‘Inflaming you? Exciting you? Making you realize what you desire more than anything, but stubbornly persist in denying?’ He leaned forward a little in his chair. ‘Why are you wary of me, Calypso mou? Do you wonder why some islanders call me Drákon Damian behind my back? Or are you unable to look me in the face without wondering how I came to get slashed into the semblance of a devil?’
‘No, no!’ Oriel protested immediately. ‘I hardly notice that about you.’
‘Then what?’
‘If you must know, yes, you are like some kind of demon … always tempting!’ She could not control the words: they leapt from her mouth and hung in the silence that followed them.
Damian leaned back into his chair again, his eyes slumberous, almost closed. With deliberation, he sipped his wine in silence for a brief moment. ‘And you? Are you such an angel?’
‘No, I’m just an ordinary human being.’
He arched one eyebrow in lazy sarcasm. ‘Do you really believe that, or is it me you are trying to convince, eh? Who is tempting whom?’ His eyes flickered over her sophisticated silhouette. ‘In that black dress of yours, with your beautiful silvery hair and your fine porcelain skin, and those pools of green emerald that look at me with such yearning,’ his gaze dropped to her mouth, his voice condensing to a rough whisper, ‘and those soft pink lips, that seem to be begging for my kisses, you are a temptress, Calypso. Like the sirens of our mythology, desirable, with a fatal beauty.’
‘Why are you saying this to me?’ Oriel breathed. Her heart was thudding and a hot blush had spread from her chest to her throat.
‘You are my passion, agápi mou. And each time you reject me, dousing my fire, my desire, like the phoenix, rises from the ashes, stronger and more determined.’
Oriel willed the surging heat in her body not to continue its downward course. She needed to gather her wits. It was as though they were both playing a game of hide-and-seek, and she was beginning to yearn to give up and be found. Thankfully, she was saved from finding a response to Damian’s unnerving words. Their conversation was interrupted by the waiter bringing them the first course and Demetris, following in his wake, bearing a bottle of pale pink wine and two glasses.
The restaurateur smiled flamboyantly as if trying to make amends for his previous faux pas. ‘You must taste this new rosé. My guests can’t get enough of it and this is my last bottle. Ovilos Rosé from the Biblia Chora Estate. It has all the freshness of the sea breeze of the Aegean and the sparkle of our dry summers and our cool nights. Enjoy, with the compliments of the house!’
Damian smiled graciously at the nightclub owner. ‘Efharisto, Demetris, but not tonight. I’ll take it back to Helios, where I’ll be able to enjoy it without feeling guilty.’
‘Sure, sure, my friend! But let me know what you think and, if you need to order a crate or two, no problem. I will be receiving a new delivery at the end of the week.’ With that the host gave a small bow and hurried off.
The squid was delicious and they ate for a while in silence. Oriel took a slice of pita bread, fresh and fragrant from the oven, and broke it in half. Damian handed her a small bowl of olive oil and she noticed how brown his hand was in contrast to the creamy colour of hers.
She glanced at him to see his lips curve into a brief smile. ‘Opposites attract each other … complete each other, agápi mou. That’s why we are so good together. You see? I read you like a book and you always know what I’m thinking, isn’t that so?’
‘That’s because you’re one-track minded.’
Damian’s laugh was rich and deep and the sound of it made Oriel’s eyes dance. ‘And you are too, matia mou, if you would only admit to it.’
Oriel tried to suppress a smile. ‘You think you’re so sure you can see into my mind as if it were a crystal ball.’
He leaned forward and grinned. ‘It is true … I have the Greek oracles’ power of eating the thoughts of those who are important to me, didn’t you know?’ He tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. ‘It’s all part of the Drákon Damian myth.’
She didn’t answer – Damian’s banter only served to confuse her. The waiter came by again to take away the empty plates and placed the main dish in front of them.
While Damian tucked with gusto into the impressive portion of fish he’d been served, Oriel looked down at her plate with the little fowl wrapped in vine leaves. ‘I do enjoy game but I never eat quail in England, somehow it doesn’t seem right there.’
Damian looked up from his food. ‘Why not?’
Oriel cut into the dish, releasing a fragrant wisp of steam. ‘My parents hold a shoot every year, pheasants and partridge. I used to beat when I was younger. We’d have house parties every weekend, and friends of my parents and their children would attend. The young ones would beat while the grown ups did the shooting.’
He grinned. ‘Pheasant shooting, very English. Did you enjoy that?’
‘No, not really. But I’m an only child, you see, so it was quite fun having friends of my own age to stay.’
‘Your parents didn’t want more children?’
‘They had tried for so long before they had me, and were quite old by then, so it was too late. I think that’s why they dote on me rather too much.’ She smiled. ‘It’s a little suffocating at times, but they mean well.’
He studied her. ‘I’m sorry you grew up on your own, that must have been lonely. In Greece, we are always surrounded by family.’
She shrugged. ‘Oh, I didn’t mind really. It forced me to be adventurous, just to get away from home.’
‘So that’s another reason why you became an archaeologist.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ She watched him look back at his food as he ate, as though reluctant to travel further down this path of conversation. ‘But what about you? Why did you become an archaeologist?’
He looked up at her, his gaze holding a trace of something guarded. ‘For similar reasons. I wanted to see the world, get away from Helios.’ He gestured towards her plate. ‘Try the sauce, it’s good with the quail.’
Oriel could see he was deftly steering the talk away from himself and, although it gave her a twinge of disappointment, she decided to let him have his way. She took a sip of wine and tasted some of the rice with the pomegranate sauce. ‘Mmm, yes! I love the fruit tang it adds to the food.’
‘Pomegranate is used a lot in Greek and Turkish cuisine. Traditionally, we adorn our tables with the fruit, setting it out in honour of the fertile land and its bounty. We use it as decoration in all our celebrations. Our legends are filled with the image of the pomegranate.’
Oriel glanced at him, a momentary glint of humour sparkling in her eyes. ‘Yes, indeed they are. They’re a symbol of fertility in many cultures. Which particular drama surrounding the pomegranate tree do you find the most appealing?’
His mouth quirked in a lazy smile. ‘Are you really interested? I wouldn’t want to bore you.’
‘Stories never bore me. It’s only when you try to make them personal that I object.’
‘But these myths are about human nature and the passions of us mortals. How can anyone deny seeing in them the reflection of their own shortcomings, eh? But I grant you, these are not happy tales.’
‘Are any of your legends happy? Your gods were a vengeful and cruel lot.’
They both laughed heartily.
‘Of course, the best myth associated with the pomegranate is the most famous one.’
‘The story of Persephone?’
‘Yes. Do you know it?’
‘I should do, I read it as part of my degree course. But there were so many of those tales and so many gods that my recollection of all the details is a little hazy.’
‘Then I will refresh your memory. Persephone was a beautiful maiden desired by Hades, god of the underworld. When she refused to be his wife he kidnapped her to live with him in his dark world of the dead. Demeter, Persephone’s mother and the goddess of harvest, was so distressed, she killed every plant o
n earth. To avoid the devastation of the world, Zeus commanded Hades to allow Persephone to return home. However, before letting her go, Hades tricked her into eating four pomegranate seeds, which ensured she had to live in the underworld for four months every year.’
‘Yes, that’s it, and it was how the ancient Greeks explained the change of the seasons, the eternal cycle of death and rebirth in nature.’
‘Indeed. While Demeter was mourning her daughter’s absence, she let the earth die, and that is why we have our winters.’
‘As I said, an unforgiving bunch, your gods and goddesses. I’d hate to have been on the wrong side of their wrath.’
Damian chuckled and reclined in his chair. ‘The gods shared the same weaknesses and violent passions as mankind. Anger, jealousy … desire. We are made in their image.’ His gaze, palpable as heat from the sun, held hers and refused to let go. ‘Hades was consumed by his hunger for the beautiful Persephone and wanted to live with her forever. It’s no surprise that he would do anything to keep her, even kidnapping.’
He was doing it again: trying to fluster her. Well, he wouldn’t succeed. Oriel took a sip of wine, enjoying the relaxing tingle of it seeping gently through her. She smiled playfully. ‘That’s what power can do to men, whether gods or mortals. It turns them into barbarians.’
‘And you disapprove of barbarians?’
‘Wholeheartedly.’
His expression glinted with amusement. ‘Are you sure, Calypso?’
They had finished their main course and people had started moving to the dancefloor. Music drifted across the club – a popular, moody love song that started with a trembling bouzoúki mandolin and fell into sultry drums and soaring violins as a man’s sonorous voice began to sing imploringly of his lost love.
Damian leaned forward. ‘This is one of my favourites. Shall we dance?’
Before Oriel had time to respond, he had risen, laughing at her shocked expression as he pulled her to her feet, his eyes like flaming steel in his tanned face. She shivered with pleasure when he brushed his fingertips against her naked shoulder as he led her to the dancefloor outside on the terrace, lit only by the stars and the moon. The feel of his palms was slightly rough, belonging to working, not idle hands, so that when something smoother touched her shoulder again, she knew it to be his lips. The kiss was a brief flame that came and went and her excitement made her hold her breath until Damian took her in his arms.
Then the rhythm and the sweet throbbing insistence of the music caught at Oriel, calling to an answering chord within her that she was unable to resist. She was a born dancer and her light, supple body melted into Damian’s hands as she moved against him. Now and again, her breasts pressed lightly against his chest and his eyes flashed with fire, riveted to her face. He pulled her tighter. His hand moved over her naked back and she gasped, quivering at his touch.
Damian moved differently to any other man Oriel had danced with before; his natural rhythm and grace were compelling her body to join the sensual tempo of his own, so that she knew with every cell of her being the things he wanted to tell her, the things her usual common sense refused even to consider. Dancing with Damian was infinitely disturbing, maddening and sweet. She didn’t know herself any longer … this new Oriel, who was growing more reckless by the minute, who hadn’t the strength to refuse the delicious physical contact of his body even though something whispered that it was more dangerous than anything she had ever faced before.
She sighed, leaning into him, and half closed her eyes, revelling in the guiding pressure of Damian’s hand at the small of her back as they danced without words. There was a roaring in her brain and ears; her heart was beating so that she could feel it everywhere, and the physical delight was overwhelming. Their bodies spoke to each other as the music went on; the disturbing emotions raging through her were shared by him, she could feel it.
They moved among the shadows that were the other dancers, gliding in their own world, dancing high above a sea that was lit by the moon like an ocean of molten silver. The languorous voice of the singer and the gently pulsing music swept over them, lulling them into their own private paradise, oblivious to everyone around them. Oriel heard the sea, distant, yet at the same time close, as it came and went between the rocks down below.
They moved together for song after song, like an intimate, silent conversation where their bodies were getting to know one another in a different way, asking, exploring, feeling for the other’s responses. The edge of the terrace was darker where giant potted palms marked the balustrade and they found themselves secluded in a corner of it.
Damian was so close that his mouth brushed against her hair. ‘Ah, agápi mou, you smell of flowers, you feel like satin. What are you doing to me? I want you so much it’s driving me insane.’ He was now whispering beautiful, sensual words into her hair almost incoherently, one hand moving up and down her back; shock waves of desire ran over her skin as his fingers played, ripples of acute sensitivity that made her want more – much more.
Oriel succumbed, savouring his body against hers, loving his breath in her ear. She was desperate for him to kiss her. His gaze caught hers in the moonlight and her eyes widened. Their lips were mere inches apart. She watched those silver irises darken almost to glistening black under his ebony lashes. Her breath quickened in anticipation, her nipples brushing against Damian’s strong torso, making them harden to tight peaks. She wanted him to plunder her, to feel no responsibilities or cares about tomorrow.
They both caught their breath before his mouth crushed down on hers and though she gasped against him, she parted her lips readily, allowing his tongue to chase hers with hungry abandon. His kiss explored every sweet, secret corner of her mouth. His hot lips began to trace a path over her fluttering eyelids, finding the racing pulse beneath her temple, and swirling into the delicate shell of her ear, his every touch fiery and demanding, challenging her to match his heat. Oriel did so, her body melting into his arms, a deep, honeyed warmth flowing through her veins, reducing her to a state of mindless bliss.
His mouth returned to hers and she coaxed him eagerly, wanting more and more of this hot, wet taste of him. They kissed as though telling each other what had not yet been expressed in words. Her hands tangled in his hair while his gripped her back and pulled her tightly against his swelling groin.
They kissed until they realized that they were the only ones left on the dancefloor and the music had died down. Silently they gathered their belongings and left. They flew back to Helios, their hearts beating wildly, bodies on fire, hardly speaking.
Time seemed almost unreal, so caught up in each other were they, anticipation hanging silently between them. They went up to Oriel’s apartment and she put the key in the lock of the door with a trembling hand. She looked up at him, not knowing the right thing to say. ‘Thank you for an unforgettable evening, Damian,’ she murmured, her voice thick with an overwhelming need for him.
The glitter of his eyes told her what he’d been fighting all evening, and what had come out in that kiss – a kiss that had rocked her world. She stared at him knowing what her senses wanted but that she still tried to deny herself.
‘Surely this isn’t goodnight?’ he murmured in a trembling voice, searching her face. Damian’s hands played with the frail straps on her shoulders as if he wanted to pull them off. Then he bent his head and took her lips with his own, crushing them with a bruising passion that seemed to have been pent-up forever. His strong arms lifted her from the floor so she was held completely to him, her feet off the ground.
‘Do you like to torment me, Calypso?’ he asked, his eyes heavy-lidded with desire. Was it her tormenting him? Oriel couldn’t deny her need, or his, any more. The time for pretending was over. She heard herself moaning his name as she yielded to her body’s demands, hugging him to her aching breasts. ‘Please, Damian,’ she whispered urgently as his mouth moved over her neck. ‘Make me yours again tonight.’
‘Agápi mou … no other man c
an make you feel as I can do. Let me show you.’
‘Yes,’ she panted for breath. ‘Show me.’
CHAPTER 5
Damian lowered Oriel down but kept his arm tightly round her waist. His hand reached for the key, ready to turn it in the lock of her apartment, when he froze as someone behind them laughed – the sort of cackle that later reminded Oriel of Carabosse, the wicked fairy godmother in a pantomime version of Sleeping Beauty that she had seen as a child.
The deep, mocking laughter echoed like a broken note that died away in the great hall, shattering their sweet wild harmony. ‘Well, well, what have we here?’
Shocked out of their daze, Damian and Oriel broke apart and turned to find Helena in her wheelchair, her face a mask in which the eyes alone were alive and seething with livid flames. Oriel recoiled from the antagonistic look fixed upon her.
‘Helena, what are you doing up at this hour?’ Damian’s voice was low and calm, although he was clearly fighting to regain his composure.
‘And it’s a good thing too that someone is awake to stop our home becoming a whorehouse. First your brother, and now you! Has neither of you any shame?’ his cousin cried in anger.
‘Please, Helena, control yourself.’
‘What about you, eh? Have you thought of controlling your disgusting, lustful desires?’ Her expression shifted, becoming almost imploring. ‘Can’t you see, no good will come of it? Pericles was the same. They all tricked him with their manipulative ways. You and I understand each other, don’t we, cousin? No one has seen what we’ve seen.’
He fixed his eyes on her as though trying to calm a frightened horse. ‘That’s all in the past, Helena. You’re tired. I’ll get Beshir …’
But Helena wasn’t listening to him. Like quicksilver she turned her bitter gaze on Oriel. ‘And you, little English upstart, with your innocent wide eyes, does it excite you to lie with Frankenstein? You haven’t been in this house two days and already you’re trying to worm yourself into his bed,’ she sneered.
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