Mediterranean Seduction

Finally she attended to her freckles, using make-up with an unusually heavy hand. They certainly disappeared, but under a thick coating of foundation that left her face looking like a mask, so then she had to add some rouge to lift the effect.

The transformation was startling, to say the least. And it wasn’t quite what she was used to. She could always hide behind the shawl, Charlotte consoled herself. But the slash of bright red lipstick helped to boost her confidence, as did the layers of black mascara she’d applied to her lashes. But there wasn’t much of her old self left by the time she had finished, she realised, pulling a face at herself in the mirror. But as this was ‘new’ Charlotte—the one with all the confidence—that was good, wasn’t it?

Marianna arrived on the dot of nine, dressed in her finest black regalia, consisting of a voluminous ankle-length skirt, sensible shoes, and an all-concealing top, with the ubiquitous headscarf arranged to allow just a peep of sleek, centrally parted steel-grey hair.

‘Ready?’ Her thoughts on Charlotte’s appearance were revealed by a drawing together of her brows and a click of her tongue. ‘This is your party dress?’ she demanded uncertainly, giving Charlotte’s outfit a comprehensive perusal.

‘This is it,’ Charlotte agreed with an air of finality. She just couldn’t face the rigmarole of starting over again, trying to decide what to wear.

‘Then we go,’ Marianna said with a shrug, drawing the soft cream-coloured shawl down over Charlotte’s naked back and securing it a little closer around her neck.

CHAPTER FOUR

ANY apprehension Charlotte might have felt about her first night out on the island was quickly dispelled when they arrived at the taverna. Marianna was greeted like an honoured guest, and they were shown to one of the best tables, just where Charlotte had hoped it would be, out on the jetty at the very edge of the dance floor.

Marianna introduced the owner of the taverna to Charlotte as Mikos, and with a click of his fingers he summoned one of the young waiters forward. The good-looking youth quickly lit a candle for them, and provided a basket of freshly baked bread, together with a bowl of olive oil in which to dunk it, as well as a large bottle of fridge-chilled water and some drinking glasses.

‘I invite you both to visit my kitchen and take your pick of the food,’ Mikos announced, turning from Charlotte to Marianna. ‘I want you to have the very best, Kiria Lyknos,’ he said with deference. ‘I caught some excellent fish today.’ And then, turning to Charlotte, he explained with a flourish, ‘Mikos Anglias—part-time restaurateur, full-time fisherman. At least, I am a fisherman in my head,’ he added wryly. ‘Fishing is a state of mind here on Iskos—is that not correct, Kiria Lyknos?’

‘Everyone envies the fishermen of Iskos,’ Marianna agreed, nodding sagely.

Charlotte warmed to the ebullient owner of the taverna immediately. He seemed to validate the theme of her article that here on Iskos people were valued for their inner qualities, rather than for their wealth or position. Her heart thundered on cue as she remembered the source of that idea. And she had tried so hard to avoid any thought of the fisherman, Charlotte berated herself silently. She didn’t want anything to spoil the evening.

Thinking of him now made her look around anxiously. The other tables were filling up rapidly, but of course he was nowhere to be seen. She told herself not to be so jumpy, but still her heart insisted on pounding, as if he was somewhere close by—so much so that Marianna was forced to ask her twice to accompany her to the kitchen before Charlotte even realised that both she and Mikos were standing up and waiting for her to accompany them.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she apologised, getting to her feet right away. But she wasn’t allowed to set forth just yet. Having appointed herself unofficial chaperone for the evening, Marianna wouldn’t allow Charlotte to follow Mikos until the concealing cream shawl had been well and truly secured around her shoulders.

When she pushed through the swinging doors and entered the small kitchen it was like entering another world. The hub of the taverna was everything Charlotte had expected—hot, steamy, and full of noise. Pan lids crashed, pots bubbled and wheezed on the central cooking station, while a veritable army of people criss-crossed each other’s paths at speed, as if mounted on invisible tracks.

Forced to press back against the wall to let them pass, Charlotte took a few moments to get her bearings. Then suddenly there was a lull, and the room cleared. The two cooks at the central island continued ladling and stirring to some confident inner rhythm, while Marianna and Mikos talked on in an undertone like extras in the drama.

The steam lifted as if some giant hand had brushed it aside, and Charlotte felt a wave of interest envelop her long before she identified the source. Apprehension mounted inside her until she felt as if a fist was lodged in her throat. And as her gaze was drawn across the room she found the fisherman staring back at her.

There was no mistaking him. She would have known him anywhere, though his eyes were even more extraordinary close up than she had suspected when she’d first caught sight of him on the beach. Their colour was that of a semiprecious stone—tiger’s eye, maybe—sepia, shot through with gold. He wore a critical expression, but he didn’t trouble to mask his interest, and the expression in his eyes ran a shaft of awareness right through her. It was as if they were weighing each other up, like combatants about to enter the ring, Charlotte registered uneasily.

Not for one moment had she thought to find her fisherman in the kitchen at the taverna—and what exactly had she done to merit his disapproval? She began to bridle as he refused to break eye contact, and then she felt her cheeks flare red. He had almost certainly seen her naked on the beach, which accounted for the sardonic stare. She glared straight back at him and tried not to care that he had changed out of his simple work clothes into hip-skimming black trousers secured with a slim black leather belt. These were teamed with a crisp white shirt that had just enough buttons left undone to tease her senses with the sight of a hard, bronzed chest shaded with dark hair.

‘Iannis!’

Charlotte started guiltily at the sound of Marianna’s voice. It was as if, right on cue, the older woman had sensed the undertow of emotion snapping between them and stepped into the ring like a referee.

‘I did not expect to see you here tonight!’ she said, speaking in English for Charlotte’s benefit. And then, holding out her hands to Charlotte as if inviting her forward to be introduced, Marianna made it impossible to avoid the inevitable.

Iannis smiled at Marianna. So he did have teeth, Charlotte mused ironically, and rather nice ones at that—strong and white and even. She was surprised too at the warm welcome he received from Marianna, whose judgement she had come to trust. He said something cynical in Greek—or at least Charlotte took it to be cynical from the mocking tone of his voice and the sardonic curve of his lips. But Marianna only slapped him playfully on the arm, and was rewarded by an affectionate hug, followed by a kiss on both cheeks.

‘Come, come,’ she said, turning back to Charlotte. ‘Come and meet Iannis Kiriakos.’

There was no escape, so she might as well face up to him, Charlotte mused wryly. What a ring to his name—she loved it! Best of all, Kiriakos was a popular surname on the island—and his first name was popular in all of Greece. She couldn’t have named him better, as far as her article was concerned—but she would have to keep him anonymous, she remembered with disappointment, or ask permission to name him.

Anonymity was the safer option, she decided, the moment his hand locked with her own.

‘We’ve already met—on the beach,’ he reminded her in a voice that was low and steady, as if he wanted to remind her fully of her humiliation without alerting Marianna to trouble.

Charlotte felt a tremor run through her as his strength closed around her. The possibility that he was intimately acquainted with every inch of her left her feeling at a distinct disadvantage.

She refused to look at him, but his handshake was firm and confident, his hand warm and strong, and surprisingly smooth. He made her think of a powerful engine idling, and her imagination leapt to fill in the blanks. She couldn’t even begin to guess at the consequences of stirring such immense potential into action. He would need ten women to satisfy him, at least, she thought wildly, instinctively backing away when he released her hand—which he did disappointingly soon.

There was something about Iannis Kiriakos that insanely made Charlotte want to rest against him for a moment. He made her feel so tiny and defenceless, made the air around her seem charged with an energy that hadn’t been there before. And, as hard as she tried to ignore him, a determined heat was busily invading every inch of her—filling her with hunger. And not for food.

She detected a faint, spicy edge to the food-fragranced air. Sandalwood, Charlotte decided, inhaling appreciatively, one of her favourite scents, and a sophisticated choice for a fisherman.

As curiosity got the better of her she glanced up, only to be met by a slanting ironic stare that made her stomach quiver in response. A day’s worth of stubble darkened his tanned face which, with the black waves curling over the collar of his shirt, made her fisherman look exactly like a pirate.

His hair was thick and glossy, and she imagined running her fingers through it—if only she could have reached. When he shifted position in response to a question from one of the cooks he moved so close to her that Charlotte felt as if an electric current had just surged through her body.

Now most of her view was taken up by the broad sweep of his shoulders, and the ease with which he moved suggested he was a lot more relaxed about their close proximity than she could ever be.

Concentrate on gathering facts for your article, Charlotte told herself primly. But her thoughts centred on their encounter at the beach, and the deep, challenging voice suggesting she should come out of her hiding place stark naked to claim her clothes.

Steadying her breathing, Charlotte tried again to revive her professional nose for a story. Iannis Kiriakos is completely at ease with himself and the world he inhabits, she logged mentally. Materially, he may have little, in comparison to many men, but he is infinitely more assured than most. He talks easily to everyone, and everyone appears to take pleasure in his company. Except me, Charlotte realised, swallowing nervously when he swung around to stare at her.

‘That’s enough time spent in the kitchen,’ Marianna said, startling Charlotte as she took hold of her arm. Nudging Iannis out of the way, Marianna positioned herself between them. ‘I have chosen our food, and now we will return to our table,’ she said firmly, and steered Charlotte towards the door.

Charlotte was ready to believe she had never been more grateful to anyone in her life as they exited the kitchen. But on their way back to the table Marianna had no hesitation in throwing the blackest of glances at any man who presumed to show interest in her charge. It was as if she was already spoken for, Charlotte realised with amusement. And she was more than happy to go along with that—as long as Marianna’s plans for her had nothing to with Iannis Kiriakos.

‘Marianna, who is Iannis?’ Charlotte said, the moment they sat down again.

But just as Marianna was on the point of answering some friends at a neighbouring table attracted her attention.

Charlotte was beginning to feel vaguely threatened by the mysterious fisherman, and her lack of knowledge about him only added to the uncertainty.

She had never been confronted by such an overload of testosterone in her life, Charlotte told herself, thinking that must be the reason for her worry. Forcing herself to relax, she leaned forward to put the question to Marianna again. But before Marianna had a chance to say anything everyone started to applaud. The evening’s entertainment had begun.

‘Ah, the musicians,’ Marianna said, clapping her hands with pleasure and pointing as the bouzouki band assembled on the low stage at the far end of the jetty. She beamed at Charlotte. ‘I do hope you will enjoy this evening,’ she said, leaning over the table to pat Charlotte’s hand.

‘I know I will,’ Charlotte said warmly, putting her doubts to one side. But the smile soon froze on her face when Iannis Kiriakos walked across the dance floor and chose a table directly facing her.

As he settled down people called to him from other tables, and lifted their glasses to him in a toast. The whole of the taverna seemed to vibrate at a different frequency now he was here, Charlotte realised, wondering why that should be so. It was as if his presence was the signal for the music to strike up too.

Maybe he had been away from the island for some time, she reasoned. The welcome he was getting suggested something of the sort. But where would a man like Iannis go? To another island close by, perhaps?

Charlotte could see Marianna looking at her curiously, and was just about to launch into a whole series of questions when the volume of the music rose, making conversation impossible. And Marianna was soon engaged in a jovial shouting match with some friends at the nearby table. But it was Iannis Kiriakos who troubled Charlotte the most. He seemed to have only one person in his sight-line.

Charlotte dropped her gaze quickly, but not fast enough. Their eyes had clashed briefly, but it had been enough for her face to flame red as she interpreted the question in her fisherman’s gaze: Available, or not available? And there had been a curve at one corner of his hard and extremely sensuous mouth that seemed to suggest he already knew the answer to his silent question.

Before Charlotte could think what to do about it their food arrived, piled high on huge platters carried at shoulder height by a boisterous stream of waiters led by the fun-loving Mikos. She felt faint with relief at the distraction, and threw herself whole-heartedly into the rhythmical applause that greeted the parade.

‘This is just wonderful,’ she called across to Marianna.

‘I knew it was an evening you shouldn’t miss,’ Marianna agreed, inclining her head graciously.

But beneath Marianna’s hooded lids Charlotte glimpsed a glint of something that aroused her suspicious. Surely Marianna wouldn’t have engineered the meeting with Iannis Kiriakos? Charlotte dismissed her suspicions on the grounds of Marianna’s traditional upbringing. She would never expose an unattached woman to a blatantly rampant male when that woman was leaving the island in just a few days’ time. And more than that, Charlotte realised, she trusted Marianna.

Within minutes of her arrival on the island she had found herself confiding in the older woman in a way she would never have believed possible with someone who was practically a stranger. But Marianna had that quality. She drew people to her. She had drawn out the pain of Charlotte’s failed marriage like pus from a wound, and by the time she’d left that first evening Charlotte had felt the healing process had begun.

Marianna’s thoughts on Charlotte’s failure as a trophy wife had been bluntly put. ‘You need someone who is content in themselves—a man who does not need possessions to find his level in life.’

No, Charlotte told herself firmly, never in a million years would Marianna set her up with the steely-looking individual currently viewing her as if she was the next tasty dish on the menu.

Soon Charlotte’s own platter was piled high with food. The fish was so fresh it melted in her mouth like butter, and the bowls of salads and dips were so delicious she hardly knew where to begin.

‘Use your fingers,’ Marianna advised, taking the lead.

Breaking off a chunk of bread, Charlotte joined her in dunking it into the fragrant sauce and licking the excess off her fingers enthusiastically. The juices were running every-where—over her wrists, down her arm—and she had to resort to sucking her fingers clean one by one. Then something made her look up, and she found Iannis Kiriakos staring back at her, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

It was as if a practised hand strummed a set of strings deep within her, and it was impossible to tear her gaze away from him until Marianna reclaimed her attention, when she passed another bowl of food across the table. But even then Charlotte found it impossible to hold her glance in check. As her eyes strayed she saw one corner of his mouth tug up in the suggestion of a smile, but his eyes were hard and calculating and she felt a shiver of apprehension.

Instinctively, she drew closer to Marianna, concentrating all her attention on the food. But it was impossible not to snatch glances of Iannis—not to notice his long, lean fingers as he fed food into his mouth, or glimpse the flash of strong white teeth when he spoke to the waiter, or to see that his expression was always quite different when he directed his attention to anyone other than her. She saw him soften then, and his eyes sharpen with laughter. But when he looked back at her it was always with an expression in his eyes she didn’t care to name.

She discovered that his mouth was compulsive viewing too—he had the most expressive lips… Pull yourself together, Charlotte warned herself sternly. You don’t need either the friendship or the approval of this Iannis Kiriakos. You only need him like a scientist needs a theory—to write about.

That last thought should have helped, but even when Iannis was fully engrossed in the food set before him it was like being in a tunnel where only the two of them existed. And when he pulled back his head to stare at her again Charlotte noticed one of his ebony brows lifting just enough to send a slither of sensation down her spine.

Gradually plates were pushed aside and glasses refilled. Noise levels had risen, and only dipped slightly when the overhead strings of light were reduced to a single strand. Time to dance, Charlotte guessed, as a hum of anticipation rose above the tables. The musicians had returned after their break and were starting to tune their instruments. Moonlight flooded the dance floor, and it was all so romantic. She would have been having the time of her life, Charlotte realised tensely, had it not been for one man.

Determinedly she turned her attention to the leader of the band, watching as he made a signal with one hand. Despite her misgivings, she couldn’t help but thrill to the strong chord that rang out like a call to arms. Men were already answering the call, rising one by one from the tables surrounding the dance floor and assembling in front of her in a ragged line. They were forming up to dance the kalamatiana, she guessed as they rested their arms across each other’s shoulders.

And then the unmistakable beat began. Snaking outwards from the small stage where the musicians were assembled. She could almost imagine the notes winding and curling sinuously around the men on the floor, causing their work-hardened muscles to soften and their faces to take on a look of intense pride. It was if their machismo had become the servant of expression and dramatic intensity. It was a potent sight, and one Charlotte found impossible to resist.

To begin with the pulse was slow and steady, but promising more, like a racehorse reined in hard at the gate. The occasional musical flourish raised the tension, as well as the expectation of the audience, and soon everyone was clapping in time to the beat, stamping their feet in an attempt to push the tempo on. The rhythm was growing stronger and more persuasive every few bars, until it thrummed through Charlotte’s body with remorseless intent.

She was on her feet now, swaying in time like everyone else, echoing the cries around her as she urged the music on to its inevitable climax. Then one of the older men broke away from the chain of dancers and began walking around the tables, his arms extended in mute invitation for more people to join in. And as his glance passed over Charlotte, he winked.

What was she waiting for? Kicking off her shoes, Charlotte eased her way through the tables and walked onto the dance floor. She was oblivious to everything now apart from the beat—the wild, irresistible beat. Joining on to the end of the line, she tossed back her hair with abandon and lavished a smile on the man standing next to her. Stranger to the island or not, she had no intention of missing an opportunity like this.

Charlotte failed to register the gasp that went up. She was too busy watching the moves and trying to match her step to that of the men dancing with her. By the time she did notice anything, it was just the warm and slightly damp feel of the corded arm beneath her hand. The man she was clinging on to was clearly delighted to have her as his dancing partner, Charlotte realised, whipping her head away from his moist garlic breath. He seemed to be holding her a lot closer than was strictly necessary, and as the tempo lifted another man joined in at her free side. Now she was sandwiched between them—and out of sight of the spectators Garlic Breath’s hand was on an unmistakable mission…

Iannis sprang to his feet. It was bad enough that this woman chose to cavort naked on the beaches of Iskos. But this—this was insupportable!

Charlotte was just beginning to panic when her two partners fell away, releasing her so quickly that for a few moments she was stranded in the middle of the dance floor on her own, feeling completely foolish.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

She whipped around. The angry words startled her, but not half as much as the sight of Iannis Kiriakos in a rage. He stood in the middle of the floor, completely unconcerned that he was drawing more attention to her than ever. Charlotte’s face flamed red with embarrassment and with fury. She was dancing like everyone else—what the hell did he think she was doing?

‘Must you break every convention without the slightest consideration for other people’s sensibilities?’ he asked coldly, before she had a chance to recover. Then, turning, he made a swift signal to the band and the music slowed abruptly.

Charlotte was glad of the dim lights. Her blood pressure was so high she felt ready to explode. If Iannis Kiriakos really wanted a fight out here, in front of everyone, she’d give him one. But as if he could read her mind he seized her arm in a firm grip and steered her back to the line of dancers. ‘You want to dance?’ he rasped harshly. ‘We’ll dance.’

Everyone was staring at them now, Charlotte realised. In fact the noise and laughter around the dance floor had stilled into stunned silence. Her imposing fisherman could capture everyone’s attention simply by being, but in this state of mind he was compulsive viewing. The faces of the local people were frozen in anticipation as they waited to see what he would do with her.

‘Do you like being the only woman in a man’s dance?’ he demanded scathingly, positioning her at the end of the line next to him.

‘A man’s dance?’ Charlotte cloaked her shocked realisation, and the resulting rush of blood to her face, in anger. ‘I’m only surprised your pride allows you to indulge in anything so frivolous as dancing—let alone participate in a dance for men.’ She had just enough time to inject some derision and challenge into her angry words before the music restarted and quickly returned to its original pace and volume.

She gasped as Iannis seized hold of her and swung her around to join in the dance, and then she was forced to concentrate fast, or trip over his feet. The contrast between her dancing partners couldn’t have been more pronounced. Unlike Garlic Breath, Iannis showed no interest in groping her, and diverted all his passion into the intricate steps. His anger was converted into an expressive fire that allowed him to produce strong, powerful moves. And he brought her with him so firmly she didn’t even have to think about her own steps.