Uncut Bundle

by Susan Stephens

  ‘Why doesn’t that fill me with confidence?’ Lisa muttered. Closing her eyes, she didn’t hesitate. If she had, she would have been forced to trudge to the stern with her tail between her legs to find the steps.

  ‘That was quite a dive,’ Tino said, steadying her as the waves buffeted them against each other.

  ‘Well, I could hardly let you get the better of me.’

  ‘No, indeed.’

  He had already slipped the rope from the ice-box over his shoulder, she noticed, trying to avoid brushing against him.

  ‘Are you going to make it to shore all right without me?’

  ‘I should think I can manage.’ The sooner she left him, the safer she would be!

  ‘In that case, after you.’ Pulling away a couple of strokes, he gave her room to kick out.

  This was not what she had imagined when she’d left home, Lisa realised, striking out for the shore. This was the first deal she had negotiated in an aquamarine sea beneath a blazing hot sun with a man like Tino Zagorakis. All the more reason to keep her wits about her.

  ‘You’re full of surprises.’

  And he did look surprised when she opened the ice-box on the beach. She had just pulled out the sun cream and now her rather squashed hat. ‘I’m not a complete numbskull, you know.’ She rammed the battered hat onto her head. But as she dipped inside again to find the sun cream so did Tino, putting their faces millimetres apart.

  ‘Would you like me to rub some cream onto your back?’

  ‘No.’ Her voice was sharper than she intended as she pulled back abruptly. ‘Thank you,’ she managed belatedly.

  Why had it never occurred to her that they would land up on a beach together practically naked? She should at least have tied her wrap around her waist. As it was they might as well have been two castaways on their own desert island… And now she was blessed with Tino for the whole day, Tino in his customary mocking mood…

  Lisa looked away to distract herself. There was an apron of pristine ivory sand, beyond which the land broke up into scrub with a shading of feathery tamarisk trees, and beneath those some gnarled, and not half so friendly, prickly juniper bushes. Wild flowers were scattered about the sand dunes where they were sitting—pink campions, violet sea-lavender…

  ‘Do you like it here?’

  ‘I love it. It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen—but then I thought that when I first saw Villa Aphrodite. You’re a very lucky man.’

  ‘Luck played no part in it.’

  Lisa tensed. Tino’s voice had changed. He reminded her of Jack Bond. That was exactly the sort of comment her father would have made.

  They ate in silence after that, drinking sharp green wine out of pottery beakers. The olives, soaked in oil, were plump and delicious, and the shopkeeper had included some sweet fat raisins to eat with the crusty bread and goat’s cheese. There was even a drawstring muslin bag containing some sugared almonds for their pudding. They reminded Lisa of other people’s weddings.

  ‘Almonds and raisins.’ Loosening the string on the muslin pack, Tino tipped some of them into his hand, and then added some raisins to the mix. ‘The bitter and the sweet, just like life.’

  Lisa seized the opportunity. ‘About Arianna…’

  Lisa noticed how closed Tino’s expression had become. There was definitely more to his relationship with Arianna than he was letting on. She was right to probe.

  ‘I’ve told you all you need to know about Arianna.’

  ‘You told me that she was Stella’s daughter, but—’

  ‘But what? What more do you want to know about her, Lisa?’

  Not just Arianna.. you and Arianna. ‘I’m not sure yet.’

  ‘Yet?’ He stared at her thoughtfully for a moment, and then his eyes brightened with understanding. At the same time one corner of his mouth tugged up in his trademark annoying half-smile. ‘Do you think I’ve brought you here to pounce on you?’

  ‘I think you’ve got marginally more style than that.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you—and for your information, I have known Arianna since the day she was born. If you think of her as my sister you will have the true picture.’

  ‘That’s it?’ It was actually a lot more than she had expected him to tell her, and enough to set her pulse rate racing.

  ‘That’s all you’re getting. Would you like some?’

  ‘Some what?’ Lisa froze, still debating the implications of a single and unattached Tino as he leaned towards her.

  ‘Almonds and raisins.’

  ‘Oh, yes…thank you.’

  He filled their beakers with more wine.

  The little she had learned about him had fuelled her curiosity, as well as her determination to keep his revelations on a roll. ‘Tell me about that beautiful piano you have at Villa Aphrodite.’

  On the point of handing her the beaker, he drew back. ‘What do you want to know about it?’

  ‘Do you play?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Just ‘‘yes’’?’

  He shrugged. ‘What more is there to know?’

  She guessed he had already given her more information than he had ever given to anyone outside his inner circle, but that wasn’t going to deter her from discovering more. Taking the beaker of wine from him, she said casually, ‘I don’t mean to probe, but—’

  ‘If I need a private investigator,’ Tino cut across her, ‘I’ll know who to call.’

  ‘So you do enjoy playing the piano.’

  Throwing back his head, he made a throaty, frustrated sound. ‘Yes. Is that all?’

  ‘If you’d rather not talk about it…’

  ‘Oh, no,’ he assured her sarcastically. ‘I love to chat.’

  ‘I gathered.’

  ‘I learned to play the piano as an adult.’

  Lisa went very still. ‘You must be very good,’ she said carefully, not wanting to push him too hard. ‘Those are difficult, demanding pieces.’

  ‘I play well enough.’

  ‘I guess you needed a hobby.’

  ‘You guess? Are you waiting for me to confirm or deny your guess, Lisa?’

  ‘No, of course not—I’m sorry.’

  ‘I always wanted to play the piano, that is all.’

  ‘And you couldn’t have lessons as a child?’

  ‘No.’ Impatience was pinging off him now. ‘I couldn’t have piano lessons until I paid for them myself.’

  Lisa knew she was by no means the only child who had yearned for things she couldn’t have until the day she took charge of her own destiny, but something about Tino’s stilted confession suggested he had wounds that ran deep. His lack of history intrigued her. Had he erased the past to hide something so terrible that even she could not imagine what it was? The thought that they might share something so intrinsic to their make-up was deeply unwelcome. It gave them a bond—a bond she didn’t want to share with a man who held her company’s fate in his hands; no one knew better than she how ruthless the past could make you.

  ‘I first met Stella when I was a very small boy. She had an old piano and I loved the sound of it.’

  Lifting up her head, Lisa hid her amazement. Tino had started talking about the past again, and without any prompting this time.

  ‘Arianna was born when I was seven.’

  ‘So, you grew up in the same neighbourhood?’ Damn, damn, damn! Why couldn’t she just learn to keep her mouth shut?

  ‘Something like that. Shall we pack up?’

  He had changed like quicksilver, and she knew that was the end of his revelations. She knew it because she recognised the same technique she always used to put up a smokescreen to hide the past. She would get nowhere pushing him now.

  They travelled back with only the rhythm of the engine and the sibilance of the water streaming past the wooden boat breaking the stillness of late afternoon. Lisa could understand why Tino loved island life, and why he worked so hard to preserve his anonymity. To be able to exchange the feverish pa
ce of the business world for the solitude of Stellamaris had to be the most precious thing he had… But still his past intrigued her. Why was it all such a secret? He had told her a little about the piano, and something about Stella and Arianna, but what else was he hiding? Would she find out more on Stellamaris? Or would she leave the island knowing as little about Tino Zagorakis as she did now?

  Glancing at him, Lisa realised that Stella was right: the Greeks did have a natural affinity with the sea. Had Tino named the island after his elderly friend? Or had Stella’s parents chosen her name in tribute to their beautiful island home?

  ‘Have you thought about dinner, Lisa?’

  ‘Dinner?’ It was the last thing on her mind. Tino had just cut the engine, and they were drifting slowly towards the mooring. She had been focused on the picturesque houses circling the quay—their Technicolor shades seemed to have been intensified by the fading light. ‘I hadn’t really thought about dinner. I suppose I’ll eat later, on my balcony.’

  ‘It would be a good opportunity to talk.’

  ‘To talk?’ Her heart started thundering. ‘About business?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He sounded mildly impatient—and had every right to, Lisa realised. He would hardly welcome any further investigation into his life—and there was no question of them making small talk, since neither one of them was good at that.

  ‘Well?’ He was still staring at her.

  ‘Oy, Tino! Opa! Siga…Siga!’

  Hearing the warning shout, they both whipped around in time to see one of the local men gesticulating furiously.

  ‘Theos!’ Tino swung the wheel violently, narrowly avoiding a collision.

  ‘That was close.’ Lisa was still shaking with shock, but Tino had made the adjustment in time, and the fishing vessel slid neatly, if narrowly, into its berth beside the Stellamaris Odyssey. ‘I imagine that might have been an expensive mistake if you had crashed into your yacht.’

  ‘Expensive mistake?’ Tino stared at her for a moment, as if he couldn’t quite believe what had happened, and then he stalked away to toss the mooring ropes to the man waiting on shore.

  Straddling the deck and the shore, he looked magnificent. As the two men secured the ropes she could see how much bigger he was than the other man, but, even so, their movements were perfectly synchronised. It was as if they shared the same internal rhythm. If she had learned nothing more than this, Stellamaris was Tino’s true home. But if that was so, then what drove him? What demon in Tino’s past would make him leave his beautiful island home in search of new worlds to conquer, new deals to make?

  She was sure now that they shared something more fundamental than business, and it was something very few people would have recognised. They both kept the past hidden, and though she didn’t know what had happened to Tino yet she did know that the past had shaped them, made them both strong—but it was their weakness too.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ON THE walk back from the harbour Tino was lost in his own thoughts, giving Lisa all the space she needed to scroll through the events of an incredible day. Her lips were still burning from his kiss, and how was she supposed to forget that he had almost spanked her, or how aroused that had made her? What might have happened if he hadn’t drawn back? Would she have lost control? Just thinking about all the possibilities was enough to excite her.

  ‘I’ll leave you now.’

  Her cheeks reddened guiltily as he reclaimed her attention.

  ‘I have to take the lobsters to Stella.’ Reaching past her, he opened the garden gate.

  He seemed to have forgotten the dinner invitation. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning at eight?’ She spoke briskly. And when he didn’t answer, she added, ‘I can’t let you win this by default because you never found time to listen to my proposal.’

  ‘I don’t need that kind of advantage, Lisa.’

  ‘Let’s wait until tomorrow before you get too confident?’

  Tipping his head, he gave her one of his rare smiles. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll say goodnight.’

  As she walked away Lisa hoped crazily that he would call her back. Almost immediately, she found she missed him… She missed walking with him, relaxing with him, talking to him… She missed everything about him—which was ridiculous. They had shared one day. But sharing was something she never did. The lack of privacy in the commune had seen to that. There had been no private space, no personal possessions. Her time there had made her selfish. She knew that. Today had been different. Today she had experienced an alternative, and found she liked it. She liked it a lot.

  Opening the door to her bedroom, Lisa smiled, remembering the moment Tino had almost crashed into the harbour wall. He hadn’t come out of the day unscathed either. They had both been equally distracted. Tossing her battered sunhat on the bed, she freed her hair and ran her fingers through the tangles. She would take a long, lazy bath, and forget about dangerous Greek men—she had to focus on business now.

  It was a very different bathroom from the sophisticated wet room she used at the apartment. In that ultra-modern space, minimalism ruled. Tino’s preferred style was traditional, as if he appreciated the history behind every object. The various jars and crystal vases were exquisite, as was the beautiful pale peach fabric covering the antique chaise longue in one corner of the room. Everything had been chosen with care, or maybe he had inherited the lot from his wealthy parents…

  The commune had been littered with other people’s junk. All she craved now in her life were a few highly sought after examples of modern craftsmanship—precious items, carefully selected, and then kept like museum pieces for her pleasure alone, almost as if she needed to remind herself that no one could force her to share them.

  When she walked onto the balcony after her bath she was forced to dodge out of sight, seeing Tino deep in conversation with one of his gardeners. It had been foolish to walk outside wrapped in nothing but a towel, but the sunset had drawn her. The remarkable light had bathed the two men in an other-worldly glow, and even the petals of the flowers they were holding seemed lit by some spectral fire.

  Then she remembered the taxi driver telling her that the May Day festivities required every house on Stellamaris to be filled with flowers. The meeting between Tino and his gardener would be something to do with that, she supposed. The gardener was probably outlining his plans, while Tino was making his selection from the available blooms.

  The May Day celebrations would start on Friday. Had Tino planned this week knowing he would be too wrapped up in local festivities to spare time for their business discussions?

  On this point at least, Lisa felt confident. Tino Zagorakis would never forego the chance of a business deal in favour of a local flower festival.

  She would have to put her suit back on, Lisa realised, returning inside—or the trousers and shirt part of it, at least. She hadn’t brought anything more with her than her swimming things, a change of underwear and tops, and her pyjamas. She had not expected to be staying longer than a couple of nights at most…

  As she opened the wardrobe door Lisa exclaimed with surprise. It certainly wasn’t empty now. Her initial thought was that all the beautiful outfits must belong to Arianna, but as she ran her hand along the rail she could see that they still had labels attached, as if they had been sent on approval from some high-class boutique.

  She frowned, and pulled back. Was this Tino’s idea? If they were meant for her, she couldn’t accept them. Of course she couldn’t accept them. But on the other hand, if she was staying until Friday she had to have something to wear. And she already had to pay him back for the sunhat and cream—she could just add this to the tally…

  A quick call to the housekeeper confirmed they were for her. Tino had judged her dress size accurately, suggesting he had made some pretty thorough observations. Lisa felt heat flood through her, and then as she remembered the chest of drawers across the room excitement rushed through her. Not
hing like this had ever happened to her.. and, surely, there couldn’t be anything else?

  Wrapping her fingers around the handles, she dragged a drawer open and stared inside. A sigh slowly peeled out of her. Underwear that she had only ever lusted after before was stacked—not laid, but stacked in neat piles—and arranged carefully according to colour. Of course she could easily have afforded any of it, but where clothes were concerned she was frugal. In the commune dozens of outfits had been shared around, but she had always worn the same threadbare track suit, guarding it jealously. The habit had stuck; though her clothes were no longer threadbare, she still kept her wardrobe to a minimum.