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The Greek's Ultimate Revenge

Page 8

by -Julia James


  She tried to think about Stephanos. Think about where he was right now, what time it would be in New York, what he was likely to be doing. She wished she could phone him, speak to him, make him real for her again. To remind her why she was here in Greece. Not to ache for a man who had set her blood on fire but to make the most, the very most, of what she had been given so unexpectedly, so miraculously. Stephanos. Not Nikos. Stephanos.

  But it was Nikos she wanted. Nikos she craved.

  And Nikos she did not have.

  He'd gone. He had to have gone. There was no point hoping otherwise. He must have left, and that was that. Why bother to leave a message for her? He'd done what Stephanos had asked him to do and then got on with his own life.

  He'd have a woman somewhere, anyway, in his life. Of course he would! Someone poised and sophisticated and mega-glamorous. A man like that would never be on his own for a second!

  Her heart churned as she thought of Nikos Kiriakis with that faceless, poised, sophisticated, mega-glamorous woman at his side. In his arms. His bed.

  No! She pushed the tormenting thought aside, shifting restlessly on her lounger beside the pool.

  Someone hunkered down beside her.

  'So,' said Nikos Kiriakis, 'what happened to the windsurfing?'

  As her eyes flew open, as she heard his voice, her face lit like the dazzle of sunshine after rain. For a second Nikos reeled. Something shot through him, he didn't know what. Then he got his sense back.

  Her response was just what he wanted. Confirming that he'd played his hand in exactly the right manner. Whetted her appetite for him—then withdrawn from the scene. Letting her hunger for him.

  And she was hungry all right. He saw it leap in her eyes, in the way they lit up, her gaze fastening on his as though she could hardly believe it. He let her gaze feast greedily on him—all of him. Her eyes moved down from his face, widening as they skimmed down over his naked torso, and lower still. The squat he was in made his quads stand out, his forearms resting on them for balance. For a moment he let her go on gazing at him, then he straightened.

  'Windsurfing,' he said. 'Let's see what you can do.' He held his hand down to her commandingly.

  She took it like a lamb, getting up off the lounger. He frowned. 'You'll need a T-shirt—you'll burn on the water otherwise.'

  Wordlessly she groped in her beachbag and drew out a loose white top. For his part he flicked out the dark blue T-shirt he'd had draped over one shoulder and put it on. She did likewise with hers.

  He stood in front of her, smiling down at her.

  'Ready?'

  She nodded, still wordless. Incapable of speech. He took her hand, and they headed down to the windsurf station.

  Bliss, thought Janine, her head a haze of delight. Bliss— oh, bliss! She felt her hand in his, warm and strong, and felt faint with it. She couldn't speak, could only go along with him, her feet wading through the hot sand beside him.

  He went up to the attendant and chatted to him. They discussed various boards, and then he selected two. A beginner's board for her, and something very racy-looking for him.

  'The wind's too light in the morning for anyone but beginners, but I haven't been out for a while,' he told her. 'So let's see how you're doing.' He held her board out to her, then turned to lift down the sails from their racks.

  'Um, I'm not very good yet,' she managed to get out, as he fixed the sails onto the boards and checked they were stable.

  He flashed a grin at her. 'After one lesson? How could you be? OK, let's go.'

  The next hour passed in a blur of dazed, incandescent bliss. She was still totally useless at windsurfing, but she didn't care. Didn't care in the slightest. Because this time—-this time Nikos Kiriakis was teaching her.

  And the bliss of that was indescribable.

  There were just so many opportunities for him to be fantastically, excitingly, intoxicatingly close to her. Running through the sail-raising manoeuvre on the sand and in the shallows. Helping her get her balance. Helping her back on her board when she fell off—several times. Helping her raise her sail again.

  Today she made better progress. Not much, but a bit. He said as much as they finally headed to shore.

  'You just need more practice,' he told her.

  'About a million years of it!' She laughed ruefully.

  'Maybe not quite that long.' He paused. 'But close...'

  She laughed, not caring, and then suddenly she became aware that he was looking not at her face but at the way her wet T-shirt was clinging to her breasts.

  And suddenly, quite suddenly, the humour vanished from her face.

  She felt her breasts tighten. Felt it as distinctly, as clearly, as if a bell had rung. Felt her nipples puckering, visibly standing out through the clinging material of her bikini top and the T-shirt.

  And then his eyes were being dragged away from her breasts—and up to her eyes.

  For a long, helpless moment she gazed at him, while her body bloomed for him.

  'Nikos—' Her voice was a thread.

  He gave a small, minute smile, and she felt her breath still.

  Then, with a flicker of his eyes, he was hefting up the board and carrying it to the rack. He came back to repeat the action for hers, and when everything was restored he turned to her and said, 'Lunch.?

  They ate at the beach bar that did lunchtime snacks. He drank a beer, she a glass of white wine. It went to her head like champagne.

  And so did Nikos Kiriakis.

  It was heaven to have him again. Heaven to watch his eyes, his face, the strong column of his throat, the broad strength of his shoulders. Heaven to gaze at him, listen to i his deep, accented voice, hear his laugh, watch his smile. Heaven to feel his eyes caress her...

  Heaven, heaven, heaven.

  Her heart sang like an uncaged bird.

  If I have nothing else, she thought, I have this!

  And then, as he pushed his coffee cup away from him, | his eyes lifted to hers. There was no caress in them. His voice as he spoke sounded brisk and businesslike.

  As if he'd just moved a million miles away from her.

  I'm afraid I have to go now, Janine. I've sorted out my business here. The estate agents know what I want by way of a villa, and will keep me informed, and all my business. appointments are complete. I have to get back to Athens. I'm flying out this afternoon.'

  It was like a dagger. A dagger plunging right inside her.

  She swallowed. It was like swallowing fire.

  'Of...of course...'

  His eyes flickered over her. 'It's been good knowing you, Janine.' The way his voice slid over the initial J, softening it to a 'zh', made her heart contract. He got to his feet. He seemed very tall. Very far away already. The dagger was sliding deeper inside. He looked down at her a moment. Then lightly, very lightly, he bent and let his lips just brash hers.

  'Goodbye.' His voice was soft. He straightened. His mouth tugged in a little smile as he looked down at her. 'Don't forget your windsurfing.'

  She shook her head wordlessly. He beckoned to the barman, signing the chit with rapid scrawl.

  For one last time he looked at her. Was there anything in his eyes? Anything at all? She couldn't see. Could only know that hers were straining up at him, that her skin felt cold and clammy in the heat. That something was happening to her that she could not bear.

  He raised a hand. The game was just getting interesting.

  'Take care.'

  Was there a husk in his voice? The slightest sign of regret?

  He gave her one last brief smile and headed off.

  She watched him go until she could see him no longer.

  It was bad. It was worse than bad. She paced on her balcony. Above her, the cold stars blazed, giving no comfort. There was none to give.

  She pressed her fingers to her mouth, as if she could keep all her feelings pressed down inside her.

  She should be grateful. Grateful he'd gone. Removed temptation. The terrible, overpo
wering temptation to fall for him.

  She tried desperately to rationalise it. She'd been here, in a foreign land, in an emotionally charged state after encountering Stephanos, and then a man like Nikos Kiriakis had walked in, looking like every woman's fantasy male. Sex on legs. The most devastating man she'd ever seen, oozing sex appeal from every pore, totally and effortlessly gorgeous! No wonder she had reacted to him! She'd spent her adult life avoiding any chance of such entanglements.

  And she'd succeeded. Succeeded compl etely—till now. Nikos Kiriakis had simply knocked away her defences as if they had been made of paper!

  She stared out over the dark mass of the gardens. Starlight gleamed dimly on the surface of the pool.

  Wanting Nikos Kiriakis.

  For the first time in her life she wanted a man, wanted him, Nikos Kiriakis. Only him, only him—and she didn't have him.

  She was woken by the phone ringing. It was scarcely dawn. She groped for the receiver, feeling bleary and disoriented. For one terrible yearning moment she thought it was Nikos.

  It was Stephanos.

  He was brief—agitatedly brief. It was late night in New York. They would be going to stay with friends on Long Island in a few days—the wedding he'd told her about. He couldn't speak long—he was snatching a few stolen moments. Was she all right? That was all he wanted to know. All he had time to ask. He had to go. She was in his thoughts, his darling girl. She must take care... He had to go...

  The line went dead.

  She lay back, receiver slack on her chest. She'd hardly been able to say a word. Just get out the assurance he needed. She felt bruised, dazed.

  Slowly, dully, she replaced the receiver. She had wanted it to be Nikos. So, so much. She wanted anything she could get of him—anything, on any terms. Even if it was nothing more than a single night in his arms...

  She rolled over, hugging herself in misery.

  You aren't even going to get that! Hasn't he made it clear enough? He voted with his feet. He said goodbye and left. You are simply unimportant to him.

  The knowledge ached through her. Ached all the way through the next few sleepless hours until at last, with slow dreariness, she got up. An early-morning swim, a long shower, washing her hair, her underwear, hanging it dripping on her balcony, gazing out blindly over the sea. Then finally, drearily, getting dressed in the first things that came to hand, and going downstairs to breakfast, to pick at food that tasted like sawdust, drink coffee that tasted like dishwater—all with that same slow, dull dreariness, that same slow, dull ache all the way through her.

  Nikos had gone. She wanted him, and he had gone.

  She stared down blindly into her coffee cup.

  A pair of dark glasses landed on the tablecloth beside her. Someone sat down opposite her.

  Her head started up.

  She froze, not believing her eyes. Just not believing.

  Dark gold-flecked eyes rested on her. Burning through her.

  'I couldn't stay away from you,' said Nikos Kiriakis.

  The motor yacht at anchor in the harbour at Skarios Town gleamed like a sleek white monster. A Greek flag fluttered from its stern, flapping blue and white.

  'Not a sail to set or a tiller to pull. And a crew to turn on the engine and steer!'

  'It's my kind of boat!' said Janine with a laugh.

  Not a word had been spoken about Nikos's return. Not one. He had simply said, 'After breakfast I've got a surprise for you.'

  He wouldn't tell her what, had just let a smile play around his mouth.

  She'd gone with him in a dream. Floating off the ground. Her heart had been singing. Soaring. In her room she'd ripped off the T-shirt and shorts she'd put on so listlessly an hour ago and riffled through everything in her wardrobe. In the end she'd grabbed a sleeveless white sundress, completely impractical for the beach, but now, as he ushered her aboard this millionaire's monster, she knew it was ideal. The breeze winnowed her hair, floating it around her head like a maenad's.

  She stared, wide-eyed, at the luxury on board as he led the way up to the sundeck above the cabin. Two loungers were set out beneath a stretched white awning, and Nikos settled her in one as if he had been handing her to a throne.

  Janine sat down and gazed around her. A mix of fishing boats and sailing yachts bobbed about in the harbour, but there was nothing to compare with this floating monster. She felt the deck start to vibrate and saw the swirl of water that indicated the propeller was turning. One of the crew loosened the moorings and then jumped lightly aboard, gangplank already retracted. The boat started to nose away from the quayside.

  As they gained the open sea and the yacht started to speed up she turned to Nikos.

  'This is fantastic!'

  He flashed a smile at her. He'd known she would be impressed. Who wouldn't be? He had chartered the cruiser in Patra and had her sailed over for this morning. Ready for his return from Athens.

  It had been a nuisance having to detour to Athens yesterday, even though it had allowed him to drop in at his office and catch up with various business matters in person. But leaving Skarios—and Janine Fareham—had been a necessary part of his carefully calculated blow hot/blow cold strategy. And it had worked perfectly, he could see. As he'd walked up to her at breakfast she'd been sitting there like a forlorn, wilted flower, dejection and rejection in every line of her slender body.

  The transformation as he announced his presence had been total.

  She'd revived instantly, immediately. Incandescently. A glow of wonder had lit her face, her eyes, parted her lips. Shining from her like the sun.

  Dazzling him.

  He'd felt a kick go through him like a blow to his solar plexus.

  Theos mou, but she was so beautiful! Her eyes alight, glowing with pleasure, her smile so radiant it all but knocked him over.

  Satisfaction filled him. She was ready for him now.

  And he, oh, he was more than ready for her.

  It had been hard, much harder than he'd envisaged, to walk out on her yesterday. He'd had to force himself to his feet, force himself to smile down at her and tell her that he had to go back to Athens. And as for kissing her...

  That had been hardest of all—to confine himself to nothing more than the most fleeting brush of his lips when he'd wanted to haul her up against him and ravish her warm, honeyed mouth with his...

  Instead he'd had to straighten and saunter off, as if he hadn't got a single thought in his head except getting to the airport.

  But now, ah, now it was a different story. He would not be leaving Janine Fareham again—not until he had tasted every ounce of honey she had to give.

  And she would have so much! His eyes washed over her as she lay back in the lounger, lifting her face to the sunlight filtering through the awning, her long, beautiful hair flowing in the wind. His gaze stroked her, taking in the little details of her beauty—the delicate arch of her narrow feet in their strappy sandals, the elegant ankles, slender calves, honeyed thighs, and her wand-like waist, and those two sweet, gently swelling breasts, and her sculpted shoulders, her graceful neck, delicate jawline, tender earlobes and the long sweep of her eyelashes...

  Why the hell did she have to be mixed up with Stephanos?

  The thought came out of nowhere, hitting him like a blow as he realised how he had phrased that question. It should be the other way round. It should be Why the hell did Stephanos have to be mixed up with her?

  But it hadn't come to him like that. Suddenly it had been Stephanos he resented, not Janine Fareham.

  Janine.

  He felt a smile hover at his mouth. Janine. Zhanine.

  He liked saying her name, liked the way her name sounded. And he liked the way she liked him saying it, with that soft 'zh' pronunciation that Greek gave it. The English pronunciation was harsh and ugly in comparison. Zhanine...

  Much better. Much, much better...

  His eyes flickered over her blonde loveliness again. Though her skin was tanned, she was complete
ly un-Greek in appearance. He let his gaze rest on her. There was something familiar about her, he felt, with a strange flickering of memory. Who was it? It was not obvious, but every now and then there was something about her that made him think she looked like someone he knew.

  He shook his head minutely. No, it was simply that he hadn't seen her in thirty-six hours and her beauty was stunning his senses again. That was all. It was just because he wanted to have her. Not because she resembled anyone he knew.

  A sound of footsteps behind him made him turn. One of the crew was coming up to the sundeck, carrying a silver tray bearing two long-stemmed flutes and a bottle of freshly opened champagne nestling in an ice bucket. He set it down on a table between the loungers. Nikos nodded his thanks and the man took his leave.

  Janine half sat up.

  'Oh, I adore champagne!' she cried, her face lighting.

  I thought you might,' murmured Nikos, and poured her out a glass, and one for him, handing her the former. She took it with a grateful smile.

  The chill, gently fizzing golden liquid iced beautifully down her throat, and Janine sighed with pleasure as she tasted the distinctive biscuity dryness of vintage champagne. It went perfectly with the bliss she was feeling. Had been feeling ever since Nikos had returned. She heard again, singing in her head, those blissful words— couldn 't stay away from you...

  They had made her decision for her. She knew it, and she accepted it.

  I couldn 't stay away from you...

  The words circled in her mind, making her heart swell.

  couldn't stay away from you...

  Well, she couldn't stay away from him either. Whatever was happening, whatever was lifting her heart like this, whatever was making her breathless—heart racing, giddy with intoxication—whatever it was, she would go with it.

  She would not be sensible.

  It was far, far too late for that.

  can't think about anything else. Or anyone else.

  Just Nikos.

  Just Nikos.

  She wouldn't question, wouldn't ask, wouldn't doubt or fear.

 

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