where you’re concerned,’ Iannis admitted, pulling back to look at her. ‘But you must sleep now—’
‘You’ll stay?’ Charlotte broke in, touching his cheek with her fingertips as she stared into his eyes.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Iannis assured her softly. Yet, he amended silently.
The first sensation Charlotte felt on waking was regret, because her stay on the island was almost over. Still with her eyes closed, she reached across the bed. There was no one there.
Instantly awake, she sat up. Thin early-morning sunlight was already slanting through the shutters and falling across the bedclothes in pale golden bands. Looking around, she saw there was no trace that Iannis had ever been in the room. Had it not been for all the signs of lovemaking her body still held she might have thought last night a dream. She sat very still, holding her breath to listen, but the silence in the villa was heavy and complete.
Leaping off the bed, she snatched her robe from the back of the door and went to search for him.
She knew he had left the villa long before she reached the kitchen, but still she ran out onto the veranda, hoping he might be there.
The veranda, like the rest of the house, was empty and silent, apart from a few leaves skittering about in the light breeze.
Leaning over the balcony, she stared down at the shore and exclaimed out loud with relief. He was there, hauling nets with the other fishermen. He must have left some time before dawn, she reasoned, seeing he had changed back into his work clothes.
So why the panic? Charlotte exhaled impatiently, remembering Iannis had told her he had to be at work early that morning. She was becoming forgetful. But how could she be expected to remember anything when her mind was full of Iannis? There was no room inside her head for anything else.
It was thrilling to watch him, to see his muscles flexing and hear him call with such authority to the other men—and know he was hers. Her gaze dropped to the powerful thighs that had so recently controlled her as he subjected her to pleasure beyond her wildest dreams. He didn’t just have a magnificent body—he knew how to use it, Charlotte mused, and a contented smile tugged at her lips.
He was at least a head taller than the other fishermen, but that was not the reason they looked to him for leadership. He possessed a natural air of authority, and something else—something indefinable. One of the other men had brought a small child with him to the beach, and Charlotte smiled to see Iannis scoop the toddler’s ball from the ground and throw it for him.
The misty seashore at dawn, the limpid water, the soft colours, the men going easily about their work—it was just like a scene from a movie, a dreamscape in the pearly light of dawn. On an impulse Charlotte pulled back, slapping the rail of the veranda as if to make everything stay just as it was in that instant. Then, dashing into the villa, she went to find her camera.
She had been taking pictures for quite a few minutes before Iannis looked up and saw what she was doing. A rush of happiness thrilled through Charlotte. Her lips widened in a smile and she waved playfully, making signs to indicate that he should back up a little, in order for her to take a group photograph.
Iannis stood motionless for a moment or two, just watching her, and then very slowly the smile dropped from Charlotte’s face. Everything about him suggested the opposite to her expectations. He was angry with her…furious.
She frowned in bewilderment, hearing him bark something at the other fishermen, and then tensed as he started striding back across the beach towards her.
There would be no more photographs today, she realised, slipping the camera strap from her neck. Hurrying back into the villa, she hung the camera on the back of a chair, then went outside again, meaning to meet him halfway.
But he was too fast for her, and Charlotte knew immediately that something was very wrong. Iannis didn’t speak, or embrace her. Instead he seized her arm and wheeled her around, steering her in the direction of the villa.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she shouted angrily.
His silence frightened her—frightened her more than anything he could have said to her. Tearing her arm from his grip, she swung around.
‘Is this how you treat women in Greece?’ She could see that the furious accusation rattled him. His face paled beneath his tan.
‘We will talk inside the villa,’ he said tensely.
‘You’re not coming in.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really!’ What had she done? Charlotte wondered angrily. ‘You owe me an explanation!’
‘What?’ The single word left his lips on an explosion of breath.
‘You heard me.’
‘I don’t owe you a thing!’ he snarled back.
‘I don’t want you at the villa!’ Charlotte assured him. ‘Not in this mood.’ When he tried to catch hold of her again, she snatched her arm away.
Iannis answered that by swinging her off the ground into his arms. Binding her arms to her sides, he strode into the villa, marched down the shady passageway and shouldered open the door into her bedroom.
Charlotte wasn’t sure whether she kicked herself free or if he chose to drop her down on the bed. She didn’t wait around to find out. Moving to the door, she stood beside it, tense with anger.
‘Out!’ She stood her ground when he took a fast, angry step towards her. ‘What are you going to do now, Iannis?’ she demanded furiously. ‘Hit me?’
He looked shocked. ‘I have never laid a finger on a woman in my life,’ he said coldly, ‘and even you could never push me that far.’
As they stood confronting each other, eyes blazing, Charlotte believed him. But that neither excused nor explained his behaviour. ‘Are you going to tell me what this is about?’
‘Perhaps you’d like to tell me?’ Iannis countered harshly.
Suddenly all she could remember was the words of love he had spoken to her, his tenderness, the safe harbour she had found in his arms. ‘I think you’d better get out,’ Charlotte said, horrified to hear her voice starting to shake.
‘Not until you have explained this,’ Iannis said coldly, picking up her digital camera and brandishing it in her face.
‘My camera?’
‘And,’ he said, striding past her out of the room and indicating that she should follow him, ‘this.’
‘What?’
Stalking into the kitchen, Charlotte saw he was standing over the table where she had left her work.
‘This,’ he said again, turning to look at her.
Charlotte rushed to guard her manuscript. ‘Did you imagine I don’t work for a living? I’m a journalist—’
‘A journalist?’ he echoed sarcastically.
