In the Greek's Bed. Sara Wood

smoke oozing from the gap under the door of her attic apartment—it wasn’t good, but Katie had expected worse. With any luck the fire brigade would arrive before it got out of hand.

      For a moment she stood there indecisively, at a loss to know what to do next. What did people do under such circumstances…?

      ‘If in doubt cross your fingers,’ she declared unscientifically. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

      She exhaled noisily with relief as no lethal fireball knocked her over, and she pressed a hand flat against her chest where her thudding heart was trying hard to escape.

      Perhaps this is my lucky day after all… she mused. ‘Lucky…!’ She rolled her eyes. Oh my word, I’m turning into one of those irritating people who see a bright side to a calamity, no matter how dire. ‘There’s optimism, Katie, and then there’s insanity. Your flat is on fire because you forgot to turn off your iron—that’s not lucky, it’s disastrous.’

      The sound of her own voice calmed her nerves and strengthened her resolve. Her flat consisted of an open-plan living-area-cum-kitchen and a small bedroom with en suite facilities. Though the main room was filled with an acrid smoke that stung the back of her throat and made her eyes water, Katie could see no more obvious signs of the fire, which seemed to advance her theory that it had started in the bedroom. That was where she had ironed the creases from her dress on the floor rather than be bothered getting out her ironing-board.

      ‘Alex…good puss, nice kitty,’ she called, advancing cautiously into the smoke-filled room.

      She had barely gone a couple of yards into the room when the visibility became nil. The only thing she could now see was a dull orange coming from underneath her bedroom door; it was the only thing that gave her any sense of orientation in the gloom. It also gave her a deep sense of foreboding…how long would the door contain the flames?

      At times like this a well-developed imagination was not helpful.

      No good thinking about that, she told herself, just get on with it. The sooner you find that damned cat, the sooner you can get out. Despite this stoicism her knees were shaking as she cautiously proceeded.

      She stopped every few feet to listen but there was no response to her calls.

      Katie didn’t know why she had expected him to respond, because Alexander was not a nice kitty, or a good puss, he was a belligerent animal who brought live mice into her bedroom and spat when you tried to show him affection. If he’d been human, doctors would have said he had a personality disorder.

      And if I had any sense, she reflected grimly, I’d leave him to fry!

      ‘Alex, puss, puss…’ Mid coaxing call she walked straight into a solid object—the coffee-table she’d discovered in the garage sale. The impact of solid teak on her vulnerable shin was enough to send her to her knees. She eased her weight from her bruised knee and felt the tangled fabric of her dress rip.

      ‘Damn!’

      It was while she was on her knees that she realised the smoke was thinner nearer the floor. She decided to continue her search from this position.

      She was crawling cautiously along when she heard a deep voice calling her name.

      Nikos…well, if he wants to murder me this would be the ideal opportunity, she thought. If ever there was a situation where black humour was appropriate, this was it, she decided, continuing her search, studiously ignoring his increasingly urgent cries.

      Her grim smile turned into a cough when she heard a loud sound of impact closely followed by a strong Greek curse. It must, she realised in retrospect, have been the cough that alerted him to her position because moments later she was aware of strong hands sliding underneath her arms and hoisting her off the ground.

      ‘Let me go, you fool!’

      ‘Be still and keep calm. I have you.’ He did, in an iron grip that made escape impossible. ‘You are quite safe now,’ a deep, soothing voice in her ear informed her.

      Katie, who had no desire to be saved, knew instinctively that safety was something Nikos Lakis’s arms would never offer her. It was the thought of what they might offer that made her start to struggle in earnest. As several of her blows connected the reassuring note in his deep voice began to sound a lot more strained.

      She let out a shriek as he stopped trying to gently soothe her when, reverting to character, without so much as a ‘by your leave’ he threw her resistant body over his shoulder fireman-fashion.

      This is a classic case, she told herself, lapsing into exhausted passivity, of resistance being quite definitely futile.

      Katie was forced to maintain this undignified position until they had reached the hallway when she found herself plonked on the wooden floor, which Sadie had only had stripped and polished before Christmas… Oh, God, poor Sadie…! And this is all my stupid fault! I’m the tenant from hell!

      She felt cool fingers press against the pulse point at the base of her throat, then a hand, the same one presumably, slid under her chin and began to firmly tilt her head back.

      Her watering eyes shot open; embarrassingly it seemed that Nikos had wrongly attributed her sudden inertia to a loss of consciousness. She was ashamed that for a spilt second she had actually considered letting him try to revive her—her curiosity was purely of the scientific variety, of course.

      ‘Will you stop that?’ In her head her voice had been strong and defiant, but annoyingly what actually emerged from her dry lips was a weak croak.

      ‘Well, that’s a relief, you don’t require mouth to mouth,’ said the big figure who was straddled over her body as he settled back on his heels.

      Though his face and clothes were blackened and soot­-stained, he still managed to looked as incredibly handsome as ever, Katie noted despairingly.

      ‘Imagine your relief and quadruple it,’ she croaked.

      ‘I did not expect gratitude for saving your life, but civility would have been nice…’

      ‘Saving my life!’ she squeaked, struggling to sit up. ‘My life didn’t need saving, I had everything under control until you got all Neanderthal.’ Panting and unable to rise, she grabbed onto the first available solid support to provide leverage, which happened to be his thighs, which were clamped either side of her waist.

      The iron-hard firmness she encountered made her pause and caused her sensitive stomach muscles to tighten; escape somehow seemed less urgent as her splayed fingers explored a wider area and discovered no give in the bulging contours.

      Then she came to herself and was deeply ashamed. It was unforgivable under the circumstances that she’d wasted precious seconds.

      ‘Thanks to you,’ she snarled, ‘Alexander is probably frying in there,’ she informed him, sliding out from between his legs and struggling to her feet. She got to them when, unaccountably, her knees gave way.

      Nikos, a startled expression on his face, had also got to his feet, but with considerably more agility and athletic grace than she had. He caught her as she slid to the floor, which cushioned the impact of her contact with the bare wood.

      With her head thrust between her knees, Katie batted blindly with her hands connecting only with empty air. It was only after she stopped fighting that he let her up.

      ‘You stupid, stupid man!’ she quavered, wiping with the back of her hand angry tears that coursed down her filthy face leaving paler tracks in the grime. Nikos, who was kneeling beside her, did not look particularly chastened by her attack. ‘Alexander is still in there.’ She gestured towards the door.

      Nikos looked grim. ‘I heard you. Stay calm—hysteria will achieve nothing.’

      ‘I am calm!’ she bellowed.

      ‘Why on earth