was so like sex it was amazing it was permitted in public, Charlotte decided, as someone began to strengthen the beat by patting gently on a drum. The sound was muffled and persuasive, seeming to ripple through her like an electric current invading a supple cable. Her whole body was vibrating to the low, insistent sound. It made her want to sway her hips, to entice Iannis all the more.
Touching the tip of her tongue to her lips, Charlotte cast a slanted glance at the man who maddeningly insisted on holding her as if she was a precious piece of china, when all she wanted was to be gripped, mastered, taken somewhere far away from the crowded dance floor where she could be served, plundered, ravished and sated.
Ravishing, Iannis thought, approving Charlotte’s seductive moves. She would be pretty too—if she gave her face a good wash. For once, he was impressed—and he couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Thankfully she had ditched the Miss Goody-Two-Shoes act, so now they could stop wasting time and get down to it.
Charlotte gasped as Iannis suddenly drew her a lot closer. At last, she thought gratefully, closing her eyes. She had begun to think she would die of frustration—either that or die of shame, knowing that she was the most unattractive woman on the planet.
She kicked her conscience into touch, determined to concentrate on the here and now. Here was a gorgeous man, and now he had to make love to her. For once in her life she would know what it felt like to be held by a real man and made love to exhaustively.
Just one night would be enough, Charlotte promised herself fervently, though she had the article to think about too. One long night, she amended quickly, and then they could both go their separate ways without a backward glance.
She held her breath as Iannis turned her around, discovering how neatly her tightly sheathed rump fitted into the cradle of his hips. She only had to move her hips a fraction—but he brought her back to face him and held her lightly around the waist.
His expression had grown slumberous, she noticed, gazing straight into his eyes. She had to make sure there could be no misunderstanding. This was no time for niceties. Her stay on the island was almost at an end.
Iannis responded by tightening his grip fractionally—but it wasn’t enough. He was teasing her, Charlotte realised, feeling faint with frustration. She felt he relished the delay. Everything was a dance to him—a courtly, protracted, drawn-out dance. And the longer it took, the better it seemed, as far as Iannis was concerned.
As he dipped his head to taunt her with a knowing stare, Charlotte knew her lips were plump and swollen with desire. The tip of her tongue crept out to moisten them, and she knew they would be gleaming in the candlelight just a hair’s breadth away from his hard, sensuous mouth. She could feel them tingling at his proximity, and his black gaze, on a level with her own, was perceptive and amused.
She wanted to rail at him, to pound her fists on his chest and rage with complaint—but not here, not with all his people surrounding them. Here she must move to the music with decorous circumspection, and curb her impulse to lash her hands behind his neck and drag him down to kiss him hard. There was a supreme confidence, a certainty about the way the fisherman moved. It made her long for him to lavish some of that skill on her. But his idea of seduction was apparently to send her half mad with frustration before granting her wish.
The sexual chemistry between them was not only red-hot, but blatantly obvious. More couples joined them, as if drawn like moths to the flame of desire, and, reading the change in mood, the musicians picked up the pace of the music until the traditional rhythms were pounding with elemental abandon.
Lashed around Iannis, Charlotte was well aware of the other dancers’ lack of inhibition. But Iannis was maddeningly restrained, and appeared content to draw out his seduction on the dance floor indefinitely—for the satisfaction of seeing her beg, presumably. It made Charlotte mad. It made her all the more determined to take control. Giving herself to the music, she began to compete with all the other women in enticing her man. She had the satisfaction of seeing Iannis grow increasingly intent as she abandoned herself to the seductive rhythm. It was time to turn the tables on her Greek seducer. She needed raw material for her article, and raw sex too—lots of it.
Iannis Kiriakos might think he was bending her to his will, but Charlotte was determined that she would get the better part of the bargain in the end. ‘Find a gorgeous Greek and write about him.’ The editor’s words rang in her head as she flaunted her sexuality through the dance. Her mission on the island had never seemed more appealing. Iannis was her Greek. She would write about him. Research never got better than this.
‘Shall we find somewhere a little quieter?’
The husky voice broke into her introspection, and it took her a moment or two to refocus. Then she tensed angrily. Iannis would think he had wrested control from her with no effort at all. But his warm breath was laving the most sensitive part of her neck, causing fine blonde hairs to rise in unison and sending quivering messages to each erotic zone. His low voice was pulsing with intent, showering her in sensation until her body throbbed in answer to his question.
‘If you like,’ Charlotte managed coolly.
Resting one hand in the small of her back, Iannis began to guide her off the dance floor. They had almost reached the narrow aisle between the tables that led to the road beyond the jetty when an unmistakable voice stopped them in their tracks.
‘Ah, you are ready to go, I see. Thank you, Iannis,’ Marianna said courteously with a small dip of her head as she barred their way. ‘I will take over now and see Thespinis Charlotte safely home.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘DAMN! Damn! Double damn!’ Charlotte raged, taking out her frustration on her pillows by giving them a hefty thwack with each word. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she had her own inhibitions and moral code to deal with, now she had Marianna as self-appointed guardian just in case she slipped up! Marianna was one woman Charlotte didn’t care to argue with. She respected the older woman far too much.
On their return from the taverna Marianna had revealed a covered bowl of honey in the refrigerator, as well as slices of the buttery yellow local cheese. She had advised Charlotte to dip into it. ‘We love this dish here on Iskos, and I knew you would be hungry,’ she observed, brushing off Charlotte’s gratitude with a flick of her hand.
But the one thing she would not do was to draw back the cloak of secrecy that seemed to surround Iannis Kiriakos.
‘He’s just a very good fisherman,’ she’d said vaguely, producing a bottle of local wine. ‘Shall we drink a toast to the island?’
And with that she had brought the curtain down on Charlotte’s investigations.
It was hard to think badly of Iannis when Marianna clearly liked him so much. But that was a dangerous way to think, Charlotte realised with a frown. She had seen the man’s charm at work in the taverna. In fact, thinking too closely about Iannis at all was dangerous. He should remain an idea—an ideal—for her article, and for the purpose of restoring her self-esteem. Nothing more.
Charlotte knew she had allowed things to get out of hand at the taverna, and the result was she hadn’t had a moment’s sleep. She had as much energy to spare as a highly bred mare—waiting for a stallion, Charlotte thought restlessly, progressing the metaphor into a cul-de-sac of frustration.
Another few thumps on the pillow left her feeling fractionally better. But there was still a long way to go—and only a short time left to get there, she remembered, making
