Won by the Wealthy Greek. Cathy Williams

it onto an empty seat and turned to lavish a fierce glance on her, his intention unmistakable, the promise of it electrifying. She wanted him now, immediately, she didn’t want to wait. All she wanted was for Iannis to drag her from the dance floor and find some dark, secret place where they could be alone.

      Charlotte was barely conscious of the fact that her breasts were threatening to overflow their tight constraint, or that her skirt had ridden up above her knees. All she knew was that her clothes had become an encumbrance, that she longed for Iannis to tear them off.

      Marianna had retired to fan herself, and her place in the line had been taken by one of the young waiters, but quite suddenly the dance ended, and the line of dancers drifted apart. Still held firm in Iannis’s grip, Charlotte slowly emerged from the erotic trance into which she had fallen and found she was incredibly aroused. Still panting, she gazed at him, then flushed with uncertainty. In the heat of the dance her behaviour could have passed for flair and enthusiasm, but now that the music had slowed she felt less sure of herself.

      Several married couples had joined them on the dance floor and they had no such inhibitions. Their movements were blatantly seductive. But that was okay for them, Charlotte realised, feeling increasingly unsure of herself. When she put her hands flat against Iannis’s chest and tried to pull away from him, he challenged her softly.

      ‘Won’t you dance with a simple fisherman?’

      His cynical eyes were dark and watchful. Yes, he was only playing with her, Charlotte realised with a twinge of alarm—playing with her like a big cat with a mouse. But what did she expect after the exhibition she had made of herself?

      Tiny shivers of awareness were still toying with her senses, and then her gaze fell to his lips and she saw the sardonic smile playing around the unforgiving line of his mouth. Marianna was right. Iannis needed curbing. And though she was not about to try, she had no intention of backing down either.

      ‘If you like,’ Charlotte managed evenly, levelling a cool green stare on his face.

      Her defiance seemed to unsettle him. He wasn’t sure how to handle it, she realised. Clearly there wasn’t much need when every woman in the place wanted Iannis Kiriakos. This knowledge only made Charlotte want to carry on provoking him, to needle and goad him. And she had the satisfaction of seeing her tactics work perfectly. There was an answering flare of challenge in his gaze, and then his arms closed around her.

      But as he dragged her close Charlotte knew she was fooling herself if she thought her mind was fixed against him. Her body was like butter, softening in defiance of her wishes. When Iannis placed one firm hand on her naked back she gasped and hoped he hadn’t heard. But, as if reading her responses was second nature to him, he lifted the hand away and made his touch frustratingly light instead. It made Charlotte long all the more for pressure, for confinement, and all the subliminal messages that could pass between a man and woman through the merest adjustment of a finger. But as they eased into the slow steps of the dance Iannis continued to hold her at a distance, until Charlotte felt as if she was skirting the fringes of a hurricane and could only hope that at any moment she might be sucked in and lost.

      She tried to act cool while she lost herself in sensation, and all the time Iannis kept her steady and in step with him, using the same maddeningly light touch.

      What better revenge could she exact for his arrogance than this? Allowing Iannis to arouse her without giving him the satisfaction of knowing what was happening. A contented smile curled around Charlotte’s lips as she relished the softening, swelling and yielding sensations that came with the moist preparations her body was making. The fact that it was her secret only made the tiny but delicious spasms all the more intense. Her fisherman’s power might be awesome, and the forces he could unleash immense, but she had his measure now. He liked to tease and provoke—and that was one game in which she could excel too.

      But the only trouble with subterfuge was that it didn’t bring satisfaction—the heat gathering between her thighs bore witness to that. And the longer they danced together the greater grew Charlotte’s need for release. Finally she was aching so much she knew she had to thrust her pride aside and take the direct approach.

      But he knew, she realised, staring up at him. His lips had tugged up at one corner, revealing his amusement and satisfaction at her plight.

      As she struggled to pull herself away Iannis proved too fast for her again, and, changing his grip, he allowed her to feel his arousal, huge and hard, pressing into the soft cushion of her belly.

      Charlotte’s breath quickened to rapid, greedy gusts. It was a brush with nature, primitive and intense. And one she didn’t want to avoid, Charlotte realised, meeting his hard, knowing gaze. Everything about Iannis Kiriakos promised an understanding of her needs that no other man could hope to match. He offered anonymity too, she remembered, and that gave her the freedom to indulge her senses to a degree she would never have risked before.

      She stared into his face, meaning to accept his challenge, but his dark and very dangerous eyes were hooded now, their expression hidden from her.

      Good. She had no desire to commune with the fisherman on an everyday level. She wanted him for one thing, and one thing only.

      Iannis Kiriakos would banish all the ghosts from her past. She was starved of the type of attention he could give her, and she would have him, Charlotte determined as she relaxed, allowing his warmth to invade her. It slicked through her limbs, leaving no area untouched, and as her body grew soft and pliant she was conscious of his unyielding frame pressed against her like a coiled spring.

      The compulsion to wrestle with him and lose overwhelmingly swept over her in waves. His hands were so strong, so smooth, she thought, moving sinuously beneath them. That was good—she needed all his skill, wanted none of that sensitivity lost beneath workworn skin or calluses. His sense of rhythm augured well too. He moved easily to the beat, bringing her with him just by holding her so lightly—too lightly, Charlotte acknowledged again, moving restlessly beneath his hands. She wanted more, so much more…

      He didn’t need to ask himself what Charlotte Clare wanted, or what she needed, Iannis reflected, taking pleasure in moving away every time she tried to range herself a little closer to him in the dance. He would make her wait, he decided, a harsh smile tilting the corners of his mouth. She would be insatiable. He could afford to wait as long as he chose when the outcome was so certain.

      He stared over Charlotte’s head, dismissing her in favour of the towering cliffs that showed vaguely on the other side of the shore like smoke trails against the inky sky. Iskos was his island, beautiful and uncomplicated—that was why he loved it so passionately. But there was nothing uncomplicated about the woman in his arms, he realised uneasily, tensing a little as she intruded on his thoughts.

      On the surface she resembled any of the other sex-tourists who came to the Greek islands in search of a meaningless coupling to brag about to their friends back home. Any Greek man would do, so long as he had a foreign-sounding name and a pulse—the rest they could invent. The obligatory conquest was as necessary to them as the suntan they took away with them. And the closer they came to the end of the holiday, the more desperate for a man they became.

      He smiled as he thought of the youths lining the sea walls each summer to gauge the level of frustration of each passing beauty. They could pick off their prey with absolute confidence. He glanced down again. Charlotte’s flight home must be imminent, judging by the amount of make-up she was wearing, not to mention the abundant décolletage and skintight outfit.

      Purely out of curiosity he channelled his senses into the hand resting lightly on her back. Her skin was fine and smooth and warm. At least she wasn’t tomato-red and flaky.

      Charlotte sensed the fisherman’s interest shift a gear, and glanced up. He danced so well. Probably got lots of practice in the tourist season. Would it be one dance or two? What price was he prepared to pay? She tensed as their gazes clashed and looked away. She didn’t want conflict. Conflict was provocative and called for resolution. She wanted straightforward sex and a pain-free goodbye. No regrets, no consequences.

      Was this part of the evening