And it still isn’t over, she reminded herself bitterly. In fact, it has barely begun.
She started to scramble to her feet but he must have seen her sway because as he reached her, he extended his hand to support her.
‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘Watch out.’
Those fingers which had ministered so expertly to her foot were now cupping her elbow and although Marnie wanted to revel in the sweet sensation of having him touch her, she forced herself to draw away.
‘I’m fine,’ she said stiffly, waving away his attempts to help as she wriggled into her loose-fitting T-shirt dress. Gingerly, she slid her injured foot into one sandal, then put on the other and gave her head a quick shake, feeling the warmth of her drying hair as it brushed against her back. ‘Right. Well, that’s all done. I ought to get going. Thanks again for coming to my aid. I’m very...grateful.’
Leon told himself to let her go. She had managed to find her way down to this small private beach on her own, so presumably she could make her own way back again. He glanced at the discreet golden and coral sign of the upmarket Paradeisos hotel complex which hung in front of a coded wooden gate, and idly wondered if she was trespassing. Probably.
Should he offer her a lift to where she was staying? His final duty done and his conscience fully satisfied as he saw her safely home?
But her hair was almost dry now and he realised it wasn’t the colour of wet sand at all. It was as pale as silver. As moonlight.
His voice wasn’t quite steady as he spoke. It was as uneven as that of a teenage boy who had just realised how a woman could make him feel. Blood was pounding powerfully at all his pulse points and a sense of being properly alive flooded through him. ‘I could give you a lift back if you like,’ he said. ‘Better still, I could drive you round the island first. Have you seen much of it?’
She shrugged, before lifting her gaze to his. ‘Not as much as I’d like. The trouble is that I work long hours and I often work on my day off because...’
‘Because?’
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. I went on a round-the-island coach trip when I first arrived but we didn’t see very much of it. The organiser seemed more concerned with getting us to buy vases than wanting to show us the place.’
He shuddered. ‘I know those vases.’
‘Ugly.’
‘Neh. As you say, ugly. Yet this island has her secrets. Places where the tourists tend not to go. We could drive through some of the villages. Watch the sunset from the Dhassos Rock. Maybe find ourselves something to eat.’
Her grey eyes regarded him suspiciously and this was definitely not a reaction he was used to.
‘Are you asking me to have dinner with you?’
‘Sure. Why not?’
‘Well, for a start, I don’t even know your name.’
Conditioned by a lifetime of expectations, Leon felt an instinctive tension enter his body. ‘It’s Leonidas. Leonidas Kanonidou.’ He watched for some sort of reaction but when there was none, he relaxed a little. ‘Most people call me Leon.’
‘Like a lion,’ she said slowly.
‘Exactly like a lion. Do you speak Greek?’
‘Very funny. That would be the hardest thing in the world.’
No, not quite the hardest, he thought ruefully, aware of the exquisite throb at his groin. ‘So, now you know who I am, are you going to have dinner with me?’
She didn’t answer straight away and even her hesitation was a turn-on. He was used to capitulation. To women being available at the metaphorical snap of his fingers. To being hit on—sometimes subtly, sometimes not. His growing reputation as one of the world’s most eligible men had contributed to his recent absence from the dating scene, his appetite jaded by too much choice and too much opportunity.
What Leon wasn’t used to was being kept waiting, because people went out of their way to please him. As if his gratitude would somehow improve the quality of their lives. Hoping he would give them a break, or a job, or a wedding ring. He was used to people laughing at his jokes, even if they weren’t funny—which wasn’t often. Was this what happened to men who were not billionaires, he wondered idly—were they judged on their merits rather than the size of their wallet? Was this unknown Englishwoman destined to be remembered as the only woman who had ever turned him down?
But she didn’t.
Of course she didn’t.
‘Okay.’ She shrugged. ‘Why not?’
Her reluctance was possibly contrived—yet Leon didn’t care. He seemed to have stopped caring about anything right now, other than this diminutive woman with attitude. He watched her lift her arms to tie her hair back then almost wished she hadn’t because it drew his attention to the heavy curve of her breasts. Had she been intending to showcase the nipples which had tightened so enticingly and was she aware of her power over him at that moment? Another surge of hunger flooded through him, which was crazy.
Crazy.
He thought about the busy timetable for the weekend ahead. The selected cream of young Grecian society would be in attendance, eager to participate in the lavish events lined up for them. There certainly hadn’t been many slots available to accommodate the reckless acquisition of a new lover he’d only just met. Plus, there would be an available slew of far more suitable hook-ups than this spiky blonde with the wintry eyes. Leon swallowed. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
But common sense was no match for the heavy slug of his heart or the growing heat of his blood. It certainly wasn’t powerful enough to stop him grabbing his T-shirt from the back of his motorbike and pulling it roughly over a body which once again was exquisitely aroused.
‘Then let’s go,’ he said roughly.
CHAPTER TWO
‘SO WHAT DO you think? Like it?’
The drawled questions, delivered in Leon Kanonidou’s knockout velvety voice made Marnie’s cheeks grow hot and, hoping he hadn’t noticed—she looked around the restaurant.
It was gorgeous. Like something you might see in a film. Just a few tables perched on a dramatic rocky outcrop above the sea, into which the sun was sinking like a giant red ball. Beneath them was a long beach of fine sand, lit crimson and mauve by the dying light. Still early, the place was empty except for them—though surprisingly for such an out-of-the-way location, every table was reserved. In fact, the proprietor had borne down on them rather forbiddingly when they’d arrived, all windswept and dishevelled and she’d thought they were going to be turned away. Until Leon had spoken to him in Greek and Marnie had watched an astonishing transformation take place. The man had almost done a double take before nodding his head, quickly removing a ‘Reserved’ notice and reverentially ushering them to the table with the best view.
Marnie thought she could understand why. Had her companion used his lazy charm to get what he wanted, or had he simply turned on the full force of his charismatic personality which made it hard to imagine refusing him anything?
She felt supremely relaxed, sitting here with him. The tiny place had none of the unashamed opulence of the Paradeisos complex where she worked, which sometimes made her feel a little bit uncomfortable. Yet as she shifted her bottom on the chair, she found herself wondering what she was comfortable with—because climbing onto the back of a total stranger’s motorbike and speeding off in a cloud of dust wasn’t her kind of thing at all.
Usually she was cautious with men and as unlike her twin sister as it was possible to be. She had never acted impetuously with a member of the opposite sex because up until now there hadn’t been a good reason. Was feeling as if someone had reached inside her body to stir up her senses a good enough reason? As Leon’s eyes met hers she saw his lips curve into a faintly mocking smile—almost as if he’d guessed at her thoughts. Yet instead of bristling defensively, Marnie found herself grinning back and that was addictive too. For a moment she felt as if she
were somebody else. One of her clients, maybe. One of those rich, confident women who breezed into the salon and seemed to smile for no reason at all. Who studied their phones with expressions of pleasure, not dread. She stared down at the dish of shiny olives and wondered if it would be wise to eat one before deciding to err on the side of caution because black teeth were never a good look, except maybe at Halloween.
Instead she sat back and luxuriated in the fact that for the first time since she’d been on Paramenios, she actually felt as if she were on holiday.
Leon had driven her all the way round the tiny island, past postcard images of sleepy white villages with purple bougainvillea scrambling around bright blue doors. She’d marvelled at crystalline turquoise waters fringed with unexpected greenery and the soar of distant mountains. They’d skirted tiny shops bursting with trays of ripe, plump peaches, and seen lines of drying octopi, which stretched in front of the dancing sea. Yet all the time she had been acutely aware of the Greek’s hard body as she clung to his waist. Had found herself grateful that her pillion position gave her a legitimate excuse to wrap her arms around him and feel all that hard muscle rippling beneath his black T-shirt. Which came as a bit of a shock to someone who wasn’t remotely tactile. Who found it hard not to recoil if someone touched her. The truth was that she’d never met a man she considered irresistible.
But Leon Kanonidou was another matter...
And now, sitting opposite him sipping a delicious drink he’d told her was made from almonds and cinnamon, she luxuriated in the sensation of being happy in her own skin. Until she remembered Pansy, miserable and scared in her prison cell in England, and a shiver of guilt ran down her spine.
Aware that Leon was regarding her expectantly as if awaiting a reply to his question, she dragged her thoughts back to the present. ‘I love it,’ she said. ‘It’s the prettiest restaurant I’ve ever seen.’
‘And does it make up for the coach trip to see the vases?’
‘Oh, I think you could definitely say that. Not an ugly vase in sight.’
He smiled, lifting his fingertips to summon a waiter, but the proprietor himself came scurrying over, nodding his head intently while the order was given in Greek.
Once the man had departed, Leon leaned back in his chair. ‘I’ve ordered fish. I hope you like it. It’s the only thing on the menu.’
She hesitated, aware that so far he had made all the decisions and although she was quite enjoying somebody else being in charge for a change, maybe it was time she asserted herself. She looked at him with challenge in her eyes. ‘What would you say if I said I hated it?’
‘I’d say you’d never eaten fresh fish which had been hauled out of the water just a few hours before and then thrown on a fire scented with herbs fresh from the mountainside, so that the flesh is as soft as butter melting in your mouth.’
His voice was caressing now and Marnie was suddenly aware of the weight of her hair as it fell over her breasts and the sweet, tight tug of her nipples. And suddenly Pansy was forgotten. Everything was forgotten except for the way he was looking at her and making her feel. Was that why she blurted out her next words, which afterwards would make her cringe for being so unbelievably naïve? ‘You make everything sound so...’
‘So?’
His gaze pierced through her like a blue sword aimed straight at her heart. Marnie wanted to say romantic, but suspected that wasn’t the right word. Because romance was soft, wasn’t it? And there was nothing soft about this man, no matter how silken his question. There was something hard and invulnerable about him—something which attracted yet cautioned her at the same time. She wanted him to kiss her, she realised. She wanted it in a way which was inexplicable—yet she didn’t know a thing about him. She smiled up at the proprietor as a delicious-looking platter of sizzling fish was deposited on the table, alongside a bowl of Greek salad and two plates.
‘Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?’ she said, her years as a hairdresser reminding her that people liked nothing better than to talk about themselves.
‘Ohi.’ He shook his head, tendrils of dark hair moving sinuously against the olive glow of his skin. ‘I’m far more interested in you, Marnie Porter. Who you are and how you came to be here.’
She felt a sudden rush of nerves, though she kept her face impassive—the result of years of knowing that social workers would be studying your expression and trying to work out what you were really thinking. But Marnie didn’t want to talk about her past, which had been rubbish. She didn’t want to consider the equally scary future either, with all the worrying possibilities which lay ahead. She just wanted this. Now. Whatever this was. So she stalled. She was an old hand at stalling. ‘What exactly do you want to know?’
‘You’re English?’
‘Yes, I am. From London. Well, Acton.’
‘Act On,’ he repeated, making it sound like two words instead of one. ‘I know London very well but I don’t think I’ve heard of Act On.’
‘There’s no reason why you should—it’s hardly in the buzzing epicentre of the city, though there is a transport museum, which is very popular with schoolboys.’
‘But not with you, I think?’
‘No. Not with me.’
He smiled as a waiter slid a sizzling fish onto each of their plates, before raising his dark eyebrows at her. ‘And this is your first time in Greece?’
She nodded. ‘It is.’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘You don’t think I could be staying where you found me?’ she questioned innocently. ‘At the Paradeisos? Don’t I look like their usual type of client?’
There was a pause. ‘If you want the truth, then no.’
Marnie stiffened because this was familiar territory. Who could blame her for being defensive when she’d been considered second-best for most of her life? Being second-best was the reason she’d worn hand-me-down clothes and shoes. And why she’d been stuck in the homes of people who didn’t really want her, or her sister. ‘Too trashy, I suppose?’ she demanded hotly.
But he shook his tousled head. ‘No, not at all. Too...normal, I guess.’
Oh, how wrong could he be? Normal? Marnie almost laughed. An outsider, yes. And a freak too, very occasionally. Both those things. But a human being who blended in with the rest of the world? Never.
‘I am staying there, if you must know,’ she countered, enjoying the surprise which flickered over his face. And then, because he had been kind to her and because she liked him, she shrugged before making her admission. ‘I work there. In the spa.’
‘You work there?’
‘That’s right. I’m a hairdresser, though I’m also qualified as a manicurist and a beauty therapist. And obviously I can do brows and waxing. Not my favourite part of the job, I have to admit.’ She pulled a face. ‘Whoops. Probably too much information.’
Leon felt a rush of something he didn’t recognise. Was it her deadpan delivery which was making him smile, or her refreshing outspokenness? She certainly wasn’t the usual kind of woman he had dinner with. He mixed with investment bankers and CEOs. With models who commanded a king’s ransom for photographers to capture their matchless faces and incredible bodies. With actresses who kept gold-plated awards rather pretentiously on the shelves of their downstairs closet.
And usually he would be bored out of his skull by this stage of the meal.
He felt his pulse quicken as he acknowledged the steely throb at his groin. She wasn’t his usual type, that was for sure—and not just because she was blonde. She was pretty enough. Not beautiful, no—the set of her jaw was too firm and her lips weren’t full enough for conventional beauty—though her dark-lashed eyes were remarkable. She was no traffic-stopper, yet there was something about her which was so out of his comfort zone that Leon felt curiously alive in her company.
‘A hairdresser,’ he observed softly.
She pursed her lips together, as if he had criticised her. ‘I’m actually a very good hairdresser, which is how I got a job in a place like the Paradeisos, which—in case you didn’t know—is a very high-end hotel complex.’
‘Yes, it is,’ he agreed gravely.
‘In fact, I can give you a trim some time, if you like. Those ends don’t look in great condition to me and it’s long enough for you to be able to lose a bit. Call it payback for having come to my aid, if you like.’
Leon nearly laughed as he wondered how the prohibitively expensive hairdressers he visited in London and Paris and New York would react to the suggestion that his hair wasn’t being properly maintained. ‘Maybe I’ll take you up on that,’ he murmured. ‘But in the meantime—don’t you think we should eat? Any minute now and the chef will come storming over here to demand to know what’s wrong with the food.’
She looked startled. As if she had forgotten that they were in a restaurant and that the proprietor was casting worried looks over their untouched meal.
‘I guess we should,’ she said.
But he noticed that she was spooning salad onto her plate without enthusiasm, and chewing fish in a way which seemed almost mechanical. Did the food taste like sawdust on her tongue, as it did for him? Yet that should come as no surprise when eating was the last thing he needed right now. He wondered if she was aware that he wanted to taste nothing more complex than her skin. To slowly lick his tongue over every salt-covered atom of her curvy body, to discover her scent and her flavour.
Yet he didn’t do casual hook-ups. It didn’t suit his fastidious nature. Maybe it was arrogant of him to think that his cool intellect was always capable of conquering his baser instincts, because hadn’t he been on fire with need since she’d slid onto the back of his bike? Hadn’t it taken all the concentration he possessed—which was usually formidable—to focus on the journey and not the heavy throb between his legs? As an exercise in self-control, it had been considerable.
Secrets of Cinderella's Awakening Page 2
