by -Julia James
'What are those trees?' she asked. 'They're not olives.'
'Citrus. Orange or lemon,' he answered. 'The Ionian islands are very fertile—even Skarios, though it is further south than the others, and drier. Historically, their main importance was strategic—they were coveted by the Venetians, who ruled the islands on and off, and then later the British, of course. Now their main contribution is tourism. Some would say they have been over-developed, especially Corfu, though it is still perfectly possible to find quieter parts away from the resorts. But that is why there is such concern that Skarios should be developed carefully, without repeating the mistakes made on other islands.'
She gazed around. 'It's so beautiful as it is—the last thing you'd want is high-rise resorts and so on.'
He nodded. 'Stephanos has got it right with his hotel here—it melds into the natural landscape. He will, I hope, have considerable influence on what happens to the island.'
She glanced at him. 'Do you really want to buy a villa here?'
He was silent a moment. 'If I find something suitable,' he said at last. 'But I want to get a feel for the place first. The turning for Lethoni is just coming up—its main claim to fame is the Venetian fortress.'
She frowned. 'What were the Venetians doing in Greece?' she asked.
'Conquering it,' he answered dryly, swinging the car off the main coast road and down towards the promontory on which the little town of Lethoni sat, dominated by its Venetian fort. 'Greece is a crossroads,' he went on. 'Not wealthy in its own right—we are still a relatively poor country for Europe—but useful. The Venetians coming from the west, like the Ottoman Turks coming from the East, coveted the riches of the Byzantine empire. Greece— just got in the way.'
They wound down the narrow road into the small village, dwarfed by its huge stone fortress, standing four-square against all comers, by land or sea. There was a shingly beach beside the fortress, and some shops and restaurants and bars, and some old seventeenth-century Venetian houses, looking slightly strange here, with their Italianate style of archicture. Nikos parked the car and they got out. Again, the heat hit like a furnace.
Janine stood staring at the dark mass of the fortress, bag over her shoulder, sunhat in her hand. Nikos came round to her.
'The day is heating. You must put your hat on or you will burn.'
Without asking he took the hat from her suddenly nerveless fingers and placed it on her head, smoothing away loose strands of hair. He smiled down at her.
'There,' he said. His hands slid to her shoulders, resting there a moment. 'Now you are protected.'
Protected? The word mocked in her brain. She stood there, quite motionless, while Nikos Kiriakis rested his hands on her shoulders and smiled down at her. His hands were warm on her skin, closing over the curves of her shoulders, where her bare arms met the tank top she was wearing. His thumbs brushed close to her throat.
She felt as if every nerve in her body were firing at once. Simultaneously.
Her lips parted, eyes hanging helplessly on his, even though she could not see them, even though the black, glittering surface of his dark lenses looked down at her un-readably.
Protected? She had never felt less protected in her life. Never in more danger!
He dropped his hands away.
'Would you like to have a coffee? The bar over there seems pleasant enough.'
He pointed to where a cafe sat, by the edge of the little beach on which some local children were playing, and they wandered across, taking a table in the shade of a large striped awning. Janine gazed across the beach to the fortress beyond.
'Can one go round it?' she asked, for something to say— something to try and sound normal.
Nikos said something in Greek to the waiter who had come out to take their orders. Then he turned back to Janine.
'Apparently it is closed, awaiting renovation. Parts of it are in such disrepair it is dangerous. In the early years of the last century it was used as a prison. The plan now is to open it as a tourist attraction, possibly using the main courtyard as a concert venue. But nothing has yet been decided for certain. As you can see—' he gestured around '—this is a sleepy place.'
Janine followed Nikos's gaze. On closer inspection the buildings, though pretty, were peeling, and one or two obviously were closed up, with boarded windows.
'It could be lovely!' she exclaimed.
'Indeed, yes. But it must be carefully done. One of my interests here, apart from searching for a villa for myself, is to see what investment can be made to restore such places as Lethoni.'
He gave the order for coffee, watched the waiter depart, then turned back to Janine.
'It's an interest I have in many such communities across Greece. Investments must be carefully made, so that any restoration or development is in keeping with the traditional style and way of life. The idea is to revive communities so that they may thrive once more in a new economy. In rural or remote areas, such as here, too many people have to leave to seek employment in larger centres. Only the old people are left. But there is also a danger that too much development will not only ruin these places, but also attract entrepreneurs from the cities, who simply arrive to take over any opportunities for profit from local people, who are left out of the loop.'
She looked troubled. 'Is that what Stephanos is doing?' She did not like to think of him profiting from this beautiful island at the expense of the islanders.
Nikos gave a wry smile. 'On the contrary. His hotel is a joint venture with Skariot business partners, plus all the staff are local, and a good percentage of the profits will be reinvested in the island's infrastructure. Stephanos owns hotels all over the world, but those in Greece are very special to him.'
She smiled. 'I'm glad. He's such a lovely man—he doesn't seem like a ruthless businessman at all!'
Nikos's smile became yet more wry. 'He can be very tough, when necessary, in business. I learnt a lot from him!'
Her eyes widened. 'You? But you seem loads tougher than Ste phanos! He's such a total pussycat!'
'To you he is indulgent,' responded Nikos. She would have had to be deaf not to hear the cynical note in his voice.
Her chin lifted. 'Is it so surprising? In the circumstances?'
Again, as she had last night over dinner, she felt a sudden frisson of unease go through her.
If Lethoni was so sleepy it seemed to be in permanent siesta, Skarios Town, the main town on the island, was by contrast a hive of bustling activity. Though it wasn't unbearably crowded, it was certainly busy, with a good proportion of shops dedicated to the influx of holidaymakers who had already discovered this off-the-beaten-track island.
Janine sat dutifully while Nikos made clear his requirements to the town's two estate agents. The entire conversation was in Greek, obviously, and though Janine glanced curiously at some of the details of villas which were presented with great deference to their clearly very wealthy prospective client, only the pictures made sense, not the Greek writing. For the most part she simply sat and watched Nikos.
It was a joy simply to be able to watch him while he was busy doing something else. It was incredible, she found herself thinking in amazement. She had seen good-looking men before—they had been no strangers to her when she was growing up with her mother, in her rootless, purposeless existence—yet no one had ever had the kind of impact this man was having on her now.
It was everything about him—not just his looks, but the way he talked, moved. The way his hand slashed when he didn't like something; the way his palm opened expansively when he did. The way he held his head, with that slightly arrogant tilt to it, and the way he talked, even though she could not understand what he said, that spoke of a man who knew exactly what he wanted and expected to get it.
And was she on that list of things he wanted and expected to get?
He folded the last of the presentations away and got to his feet, drawing out one of the sets of details. Presumably, thought Janine, as she got to her feet too,
one of them had found possible favour.
'Anything interesting?' she asked, as they walked out onto the cobbled street.
He gave a shrug. 'Possibly. But I took this to be polite more than anything.' He indicated the brochure he'd been given. He changed the subject. 'Now, you are a woman, and here are some shops—time for some retail therapy! As for me, I shall suffer in silence—and simply be on hand to do my masculine duty and pay for everything!'
There was resigned humour in his voice, as though he knew indeed that it was his lot in life to pay for what women purchased.
She gave an outraged laugh. 'You will not!' she exclaimed. 'I'll buy my own souvenirs, thank you! You don't have to pay for me.'
He glanced at her. I thought that was Stephanos's privilege,' he said dryly.
Her face stiffened suddenly. I do have money of my own,' she answered. 'Stephanos has been incredibly generous, yes—how could I possibly deny that?—but I'm not dependent on him.'
'No?' The doubt in his voice made her feel uncomfortable.
'No,' she answered firmly. 'And I'm not dependent on you, Mr Kiriakis, to buy my souvenirs!'
'Nikos.' He took her arm, his hand closing over her flesh, stopping her in the street. 'My name is Nikos.'
He was looking down at her. Too close. She could not see his expression, could not see his eyes, but she felt her heart suddenly give a little thrill.
'Nikos,' he repeated softly, and then with humour in his voice, real humour now, he let her go. 'And you may, with my blessing, buy all your own souvenirs!'
Her heart gave another little thrill—for a quite different reason this time. Nikos Kiriakis amused was just as capable of sending her heart-rate haywire as Nikos being formidable!
In the end she only bought one souvenir, a pretty little embroidered pouch that she could keep jewellery in. She paid for it herself.
'Is that all?' Nikos frowned.
She nodded.
Was that her appeal? he found himself thinking cynically. That she was cheap to run? Even as he framed the question he mocked it. Oh, no. Janine Fareham had an appeal that was nothing, absolutely nothing to do with whether she was cheap to keep or not!
He watched her walk out of the shop ahead of him. The flared skirt was made of soft material, and moulded enticingly around the roundness of her bottom. Drawing his eyes to it.
And not his alone. He was not the only male present to be aware, very aware, of her blonde beauty. He intercepted one tourist looking lustingly after her, and found himself glaring at him aggressively. The man got the message and flicked his eyes away hurriedly.
Nikos followed Janine out of the shop. He did not like other men looking at her like that. He closed up on her. Without thinking about it, he realised he was reaching his arm to drape it around her shoulder and draw her closer to him.
Her head twisted, eyes flaring to his, and he could distinctly feel her tense under the hand that was over the curve of her shoulder.
He smiled down at her.
'Lunch?' he suggested. 'Let's try down by the harbour.'
For a moment she just stayed frozen. He wished he could see her eyes, but she'd replaced her dark glasses in the glare of the sun. But he didn't need to see her pupils to know that they were flaring.
Satisfaction went through him. He liked the idea of Janine Fareham responding to him. He liked it a lot.
He walked her down to the harbour, his arm still around her shoulder. He told himself it was to keep other tourists at bay, both physically and visually, as they threaded through the crowded narrow street. That it was part of his careful campaign to move in on her, stage by stage, until he could make his final move on her.
But there was another reason, too, he knew, why he kept his arm around her.
Because it felt good. It felt the right place for his arm to be.
And because Janine Fareham felt good pulled against him, very good. Very good indeed.
'Red or blue?'
His voice was genial as he indicated, with his free hand, the two restaurants with seating areas across the roadway right beside the harbour. One had a red awning covering the tables, the other a blue.
'I don't mind.'
Was there something a little odd about her voice? he wondered. A little strained?
He smiled. 'What is it you say in English, when you are trying to choose? Any, many, many more?
Janine gave a laugh. It helped to break the strain that had engulfed her ever since Nikos had walked out of the souvenir shop and casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world to do, put his arm around her.
Her stomach had dropped to the ground and her heart-rate had gone crazy! For a moment she had simply stalled, unable to do anything except register the 'whoosh' that had gone off inside her again. Then, frantically, she'd tried to regain control of her reactions. She mustn't make anything out of what he'd done. It had been a casual gesture on his part, to guide her through the crowds. Nothing more!
'It's eeny-meeny-miny-mo,' she corrected him. 'And, no, I haven't the faintest idea what it means. Um—how about that one?' She pointed to the restaurant with the blue awning. 'There's a table free right by the water's edge.'
They made their way over to it, the shade of the awning taking away some of the heat. Janine sat down, slipped off her sunglasses and scraped off her sunhat, then untied her hair and shook it loose with a feeling of relief. As her head stilled she realised Nikos was looking at her.
He'd taken his dark glasses off at last, and she reeled under the full impact of his power-on gaze.
Weakness washed down through her. She could feel her lips parting wordlessly, her pupils dilating. Colour flaring along her cheekbones.
Then abruptly, like a light turned off, the moment ended. Nikos had turned his head as the waiter approached, placing menus down on the table and hovering attentively.
Janine reached fumblingly for one of the menus, but -as she stared at it uncomprehendingly it was not only because she was staring at the Greek pages. It was because she was completely incapable of thinking.
Desire. Naked, blatant desire. That was what she'd seen in those intense gold-flecked eyes. Nothing more and, dear God alive, nothing less!
As if reaching for a shield she fumbled on the table surface, lighting on her dark glasses, and shoved them back on her nose as quickly as her trembling hands could manage. Then and only then did she feel safe. Safe enough to answer Nikos's enquiry as to what she would like to drink.
Her breathing felt ragged, and yet she managed to get out, 'Oh, just mineral water, please—sparkling,' before taking refuge once again in the menu. After another moment she realised she was still looking at the Greek pages, and hurriedly turned over to the pages which repeated the menu in both English and German, for the tourists.
Slowly she got control back over her body.
With real effort of mind, she focused on the menu.
'I think I'll just have a Greek salad,' she said at last. 'I can't face anything hot in this heat!'
'You're not tempted by the squid, then?' Nikos's voice was lightly baiting.
That powerful intensity had gone from his eyes, his face. It made it easier. Easier for her to try and be normal. She pulled an expression of exaggerated disgust.
'No sale! Not while they have wiggly tentacles with suckers on them!'
Nikos laughed. 'Fried in batter, you don't see the suckers.'
She waved her hands in horrified negation and he laughed again, then gave his order to the hovering waiter. Janine listened to the rapid Greek and caught not a word. She sighed. It was a tough language to learn. She couldn't even read a menu unless it was translated.
I'm going to have to try and learn, she thought. For Stephanos's sake.
The waiter took his leave, scurrying away, and Nikos's gaze came back to Janine.
He found his eyes softening. That moment, just now, when she'd shaken her hair loose, revealing her eyes from behind those shades, had kicked him—hard. The combinat
ion of that fabulous golden hair tumbling over her near naked shoulders and those beautiful chestnut eyes had riveted him. And when he'd seen her lips part, her pupils dilate like that as he'd looked at her, then it had been even more potent.
She'd been helpless, it was obvious. Helpless to do anything except let him look at her. She couldn't fight it, couldn't deny it. She'd just had to sit there and let him make it very, very clear to her just what he felt about her.
Now he wanted to reach out and touch her, stroke her bare arm as it lay on the blue and white paper tablecloth, close his hand over hers, wind his fingers with hers...
A strange feeling went through him. Desire, yes, but something more. He wanted to touch her, but not with desire, not just now. Now he just wanted to touch her...well, because. That was all. Because he did. Just as he'd wanted to put his arm around her as they'd left the souvenir shop.
To show her, and all the world, that she was his.
His body stilled. How could he be feeling possessive about Janine Fareham? He couldn't care less about her! He simply needed to remove her from Stephanos, get her out of his sister's marriage!
His mouth tightened. There was nothing personal about what he was doing. Janine Fareham was simply an obstacle, an impediment, a problem that had to be neutralised.
He'd better make sure he remembered that.
'Seen enough?'
Nikos's voice was lazy and amused. Janine turned round and felt her heart give that familiar skip it gave every time she set eyes on him again. He was leaning against a half-ruined wall, arms crossed, looking very relaxed.
He also looked quite untroubled by the afternoon heat, which even in this elevated position, which caught what little breeze there was, was still punishing. For herself, she felt hot and sticky, her feet chalky with dust. But Nikos Kiriakis just went on looking cool—in both senses of the word.
'Just about,' she answered. 'Sorry to have spent so long,' she went on, as she threaded her way towards him carefully amongst the broken masonry. 'But I've never seen a Greek temple before.'
'Never?' Nikos's voice was mildly enquiring.