat before extending a hand to assist her onto the jetty.

“I’ll take your bag,” he said, reaching for the holdall that was the only luggage she had allowed herself this trip. His eyes sparkled devilishly at her involuntary protest. “Must I fight with you for it?”

Laughing, Chelsea gave way. “I suppose I’m too used to doing things for myself,” she said, falling into step at his side along the jetty.

The laughter faded as they descended the carved steps from the rocky platform and trod the stretch of sand to where Nikos Pandrossos awaited their coming. Dark as Dion’s, his eyes scanned her from the toes upwards with a thoroughness that brought faint flags of colour into her cheeks, taking in the shapely length of leg revealed by the brief white shorts, the curve of hip and slender waistline-lingering for a deliberate moment on the firm thrust of her breasts beneath the halter-necked top-before lifting to meet her blue regard with a faint but unmistakable curl of a lip.

“This is Chelsea Lovatt, Nikos,” declared Dion, sounding just a mite confrontational to Chelsea’s ears. “An English friend come to spend a few days.”

“Chelsea?” queried the older man, not having shifted his stance. “You’re named after a district of London?”

“I’m named after a character in a book my mother read while she was carrying me,” Chelsea answered lightly, gathering her wits. “I think she hoped I might turn out the same.”

The curl increased a fraction. “And did you?”

“I’ve no idea,” she parried. “I never read the book.” She put out a hand, registering the surprise that sprang momentarily in his eyes. “I’m honoured to meet you, Kirie Pandrossos.”

The dark head inclined, revealing the merest hint of grey at the temples as a shaft of sunlight touched the thickly curling pelt of his hair. His hand was cool to the touch, fingers closing over hers in a grasp of tempered steel, sending a thrill like an electric shock the length of her arm.

“The honour is all mine, despinis,’ he mocked.

Chelsea resisted the urge to snatch her hand away the moment he released it, feeling the tingle still in her fingers as she thrust them into the pocket of her shorts. Having met the man, she was beginning to realise just how formidable a task she had set herself. She was here under false pretences to start with, which was hardly going to help her case. There was every likelihood that he would have her deported-from the island, at leastthe moment he discovered her real purpose.

Never say die, she told herself firmly, refusing to give way. Challenge was her lifeblood.

“Will you give us a lift to the house?” asked Dion.

“I’d scarcely leave you to await other transport,” returned his cousin. He turned to open the Range Rover’s front passenger door, noting Chelsea’s involuntary hesitation with a sardonic little smile. “I don’t bite. Not unless I’m provoked. If you’d feel more comfortable in the rear, however…”

“I’m happy to sit anywhere,” she said airily, mentally girding her loins again. “Thank you, kirie.”

“You may call me Nikos,” he declared as she slid into the seat.

“Thank you, Nikos, then.” Chelsea took care to eradicate any hint of irony from her tone. “I’m not much for formality either.”

Dark eyes dwelt for a meaningful moment on the long stretch of lightly tanned leg, even further revealed by the pull on her shorts. “So it may be assumed.”

He closed the door before she could come up with a response, leaving her feeling more than a little overexposed. Dion had donned his shirt again before leaving the boat, but had given her no reason to believe herself inadequately dressed. Considering the scanty wardrobe she had with her, she was probably going to have a problem meeting the criteria anyway, she reflected ruefully. The things she’d packed had been chosen for their lightness of weight and washability rather than propriety.

Dion got into the rear seat, leaving his cousin to go around and slide behind the wheel. The car was turned about in three short, sharp moves and headed up the curving incline between the trees. Acutely aware of the muscular thigh she could see on the periphery of her vision, Chelsea turned her attention to the view from the side window as they breasted the final rise and emerged from the tree line.

From here she was looking directly towards the mainland, some five or six miles distant, the mountainous horizon line hazed by heat. Close by lay another, very much smaller island, bearing what looked like the crumbling remains of a small tower on its highest point.

“Does the ruin over there have any significance?” she asked with interest, anticipating some historic provenance.

“It’s just a ruin,” said Dion.

“All that’s left of what was once a tiny chapel,” expounded his cousin. “We’ve never taken the trouble to explore its origins, but you’re at liberty to do so, should you wish it.”

Chelsea gave him a swift glance, struck by the strength of the carved profile with its high-bridged nose and clean jawline. His mouth was well-shaped, lips firm. Wonderful to kiss, came the unwonted thought, hastily discarded.

“That’s very kind of you,” she said, “but I’m hardly going to be here long enough to start looking into historical detail.”

“You have other commitments?”

“Well, no. At least, nothing concrete. I’m just going where the fancy takes me for the next few weeks-seeing as much of the islands as I can.”

“Alone?” The tone left little doubt of his opinion. “Is that wise?”

“I can take care of myself,” she returned without undue emphasis. “And travelling alone means I only have myself to please.”

“You have family back home?”

“Parents, yes.”

“They saw no harm in allowing you to do this?”

Her laugh was just a little short. “They have every confidence in me.”

“But obviously little authority over you.”

“In my country, women my age are considered old enough to govern their own lives.”

“In my country, women your age are normally answerable to their husbands,” came the unmoved response. “Is there no man in your life?”

“No one I plan on marrying, if that’s what you mean.” Chelsea was fast losing patience with this inquisition. “I’ve no interest whatsoever in marriage.”

Nikos gave her another of those swift, assessing glances. “You should think seriously about it while you still have the time.”

About to let fly with a pithy answer, Chelsea caught herself up. Considering the reason she was here at all, she was hardly doing her case much good by getting ratty with the man. She needed to cultivate him, not antagonise him. What she didn’t need at the moment was to let drop any hint of her true colours.

“I appreciate your concern for my welfare, kirie, really I do,” she said on a lighter note. “Few would take the trouble.”

The overture made no visible impression. “You were to call me Nikos,” was all he said.

Quiet up until now in the back, Dion obviously decided it was time he made his presence felt. “My sister will be happy to have you here,” he said. “She’s always complaining of the shortage of feminine companionship. Florina is unmarried too-although she hopes to be wed before too much more time passes.” The last with an odd emphasis. “You’ll like each other, I’m sure.”

Chelsea hoped he was right. Being here under false pretences was bad enough, without finding herself at odds with any member of his family. Abandoning the whole idea would probably be the wisest course, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not while there was any chance at all of achieving her aim. Nikos would be a hard nut to crack, but she might just manage it if she put her mind to it. First and foremost, she had to get beneath that guard of his.

“If she speaks English as fluently as the two of you do there’ll certainly be no problem in communicating,” she said. “My Greek is pretty basic as yet”

“Travel broadens the vocabulary,” said Nikos. “As does tourism also.”

Chelsea’s brows drew together. “You’re involved in the tourist industry?”

“The whole of Greece is involved in the tourist industry,” came the dry return. “Our economy, to a great extent, depends upon it”

“I shouldn’t have thought you met all that many tourists yourself, though,” she ventured, unable to visualise this man mingling with the average package dealers. “The island being private, I mean.”

“Our lives are hardly confined to Skalos,” he said, making her feel a bit of an idiot

“Does Dimitris know yet that he’s to have a birthday party?” asked Dion, before she could make any further comment. “Or is it still to be a surprise?”

“Better he should be surprised rather than disappointed should anything go amiss,” his cousin replied. “Do you like children?” he added to Chelsea.

“I couldn’t eat a whole one,” she quipped before she could stop herself, drawing a splutter of laughter from the rear. “Sorry, that was crass,” she apologised, neither daring nor caring to glance in Nikos’s direction. She added cautiously, “I like some children.”

“You’ll love Dimitris,” Dion assured her. “He’s a real little character!”

“You’re welcome to attend the party if you wish,” invited his cousin, leaving Chelsea feeling that the younger man hadn’t left him much choice.

An opportunity to see the Pandrossos homestead was hardly to be turned down, however, though it seemed necessary to at least make the gesture.

“That’s very kind of you, she said formally, “but I wouldn’t want to intrude on a family occasion.”

Nikos drove the car between double iron gates, expression unrevealing. “Dimitris is the only child in the family, so we must go outside of it for companions for him. We have guests coming from the mainland too, so there’s no question of intrusion.”

“In that case, I’d very much like to come. “Thank you, ki… I mean, Nikos.”

His nod was a mite perfunctory. “Think nothing of it.”

Sparkling white in the sunlight, the house that came into view was more modem in design than Chelsea would have anticipated-a single storey spreading out in several directions, as if bits had been added almost as afterthoughts. A disappointment in many ways, she had to admit.

Nikos drew up before the arched doorway, but declined to accompany the two of them into the house.

“I’m invited for dinner tonight,” he said, “so I’ll see you then. Kali andamosi.”

The equivalent of “bye for now’, Chelsea surmised, not having come across the phrase before. She felt deflated as he headed the car back along the driveway, aware of having made a great deal less than a good start on her campaign-buoying herself up with the thought that she was at least no further away from achieving her aim.

“Come and meet my mother,” said Dion. “My father is away on business at present, although he may be back in time for tomorrow’s festivities.”

If the outside of the house had been a disappointment, the inside was scarcely less so. Lavishly furnished, and heavy on marble and gilt, it left Chelsea with an impression of magazine room settings rather than a home. But then why should these people be expected to conform to her preconceptions simply because they were Greek? she asked herself, following Dion out through the rear of the house to a wide terrace which overlooked an equally spacious swimming pool, with the sea forming a suitable backdrop.

The woman reclining on one of the long, luxuriously padded loungers set beneath a spreading umbrella looked up at her son’s approach, her smile taking on a certain resignation as her eyes fell on Chelsea. When she spoke it was in Greek, and too fast for Chelsea to follow, although as Dion didn’t look in any way perturbed she could only surmise that the welcome mat hadn’t been fully withdrawn.

“This is Chelsea Lovatt from England,” he said. “I invited her to stay for a few days before she continues her travels.”

“Khero poli, Kiria Pandrossos,” Chelsea proffered. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“My son’s friends are always welcome,” returned the other in excellent, if slightly more stilted English than Dion’s own, reinforcing what he’d said himself. “Come, take a seat. You are here on holiday?”

“That’s right.” Chelsea sat down on the nearby chair indicated. “I’m trying to see as many Greek islands as I can before I go home.” She gave a smile. “This one wasn’t on my itinerary, but I’m grateful for the opportunity to add it to the list.”

“Very few foreigners visit Skalos,” confirmed her hostess, not unkindly. “Dion, you will order drinks for all of us.”

“Of course,” he said. “What would you like, Chelsea?”

“A long, cold lemonade would be wonderful,” she said.

Chic in a gold-coloured kaftan, her dark hair swept up and back from her face, Kiria Pandrossos relaxed back onto the lounger as her son went back into the house. Dion was her own age, Chelsea already knew, which meant his mother must surely be in her forties, yet she could easily pass for mid-thirties.

“It’s easy to see where Dion gets his looks from,” she murmured, hardly realising she had spoken out loud until she saw the gratified smile touch the other woman’s lips.

“My son and I share many qualities.” She paused, viewing the lightly tanned and well-balanced features before her, the cascade of sun-streaked hair. “You are very attractive yourself. But of course you would have to be for Dion to have taken an interest. He is much drawn to blonde hair.”

A warning that she wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last, Chelsea sensed. Unnecessary, as it happened, because she had no designs on the man in question. But his mother wasn’t to know that.

“I did consider shaving it all off just to see if I still made the same impact,” she said, tongue in cheek.

Kiria Pandrossos looked startled for a moment, then relaxed again as she saw the twinkle in the blue eyes opposite. “That would be a drastic experiment indeed. Few men are drawn to bald-headed women, whatever their other looks. Dion would certainly not be one of them.”

“I already guessed that,” Chelsea assured her, and added impulsively, “He and I are just good friends, and happy to be that way. When I leave, there’ll be no heartache on either part.”

“Speak for yourself,” quoth the subject under discussion, coming out in time to catch the last. “My heart is already broken!”

Chelsea laughed. “It will soon mend.”

“English women have no romance in their souls!” he complained, slinging himself down on a lounger. “I’ll lie here and pine for what might have been between us!”

Kiria Pandrossos looked as if she found the repartee a little confusing. Obviously unaccustomed to the kind of relationship she and Dion had forged, Chelsea reflected. Kisses were the only form of intimacy they had exchanged-and those themselves light-hearted. They were neither of them looking for any kind of commitment.

The drinks arrived, borne by a youth wearing the seemingly mandatory dark trousers and white shirt of the serving classes in this country. Dion could well have carried them out himself, Chelsea thought, but doubted if the idea would have even occurred to him. Born into money the way he had been, he took service for granted.

“I was not informed that you had called for a car to bring you from the beach, or I would have been expecting you,” said Kiria Pandrossos when they each had their glass.