Mediterranean Seduction

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘I HAVE something to say too, Charlotte,’ Iannis said evenly. ‘Please show me the courtesy I have afforded you by turning around and listening to me.’

There was a quiet authority in his voice that made Charlotte turn to face him.

Iannis indicated the seat to one side of the hearth. ‘I will put some more of Marianna’s cream on your sunburn while we talk. Come and lie down over here. Come,’ he insisted, holding out a hand towards her.

Considering the damage she had done, bringing his empire crashing down, the least she could do was listen to what he had to say, Charlotte conceded. Walking over to the sofa, she lay down carefully on her stomach, not wanting to get the cream he had already applied to her legs on the fabric.

The balm was soothing, his touch intoxicating, but Charlotte knew he was only tending her wounds and wished it could be something more. ‘I can’t do this, Iannis,’ she said, suddenly trying to pull away.

‘Can’t do what?’ he demanded softly, resting his hand on the swell of her buttocks.

‘I can’t let you do this.’ It’s too intimate, and I can’t bear that when I know it’s all over for us.

‘Someone has to,’ he pointed out, lifting his hand away.

‘No, I mean it, Iannis. All I can think about is how much damage will be done by those articles in the newspaper.’

‘It’s too late to think of that now,’ he said bluntly. ‘I shall just have to wait and see how bad it gets and then deal with it.’

‘Don’t make light of it. Too much has gone wrong. Too many people are involved. There’s too much history between us—’

‘Less than a week.’

Was that really all it was? ‘And now so many people are going to suffer because of my stupid mistake.’

‘No one who works for me will be allowed to suffer because of your article,’ Iannis said evenly. ‘I will not allow it.’

‘Then you lied?’ Charlotte said, her voice rising.

‘Not about the repercussions if I am ridiculed,’ he said. ‘The world’s money markets are merciless forums. If any of the big players show the slightest weakness, the rest of the pack pounce.’

Hearing Iannis describe himself in such unemotional terms told Charlotte he was not exaggerating. ‘So?’

‘I have always taken care of the people who work for me, and nothing has changed there,’ he said. ‘We just have to wait until the markets open and then I can see what I’m dealing with.’

‘I’ve no intention of running away,’ Charlotte assured him.

‘Not this time?’ Iannis murmured.

‘We’ll see it through together,’ Charlotte informed him, stubbornly avoiding his gaze.

‘That suits me just fine.’

He actually meant it, Charlotte realised with a rush of emotion.

Before he had a chance to change the screen his mobile rang. ‘My office,’ Iannis mouthed.

Charlotte waited tensely, watching his face grow serious. Maybe it was even worse than she had imagined. What had she done? Charlotte’s imagination slipped into overdrive as she pictured a catastrophe that even Iannis would find beyond his powers to contain.

He didn’t speak right away. Looking thoughtful, he turned to put the mobile down on the table. Sensing the turmoil he must be going through, Charlotte felt lonelier than she had ever done in her life.

Without saying a word to her, Iannis settled himself down in front of his laptop and began to key in the address for the site he wanted to view. ‘Come and join me,’ he said as images began to fill the screen.

Charlotte drew a deep, steadying breath. She had promised to share this with him.

‘It seems you have touched a nerve here,’ Iannis remarked dryly.

Charlotte tensed in readiness to read the screen and discover the extent of the damage she had done.

The financial press had already picked up the story. She exhaled raggedly as her eye skimmed the columns. Iannis Kiriakos—the man who’s got it all…the man who’s got it right…balance is good for business—as proved by rocketing Kiriakos share price… Charlotte blinked in bewilderment. It was the absolute opposite to everything she had been dreading. The fact that Iannis liked to return to his roots seemed to have captured everyone’s imagination.

He rested his finger against Charlotte’s lips, as if to ensure her silence, and then she remembered he had wanted to say something to her earlier.

‘Just tell me one thing, Charlotte.’

‘Anything.’

‘Would you have stayed here on Iskos with Iannis Kiriakos the fisherman, had he asked you to do so?’

What could she say to make him believe her? Charlotte wondered. ‘I would,’ she said simply.

‘Would you have married him—had he asked you?’

‘Yes, I believe I would.’

‘So, you do love me?’ His voice was steady, and his eyes seemed to be watching her to see how far she could be pushed.

‘I adore you,’ Charlotte whispered, her eyes filling with tears of regret. But I cannot make the same mistake again.

‘That is good,’ Iannis murmured, taking hold of her hands, ‘because I have discovered that without you I am nothing. My business, my life, this island—none of it means anything to me without you by my side.’

‘What are you saying?’ The thought of spending her life as the plaything of the man she adored was almost worse than not having any time with him at all. And if he meant more than that—if he meant they should marry…Charlotte told herself not to be so foolish—not to forget she had failed as the wife of a successful man quite miserably once before.

‘I’m saying I love you,’ Iannis said bluntly. ‘Iskos was my haven, but you are my haven now, Charlotte. I am asking you to marry me,’ he said simply, ‘to be my wife—to share everything with me—’

‘Stop, Iannis,’ Charlotte cut in, pulling away from him. ‘You don’t understand. I can’t—’

‘I don’t understand?’ he said incredulously. ‘How can you accuse me of not understanding after everything we have been through this week?’

He had just asked her to marry him! Iannis Kiriakos, the man she adored…and must refuse. If Iannis the fisherman had asked her that same question Charlotte knew she would have said yes without hesitation.

‘What? What are you thinking about?’ Iannis demanded, bringing her into the circle of his arms. What was there to think about? he wondered, feeling a pang of concern, even resentment. They loved each other—although adored would have been a better way to describe how he felt about Charlotte. Why was she hesitating now?

‘I don’t belong in your world.’

Iannis tensed. She sounded so remote, so certain. ‘How can you know that?’

Remembering the way success had changed her ex-husband, remembering how it had felt to be nothing more than a trophy that was wheeled out on display once or twice a year and then forgotten, Charlotte shuddered.

‘Charlotte?’

Iannis’s voice cut through her thoughts like a blade. After all the trouble she had caused him, he deserved better than this. She had to give him a straightforward answer. ‘I’m so sorry, Iannis,’ Charlotte said softly, feeling as if her heart had just withered in her chest. ‘I can’t marry you.’

‘Can’t?’

The strident peal of his mobile phone distracted them both.

‘Not bad news?’ Charlotte said anxiously, trying to read his expression.

‘That depends if you want a fisherman for a husband or not.’ Iannis gave a wry smile and shook his head to see her smile, the hope that came into her eyes. ‘You do want to marry a fisherman, don’t you?’ he said with amusement.

‘Don’t laugh at me, Iannis. You heard what I told you,’ Charlotte said, the pain in her heart showing in her eyes as she gazed up at him. ‘Whatever has happened to your business empire, if it has all gone wrong…’ She paused as her imagination ran riot. Maybe there had been a backlash—something they hadn’t yet read. ‘If you have lost everything, and if you really still want me, you know I will always stand by you.’

‘I want you,’ Iannis confirmed steadily. ‘So, do I take it that’s a yes to my proposal?’

Reaching up to cup his face in her hands, Charlotte stared long and deep into her fisherman’s eyes. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Iannis said with satisfaction, taking hold of her hands and kissing each finger in turn, ‘because it seems shares in the Kiriakos shipping line have reached an all-time high. No,’ he warned, when Charlotte tensed in his arms and stared into his eyes for confirmation. ‘You cannot change your mind now you know I have not lost the Kiriakos fortune. You have already given me your word.’

‘But you made me think—’

‘Let’s just call it good business practice,’ he murmured, cutting across her protest firmly. ‘And I haven’t deceived you, Charlotte, in any way. The news that I ground myself by returning to my roots has been so well received it seems I must continue to fish,’ he said wryly, ‘for the good of my business as well as my soul. So,’ he said, dropping a kiss on her mouth, ‘I’ll ask you again, just so that there can be no misunderstanding. Will you marry me, Charlotte Clare—regardless of my occupation?’

‘As long as you are always Iannis Kiriakos the fisherman of Iskos for me,’ Charlotte agreed softly, ‘I will.’

‘Is it really just six short days since we met?’ Iannis murmured, staring deep into Charlotte’s eyes.

‘Seven,’ Charlotte corrected him. ‘I saw you first on Tuesday.’

‘So long,’ Iannis teased, smiling into her eyes. ‘You saw me on Tuesday, we met on Wednesday, and now, the following Monday, you agree to marry me—would you describe yourself as a fast woman?’

‘No—just someone who can keep up with you,’ Charlotte warned him, feeling happiness flood through her.

‘So much has happened in so short a time,’ Iannis said tenderly, brushing some strands of hair from her face. ‘You have turned my world around in a week, Charlotte Clare.’

‘And you mine, Iannis Kiriakos.’

‘It seems that even a man who appears to have everything in the eyes of the world has nothing until he knows the value of love,’ Iannis observed wryly, and, drawing Charlotte back into the safe harbour of his arms, he kissed her.

EPILOGUE

‘MAMA, Mama!’

Charlotte looked up fondly as the small dark-haired boy erupted out of the kitchen at the taverna, with Mikos hot on his heels.

‘Papa!’ the child cried, plucking at Iannis’s hand, where it had been resting on the swell of Charlotte’s stomach. ‘Listen to me, Papa,’ Manos Kiriakos insisted, putting his face very close to his father’s as Iannis swung him onto his lap. ‘I have something very important to tell you.’

‘Hasn’t Mikos fed you enough yet?’ Iannis murmured, dropping a kiss on his young son’s head and winking at Mikos, who had just arrived breathless and flustered at their table.

‘This is really important, Papa,’ Manos said seriously. ‘Mikos wants to take me fishing tomorrow. He says I can be a fisherman one day, like him. What do you say, Papa?’ he demanded excitedly. ‘Can I go?’

‘All true Greeks are fishermen at heart,’ Iannis agreed, planting a kiss on his son’s glossy black curls. ‘What does your mother say?’

Charlotte’s gaze met with her husband’s dark enquiring stare across the table, and she smiled deep into his eyes before she answered. ‘Yes, you can go, Manos,’ she said, reaching out to clasp the hands of her husband and her firstborn. ‘I have always had the greatest respect for the fishermen of Iskos. In my eyes they are, without doubt, the very best of men.’

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I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

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CHAPTER ONE

IT HAD rained in the night, and when Enrique stepped out onto his balcony at six o’clock the morning air brought a feathering of goosebumps over his flesh.

Of course it was very early, too early for the pale thread of the rising sun to give any warmth to the day. He should still be in his bed—or rather in Sanchia’s bed, as she had expected—instead of standing here, brooding over something that alone could bring an unwelcome thinning of his blood.

His long fingers curled impatiently over the iron railing. It was still much warmer here, even at this ungodly hour of the morning, than it had been in England, he recalled, not altogether wisely. Despite the fact that early June in Andalusia meant blue skies and long days of hot sunshine, London had been cool and overcast while he was there, making him glad to be boarding the plane to come back home.

Only to find that letter waiting for him…

He scowled. He didn’t want to think about that now. He’d spent far too many hours thinking about it already and it was all too easy to allow his anger to overtake his common sense. The realisation that, if his father hadn’t been so ill, the letter would have been delivered to him filled him with outrage. It was only because Julio de Montoya was in the hospital in Seville that the letter had lain unopened on his desk until Enrique’s return the day before.

His hands tightened on the railing, his fingertips brushing the petals of the morning glory that climbed the pillars beneath his balcony. Raindrops sparkled, creating a rainbow of colour on the pearly-white blossoms, drawing his eyes lower to where a veritable waterfall of jasmine and bougainvillaea spilled their beauty in the courtyard below.

Enrique had always believed his home was the most beautiful place on earth, but this morning it was difficult to empty his mind of intrusive thoughts, destructive thoughts. Even the sunlight glinting on the spire of the church in the valley below the palacio brought him no pleasure today, and he turned back into his apartments with a barely controlled feeling of frustration.