from her face in an effort to dispel the faint muzziness which still plagued her—and paused, her attention suddenly, alarmingly arrested.
Because this room bore signs of occupation which had nothing to do with her, she realised, her heart thumping. Like a brush and comb and toiletries on the mirrored dressing table, a leather travel bag standing on a trestle in one corner, and a man’s jacket tossed on to one of the blue armchairs by the window. And she could have no doubt about the identity of their owner.
She whispered, ‘Oh God,’ and sank back against the pillows, her mouth dry, and her mind working overtime.
Just exactly what had happened during the night? she asked herself desperately. And to be precise, what had happened after Michael Theodakis had carried her up here in his arms? Carried her to his room. His bed.
Because that she did most certainly recall, even if the rest was just a jumble of confused impressions.
But that was the effect of the date-rape drug, she reminded herself. It rendered you insensible. And it was only some time afterwards, if at all, that you remembered what had been done to you. And while she’d been unconscious, any kind of advantage could have been taken of her, she thought, swallowing painfully against her tight throat muscles.
Was it possible that during the hours of darkness, her rescuer could have turned predator?
Slowly, reluctantly, she made herself remember her dream—that shivering, frenzied erotic ravishment that had tormented her unconscious mind.
But had it really been a dream, she wondered, staring, horrified, at the disordered bed—or stark reality?
Surely she would know—there would be some physical sign—if her body had been subjected to that level of sensual possession.
Or would she? Was this deep, unfamiliar ache inside her induced by physical frustration—or a passionate satisfaction that was entirely new to her?
Kate realised with shock that she could not be sure. And that maybe she never would be, which was, somehow, infinitely worse.
Oh, dear God, she thought, in panic. I’ve got to get out of here.
But where were her clothes? she wondered, staring fruitlessly round the room. Apart from her shoes, left by the bed, they seemed to have vanished completely.
And, as she absorbed this, a door opened and Michael Theodakis walked in.
Kate grabbed frantically at the slipping sheet holding it against her breasts, as her shocked brain registered that he himself was wearing nothing more than a towel draped round his hips. The rest of him was smooth olive skin, and rippling muscles, and in spite of herself, she found the breath catching in her throat.
He halted, looking her over slowly, brows lifted and eyes brilliant with amusement. He said ‘Kalimera. So you’re awake at last.’
She stared at him, her pulse rate growing crazy. A sick certainty welling up inside her.
She said hoarsely, ‘What—what are you doing here?’
‘Shaving,’ he said. ‘A habit I acquired in adolescence.’ He nodded towards the room he’d just left. ‘I am sorry that we have to share a bathroom, but now you have it to yourself.’
‘Share?’ she said. ‘A bathroom?’
‘This suite only has one.’ He seemed totally at ease with the situation, and with his lack of clothing too. But undoubtedly he was used to displaying himself in front of women in a towel, or even without one.
Whereas she—she was strangling in this bloody sheet.
‘Which does not matter when I am here alone, as I usually am,’ he went on.
‘But last night,’ Kate said, her voice shaking. ‘Was different.’
‘Of course,’ he said softly. ‘Because you were here.’ He paused. ‘I have ordered breakfast to be served to us on the terrace. Would you like me to run a bath for you?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I think I’ve had enough personal services for one lifetime. Like being undressed and put to bed last night.’
‘You could not do it for yourself.’ He made it all sound so reasonable, she thought in helpless outrage. ‘You were barely conscious, pedhi mou.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ Kate said between her teeth. ‘And I am not your little one.’
He frowned slightly. ‘You have had a shock,’ he said. ‘But it is over now, and you have come to no harm.’
‘Perhaps I don’t see it like that.’ The sheet was slipping, and she hitched it up, anchoring it with her arms. A gesture that was not lost on him.
There was still laughter in his eyes, but that had been joined by another element. Something darker—more disturbing. Something she had glimpsed in those dark, heated hours in the night, but did not want to recognise again.
Yet, at the same time, she realised that she had to confront him—had to know. Had to…
‘Then how do you see it?’ The dark eyes moved over her in frank assessment. He was enjoying this, she thought, her anger mounting. ‘Maybe we can reach a compromise.’
Kate drew a shaky breath. ‘I’d prefer the truth. Did you come to this room during the night.’
‘Yes. I came to check that you were all right. So did the housekeeper, and also the hotel doctor. It was quite a procession,’ he added drily.
She swallowed. ‘But you were also here alone.’
He frowned. ‘I have said so.’
She touched her dry lips with her tongue.
‘Did you—touch me?’
There was a silence. Then, ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘I did not mean you to know, but I could not resist. Your hair looked so beautiful spread across my pillow. I had this irresistible desire to feel it under my hand.’
She stared at him. ‘And was that all—your only irresistible desire, Kyrios Theodakis?’
He sighed. ‘There was a tear on your cheek. I brushed it away.’
‘And then you left,’ she said. ‘Is that what I’m supposed to believe?’
The dark eyes narrowed. He said softly, ‘What are you trying to say?’
Kate bit her lip. ‘Where exactly did you spend the night, Mr Theodakis?’
‘This is a suite, Kyria Dennison. There are two bedrooms. I slept in the second. And I slept well. I hope you did too,’ he added courteously.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I didn’t. I had the strangest dreams.’
The dark eyes narrowed. ‘The effect of the drug, perhaps.’
‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘But this was such a vivid dream. So realistic.’
