by -Julia James
The sun was nearly setting now, licking the sea with gold. Janine sat herself down at the little table, stretching out her legs as she poured her coffee. Her still damp hair curled around her shoulders and she idly fingered it as she sipped her coffee, gazing out over the view.
It certainly was a fantastic setting for a hotel. From here the sea spread out before her as far as the eastern coast of Sicily. She sat and watched the sun slipping over the horizon, silhouetting the tall cypress trees, sure that she could see Pheobus's fiery chariot pulling the sun to its watery bed.
A strange, powerful feeling went through her. My first visit to Greece, she thought. All these years and I've never been here. Never known why it's so emotional a place for me.
Her thoughts slipped to Stephanos. If he wasn't in New York yet he must be very shortly, surely. He seemed very far away. Very distant from her.
Something—she did not know what—made her glance down, over the hotel gardens. Someone was strolling around the edge of the pool, shirt pulled on but unbuttoned, towel casually slung over his shoulder.
Nikos Kiriakis.
Hastily, lest he suddenly glance up and see her looking down at him, she dipped her head, pouring out more coffee. By the time she had lifted the cup to drink from it he had reached the hotel and she could see him no more.
The phone rang in her room some twenty minutes later. She was reading her book still out on the warm balcony, though she could hardly see to read any more. Already the lights in the gardens had been illuminated, including those in the pool, which glowed brilliantly. People had started to stroll out for the evening, making their way to the pool bar for a drink before dinner. Children's voices piped.
She would have an early dinner in the buffet dining room, where all the families ate with their children. Nikos Kiriakis would doubtless eat much later, and in the a la carte dining room reserved for adults.
The soft beeping of the phone interrupted her. Assuming it was Reception, she was completely unprepared for the dark, liquid tones of Nikos Kiriakis in her ear.
'I've reserved a table for nine. I'll meet you on the terrace at half past eight. Does that give you enough time to be ready?'
There was a note of humour in the voice, as though its owner were acknowledging that a woman needed a large amount of time to be ready to dine.
It took Janine a good few seconds to gather her wits. Even then she sounded no better than half-witted.
'Um—you don't have to reserve tables. You just wander in whenever you want. The buffet runs till ten.'
'We are not dining in the buffet restaurant.' The smile in his voice was even more pronounced now. 'Fond as I am of children, I prefer something a little more peaceful for dinner.'
'Please—you don't have to ask me to dinner.' The words blurted from her.
'But I would like very much to dine with you, Janine,' replied Nikos. 'So I look forward to seeing you at half past eight, ne?
He rang off, giving her no chance to argue the point any more. For a moment she stood there, receiver in hand. Feeling dazed.
She bit her lip. The way he had looked at her as she came out of the water sprang vivid in her mind. The way he had looked at her when she'd been lying by the pool. The way he had looked at her at the pool bar.
It doesn 't mean squat! He's the kind of male who does that to every female. And every female does it back to him. I bet you every single female head will turn when he walks into the dining room tonight—and so what? He's only having dinner with you because of Stephanos. Got it?
She drew in her breath and felt better.
Promptly, a different cause for anxiety assailed her. She hurried over to her wardrobe and flung it open, staring at the contents.
She didn't have a thing to wear! Not for dinner in the a la carte restaurant! When Stephanos had been here she hadn't really bothered much with anything other than the expensive beachwear he'd bought her from the hotel's boutique. It had been perfectly OK to wear a long hibiscus-print wrap-around skirt and matching bolero top when she'd spent time in his suite.
But the a la carte restaurant was sophisticated and glizty—and her wardrobe definitely wasn't!
For a moment it seemed like fate. No suitable clothes, therefore a sign that she should not dine with Nikos Kiriakis. She would dial Reception and get them to put her through to his room, and she would make her excuses.
Or, of course, she could simply go down to the hotel boutique and buy something that would pass muster...
The boutique certainly did stock evening wear. Very expensive evening wear too. But then those who could afford to stay here could afford those prices. Not that she would have to pay—Stephanos had made it clear she could get anything she wanted from the hotel's select collection of shops and simply charge it to her room.
With sudden decision, she fetched her room key and set off for the boutique.
* * *
Nikos glanced at his watch. She was late. Well, that was no surprise. Women usually were. He sipped his beer con-templatively, eyes scanning the gardens, artfully spotlit here and there, and splashed with light from the pool's underwater lighting.
There was a swish of skirts, and someone hurried up to I the table.
'I'm sorry I'm late!' The voice sounded slightly breath- less.
He turned his head.
Slowly, very slowly, he drank her in. He felt his gut kick as if in slow motion.
She looked—breathtaking!
And as he slowly, very slowly, exhaled he realised that that was exactly what she had done. Taken his breath away.
She was wearing saffron. It shouldn't have gone with her fair hair and golden looks. It was a colour meant for a Greek complexion, dark hair, dark eyes.
Yet on this particular blonde it looked, quite simply, rav-ishing.
It was chiffon, layers of it, and it seemed to float, skim-ming over that beautiful body of hers like a kiss. Her hair was caught up—not in a rough-and-ready knot, the way it had been when she was swimming—but in an elegant, flawless style that lent her height and grace. A few tendrils whispered at her face, the nape of her neck.
He felt himself relax back in his seat as he drank her in.
Tiny earrings glinted at her lobes. Gold, like the delicate chain that encircled her neck, and each wrist. Her waist was very slender—he could have spanned it with his hands. The bones of her shoulders were exquisitely sculpted. Her neck was graceful, holding her head poised, erect.
Her eyes were deepened by make-up, her mouth accentuated with lipstick, the colours toning with the saffron. Her cheekbones seemed higher than they had been—more artful make-up, he surmised. A scent came from her—a light, haunting fragrance.
It caught at him.
She caught at him.
Slowly, he got to his feet.
'Won't you sit down?'
Janine took her place. Her breathing was quick, and shallow. It was because she'd been rushing, she told herself. Rushing ever since she'd realised that she'd taken ages and ages in the boutique, trying on just about every evening dress they'd had in her size. The assistant had been very patient, assuring her that the shop would not close until late that night, and that she could take all the time she wanted.
Choosing had been impossible—she didn't know why, but it had. In the end she'd followed her instinct, not her reason, and gone for the saffron. Her reason had told her that it should be worn by someone with much darker, more dramatic colouring than she possessed, but there had been something about the way the dress felt on her, whispered over her flesh, that had made her know that this was the one she wanted. So eventually, having tried on everything else again, she'd gone back to the saffron.
And now she was getting proof that she'd made the right choice!
With that same quick breathing she settled into her chair. Her dining partner was not wearing a suit, but his open-necked shirt was clearly not off the peg. It clung with tailored perfection to his broad shoulders, smoothing down over his torso, exposing the strong co
lumn of his throat.
She dragged her eyes away and let herself meet his gaze. He was sitting looking at her, and appreciating everything he saw!
'Hi,' she said idiotically. She had to recover her composure. She had to appear normal. Right now she was having palpitations like some Victorian maiden!
'Kalispera,' replied Nikos, his voice soft with amusement.
He liked what he saw—he liked it a lot. Oh, not just the exquisite appearance of this extraordinarily beautiful girl, but the fact that she was so clearly responding to him, and the way he was looking at her.
A waiter was there, hovering discreetly, but attentively.
'What would you like to drink?' Nikos asked her.
For a moment she wanted to say Something strong, to calm my nerves, but then she realised that strong liquor was the last thing she should drink right now. So instead she murmured, 'Oh, orange juice, please.'
He raised a slight eyebrow at this, and she went on lightly, 'To go with my frock!'
A smile indented his mouth and he nodded, relaying the order to the waiter in Greek—unnecessary though it was, since the hotel staff all spoke English. The man disappeared.
'It's extremely beautiful.' Nikos indicated her dress with a slight inclination of his head.
'I got it from the boutique just now. That's why running late!'
She could hear her own breathlessness in her voice. It annoyed her—alarmed her. She was sounding like some wet-behind-the-ears teenage girl on her first date! It was ridiculous.
But the thing was she did feel like a teenager again! Excitement was running through her, and it was because of the man sitting opposite her. She could tell herself all she liked that Stephanos had simply sent him to babysit her, but her body wasn't taking that on board. Her body was shimmering like a fairy light on a Christmas tree!
'It was worth the wait,' said Nikos. He let his eyes wash over her again, to confirm his words. . I
The waiter's arrival with her glass of freshly squeezed orange juice was a reprieve, and she sipped eagerly. Then the maitre d' arrived with two large leatherbound menus, bowing copiously to Nikos and running through the specialities of the day in rapid Greek.
Janine gazed down virtually blindly at the menu, forcing herself to read the words. As the maitre d' bowed one last time, and glided away, Nikos listed the day's catch.
'Oh, not calamari!' Janine exclaimed. 'It's the suckers on the tentacles. They're disgusting!'
Nikos laughed. 'It can be served without those appendages,' he assured her. 'Have you not eaten squid yet?'
Janine gave an exaggerated shudder.
'I'll stick to real fish, please.'
She settled on red mullet, with a seafood terrine to start, and closed the menu. She gazed out at the gardens.
'Isn't it the most beautiful place?' she sighed. A wonderful feeling of well-being was suffusing her. It was everything—the beautiful gardens, the soft Mediterranean night and, above all, the presence of Nikos Kiriakis sitting opposite her, drawing her eye inexorably to him.
'The view is certainly quite stunning,' her companion murmured.
She glanced back to smile at him—and saw that he was not looking out over the gardens at all. Instead, his dark eyes were fixed on her face, and there was an expression in them she'd have had to be blind not to recognise...
She felt the colour run again, and hastily took a drink.
Nikos watched her reach for her glass. For a woman who made her living out of the touch of wealthy men, she really was remarkably unflirtatious. Perhaps, he found himself thinking, that was her allure. That she did not come on to her targets—she let them come on to her.
After all, she was so very much worth coming on to...
Emotions twisted inside him.
She might be sitting there, with a beauty as breathtaking as it was alluring, but it did not—could not—take away what she did, what she used that beauty for. That was what he had to remember. And her looks were of interest to him for one reason only—they would make his seduction of her palatable to him. He would get his revenge for the pain she was causing his sister.
He let his gaze rest on her, with the eyes of a connoisseur. She really was extraordiny. Some women couldn't make the transition from bikini to evening gown—but she could. By the pool and on the beach, she had looked sexy and sun-kissed. Now she looked graceful and soft, like a gazelle—her slender neck, her parted lips, the soft swell of her breasts beneath the chiffon of her dress.
As he watched he could see her nipples just graze against the filmy material, each one outlined for him.
All he had to do was reach out his hand, and touch with the tips of his fingers. Close his palm over their sweet ripeness...
Like a sheet of flame, desire sucked at him. Wanting to be sated. Now. Right now.
With visible effort he slammed down on his reaction.
He felt shaken.
Just as on the beach, his reaction had come out of nowhere, like a flashflood, thundering suddenly through his veins. Desire—hot, tearing, urgent. And out of control.
With gritted' teeth he dragged back control over his body, his reaction. What the hell was he doing?
He was acting like a man besotted, and with some foxy little piece like Janine Fareham.
Yes, that was what he had to remember! That Janine Fareham used men's desires for her own ends—to buy gowns l ike the one she was displaying her body in tonight! He let his anger at her, deep and unrelenting and unforgiving, seep back, filling him like a dark tide. That was the only response he should be having to her. Oh, sexual desire, yes—but at his bidding, not hers. Under his control, not hers.
He relaxed again, back in control of his reaction to her.
He would take Janine Fareham, possess her and enjoy her.
And then get rid of her from his life—and Stephanos's life.
A line from Shakespeare snaked into his mind—'I'll have her, but I'll not keep her long.'
It would do very well for Janine Fareham.
Janine carefully removed some bones from her fish and took a forkful of the delicious dish. It was weird. She seemed hyper-aware of every movement she made. Aware of everything.
Especially Nikos Kiriakis. In its own disturbing way, dining with him was nerve-racking. She wanted to do nothing more than just sit there and stare at him open-mouthed. But she knew she could not. Must not. Instead she had to make conversation, or rather let him make conversation, and she had to respond as if she had her brain in place, instead of just wanting to gaze and gaze at him. She had to chat away—talking about innocuous subjects, like what there was to see on Skarios, and what kind of villa he was interested in buying, and things like snorkelling and windsurfing.
Not that she wasn't grateful for the ordinariness of the conversation. She didn't think she could deal with anything more.
Windsurfing was nice and safe, and since it was something she knew nothing about it meant she didn't really have to do anything other than prompt with a question and Nikos Kiriakis would do all the talking. So she could sit there, chin on her hand, and indulge herself wondering just what it was about his eyes that were so compelling, watching how his mouth moved when he talked, and how his dark, silky hair shaped his beautiful face...
Anyway, windsurfing wasn't something she'd ever had a go at. It seemed very strenuous, and everyone she saw do ing it seemed to be very good—which was pretty off-putting, considering how useless she knew she would be. She was bound to spend most of her time falling off the board in a very undignified way. Nikos Kiriakis, it seemed, judging by his enthusiasm and knowledge, was a keen exponent. She was not surprised. He hadn't got that muscle tone from sitting behind an executive desk all his life!
Thinking about Nikos Kiriakis's body was not a good idea—it brought too many images vividly to mind. Instead, she watched his lean, strong hands move salt cellars and cutlery into position on the white damask tablecloth as he explained the mysteries of tacks and gybes, wind speed and b
oard directions.
He paused and looked at her expectantly. She sighed and shook her head.
'It's no good. I'm totally lost. I think I'd rather just waft along on a boat, really.'
He gave a laugh. 'You don't do much wafting when you're crewing on a yacht!'
'I was thinking of something that had an engine and didn't require any work on my part,' she responded lightly.
'You enjoy not working?' There was nothing in his voice, his expression, to indicate anything more than a light-hearted riposte, yet there was something...perhaps in his eyes...
'Who doesn't?' she answered, just as lightly. 'And right now,' she went on, 'I definitely don't feel like working. I'm on holiday!'
For a second that fleeting look was in his eye again, and then he went on smoothly, so smoothly that she was sure she must have been imagining it, 'So, what do you do when you do work?' he asked.
He was pretty sure he knew the answer. It was predictable. She would probably say that she modelled a bit, or flitted from job to job, or dabbled in something to do with the fashion world. Something that gave a thin veneer of respectability to her true career—leeching off rich men.
'It depends what you mean by work,' she countered. She didn't want to talk about her life before she met Stephanos. That era was over now.
'Earning money?' he suggested dryly.
'Oh, that kind of work,' she answered, with deliberate lightness. 'Well, I'm fortunate enough not to have to do that. Especially now, of course. Thanks to Stephanos. He's made everything so much easier.'
It was true. Stephanos's generosity had been fantastic, more than filling the gap left by her coming out to Greece.
Silent white rage filled Nikos. She had the audacity, the sheer, unashamed gall, to sit there and tell him that Stephanos provided all the money she needed—and that even before, when he hadn't, there had been some other man to do so!
'So, life is one long holiday for you, then?' He made himself smile. Forced himself.
Had something of his underlying fury come through? There was a momentary flickering, an uncertain expression in her eyes. She opened her mouth, about to say something, but before she could speak the maitre d' was gliding up to them, asking whether everything was to their liking.