Won by the Wealthy Greek. Cathy Williams

could see Marianna looking at her curiously, and was just about to launch into a whole series of questions when the volume of the music rose, making conversation impossible. And Marianna was soon engaged in a jovial shouting match with some friends at the nearby table. But it was Iannis Kiriakos who troubled Charlotte the most. He seemed to have only one person in his sight-line.

      Charlotte dropped her gaze quickly, but not fast enough. Their eyes had clashed briefly, but it had been enough for her face to flame red as she interpreted the question in her fisherman’s gaze: Available, or not available? And there had been a curve at one corner of his hard and extremely sensuous mouth that seemed to suggest he already knew the answer to his silent question.

      Before Charlotte could think what to do about it their food arrived, piled high on huge platters carried at shoulder height by a boisterous stream of waiters led by the fun-loving Mikos. She felt faint with relief at the distraction, and threw herself whole-heartedly into the rhythmical applause that greeted the parade.

      ‘This is just wonderful,’ she called across to Marianna.

      ‘I knew it was an evening you shouldn’t miss,’ Marianna agreed, inclining her head graciously.

      But beneath Marianna’s hooded lids Charlotte glimpsed a glint of something that aroused her suspicious. Surely Marianna wouldn’t have engineered the meeting with Iannis Kiriakos? Charlotte dismissed her suspicions on the grounds of Marianna’s traditional upbringing. She would never expose an unattached woman to a blatantly rampant male when that woman was leaving the island in just a few days’ time. And more than that, Charlotte realised, she trusted Marianna.

      Within minutes of her arrival on the island she had found herself confiding in the older woman in a way she would never have believed possible with someone who was practically a stranger. But Marianna had that quality. She drew people to her. She had drawn out the pain of Charlotte’s failed marriage like pus from a wound, and by the time she’d left that first evening Charlotte had felt the healing process had begun.

      Marianna’s thoughts on Charlotte’s failure as a trophy wife had been bluntly put. ‘You need someone who is content in themselves—a man who does not need possessions to find his level in life.’

      No, Charlotte told herself firmly, never in a million years would Marianna set her up with the steely-looking individual currently viewing her as if she was the next tasty dish on the menu.

      Soon Charlotte’s own platter was piled high with food. The fish was so fresh it melted in her mouth like butter, and the bowls of salads and dips were so delicious she hardly knew where to begin.

      ‘Use your fingers,’ Marianna advised, taking the lead.

      Breaking off a chunk of bread, Charlotte joined her in dunking it into the fragrant sauce and licking the excess off her fingers enthusiastically. The juices were running every-where—over her wrists, down her arm—and she had to resort to sucking her fingers clean one by one. Then something made her look up, and she found Iannis Kiriakos staring back at her, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

      It was as if a practised hand strummed a set of strings deep within her, and it was impossible to tear her gaze away from him until Marianna reclaimed her attention, when she passed another bowl of food across the table. But even then Charlotte found it impossible to hold her glance in check. As her eyes strayed she saw one corner of his mouth tug up in the suggestion of a smile, but his eyes were hard and calculating and she felt a shiver of apprehension.

      Instinctively, she drew closer to Marianna, concentrating all her attention on the food. But it was impossible not to snatch glances of Iannis—not to notice his long, lean fingers as he fed food into his mouth, or glimpse the flash of strong white teeth when he spoke to the waiter, or to see that his expression was always quite different when he directed his attention to anyone other than her. She saw him soften then, and his eyes sharpen with laughter. But when he looked back at her it was always with an expression in his eyes she didn’t care to name.

      She discovered that his mouth was compulsive viewing too—he had the most expressive lips… Pull yourself together, Charlotte warned herself sternly. You don’t need either the friendship or the approval of this Iannis Kiriakos. You only need him like a scientist needs a theory—to write about.

      That last thought should have helped, but even when Iannis was fully engrossed in the food set before him it was like being in a tunnel where only the two of them existed. And when he pulled back his head to stare at her again Charlotte noticed one of his ebony brows lifting just enough to send a slither of sensation down her spine.

      Gradually plates were pushed aside and glasses refilled. Noise levels had risen, and only dipped slightly when the overhead strings of light were reduced to a single strand. Time to dance, Charlotte guessed, as a hum of anticipation rose above the tables. The musicians had returned after their break and were starting to tune their instruments. Moonlight flooded the dance floor, and it was all so romantic. She would have been having the time of her life, Charlotte realised tensely, had it not been for one man.

      Determinedly she turned her attention to the leader of the band, watching as he made a signal with one hand. Despite her misgivings, she couldn’t help but thrill to the strong chord that rang out like a call to arms. Men were already answering the call, rising one by one from the tables surrounding the dance floor and assembling in front of her in a ragged line. They were forming up to dance the kalamatiana, she guessed as they rested their arms across each other’s shoulders.

      And then the unmistakable beat began. Snaking outwards from the small stage where the musicians were assembled. She could almost imagine the notes winding and curling sinuously around the men on the floor, causing their work-hardened muscles to soften and their faces to take on a look of intense pride. It was if their machismo had become the servant of expression and dramatic intensity. It was a potent sight, and one Charlotte found impossible to resist.

      To begin with the pulse was slow and steady, but promising more, like a racehorse reined in hard at the gate. The occasional musical flourish raised the tension, as well as the expectation of the audience, and soon everyone was clapping in time to the beat, stamping their feet in an attempt to push the tempo on. The rhythm was growing stronger and more persuasive every few bars, until it thrummed through Charlotte’s body with remorseless intent.

      She was on her feet now, swaying in time like everyone else, echoing the cries around her as she urged the music on to its inevitable climax. Then one of the older men broke away from the chain of dancers and began walking around the tables, his arms extended in mute invitation for more people to join in. And as his glance passed over Charlotte, he winked.

      What was she waiting for? Kicking off her shoes, Charlotte eased her way through the tables and walked onto the dance floor. She was oblivious to everything now apart from the beat—the wild, irresistible beat. Joining on to the end of the line, she tossed back her hair with abandon and lavished a smile on the man standing next to her. Stranger to the island or not, she had no intention of missing an opportunity like this.

      Charlotte failed to register the gasp that went up. She was too busy watching the moves and trying to match her step to that of the men dancing with her. By the time she did notice anything, it was just the warm and slightly damp feel of the corded arm beneath her hand. The man she was clinging on to was clearly delighted to have her as his dancing partner, Charlotte realised, whipping her head away from his moist garlic breath. He seemed to be holding her a lot closer than was strictly necessary, and as the tempo lifted another man joined in at her free side. Now she was sandwiched between them—and out of sight of the spectators Garlic Breath’s hand was on an unmistakable mission…

      Iannis sprang to his feet. It was bad enough that this woman chose to cavort naked on the beaches of Iskos. But this—this was insupportable!

      Charlotte was just beginning to panic when her two partners fell away, releasing her so quickly that for a few moments she was stranded in the middle of the dance floor on her own, feeling completely foolish.

      ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

      She