The Thirty-Day Seduction

“I didn’t call,” her son confirmed. “Nikos brought us. He said he would be joining us for dinner tonight.”

“Ah, good! He was uncertain of his movements today. Hestia must be told that there will be two more at table.”

“Already done.” Dion paused to take a drink from his glass. “Florina will be happy to see our cousin.”

“As shall we all.” His mother sounded faintly reproving. “You must not tease your sister, Dion. Her emotions are too fragile.”

“It’s Nikos who does the teasing,” he retorted. “He knows how she feels for him, but he still holds back!”

“He will speak soon, I am certain. Dimitris needs a mother to care for him when his father is away from home. He must know this.”

So Nikos Pandrossos was to marry his cousin, Chelsea reflected, concentrating on her drink. At least, that appeared to be the hope. It would be a good move for the family; there was no doubt. It was Florina she felt sorry for-as she would feel sorry for any woman married to a man like Nikos Pandrossos. An autocrat if ever she saw one!

CHAPTER TWO

LOOKING inland, the bedroom to which she was eventually shown was as sumptuously furnished and decorated as the rest of the house; the wide bed draped in pale lemon silk to match the beautifully hung drapes, the floor carpeted in thickly piled Prussian blue. There was an en suite bathroom, complete with a sunken bath convertible to a Jacuzzi at the flick of a switch.

“I could hardly be anything else,” Chelsea confirmed when Dion expressed a hope that she would be comfortable. “This is sheer luxury!”

“My mother admires the Italian style of living,” he acknowledged. “You’ll find Nikos’s house very different.”

“A traditionalist, is he?” she hazarded.

“If you mean that he prefers the old ways to the new, then, yes.”

Chelsea kept her tone light. “With women very much secondary citizens, I take it?”

“Of course. Women are born to serve the male!” Grinning, Dion dodged the pillow she snatched up and slung at him. “Some women, at least.”

“Does Florina see her role in life that way?” Chelsea felt moved to ask.

“My sister,” he said, “will do whatever is necessary to achieve what she desires the most in life.”

“To marry Nikos?”

“Yes.”

Chelsea sat down on the bed-edge to unzip her bag and start taking things out, voice casual. “What happened to his wife?”

“The boat in which she and my aunt were returning from a visit to the mainland developed engine trouble and was driven onto rocks in a squall and sank. The crew escaped, but they were trapped below.”

“It must have been dreadful for him, losing them both together,” said Chelsea, in swift, surging empathy. “How on earth did he cope?”

“The way he copes with everything. No one ever knows Nikos’s true feelings.” Dion came away from the windowsill, where he had been leaning. “I’ll leave you to finish unpacking.”

“There’s little enough of it to do,” she said. “I hope you don’t go in for dressing up in the evening, because I’m going to be seriously letting the side down. I set out to travel light.”

Dion laughed and shook his head. “We are very informal. Not,” he added, “that you could look anything but beautiful whatever you wear. With eyes such as yours, you have no need of jewels!”

“Corn!” Chelsea was laughing too. “Pure, unadulterated corn!”

“It works with others,” he returned, unabashed.

She didn’t doubt it. Given the opportunity, most would be only too ready to respond to any line he cared to use, however corny. It was a source of some wonder to her still that he left her so relatively unstirred in the physical sense.

His cousin was a different matter, she had to admit. He radiated a sexual attraction impossible to ignore. Not that it made any difference to her prime objective.

So far she had no formulated plan of campaign. The ideal would be to find some way of putting him in her debt, although she couldn’t begin to think how that might be done. All she could do was play it by ear and hope for a break of some kind. Being nonconfrontational would be a good start.

Dion was watching her curiously. “You looked just then as if you had some problem,” he remarked. “Is it one I can help you with?”

“I was just wondering whether to go for a swim before I finish unpacking,” she improvised, holding up the bikini she had just taken out. “If it’s all right to use the pool, that is?”

“Why else would it be there?” he returned. “I’ll go and put on bathing trunks and we’ll swim together. You can find your way back out to the pool?”

“I’m sure of it.” Even if it had been a spur-of-themoment suggestion, the thought of a dip was tempting. It was still only just gone six-thirty, and dinner was hardly likely to be served before nine. Plenty of time to tidy herself up in. “I’ll see you out there,” she said.

The blue bikini looked just a little too brief for present circumstances. She put on a black one-piece suit instead, missing the fact that the smoothly clinging Lycra outlined her shape far more provocatively. An over-sized white shirt did double duty as a covering wrap; it would hardly do to parade through the house semi-naked. Her hair she tied back into her nape with a rubber band. There would still be plenty of time to wash it before dinner.

Kiria Pandrossos was gone from the terrace when she reached it, her place taken by a younger version who eyed the newcomer with a total lack of welcome.

“You must be Florina,” said Chelsea, extending a smile herself. “I’m Chelsea Lovatt, a friend of Dion’s.”

“Why are you here?” The question was abrupt.

Chelsea kept the smile going. “Your brother invited me. He’ll be out in a moment. We’re going to have a swim.”

The striking face failed to relax. “Dion treats our home as a hotel! He has no right to bring people here without first asking permission.”

“Your mother didn’t seem to mind,” Chelsea felt bound to respond, and saw the other’s expression sour even further.

“My brother can do no wrong in her eyes, but that does not make what he does right.”

Sibling jealousy, Chelsea concluded, feeling some sympathy. Sons were all-important in this country. Florina was a year or so older than her brother—of an age when she might be counted as being well and truly on the shelf marriage-wise. Waiting for her cousin to make a move wouldn’t have helped. In all fairness, the man should surely clarify his intentions.

Dion’s arrival was a relief. If he registered his sister’s lack of enthusiasm for their new guest he refused to acknowledge it.

“I’ll race you six lengths of the pool,” he challenged Chelsea, having already sampled her prowess in the water. “And this time I will win!”

Laughing, she slid out of the white shirt and kicked off her sandals, then followed him to the pool-end to pose with him in the classic position. They entered the water in perfect unison, surfacing within seconds of each other and striking out powerfully.

Chelsea had given up competitive swimming on leaving school, but she had kept up the practice because it was one of the best ways of keeping fit. She had little difficulty keeping pace with Dion over the first lengths, and would have beaten him by a short head over the last had her more charitable instincts not caused her to lose just enough ground for him to touch a couple of feet in front. Pandering to male pride, maybe, but it meant far more to him than it did to her.

“You win,” she said in mock resignation, treading water.

Curly black hair sparkling with water droplets, perifania restored, Dion could afford to be generous. “Only just. You swim faster than any other female I ever encountered! It took me by surprise the first time.”

“I know.” Tongue tucked firmly in cheek, Chelsea made a wry grimace. “I suppose I’ll just have to settle for second best when it comes right down to it.”

She turned to swim across the width of the pool to where a metal stepladder extended down into the water, this time using a more restful breast stroke. The sight of the man now seated with Florina on the terrace brought her to an abrupt halt only halfway up the steps. It was too late to drop back into the water because he was looking right at her, mouth taking on the fast-becomingfamiliar slant as she vacillated.

He got to his feet to take a towel from the nearby rack and bring it across. Except that instead of placing the towel where she could reach it and retiring again, he opened it up and held it out invitingly, dark eyes cynical.

“Are you coming out?” he asked. “Or did you change your mind after all?”

“Coming out.” She suited her actions to her words, hauling herself the rest of the way up the ladder and accepting the towel without looking at him directly. Dressed now in beautifully tailored cream trousers and dark brown silk shirt, he was no less disturbing. “Don’t let me splash you,” she tagged on, hoping he would back off and give her room to breathe.

“Water will do me no harm,” he said. “Why did you allow Dion to win just now?”

Feeling considerably more confident with the towel wrapped securely about her, Chelsea raised a pair of innocently widened blue eyes. “Why would I do that?”

“Because of what you hope to gain, perhaps?”

Her brows creased. “Gain?”

“You’re far from ingenuous, so don’t try playing the part for me,” Nikos returned hardily. “Dion may see no further than your face and body, but I’m not so easily blinded. You have a purpose in giving way to him the way you just did-a purpose in being here with him at all, in fact.”

Her heart jerked, then steadied again. There was nothing to suggest that he’d guessed the truth. If she read him correctly, his suspicions lay in quite another direction.

“If you think I’m after joining the family, you can forget it,” she said bluntly, abandoning discretion for the moment. “Dion won the race on his own merits. Please don’t try spoiling it for him by suggesting anything other.”

The strongly carved features took on a disquieting expression. “The only suggestion I might-”

He broke off as his cousin hauled himself out of the water at Chelsea’s back, obviously not prepared to continue the discussion-if it could rightly be called thatin front of the younger man.

“We didn’t expect you until later,” said Dion, sounding somewhat less than welcoming to Chelsea’s ears.

“I have matters to discuss with your mother,” Nikos answered, adding with a certain irony, “If a reason is needed.”

His glance came back to Chelsea for a fleeting moment, the message clear to her if to no one else: he hadn’t finished with her yet. Then he was moving away, shoulders powerful beneath the brown silk, back tapering down to waist and hip. A hard man in every sensecertainly not one to be trifled with. Chelsea found herself beginning to regret ever having begun this quest.

Hardly a gainful attitude for an ambitious journalist, she rallied. The harder the battle, the more worthwhile the victory. If it all came to nothing in the end, at least she could console herself with the thought that she hadn’t given up at the first hurdle. It was up to her to rid Nikos of this notion that she had designs on his cousin for starters.

“What was he saying to you?” asked Dion, jerking her out of her introspection.

“Nothing much,” she returned lightly. “I think I’ll go and finish unpacking rather than get back in again. I’d like to wash my hair, if there’s time.”

“We eat at nine,” he said. “That gives you almost two hours still.”

“Time to spare then.”

Sitting alone again, Florina watched her coming with baleful expression. Chelsea gave her a smile in passing, wondering if she was to shoulder the blame for Nikos’s disappearance. If he’d wanted to return to the other’s side, he would surely have done it.

She saw no sign of him as she made her way to her room, although there were plenty of doors he could be behind. With her own door safely closed, she stood for a moment viewing her image in the long dressing mirror across the room, trying to see herself the way Nikos obviously saw her—coming to the conclusion that he had met so many predatory women in his time he probably took it for granted that they were all at the same game.

One thing he could rely on, she had no designs in that direction where he was concerned. She’d as soon stick her head in a tiger’s maw!

Showered, hair washed and dried, she fingered through her travelling wardrobe. Consisting, apart from shorts and swimwear, of two crease-proof shift dresses, three skirts, one silky trouser suit and various tops, the choice was limited. In the end she settled on one of the shifts, in a blue almost the same colour as her eyes, contenting herself with a dab of pale pink lipstick and the merest touch of brown mascara. Her only jewellery was a simple gold chain and matching bracelet, which was all she had brought with her.

Weather permitting, meals were always served outside during the warmer months, Dion had already advised. It was still only eight-twenty when she left the room, and apart from a couple of servants no one else was yet in evidence. Emerging once more onto the terrace, she found a table already set out, with aromatic candles lit to deter any flying livestock. The sun was a great golden orb, touching the mainland mountain ridge.

Standing at the stone balustrade, breathing in the evening-scented air and admiring the view, Chelsea felt at peace with the world. The hustle and bustle of life in the city seemed a million miles away. So far she wasn’t missing it at all.

The sense of being watched came over her suddenly, lifting the hair at her nape and sending a tingle down her spine. It was no great surprise to turn her head and find Nikos seated on another section of the terrace off to the side of the villa.

“I didn’t see you there!” she exclaimed with false brightness.

“Obviously not,” he returned drily. He got to his feet, lithe and powerful as any of the big cats in his movements, causing her heart to beat faster and louder as he came towards her. “You would like a drink?”

Chelsea shook her head, feeling stimulated enough at the moment without alcohol. “Not right now, thanks.”

“Then perhaps a walk before we eat?”

She looked at him uncertainly, unable to fathom the change in attitude since their last meeting. The dark eyes were impenetrable.

“Why the sudden friendliness?” she asked, deciding to take the bull by the horns, so to speak. “Only a couple of hours ago you were convinced I had designs on your cousin.”

“I was perhaps a little hasty in that assessment,” came the unfazed reply. “We’ll begin again?”

Beware of Greeks bearing gifts, an inner voice urged-except that a change of opinion hardly came under that heading. It took a big man to admit that he might be wrong. If Nikos could bring himself to make the gesture, then she could surely meet him halfway.

“That would be…nice,” she said, disgusted by her failure to come up with something a little more inspired. Words were supposed to be her stock-in-trade, for heaven’s sake!

“Would it not?” Nikos agreed. “Shall we take the walk I proposed? The gardens are very beautiful at this time of the year. A suitable setting,” he tagged on smoothly, “for a beautiful woman. I can find no fault with Dion’s taste.”

Coming from any other man, Chelsea would have found the compliment too flowery by half, but she couldn’t deny the buzz it gave her to hear it from him. Careful, she warned herself. Falling for the man was strictly off-limits—stir parts of her that others had never reached though he undoubtedly did.

“You’re too kind,” she murmured, and saw a smile touch the firm lips.

“Kindness isn’t a quality I’m often accorded.”

Chelsea could imagine. Ruthlessness, yes; it was there in every line of those granite features. She had already had a taste of that side of his personality, and was likely to experience it again if she let on what she was really here for too soon.

Just as likely later too, came the thought, pushed to the back of her mind where it could do the least harm.

“I don’t suppose it’s a quality you can often afford,” she said. “Too many people ready to take advantage.”

His gaze narrowed a little. “Which people?”

“In business.” Chelsea hadn’t meant to get this far this fast, but there was no retreating now. “I know who you are, of course. The name Pandrossos is known the world over. Which is why I can’t really blame you for thinking I was out to get a foot in the door via Dion. He’s what in my part of the world would be called the catch of the century!”

Amusement glinted suddenly in the dark eyes. “You have a turn of phrase that does little credit to the English language at times. I’d be grateful if you took pains not to pass on such terms to my son tomorrow.”

“He speaks English at five?”

“The early years are the best time of all to learn. When I’m home, he and I speak English together regularly. The tutor he’s to have at the end of the summer will be bilingual too.” Nikos paused, shaking his head as if the subject was not one he had intended discussing. “Are we to take our walk?”

Chelsea caught herself up, storing the snippets of background material away for future use. She was still a long way from the goalpost.

“Why not?” she said.

Stretching away on both sides of the house, the gardens proved extensive, with the Italian influence very much in evidence here too. Horticulturally illiterate, even back home, Chelsea had no idea what any of the myriad shrubs and plants were.

“It really is lovely,” she remarked, feeling bound to make some comment, however unimaginative, after strolling in silence along the paved paths for several minutes. “So beautifully laid out.”

“Selene likes order in every aspect of her life,” confirmed Nikos.

“Mistress of the moon,” Chelsea murmured, drawing a speculative glance from the man at her side.

“You know something of our mythology?”

“I enjoy dipping into it,” she said truthfully. “If memory serves me right, Selene was usurped by Artemis, who killed her lover, Orion, because she thought he was playing around with Eos.”

“A generalised interpretation, but not wholly inaccurate. The gods were no more exempt from the desire for vengeance when deceived than we mortals.”

Chelsea pulled a leaf from a nearby aromatic shrub, crushing it between her fingers and bringing it to her nose to sniff. “You’re saying you might be moved to act the same way under similar circumstances?”

“To kill, no. There are other forms of retribution.”

The matter-of-fact statement sent a sudden shiver down her back. Of a different kind, maybe, but what she was doing could still be classed as deception.

Darkness had fallen, the fireflies flickering in the trees like so many fairylights. Cicadas filled the air with their incessant song.

“Shouldn’t we be getting back?” she asked. “It must be almost nine.”

“There are still several minutes.” Nikos paused at a stone seat set beneath an archway. “We’ll sit here for a moment or two and watch the stars emerge.”

Other than walking on without him, Chelsea had little choice but to take the seat indicated, feeling the brush of his arm against hers as he sat down beside her. He was too close—too assertively masculine for comfort. Her stomach muscles ached with tension.

“Your hair is luminous in the moonlight,” he said softly. “A river of silver!”

“Very poetic,” she commented, doing her best to keep her voice steady.

Nikos gave a low laugh. “I appear to be making you nervous.”

“You’re confusing me,” she admitted. “When I arrived on the island you looked at me as if I were some kind of cheap pick-up, then you accused me of making up to Dion with an eye to future prospects, and now…”

“Now?” he prompted as she let the words trail away.

“You tell me,” she challenged.

The smile was slow. “Attack is often the best means of defence.”

“Against what?”

He made no verbal answer, sliding an arm about her waist to turn her to him, his other hand coming up to circle her nape beneath the heavy fall of hair, eyes glinting as he lowered his head to find her mouth with his.

The kiss left her 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 seige.

“Why?” she got out, and saw his lips curve ironically.

“Because I wanted to.”

“And you always do exactly as you want to, of course.”

“Not always, but some things one cannot deny oneself.” His fingers moved caressingly at her nape, bringing her tinglingly alive again. “You have a mouth made for kissing—a body made for loving. Dion could never satisfy you.”

Chelsea fought to retain some semblance of control against her treacherous inclinations. If he kissed her again she was going to lose all sense of proportion. “I told you, we don’t have that kind of relationship,” she said through her teeth. “Just stop this, will you? I’m not available to either of you!”

“I think perhaps you may be, should I care to pursue the matter,” Nikos responded, but he let go of her, watching her struggle to contain the involuntary regret with amusement in his eyes. “The flesh is more than willing.”

He wasn’t far wrong. The desires he had aroused in her were unprecedented. Face burning, she got to her feet, wishing the damned moon would disappear behind a cloud.

“You read a great deal too much into too little,” she declared with asperity. “We’re going to be late for dinner.”

“They will wait.”

“I imagine Florina is well used to it where you’re concerned,” she flashed without pause for reflection, breath catching as the humour was wiped from his face. “I had no right to say that,” she mumbled.

“No, you did not,” he agreed on a curt note. He rose himself, looming over her. “What has Dion been telling you?”

There was no way out, Chelsea acknowledged ruefully; she had dropped them both right in it.

“Nothing,” she said, making the attempt on Dion’s behalf at least. “Just something I sensed, that’s all. Call it feminine intuition.”

“A finely tuned faculty indeed.” The satire withered her where she stood. “And what exactly was it that this intuition of yours suggested?”

“Can’t we just leave it at that?” she pleaded. “I’m probably completely wrong, anyway.”

There was a moment when she thought he was going to insist, then he inclined his head in mocking acknowledgement. “Doubtless. You’d be wise to keep a rein on your imagination.”

He turned to start along the path, leaving her to follow in his wake like some reprimanded schoolgirl. To hell with that! she thought, and caught him up, falling into step at his side.

“My stomach’s beginning to think my throat’s been cut!” she remarked brightly.

Nikos gave her a glance more exasperated than angry. “The only injury sustained thus far is to the spoken word!”

“Sorry.” Chelsea put on a penitent expression. “Old habits die hard. I’ll do my very best to speak like the Queen from now on.” She affected a cut-glass accent. “How now brown cow, and all that.”

His laugh was reluctant, but it was a laugh. “You,” he said, “need to learn respect!”

What she did need, came the thought, was to be kissed again the way he had kissed her back there; she could still feel the imprint of his lips on hers. A dangerous yearning, considering the effect just the one kiss had had on her. Nikos Pandrossos was not a man to trifle within any sphere.

Considering which, the chances of his agreeing to be interviewed once he realised who and what she really was were becoming ever more remote, she had to concede.

“No ready retort?” he taunted.

“Too chastened,” she countered, temporarily shelving the problem. “Wasn’t that the intention?”

This time the laugh held a note of genuine humour. “It takes more than words to subdue you.”