Yet as she looked at him, Oriel saw he was different in one respect. It wasn’t just the scar that had changed him. There was a ruthless set to his jaw that had not been there before, a maturity in his bearing, a bitter cast to those unusual silver eyes.
‘Not as you remember me, eh? Afraid of me, Calypso?’ Damian Lekkas raised a hand to his temple and drew the length of his scar with his forefinger and a brief smile twisted his lips. ‘Perhaps you find me repulsive now.’
Oriel couldn’t help her gaze dropping to his granite-like thighs. ‘Not at all,’ she found the courage to murmur. ‘You’re just a little different, that’s all.’
The moonlight shone down, so terribly clear it almost turned night into day. Damian’s eyes flashed and, moving towards her, he caught her wrist in his iron grip, standing above her like doom itself. He lowered his voice. ‘Want to bet?’
Oriel gasped and jerked her hand away, not because she was repelled by him but she could feel the old spell working its charm and she knew that this man was as compelling as ever, if not more so. She stepped back against the gnarled trunk of a nearby mastic tree, her mind reeling at how unbelievable all of this was.
Oh, God, what have I got myself into?
Looking down at her, he smiled sardonically. ‘At night all cats are grey, goes the old proverb. Everything is equal in the dark.’
Oriel felt his words like a cold, hard blade, crude in their implication. As if she could so easily be seduced under the cover of darkness, like an alley cat yowling for a mate – any mate. Did he think he had a right to her all over again? She recoiled, bristling and, not for the first time, tried to control the trembling in both her body and voice.
‘I wouldn’t know, but what I do know is that I never mix work with pleasure. Ever.’ Her tone was quietly emphatic, and she was relieved that her voice didn’t betray her this time.
He gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘An excellent principle, but tonight you will dine with me, Calypso. We need to discuss work, there’s much to talk about.’ It was almost an order, coming from someone who wasn’t used to having his demands turned down.
Oriel met his arresting gaze, those silver irises so pale in a face so tanned, and darkened further by moonshadow. They watched her, an arrogant glint shining in their depths. With his autocratic chin tilted slightly up, Damian’s resemblance to a mythological Greek god had never been so marked. Now, though, he had a more forbidding presence, and she wondered how this aloof and intimidating figure had ever been the same man she’d met on another moonlit night like this in Aegina.
‘No, I don’t think I’ll impose on your hospitality. It would be better to discuss the job tomorrow. Perhaps you can fill me in on everything in the morning and we can go over the plans then?’
Oriel was pleased with herself for drawing a line in the sand. She knew that it wouldn’t take much – especially with wine and moonlight – to step over into the abyss. She would only succeed in embarrassing herself and, in the process, end up without a job as well. By tomorrow, she would have had more time to gather her wits and, in the sobering light of day, more fortitude, she hoped.
Damian looked taken aback and frowned. This was a man not used to people refusing him anything, least of all a woman, Oriel guessed. ‘Come, I’m sure a proper meal and a glass of our excellent island wine will do you the world of good.’ He spoke briskly.
‘Actually, I would prefer you to drive me to the staff house, Kyrios Lekkas, if you please. I’ve been travelling all day and I would like to have an early night,’ she retorted, pride strengthening her voice. ‘Has the rest of my luggage arrived?’
Abrupt silence followed and, for the first time, Oriel saw a flash of the devil in Damian’s eyes and a muscle tense in his jaw. She was sure she had angered him. Then the most surprising thing happened: he burst out laughing, a low husky sound that brushed her with heat from head to toe. This man, she thought, is as fierce and unpredictable as the island itself.
‘The staff house, eh? Do you have any idea what it’s like? Definitely unsuitable for a woman.’
‘In what way?’
‘In many ways, Despinis Anderson.’ The night shadows played across his face as he moved closer to Oriel and stood in front of her, his arms folded across his broad chest once more, exuding brute strength. ‘It’s a primitive house, roughly built, and only meant to last for the duration of the dig. Nothing more.’
‘I really don’t see what all the fuss is about,’ she went on stubbornly, trying to ignore how close he was.
His eyes gleamed. ‘I will spell it out for you then, in one word. Sex. My team is now solely made up of men. Men with healthy libidos who will make mincemeat out of a woman like you. We’ve tried it once before and it seemed impossible to keep appetites in check, if you understand my meaning.’
Was he insinuating that she couldn’t keep her own appetite in check? That she was insatiable?
Her eyes sparked and her response was clipped. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that, Kyrios Lekkas, I’m used to roughing it, and I’m perfectly capable of living and working with men. I know how to look after myself, I assure you.’
‘Oh, I’m not worried about you,’ he returned, with a cool smile. ‘I’m sure you are quite capable of looking after number one. It’s my men that I’m thinking of.’ An edge of dry amusement entered his voice as he boldly looked her up and down. ‘Remember, I’ve known the softness of that fine porcelain skin of yours. I wouldn’t want anything to upset the balance of the team.’
Despite the undercurrent of sensuality in his words Oriel felt their sting, and even the hint of contempt behind them. Why had this man hired her if this was his attitude? She sensed his strange ambivalence towards her and his determination to remain distant and unfeeling. Did he simply want to see her discomfited for some reason? Perhaps he was looking to find a kind of twisted enjoyment in playing a sadistic little game of lord and master over one of his previous conquests, she thought. None of it made sense. Whatever the reason, her hopes for the job of her dreams were disintegrating with every minute in her new employer’s presence. Her shoulders dropped slightly; suddenly she felt weary and filled with self-doubt.
The air had cooled and the cicadas chirped their evening song. Against the inky vault of night, the stars and the moon shone with lustrous brilliance, as if to remind her that even in the darkness there is light.
Damian’s formidable masculine face softened in the moonlight, as though he realized he’d been too harsh on her and was getting less pleasure from his sport than he had expected. Like a weathervane turning in the opposite direction, his eyes lost their flintiness and his voice became kinder.
‘Look, I want to know you’re safe,’ he murmured with a small smile. ‘We’ll discuss where you’ll stay tomorrow but allow me to be the host tonight. Have dinner and sleep in comfort here at the house.’
Now all Oriel knew was that with so much travelling, and the excitement of the past twelve hours, she felt exhausted. For tonight, there was no fight left in her. Besides, she hadn’t eaten since the morning, she loved Greek food, and no doubt Damian’s kitchen was as impressive as the rest of Heliades.
‘Do me that honour,’ he continued, ‘and I assure you, I’ll be nothing but the gentleman.’ He raised an amused eyebrow and held out his forearm, like the upright hero of a Victorian novel. Oriel relaxed and couldn’t help but laugh at this unexpected change of demeanour, placing a mock-formal hand on his arm in acquiescence.
As she did so, his eyes flew to hers and Oriel felt the hard muscles stiffen involuntarily under her fingers. He stared at her while the silence of night deepened in the penumbra, lit only by the pure silver beams of the moon. A sudden weakness spread all over her body and echoes of old sensations, buried deep inside her, instantly resurfaced. She watched his silvery eyes blaze with the hidden fire of diamonds. His breathing was heavy, matching the rapid rise and fall of her breasts as he turned towards her, and his gaze locked on hers in the silence that followed.
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‘Calypso …’ he murmured, so softly she almost wondered if she’d heard it. His eyes were searching her face. Gone was the grey stone in his expression. For one brief moment, a flicker of something else was there, a glimpse of smouldering turmoil. Then it was gone. Damian turned back to face the house, his hand grasping her elbow to guide her. He took a breath that was almost a shudder. ‘Come, we need to eat. It’s been a long day.’
As they approached the veranda, Kyrillos emerged from a side door, a pair of large hounds at his heels, one grey, the other brindle. Both animals clearly knew who was their master. They bounded over to Damian, leaping around him, until he controlled them with a word. ‘Kátw! Down!’ They sat, heads erect, ears pricked, waiting on his next word or move. He bent down to scratch behind their ears. ‘Oriel, meet Heracles and Peleus.’
She realized with a jolt that it was the first time he’d called her by her real name and she felt a rush of responding warmth, as well as relief, intuiting that it indicated a truce had been offered. ‘They’re Cretan hounds, Kritikos Lagonikos. One of the oldest hunting breeds in Europe. Two of the most faithful companions a man could ever wish for,’ he said proudly.
Oriel eyed the great beasts apprehensively. He runs with the wolves. Wasn’t that what Yorgos Christodoulou had said?
As he cast a paternal eye over the two dogs, Damian paused, a frown furrowing his brow. A dark look came over him. ‘Kyrillos, why is Heracles still limping?’ he asked sharply. ‘Have you kept him in as I instructed? I ordered you to be sure not to let him exercise.’
Oriel was startled at the lightning change of tone and expression in Damian. Although the words had not been directed at her, she felt a sudden frisson of something close to fear. Damian stood, flanked by the great beasts, looking fierce and imperious. He was impressive to behold and she could see how commanding a leader of the island he must be.
At the same time, other words from Yorgos drifted into her mind: Some say that if crossed, he would be capable of anything … even murder. Her gaze travelled over Damian’s towering form and she shuddered imperceptibly.
Oriel watched as Kyrillos snapped to attention, almost as if he were facing the wrath of a general about to issue a court martial.
‘Yes … I mean no, Kyrios.’ Kyrillos’s words tumbled over themselves in a stammer. ‘The dog was kept in, as you instructed.’ And then venturing a little further in the naked hope of placating his master: ‘The foot, I am certain it is getting better. I was only saying so this afternoon.’
‘And you’ve been applying the antibiotic cream as ordered?’ Damian’s tone was still autocratic but his manner had relaxed just a little.
‘Yes, Kyrios. Twice a day, as instructed.’ Kyrillos’s head was nodding vigorously as he spoke.
‘Good, keep it up. If anything happens to the dog, it will be on your head.’
‘Yes, Kyrios. Of course, Kyrios.’
Damian’s face became impassive. ‘And now, take Despinis Anderson inside and check if her luggage has arrived. We’ll be having dinner in twenty minutes. Make sure she gets to the dining room on time.’
Saying nothing, still aghast at this feudal lord-and-master tirade, Oriel allowed herself to be led away, following in the footsteps of the manservant. Behind her, she could hear Damian whistling for his dogs. Damian Lekkas was definitely someone who expected to be obeyed, and who was used to having his way in everything. Not for the first time since setting foot on the island, a shiver ran down her spine at the thought of him but whether it was one of apprehension or – somewhat to her shame – something closer to arousal, she wasn’t entirely sure.
* * *
‘Happy is he who like Ulysses travels far’ was the first thing that came to Oriel’s mind as she stepped into the dining room. Kyrillos had fixed her a drink of iced lemon and, with a solicitous look, had left her to await the Kyrios. Now she stood gazing around her.
This room was in keeping with the other parts of the house that she had seen so far, crammed with objets d’art from all over the world. Damian Lekkas may be many of the things Yorgos Christodoulou had described, but the estate manager had not done justice to his master’s love of antiquity or his refined eye for beauty. The wide room, with its white walls and marble floor, was bathed in candlelight. The circular nineteenth-century dining table, with a hundred years of polishing, reflected the candle-glow like still water. Its leaves were down, so it was smaller and more intimate, and set for two, with glittering crested silver and the finest crystal and bone china Oriel had ever seen. An ancient Corinthian bowl, with black geometric designs painted in a wide band around it, stood in the centre, filled with red roses, eloquent with romance. Arched French doors were wide open to the garden, letting in the sweet fragrances of the island and the noises of the night.
‘You must be hungry.’
Oriel spun round and he was there. Standing in the doorway, Damian had now donned a black fitted waistcoat that hugged his muscular torso, accentuating the broadness of his chest and slim hips. He smiled politely and, despite the dramatic appearance of his scarred profile, he looked every bit the courteous host.
Oriel’s heart gave a jolt as she stared back at him. He had lost that ferocious edge she’d witnessed back in the garden, but his eyes were piercing in their silent scrutiny of her and the force of his masculine presence was still intimidating. ‘Yes, I’m famished now, actually,’ she conceded with a self-conscious smile.
He crossed the room and pulled out a chair for Oriel, then sat down next to her, proffering the unmarked side of his face.
‘I love the classical proportions of these rooms,’ Oriel said, switching to Greek. After all, if they were to end up working together, it would be more professional to use Damian’s own language, she thought.
He gave a surprised smile and nodded, obviously pleased. ‘That’s the first time I’ve heard you speak Greek. I’m impressed.’
She arched an eyebrow. ‘Although you didn’t stipulate it in the advertisement, I assume you need someone with fluent Greek. Isn’t that the case?’
‘Of course,’ he answered, his mouth twitching a fraction.
Oriel looked up at the ceiling of the elegant room, which was decorated with a mixture of hunting and landscape scenes, then her gaze travelled to the large mosaic on one of the walls, representing fishing and seascapes.
‘I was brought into the salóni earlier this evening and saw some of your beautiful artefacts and paintings,’ she continued. ‘It’s like a sanctuary for valuable relics of antiquity here. Even from the outside, your house looks like a temple.’
‘It was modelled on an old Byzantine villa,’ he said, reaching for a chilled carafe of water and pouring them both a glass. ‘It is very large, as you will have probably gathered from the exterior. My ancestor, Gjergj Lekkas, built it in the nineteenth century, when he seized this isle. At the time it was just a load of hills and scrub. He turned it into a prosperous island. This room, like the salóni, is part of my wing.’
‘From what I’ve seen of your house, I gather that you’re a great collector.’
‘These are all pieces bought on my travels and from auctions around the world, where I try to buy up the treasures of my country. They’re part of our history, of our identity, and shouldn’t be scattered to the four winds.’
Oriel gestured to one of the two marquetry cabinets that stood against the wall at each end of the room. They held clay pots, vases, pitchers, fruit stands and what she identified as baby feeding bottles, some of them resembling contemporary sculptures. ‘Those are antique cooking utensils, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, for the most part. Some are just items that were used around the house in ancient Greece.’
‘Fascinating! I did extensive studies on domestic objects during my MA.’ Her green eyes became animated. ‘The amount of artefacts we unearthed on Aegina was staggering. So many glazed and fired cooking pots from an ancient Greek kitchen are just like the ones used today. It really was an amazing oppo
rtunity being there.’
Damian gazed at her intently, the corner of his mouth curving in a wry smile. ‘Yes, being in Aegina must have given you many memorable experiences.’
‘Yes, in fact …’ Oriel stopped abruptly, realizing too late that in her gushing enthusiasm for her subject, she had inadvertently mentioned her time in Aegina and Damian had wilfully misinterpreted her meaning. She took a sip of water, suddenly tongue-tied. However, any prolonging of her embarrassment was mercifully interrupted as the door opened at that moment. A servant with a green cap and full green trousers came in, bearing a tray with a dozen small dishes and a large plate of flatbread, which he placed on the table with a wide smile. He was dark-skinned, with gentle black eyes and very white teeth. Oriel could see that he wasn’t Greek. Probably Egyptian or North African, she thought, and smiled back at him, grateful for the distraction. ‘Thank you.’
The man bowed his head twice but did not speak.
‘This is Hassan,’ Damian told her. ‘He comes from Aswan in Upper Egypt. Because he is mute, he was being ill-treated in his village so I brought him over here to work for me.’
For some reason, the information surprised her. Hardly the gesture of the man they called Drákon Damian. Her eyes slid back to him with renewed curiosity. ‘That’s very kind,’ she said.
Damian ignored the compliment. ‘These are mezedes. You have probably been served them in one of the restaurants in Athens or on the touristic islands. Maybe even Aegina.’ His mouth quirked as he registered Oriel’s blush. ‘The krasomezédhes, I hope, will be a totally different experience. They are homemade, each using a different vegetable cooked in olive oil and the herbs of our island. They go particularly well with wine.’ He turned to Hassan to thank him and, as the servant left the room, Damian picked up a crystal decanter and began pouring some red wine into two fine-stemmed glasses.
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