this the type of person she had turned into? Charlotte wondered angrily. Someone complacent, biddable—docile? Happy to fall in with whatever Iannis Kiriakos wanted—however unreasonable that might be? She had written the article in good faith, and there was not one word of complaint against him in a single line. Pushing back her chair in a sudden fit of temper, she lurched away from the table.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
He was faster than she was, and his voice was cold and flat. As he tried to stop her at the door Charlotte saw red. ‘Don’t you dare get in my way!’ she warned, thumping her fists on his chest. ‘I’m getting out of here.’
‘To go where?’
‘Anywhere! Away from you!’
He swore in Greek, and seized hold of her wrists, but Charlotte shook him off and pulled away. Reaching for her, Iannis stepped backwards, met with the stool and tripped over it, bringing Charlotte crashing down to the floor on top of him.
It took a few moments for Charlotte to get her breath back, and then she saw Iannis was lying very still beneath her, with his eyes closed. His arms were still locked around her waist, as if he had been trying to protect her as they fell.
‘Are you all right?’ she demanded anxiously, levering herself up to take a proper look at him.
His eyes snapped open. ‘What do you think?’
‘Don’t tease me like that,’ she exclaimed angrily. ‘It’s not funny, Iannis. You could have been hurt.’
‘And you’d care?’
Charlotte huffed impatiently. ‘No.’ But that wasn’t true and he knew it. ‘I’m sorry you fell.’
‘How sorry?’ Iannis challenged huskily, and suddenly she was aware of his warm, hard body beneath her own.
‘Sorry enough,’ Charlotte muttered mutinously. But she could feel his erection pulsing hard beneath her. ‘You?’ she demanded, her voice strong but her body softening in spite of the warnings ringing in her head.
‘About the same,’ he agreed, a touch of humour forcing one corner of his mouth up. ‘Truce?’
‘Possibly,’ Charlotte agreed waspishly as an idea occurred to her. ‘But—’
‘But?’ Iannis echoed, the softly delivered consonants drawing her attention to his lips.
‘Only if you agree to let me go the moment—’
‘You’re free to go now,’ he cut in, lifting his hands away from her, ‘as long as you don’t leave the villa. But I warn you, Charlotte. I intend to resolve this matter today. I need your assurance that you will stay.’
Then he could have it, Charlotte mused, starting to free his shirt from the waistband of his jeans. The flesh beneath was hard and tanned, the dark hair from his chest tapering and disappearing beneath the sturdy leather belt. As she pushed the fabric higher with her hands she dipped her head and licked a little, teasing until he groaned beneath her. ‘You’re my hostage now,’ she explained, turning her attentions to the buckle on his belt, ‘and until I get what I want you’re going to stay right here.’
Iannis sighed contentedly as she undid the belt and started on his button fly. ‘No, no. Stop,’ he protested weakly.
‘Sorry, can’t do that,’ Charlotte told him. ‘You have been a very bad boy, Iannis, and now you have to pay.’
While she released each button with an agonising lack of haste, Iannis tugged off his shirt and cast it aside.
He looked so magnificent she had to pause for a moment. Why not enjoy it, Charlotte asked herself, lavishing a gaze on his powerful chest. He was hers for the moment, truly hers, to do with as she liked—all identity stripped away. Right now it didn’t matter whether it was Iannis the fisherman or Iannis the tycoon beneath her hands. He felt fantastic and she intended to take her fill of him.
The muscles running down his arms and across his shoulders were relaxed, and Charlotte felt a stab of discontent. She longed for them to flex as he reached out for her, but Iannis seemed content to lie still and do nothing while she made love to him. Charlotte felt her senses surge. He was full of surprises.
‘Well?’ he demanded sardonically. ‘Are you going to master me, tiger woman?’
‘Watch me,’ Charlotte murmured, but he was already reaching behind her head and feeling for the clip that held up her hair. Freeing it, he tossed it aside, and then combed his fingers through her long Titian waves until they tumbled in profusion around her face.
‘Beautiful,’ he observed softly. ‘Now take your top off.’
Straddling him, Charlotte did as he asked, but kept her bra in place. ‘Up,’ she ordered softly. Freeing his jeans, she drew in a fast breath. ‘Who said you could go commando?’ she demanded, firming her mouth sternly.
‘I wasn’t aware that there was a law against it,’ Iannis pointed out as his lips tugged down in a rueful expression. ‘I was in a hurry to get here this morning. Oh, and by the way, would you like me to keep my boots on?’
‘You can take them off,’ Charlotte allowed generously.
‘You’re in charge.’
‘Too right,’ Charlotte agreed, flashing him a seductive smile as she turned to free the laces on his boots.
Now he was quite naked, and she took a moment to relish the whole delicious length of him.
‘Do you like what you see?’ Iannis demanded softly.
‘You know I do.’
He raised his hands above his head in a gesture of complete acquiescence. ‘So, enjoy,’ he offered huskily.
‘Arrogant brute,’ Charlotte whispered, feeling her senses quicken.
‘You love it,’ Iannis observed in a low drawl. And as a way to pass the time until his lawyers called it could scarcely be bettered, he mused with satisfaction.
‘Iannis,’ Charlotte murmured softly, combing her hair through with her fingers in a gesture that was both languorous and intensely seductive, ‘do you ever indulge in fantasies?’ She watched his sweeping ebony brows draw together in an expression of perplexity.
‘Do you?’ he countered in a low voice, his lips tugging up in the suggestion of a knowing smile.
‘Answer me first,’ Charlotte insisted, adopting a tone that was a little sterner. ‘Do you, for instance, ever fantasise about being tied up?’
She watched as his eyes darkened, and saw there was a flare of black humour at their depths.
‘You, beautiful lady, can do whatever you want with me,’ Iannis told her with a compliant sigh, stretching his arms above his head to grip hold of the sturdy cast-iron fender.
Reaching for his discarded belt, Charlotte returned quickly to his side and, kneeling down, started to wind it around his wrists. ‘I
