A Consequence Made in Greece

by Annie West

  Her response was instantaneous. Her eyes flared with a heat that reminded him of warmed cognac. Her breasts rose on a sharp breath that would have stoked his ego if he weren’t used to female admiration.

  Strato pretended not to notice. He’d concentrate instead on the simple pleasure of lunch by the sea with a fascinating companion.

  Even so, he knew that in the right circumstances, he could find another sort of pleasure with this woman. But it wouldn’t be simple. And he only did simple, didn’t he?

  Or were his tastes changing?

  Was that why he’d been so restless lately? And why she appealed so much?

  ‘Thank you for trusting me,’ he murmured. ‘It’s generous of you. Now, do you want to turn around while I dress?’

  Remarkably for a woman who’d stood up to him as no one else did and who berated him for his sexually charged interactions, rosy colour swept into her cheeks.

  That blush intrigued. She was no wilting violet, scared to face a man. Yet she was a strange mix of confidence and reserve. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen a woman blush.

  Strato hadn’t met anyone like her.

  ‘Good idea. I’ll see what Doris packed for lunch.’ She turned, ostentatiously busying herself with her canvas bag.

  Damp cotton bunched in Strato’s hands. He’d originally hoped she’d strip off her shirt but he couldn’t complain about the view.

  Her tanned legs would feature in his dreams. They were shapely and long. Long enough that he wouldn’t have to bend double to kiss her. Strong too, given all the swimming she’d done. Strong enough to wrap around him and grip hard as he drove deep into her luscious warmth.

  Nostrils flaring, he shook the sand from the shorts with a snap and put them on.

  If only the press could see you now, Doukas.

  Billionaire sets new fashion trend! It puts a whole new spin on wanting to get into her pants.

  He huffed out a silent laugh.

  The shorts were ancient, faded and a terrible fit. But they were warm from her body and he had to take a few moments to battle his stirring erection as he imagined her naked and willing against him. It was an image his fertile imagination didn’t want to relinquish.

  Fortunately she didn’t notice as she unpacked lunch.

  Strato breathed deep and reminded himself he didn’t want to scare her off.

  He’d promised to behave.

  For now.

  Later, when she understood he was no threat, it might be intriguing to pursue this sudden attraction.

  * * *

  ‘Who’s Doris?’

  Cora looked over her shoulder and her stupid heart gave a shuddery heave then catapulted into a rackety beat.

  She’d seen him sprawled naked. How could he look even more mouth-wateringly male wearing daggy old shorts?

  Yet somehow the contrast between dark golden skin stretched over honed muscle and shabby, faded cotton made him look even sexier.

  Maybe it was the nonchalant way he wore the threadbare shorts. His total lack of concern over his appearance, his casual confidence in his own skin were devastatingly attractive to a woman who’d spent too many years overly conscious of her body shape.

  On him, tall and well-built would never be called over-sized. He looked gorgeous.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You mentioned Doris. I wondered who she was.’

  ‘Oh.’ Cora dragged her gaze back to the food. ‘She’s the cook at my father’s hotel.’

  In fact she was far more.

  Cora’s mother died when she was eight, and for the next six years it had just been her and her father, till Doris arrived. The newcomer had been good for them both, breathing new life into the place. She’d also taken Cora under her wing, providing a sounding board through the trials of her teen years, even trying to tame her so she didn’t become a total tomboy.

  Cora’s lips twitched. Poor Doris. She was a dear, so loyal and caring. She’d tried her best to turn Cora into a model of housewifely virtues but with limited success.

  ‘You live with your father?’

  She caught a flash of curiosity. It wasn’t surprising for multiple generations to live together, especially in traditional villages such as her own. Clearly this stranger wasn’t from such a background.

  Cora glanced out to sea where, in the distance, that massive cruiser was moored. It had come from Athens, Doris reported, after some crew came into harbour for provisions.

  ‘For the moment. He hasn’t been well.’

  She swallowed, recalling that horrible long-distance call. The news her father had suffered a heart attack. The terrible helplessness of being more than a continent away and unable to be with him straight away.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  She shrugged and spread the packets of food between them. ‘He’s improved a lot. He’s doing better.’

  Or he would be if he weren’t so stressed about the hotel. The economic downturn had hit hard, just after he’d taken out a huge loan, investing in major improvements that he’d thought would set the business up for long-term profit. Now they faced a particularly poor tourist season, with bookings down and no idea how they’d meet the repayments.

  Naturally Cora had stayed to help.

  ‘I’m glad he’s okay.’ The stranger paused and Cora sensed his scrutiny. To her relief he turned his attention to the food. ‘Your Doris has provided a feast.’

  ‘She doesn’t do things by halves.’ Cora smiled and broke a large piece of cheese and spinach pie apart, passing him half. ‘She even makes her own filo pastry.’

  He took a bite and Cora watched him pause, eyes widening then narrowing to unreadable slits as he slowly savoured it. He took another, bigger bite.

  Doris would approve of him. She liked anyone who appreciated her cooking. Cora turned her attention back to the food though, strangely uncomfortable watching his obvious enjoyment. His gusto made her wonder if he attacked other physical pleasures with the same enthusiasm.

  Absurdly she felt that phantom brush of heat in her cheeks again. Because once more her thoughts turned carnal.

  ‘That’s real home cooking,’ he said, what sounded like genuine emotion drawing Cora’s curiosity. It was more than simple appreciation. ‘I haven’t tasted food like this for years.’

  Yet he wasn’t starved. That imposing body was impressive.

  ‘No one cooks like that for you?’ She refused to ask if he had a wife. If he did she pitied the woman, for this man had the unmistakable air of someone committed to pleasure without concern for others.

  ‘Not since I was young.’ He took another bite with strong, white teeth and Cora watched, mesmerised, the rhythmic action of his jaw and the way his throat muscles worked as he swallowed.

  She unscrewed a bottle of water and took a swig.

  ‘May I?’ He nodded to the bottle and she passed it, watching him put it to his lips.

  Glittering eyes surveyed her over the raised bottle and she turned away, dismayed at her body’s reaction. Because he’d put his mouth where hers had been. Which made her think of his mouth on hers. Which made her breasts tighten and heat stir low in her pelvis.

  This was so not her. Maybe she was the one who’d had a touch too much sun. She certainly wasn’t responding to Poseidon as she normally did to men.

  With a huff of annoyance she shoved salad and olives towards him, then the bread. Normally Cora would have eaten ravenously after all her exertions. Now her appetite waned.

  Sharing lunch with this man had been a mistake. He mightn’t be physically dangerous but he disturbed her in ways no man had since Adrian. And even with Adrian—

  ‘You’re not eating.’

  She looked up to find him watching her. For an instant everything inside sparked to alert, then his gaze slid away towards the beach as if app
reciating the view and she relaxed.

  Cora frowned. A single look did that? Did he realise? Was that why he turned away?

  Slowly she reached for an orange. ‘I suspect your need is greater than mine.’

  Which was nonsense. She’d been hungry before. Frowning, she concentrated on peeling the fruit, inhaling the citrus tang and popping a juicy segment into her mouth.

  Silence lengthened as they ate. Gradually Cora felt her shoulders lower, her tight muscles easing.

  Someone seeing them would think the atmosphere companionable as they concentrated on the view.

  Yet Cora was totally aware of the man beside her. The reach of his long arm as he explored the goodies Doris had provided. The easy shift and stretch of his long body as he got more comfortable on the sand.

  Her own body kept leaning closer, till she realised what she was doing and pulled back.

  Determined, Cora concentrated on her orange and thinking of something else.

  It had been a tough morning with that reminder from the bank sending her father into something like panic.

  Usually her trips to this tiny island helped her deal with the stress over her father and the hotel, which she feared they’d lose. Today even the sea, which always brought solace, failed her.

  Because more than half her mind was on Poseidon, happily devouring her food, rather than on devising some new strategy to save her dad from bankruptcy.

  Abruptly she came to a decision. Her earlier instincts had been right. This was a mistake.

  Licking the sticky juice from her fingers, she reached for the water bottle and poured some over her palms. Then she rose. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘You’re leaving?’

  She saw surprise on Poseidon’s honed features. Genuine surprise, not feigned.

  Cora felt satisfaction unfurl. Given his penchant for flirting and the way he guarded his thoughts, it felt like a victory to see his astonished look.

  He probably wasn’t used to women leaving till he was finished with them.

  She drew a shaky breath and told herself that didn’t apply to her because she’d never let him start with her. There’d be no casual passion with a stranger. Not for her.

  ‘It’s time.’ She hesitated then made the offer that any decent person would. ‘Can I give you a lift?’

  His narrowed eyes caught hers and she felt a frisson of awareness skid down her spine and curl into her belly. She swallowed. Given her history she’d prided herself on her defences against predatory men. This man made a mockery of those. With just a look!

  ‘Thank you, no. I’m fine.’ His hand dropped to those ancient shorts. ‘You’ll want these back.’

  ‘No!’ Did her voice sound strangled? ‘Thanks, but I don’t want them.’

  Even if she could wear them with half the panache he did, she’d rather not see them again. They’d remind her of today’s madness. That sudden surging hunger. For a complete stranger!

  For a second longer Cora looked at him. Trying to imprint his image in her memory? Abruptly she turned away.

  * * *

  Strato watched her cross the beach, the loose sand turning each step into an undulating sway of curvaceous hips that dried his mouth. He groped for the water bottle and gulped.

  Now she was on firm sand and her walk became an athletic stride, the movement of her long, gilded legs mesmerising.

  Oh, yes, he’d dream about those legs.

  He took another gulp. But his dry throat had nothing to do with the need for water.

  It was all down to her.

  When was the last time a woman walked out on him?

  He understood that she was wary of a complete stranger. So he’d masked his thoughts and projected an aura of calm.

  It had worked. They’d sat companionably. Long enough for him to become addicted to the sight of her eating that damned orange. He’d swear she didn’t realise how the sight of her pink tongue, swiping up drips of juice, teased him. Or how he’d watched her licking her fingers and wished she’d lick him instead.

  His frown became a scowl.

  Strato had a reputation as a playboy but the gaps between lovers grew longer and even he had never dumped a woman or, in today’s case, two, and instantly pursued another! He didn’t understand it.

  There was something about this woman that called to him.

  Sexual allure, obviously.

  But more too. Character. That was it. Feistiness melded with...decency. Her concern for him had been real, even through her annoyance. That concern had made him feel things he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

  That didn’t say much for the people he mixed with, did it?

  Even the lunch she’d shared had stirred unfamiliar yearnings. That cheese pie reminded him of his mother’s. A tantalising flavour he hadn’t tasted since he was eight. It had been like biting into sunshine and rare memories of happiness. No wonder he felt unsettled.

  His eyes narrowed as his Nereid disappeared around the point without a backward glance. She had no interest in prolonging their acquaintance.

  Or did she know that by leaving she’d pique his interest?

  Whatever the reasons, this woman fascinated him, far more than anyone he could recall.

  Strato reached for the segment of orange she’d left. He bit into it, tasting the bright sunburst of sweet, tart citrus. His tongue tingled as he sucked up the juice.

  Strato closed his eyes and imagined it wasn’t an orange he was feasting on but her.

  The question was, would he give in to temptation?

  CHAPTER THREE

  CORA WAS WIPING down outdoor tables on the vine-shaded terrace when she heard a boat.

  It wasn’t unusual to hear motors early in the morning as the fishing boats returned. Yet this motor approached the hotel, not the harbour further around the bay.

  She shaded her eyes. On the water’s dancing gold and silver dazzle she saw it approach. Not a traditional fishing boat but something sleek and modern.

  They weren’t expecting guests today, sadly. Besides, this boat was too small to have come from the mainland. Cora scanned the bay and noticed the luxury motor yacht she’d seen yesterday, now anchored off the point. If someone was coming ashore for supplies, surely they’d head to the harbourside shops?

  The engine stopped and the boat kissed the end of the hotel’s jetty. Someone slung out a rope, mooring it with the ease of long practice.

  She moved to the next table. Yet instead of cleaning it, she watched the man walk down the jetty.

  The low sun was directly behind him and she had an impression of height and athleticism, and wide, straight shoulders. He didn’t hurry but his long stride covered the distance in no time.

  Cora’s nape tightened and the cloth crumpled in her hand as she watched that easy, confident walk. More saunter than stride.

  She didn’t recognise his gait, yet premonition stirred like a strong current in still waters. Some primal sense told her—

  He stepped into the shade of the tamarisk trees edging the terrace and Cora’s chest grabbed.

  Poseidon.

  The amused, intriguing, dangerous man from yesterday.

  Her eyes ate him up. From the dark hair swept back off his high forehead to the chiselled male beauty and carved arrogance of his face. He wore reflective sunglasses and she wondered if behind them he was smiling again.

  One sweeping glance told her he looked almost as good dressed as he did naked. He wore designer loafers, a white short-sleeved shirt, and pale trousers that must have been tailored to fit those powerful thighs and long legs.

  Instantly Cora regretted her choice of clothes. Old tennis shoes, cut-off denim shorts with uneven, ragged edges and a black T-shirt proclaiming Biologists Do It in Their Genes.

  He stopped on the terrace, surveying her. Then slowly, so slowly she fel
t each tiny, incremental change like the stroke of velvet on bare skin, his mouth curved up into a smile that made her pulse throb and her toes curl.

  A flourish of something she couldn’t name stirred and Cora snatched a desperate breath, schooling her features.

  She tilted her chin higher. She’d been right. He was tall, far taller than her. It was unusual for her to have to look up at a man. Unusual and...not unpleasant.

  ‘Good morning. Can I help you?’

  Sleek eyebrows lifted and he took his glasses off to reveal eyes the colour of the sea, shimmering with warmth.

  ‘You don’t recognise me?’ His smile curved even higher on one side, creating an apostrophe of amusement, a tiny groove in the tanned flesh beside his mouth.

  It was like an invitation, that tiny curl. Beckoning Cora to reach out and trace it. To respond to the invitation in his eyes.

  Remarkably, her fingertips tingled as if she’d done just that. As if she’d brushed them across his face.

  Horrified at her vivid imaginings, she reached for the cloth that had dropped to the table.

  ‘Of course. We met yesterday.’ Her voice was appallingly husky but she ploughed on. ‘So you got picked up from the beach all right.’

  He inclined his head, his eyes not leaving hers. ‘You were worried about me?’

  ‘I...’ Why did her mouth dry under that wickedly arousing gaze and her words stick in her throat? She was twenty-six, not sixteen. ‘It was an unusual situation, being left without supplies.’

  She’d almost returned yesterday evening to check on him, but her father had felt fretful, worrying about money, and Doris had been out so Cora had been forced to stay here. That was why she’d started her morning chores early, so she had time to take the boat this morning and check the stranger was safe.

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘To see you.’

  Fervently Cora hoped he couldn’t read her delight at his words. She had no interest any more in uber-sexy men. Her dear dad was the only man in her life these days.