‘I’m sincerely grateful to you, Eleanor Markham.’

‘I don’t need your gratitude,’ she retorted, trying to get free. But he held her fast.

‘So what do you need?’ His hands tightened. ‘You’ve had the interview as your reward. Now, I’ll take mine.’

He bent his head and kissed her, then kissed her again with a heat that made her head reel. The meeting of tongue with tongue was like a match applied to kindling. He pulled her up on her toes, moulding every inch of her against his aroused body as his mouth seduced hers into such helpless response that they were both breathing like long-distance runners when he raised his head at last.

Very slowly he slackened his hold, until she was standing square on her feet again, but he held her fast when she tried to move away.

‘Are you so desperate to get away from me?’ he demanded hoarsely.

Since it was obvious that her body was deliriously happy where it was, she didn’t bother to lie. ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘But I should be.’

‘Why? Because my body is telling you I want to be your lover?’

About the Author

CATHERINE GEORGE was born in Wales, and early on developed a passion for reading which eventually fuelled her compulsion to write. Marriage to an engineer led to nine years in Brazil, but on his later travels the education of her son and daughter kept her in the UK. Instead of constant reading to pass her lonely evenings, she began to write the first of her romantic novels. When not writing and reading she loves to cook, listen to opera, and browse in antiques shops.

Recent titles by the same author:

 A WICKED PERSUASION

 UNDER THE BRAZILIAN SUN

 THE POWER OF THE LEGENDARY GREEK (Greek Tycoons)

 THE MISTRESS OF HIS MANOR

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Enigmatic
Greek
Catherine George

www.millsandboon.co.uk

With love and thanks to my Alex.

CHAPTER ONE

HIS island had lain in the sun in this remote part of the Aegean Sea long before Bronze Age Minoans had sought refuge here from cataclysmic disaster on Crete. Normally Alexei Drakos relished its peace. Today, not so much. From his office in the Kastro he gazed down, frowning, and then abandoned the view of brilliant blue sea lapping at the golden beach far below to make a comprehensive check of the banks of technology across the room. But for once they failed to hold his attention. Feeling restless, and plagued by something unfamiliar he refused to identify as loneliness, he turned back to the windows to watch a ferry in the distance discharging its cargo of holiday-makers into the tavernas lining the harbour of the neighbouring island.

Tomorrow tourists like these would flock here to his island for Agios Ioannis. Bonfires would blaze on the beaches to celebrate the feast of St John and visitors would come in droves for the festival and for the highlight of its entertainment, the bull dance famed for origins which reached far back into antiquity. Those Minoans again. But it was worth the sacrifice of privacy for a single day. The islanders who made a living from fishing here on Kyrkiros had reaped big benefits from his decision to revive the festival. It brought tourists who paid them an entrance fee, ate their food and bought their crafts, sampled their olives and honey, drank the wine from the island vineyards and ordered more from the websites he’d set up. But otherwise left the island in peace.

Suddenly tired of his own company, he made the descent by the ancient, winding stairs for once to burn off some of the energy buzzing through his system and entered the big, modernised kitchen on the ground floor of the Kastro to exclamations of pleasure from the women working there.

‘You should have rung, kyrie,’ scolded his housekeeper, pouring coffee. ‘I would have come up to you.’

He shook his head as he took one of the pastries she offered. ‘I knew you would be busy, Sofia.’

The woman smiled fondly. ‘Never too busy to serve you, kyrie. And nearly all is ready now for tomorrow. A good meal is prepared for the dancers, and Angela and her daughters have done marvels.’

‘They always do.’ He smiled at the women who every year fashioned traditional costumes based on designs discovered on ancient, barely discernible frescoes during the Kastro’s restoration.

Sofia smiled lovingly as her son came hurrying in. ‘Is all in place, Yannis?’

The youth nodded eagerly. ‘You wish to check, kyrie?’

Alex downed his coffee and stood up. ‘Lead on.’

In contrast to the normal peace of the island, colourful stalls had been set up on the sweep of beach below. Higher up, on the natural shelf overlooking the terrace where the dancers would perform, a vine-wreathed pergola sheltered tables reserved in advance by the forward-thinking of the influx of visitors expected the next day. He nodded in approval to the men finishing up there. ‘Well done, everyone.’ With a reminder to check that all the necessary signs were in place, he returned to his office, but this time via the lift he’d installed years before as one of the first steps towards making the Kastro penthouse habitable. His phone rang as the doors opened and he smiled as he saw the caller ID.

‘Darling,’ said a lilting, unmistakeable voice. ‘I’m tired and thirsty and I’ve just landed at your jetty.’

His eyebrows shot to his hair. ‘What? Stay right there. I’m on my way.’

The moment the lift hit ground level again, he raced out of the Kastro and down the beach to the main jetty where a woman stood waiting, her face alight with laughter as she held out her arms.

‘Surprise!’

‘You certainly are!’ He hugged her tightly for a long moment, then held her away from him and raised a mocking eyebrow. ‘You were just passing?’

Talia Kazan’s eyes sparkled as she smiled up into the hard, handsome face. ‘Passing! I’ve been travelling for so long I hardly know what day it is!’

He motioned to the beaming Yannis to help bring the bags. ‘Give it up, Mother, the ditzy-blonde act doesn’t work with me. You know exactly what day it is.’

She shrugged, unrepentant. ‘Who better? I had a sudden desire to see my son so I packed my bags and came to do that—you are pleased, I trust?’

He kissed the hand he was holding. ‘Of course; I’m delighted! But you took a risk. I might not have been here.’

Her eyes gleamed in triumph. ‘Since I am not ditzy, I contacted your admirable Stefan to make sure you would be here for the festival and swore him to silence. He said you were coming alone, as usual.’ She shook her head in reproof. ‘You should have brought some pleasant company with you.’

‘If by pleasant you mean female, the women I know demand the sophisticated pleasures of the city, Mother. Arcane festivals on a remote island just don’t do it for them.’

‘Then invite someone with a higher cultural threshold.’ The luminous violet eyes were suddenly serious. ‘It is time you put that nonsense from Christina Mavros behind you and found a real woman.’

He shrugged that off with an impatient smile. ‘Did Takis bring you over?’

‘No; he was so busy over there with guests checking in at the taverna. A very kind young man assured me it was a pleasure to bring me to Kyrkiros and so save Takis the trouble.’

‘Who was this man?’ demanded her son sharply.

‘I did not catch his name over the noise of the boat engine. Now, lead me to Sofia so I can beg her for coffee.’

Sofia and her crew were clustered at the kitchen door, faces wreathed in smiles as they greeted ‘kyria Talia’ in rapture and pressed her to have coffee, wine, pastries or anything her heart desired that they could provide.

One of the new arrivals on the neighbouring island of Karpyros felt a rush of excitement as she focused her discreet little binoculars on the action across the water. At this distance it was hard to be sure, but the man hugging a blonde over there surely had to be the rare sight of Alexei Drakos, the boy-wonder entrepreneur famed for his hostility towards the media.

Eleanor tucked the binoculars away when her lunch arrived and with a smile thanked the young waiter in the basic Greek she’d crammed for her current assignment: a series of travel articles on lesser-known Greek islands well off the tourist trail. It was more ambitious than anything she’d worked on to date, and before grudgingly signing off on expenses her editor had dropped a bombshell by stipulating a shot at an interview with Alexei Drakos as part of the deal.

‘Since the Mavros woman did the dirty on him a few months ago, he’s kept a very low profile, but apparently he always visits his island in June. Make damn sure you get there in good time because tourists swarm there for some festival he’s put on every year since he bought the island. There’s no accommodation, so book a room somewhere else, plus a boat to get you there on the day.’ Ross McLean had flashed his bleached veneers at her. ‘And wear something sexy to beard the lion in his den.’

‘Drakos translates as dragon, not lion,’ she’d retorted. ‘And I don’t do sexy!’

On her way out Eleanor had heard him muttering about college girls who thought they knew it all and rolled her eyes. There was fat chance of getting a reporter’s job these days without a college degree, and to augment hers she’d worked her socks off to add photography to her journalism qualifications; something greatly to her advantage with Ross McLean because it saved him the expense of a photographer.

Now she was almost literally in sight of her quarry, Eleanor refused to spoil her appetite by worrying about how to achieve the scoop her boss was so hot for. But succeed she would, somehow, if only to show him just what a ‘college girl’ could do. Maybe the reclusive Mr Drakos would be in a sociable mood now the blonde had arrived to keep him company. Though Ross, drat the man, knew very well he was asking the impossible. Alexei Drakos had been famous for stonewalling journalists even before the lurid exposé by a furious ex-lover. But who had he been hugging today? No matter how hard she’d dug, Eleanor had learned frustratingly little about the man’s private life other than the woman-scorned outpourings of Christina Mavros. Her research into his professional persona had built up a picture of a wunderkind who achieved success while still at school with some kind of genius software technology, and as an adult entrepreneur went on to put his money to good use with investments in pharmaceuticals, property and more technology. But, other than his reputation for philanthropy she had no clue to the man behind the public persona.

The taverna owner’s son rushed over as Eleanor got up to leave and carried her luggage the short distance to one of the small apartments. He set her bags down on the small veranda fronting the last of the square white cubes overlooking the harbour and unlocked the blue door. Eleanor smiled in approval at the scrupulously clean, white-walled room as Petros carried her bags inside and told him she intended dining at the taverna that night.

‘Then I will reserve a table for you, kyria. Many people will be here tonight before the festival tomorrow,’ he told her, and flushed with pleasure when she thanked him and gave him a hefty tip.

Petros was right, of course. The place would be heaving with visitors ready to swarm across to Kyrkiros tomorrow. But if Alexei Drakos was such a private man why did he open his island to all and sundry, even if it was for just one day? While she dined later she could gaze across the sea and speculate to her heart’s content about the king of the Kastro on the island over there. In the meantime, she’d haul her bags up the ladder to the open mezzanine bedroom, do her usual minimum unpacking and take a short nap.

Eleanor showered later in the tiny, spotless bathroom and dressed in her usual trademark jeans and T-shirt. As a gesture to the island night-life the jeans were white and the clinging top black and scooped low enough to show a hint of suntanned cleavage; and in a practice run for dragon-slaying the next day, she brushed on mascara and lip gloss. Eleanor eyed her reflection critically. Two weeks of island-hopping in the sun had added a satisfactory bronze glow to her skin, but the effect was more healthy than sexy. She shrugged. If Ross was rat enough to fire her for failing to get the exclusive he was panting for, she would go freelance.

The taverna was buzzing with holidaymakers and locals when Petros darted out to conduct her to a tiny table which gave her a good view across the boats bobbing in the harbour to the lights just visible on the dark outline of Kyrkiros on the horizon. She was served with bread and olives to nibble on while she waited for the red mullet, which arrived sizzling, dressed with lemon juice and olive oil, and accompanied by a salad and half a carafe of local wine.

Eleanor thanked Petros warmly and asked about the festival next day. ‘Is the bull dance for men only?’

He shook his head. ‘The taurokathapsia is for both men and women. Enjoy your meal, kyria.’

Eleanor peered at the distant lights across the water, wondering about Alexei Drakos. From what little she’d learned about his personal life, it seemed unlikely he was looking forward to the invasion on his territory next day, but at least he now had the blonde to cheer him up when the hoi polloi descended on him. Her research might have turned up nothing about any current love life, but she’d made the deeply intriguing discovery that his mother had been one of the most famous photographic models of her day. Talia Kazan’s heyday had been short. Her exquisite face had never graced magazine covers again after she married Milo Drakos and produced the son who, allegedly, was estranged from his father. Eleanor’s journalistic antennae buzzed like bees with the urge to find out why.

As she left the taverna Eleanor complimented the owner about her dinner, and when she ordered lunch for next day remembered to confirm that a boat had been booked for her trip over to Kyrkiros afterwards. Once there her plan was to soak up the festival atmosphere, take lots of photographs and then sit back people-watching at her reserved table while she waited for the lord and master of the island to show. Or not.

Back in her room, Eleanor soon regretted her nap. After a while she gave up trying to sleep and switched on her laptop to do more digging. She went back to the piece about Christina Mavros, the socialite from Crete who had failed in her aim to marry Alexei Drakos and subsequently sold her vindictive, highly coloured story to the press. Stupid woman, thought Eleanor as she went on with her search, but by the time her eyes began to droop at last her only new find had been a photograph of Alexei’s father. From the cut of his hard, handsome face it seemed that Milo Drakos would make a bad enemy.

Eleanor woke late next morning and hurriedly climbed down the ladder to make coffee to kick-start the day. After her shower she followed Ross McLean’s instructions and pulled on a dress for once, instead of jeans. Not that it was remotely the kind of thing her boss had in mind. The navy-striped white Breton number was as simple and comfortable as a T-shirt, but at least it showed off legs the Greek sun had toasted to an even darker shade of bronze than her face.

Later on at the taverna, Eleanor enjoyed an entertaining lunch hour as she watched seagoing craft of all descriptions making for the other island. When Petros finally came to say her boat was waiting for her, the sun was so fierce she was glad of dark glasses and sun hat for the trip across the sea, her excitement mounting at the approach to the steep, rocky island dominated by an ancient kastro. She breathed in the familiar sage and lavender scent of the Greek maquis lining the paths winding up through sun-baked hillside; the sound of music and chattering crowds in festive mood added to her anticipation as her genial ferryman docked at a jetty.

Eleanor thanked him and settled a time for the trip back later that evening, then got straight to work to take shots of the houses which clustered around the Kastro and climbed the slopes above it to a summit crowned by the blue dome of an icing-white church. Groundwork done, she threaded her way through the chattering, animated crowds to claim the place she’d reserved at one of the tables under the pergola. Musicians were playing at the far end of the terrace, but she’d learned from Petros that the main event would be after dark when bonfires were lit for the performance of the famous bull dance. She eyed the stage with misgiving. She’d seen pictures of the frescoes on Crete, depicting dancers somersaulting over a bull, but there was no visible way to restrain an animal here if it got out of hand, which was worrying.

She promptly forgot about bulls when the doors to the Kastro opened and three people emerged to descend the steps to the terrace. Of the two men in the group, it was obvious who was king of this particular castle. Alexei Drakos was smiling down at his blonde companion, and Eleanor realised in sudden excitement that she was Talia Kazan in the flesh, from this distance as beautiful in maturity as she had been in her heyday. The blonde was no pillow-friend after all, but Alexei’s mother, in a hyacinth-blue dress of exquisite cut, a large straw hat on her gleaming hair.

The son was equally striking. His curling hair was only a few shades darker gold than his mother’s, instead of black as Eleanor had expected before she’d researched him, but his face was carved from different, utterly masculine clay, with heavy-lidded dark eyes and handsome, forceful features which bore an unmistakeable resemblance to his father. He was slim-hipped and broad shouldered, and even in conventional linen trousers and white shirt, which merely hinted at the muscles beneath, there was a powerful masculine grace about him. Alexei Drakos was a magnificent specimen of manhood by any standards.

Eleanor watched, riveted, as Alexei linked his arm through his mother’s to inspect the goods on display at each stall for a brief moment and exchange a few words with the vendors before leaving the field clear to the purchasing public. From under cover of her table’s parasol, Eleanor took a few shots of mother and son with the Kastro as backdrop then turned her lens on the festive crowd milling about in the hot sunshine.

Eventually she put her camera away and went off to browse among the stalls for presents to take home. The crafts on display were of good quality. She soon found carved worry-beads that would amuse her father and a small, exquisitely embroidered picture perfect for her mother. With regret she passed by the displays of pottery and copper pots as too difficult to transport home, but then reached a stall with goods that made her mouth water. She’d read that it was hard to find really good jewellery outside the larger towns in Greece, but the wares on sale here were the real deal and obviously came from the mainland. When enough space cleared to let her get a look, she passed over the striking pendants and earrings way out of her price range and concentrated on trays of small trinkets, one of which caught her eye and said ‘buy me’.

‘Copy of Minoan ornament,’ the man on the stall stated, but in such strongly accented Greek Eleanor barely understood. ‘You like it?’

The tiny crystal bull had a gold loop on its back; perfect to attach to her charm bracelet. She liked it a lot.

‘How much?’ she asked, but when he mentioned the sum she shook her head regretfully, which prompted an unintelligible spiel from him on the virtues of the charm. The man only broke off when space was made for someone who addressed Eleanor in Greek to ask if she needed help with the problem. Her most immediate problem, due to the sudden sight and scent of Alexei Drakos at such close quarters, was trying to muster enough breath and vocabulary to answer.

‘I don’t speak enough Greek to bargain,’ she said at last in English.

‘Ah, I see. Allow me.’ He began a rapid exchange with the stall holder and turned to Eleanor with a smile that rocked her on her heels as he named a price just within her budget.

‘Thank you so much!’ She hastily counted out money to hand over before the stall holder could change his mind, and tried to concentrate as the man said a lot more she couldn’t understand. Standing so close to Alexei Drakos was scrambling her brain!

‘He will attach it to your bracelet if you leave it with him for a while,’ he translated for her, the hint of attractive accent adding to her problem.

‘Thank you.’ Eleanor unfastened the heavy gold chain from her wrist and handed it to the vendor, pointing to a link near the lock.

‘I told him to bring it to you later,’ said Alexei. ‘Do you have a table?’

Eleanor nodded dumbly, certain by now he thought she was a total idiot.

‘Alexei mou, I heard you speaking English,’ said his mother, hurrying to join them. ‘Won’t you introduce me?’

He smiled. ‘I’ve only just met the lady myself.’

‘Then I will make the introductions. I am Talia Kazan, and this is my son, Alexei Drakos.’ Her accent was equally fascinating, but more pronounced than her son’s, the words spoken with friendly warmth that unlocked Eleanor’s tongue.

‘Eleanor Markham,’ she said, smiling. ‘How do you do?’

‘Delighted to meet you. Are you here with friends?’

‘No, I’m travelling alone.’

‘Then would you care to join me for a drink?’ said Talia.

Would she! Eleanor beamed. ‘I’d love to. Perhaps you’d come over to my table.’

‘I’ll send someone,’ said Alexei, and went off to speak to a waiter.

Talia gave Eleanor the smile that had made her famous. ‘I am so glad of some company. Alex is very busy today.’ When they reached the table, to the intense interest of people sitting nearby, she sat down with a sigh of pleasure. ‘Are you just here for the day at the festival, or are you staying on Karpyros?’

Eleanor explained about her assignment.

Talia’s violet eyes were instantly guarded. ‘You are a journalist.’

Eleanor met the look steadily. ‘Yes. But I’m not a gossip columnist. I work in features, mainly on travel, so I won’t capitalise on meeting the famous Talia Kazan.’

The slender shoulders shrugged. ‘It is a very long time since I was famous.’

‘Yet you’ve hardly changed at all.’ Eleanor spoke with such obvious sincerity the beautiful eyes warmed.

‘How kind of you to say so. You are here to write about the festival?’

Eleanor nodded, hoping she didn’t look guilty. Bad move to reveal that an interview with Alexei Drakos was her main objective.

‘I have not been here for the festival for a while,’ Talia told her. ‘But Alex always leaves his calendar clear for it, so I came on impulse to surprise him.’

‘He must have been delighted!’

‘Fortunately, he seemed to be. Not every man welcomes a surprise visit from his mother.’ Talia smiled up at the youth setting down glasses, bottles of mineral water and fruit juice. ‘Efcharisto, Yannis.’ She eyed Eleanor with gratifying interest. ‘So, tell me about your assignment.’

Eleanor described the lesser-known islands she’d visited for her series. ‘I take my own photographs, so I nearly always travel solo.’

‘But you must have someone in the UK waiting impatiently for your return?’ The blue eyes sparkled, unashamedly curious.

Eleanor shook her head, smiling. ‘The only one waiting impatiently right now is my editor. But I’m lucky enough to have good friends, and I’m close to my parents.’

‘I am most fortunate myself that way. My son may be a busy man, but he makes time for regular—if brief—visits to his mother. Do you live at home with your parents?’

Before Eleanor could reply, Alexei Drakos joined them.

Talia smiled at him warmly. ‘Sit with us for a while.’

He shook his head. ‘Stefan tells me I have calls to return. Miss Markham, has your bracelet been returned to you?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘I’ll hurry the man along.’ With an abstracted smile, he strode off again.

His mother looked after him anxiously. ‘The world does not leave him alone, even here at his retreat—though Stefan, his assistant, does his best to keep it at bay over this particular holiday.’

‘This festival is obviously important to—to your son,’ said Eleanor.

‘To me, also,’ said Talia, and looked up with an enquiring smile as a boy approached the table, holding out a package.

‘Ah, that must be for me,’ said Eleanor, and took out her bracelet, now adorned with the crystal bull. ‘Efcharisto!’ she said, pleased, and handed over a tip. She smiled guiltily as she displayed the charm. ‘Very expensive, but I couldn’t resist it after your son was kind enough to bargain the price down.’

Talia leaned closer to examine it. ‘Exquisite—and a most perfect souvenir of Kyrkiros.’

Eleanor fastened the bracelet on her wrist. ‘There. No more extravagance for me this trip.’

Alexei Drakos’ assistant came towards them, smiling respectfully. ‘Forgive me for interrupting, but Sofia says a light supper is ready, kyria Talia. She apologises it is early tonight because of the taurokathapsia.’

‘Of course,’ she said, getting up. ‘Miss Eleanor Markham, meet Stefan Petrides, Alexei’s man in Athens.’

Stefan bowed formally to Eleanor. ‘Chairo poly, kyria Markham.’

‘Pos eiste,’ she returned.

‘I am not happy leaving you alone here, my dear,’ said Talia, frowning. ‘Please join us for dinner.’

Eleanor smiled gratefully, but shook her head. ‘That’s so kind of you, but I purposely ate enough lunch to see me through the evening. Goodbye—it’s been such a pleasure to meet you.’

‘Likewise, Eleanor Markham, though the day is not over yet,’ said Talia, and with a smile went off with her escort.

Eleanor gazed after them a little wistfully, then sat down and began writing up the events of the afternoon. She was soon so deeply absorbed she jumped when someone rapped on the metal table. She looked up with a smile to find Alexei Drakos eyeing her notebook with hostility.

‘My mother is concerned about leaving you alone here,’ he said coldly. ‘But you’re obviously busy. She tells me you’re a journalist.’

Her smile died. ‘Yes, I am.’

‘And my island is providing an even richer source of material than you expected?’

Eleanor’s defences sprang to attention. ‘It is indeed.’

‘Write one word about my mother, and I will sue,’ he said with menace.

Eleanor’s chin went up. ‘I’m here solely to report on this famous festival of yours, Mr Drakos. But, since you ask so nicely, I’ll leave out my chance meeting with Talia Kazan. Though, since I would be reporting fact, suing would not be possible.’

‘Maybe not.’ His cold eyes locked on hers. ‘But believe me, Miss Markham—whatever rag you work for I can get you fired as easily as I helped you out earlier.’

He strode off, cursing at the chance that had involved his mother with Eleanor Markham. Since the notoriety Christina Mavros had brought on him, he had avoided contact with any woman other than his mother. Until today, that was, when an attractive tourist’s rueful little smile had seduced him into offering help to someone who was not only a woman but a reporter, for God’s sake!

Eleanor stared after him balefully. No chance of an interview with Talia Kazan’s baby boy, then. And no prize for guessing how Alexei Drakos had made his fortune, either. He’d probably just stepped on the necks of everyone who got in his way. Her mouth tightened. Romantic fool that she was, the chance meeting with him had been one of the major experiences of her life, whereas to him she was just a petty little problem to solve by threats.

Her eyes sparking like an angry cat’s behind her glasses, she noted that all the reserved tables were now full, other than the one adjoining hers. Everyone was eating and drinking and having a wonderful time in laughing, animated groups, which emphasized her solitary state—a common enough situation on her travels, and not one that had bothered her in the slightest up to now. Eleanor shrugged impatiently. Her blood sugars obviously needed a boost after the clash with the dragon of Kyrkiros. She walked over to the stalls, bought a couple of nut-filled honey pastries from one of them, and returned to her table to find a teenaged lad waiting there.

‘Kyria Talia sent for you,’ he informed her, indicating the tray on the table.

Eleanor smiled warmly and asked him to convey her thanks to the lady. She sat down to pour tea into a delicate china cup and smiled when she tasted an unmistakeably British blend. The pastries were doubly delicious with the tea as accompaniment. By the time Eleanor had finished her surprise treat, lamps were glowing along the terrace, the sudden darkness of the Aegean night had fallen, a singer had joined the musicians and she had almost recovered from the blow of her encounter with Alexei Drakos. She stiffened when an audible ripple of interest through the crowd heralded the arrival of the man himself as he ushered his mother to the adjoining table. One look at him revived her anger so fiercely it took an effort to smile when Talia beckoned to her.

‘Do come and join us, Eleanor. The dancing will start soon.’

Eleanor shook her head firmly; grateful it was too dark for her feelings to show. ‘It’s very kind of you but I wouldn’t dream of intruding.’

‘Nonsense! Why sit there alone? Stefan will bring your things.’

And, short of causing a scene, Eleanor was obliged to accept the chair Alexei Drakos held out for her next to his mother. She thanked him politely and smiled at Talia. ‘And thank you so much for the tea. It was just what I needed.’

‘I hoped it might be. I made it with my own fair hands.’ The radiance of Talia’s smile contrasted sharply with the expression on her son’s face. ‘Do stop looming over us and sit down, Alexei mou—you too, Stefan.’

Eleanor tensed, her stomach muscles contracting as a bull bellowed somewhere deep inside the Kastro, loud enough to be heard above the music and the noise of the chattering crowd.

‘Ah, we begin,’ said Talia with satisfaction.

Alexei eyed Eleanor sardonically. ‘Is something wrong, Miss Markham?’

‘Nothing at all,’ she lied, but sucked in a startled breath as the lights died. They were left in darkness for several tense seconds before the torches encircling the raised wooden platform burst into flame, and bonfires ignited one after the other along the outer edges of the beach.

‘How is that for Greek drama?’ crowed Talia, touching Eleanor’s hand. ‘My dear, you are so cold. What is wrong?’

‘Anticipation,’ Eleanor said brightly. With a defiant look at Alexei Drakos, she took out her camera. ‘For my article,’ she informed him.

‘You may take as many photographs of the dancers as you wish,’ he assured her, his message loud and clear. One shot of his beautiful mother and Eleanor Markham would be thrown off his island.

‘Thank you.’ She turned her attention to the stage, intrigued to see that the musicians had exchanged their modern instruments for harps and flutes which looked like museum exhibits. Along with some kind of snare drums, they began to make music so eerily unlike anything she’d ever heard before the hairs rose on the back of her neck and her blood began to pulse in time with the hypnotic beat.

With sudden drama, the great Kastro doors were flung open and a roar of applause greeted the dancers who came out two by two, moving in a slow rhythm dictated by the drum beat as they descended to the terrace. At first sight Eleanor thought they were all men after all, but when they moved into the dramatic ring of torchlight the girls among them were obvious by the bandeaux covering their breasts. Otherwise all the dancers wore loin guards under brief, gauzy kilts, glinting gold jewellery, black wigs with ringlets and soft leather sandals laced high up the leg.

Eleanor forgot Alexei Drakos’ hostility and sat entranced. The entire scene was straight off a painting on some ancient vase, except that these figures were alive and moving. The procession circled the torch-lit stage twice in hypnotic, slow-stepping rhythm before the dancers lined up in a double row to look up at the table where Alexei Drakos sat with his guests. The leader, a muscular figure with eyes painted as heavily as the girls, stepped forward to salute Alexei and Eleanor shook herself out of her trance to capture the scene on film in the instant before the lithe figures began to dance. They swayed in perfect unison, dipping and weaving in sinuous, labyrinthine patterns which gradually grew more and more complex as the beat of the music quickened. It rose faster and faster to a final crescendo as a bull bellowed off-stage, the doors burst open again and a figure out of myth and nightmare gave a great leap down into the torchlight. The crowd went wild at the sight of a black bull’s head with crystal eyes and vicious horns topping a muscular, human male body.

CHAPTER TWO

ELEANOR’S relief was so intense she had to wait until her hands were steady enough to do the job she’d come for as she focused her lens on the fantastic figure. She smiled in recognition as a new player leapt into the torchlight to face the beast, the testosterone in every line of the bronzed muscular body in sharp contrast to his painted face and golden love-locks; Theseus, the blond Hellene, come to slay the Minotaur.

Eleanor took several shots then sat, mesmerised, as Theseus and the dancers swooped around the central half-man half-beast figure, taunting him like a flock of mockingbirds as they somersaulted away from his lunging horns. She gasped with the audience as Theseus vaulted from the bent back of one of the male dancers to somersault through the air over the Minotaur’s horns. He landed on his feet with the grace and skill of an Olympic gymnast, an imperious hand raised to hush the applause as the troupe launched into a series of athletic, balance-defying somersaults, spinning around the central figure while the Minotaur lunged at them in graphically conveyed fury. In perfect rhythm the dancers taunted him with their dizzying kaleidoscope of movement as again and again Theseus danced away from the menacing horns. The music grew more and more frenzied until the dance culminated in another breath-taking somersault by Theseus over the great bull’s head, but this time he snatched up a golden double-headed axe of the type Eleanor had seen in photographs of Cretan artefacts.

The Minotaur lunged with such ferocity the audience gave a great, concerted gasp again as Theseus leapt aside to avoid the horns and held the axe aloft for an instant of pure drama, before bringing it down on the Minotaur’s neck. There was an anguished bellow as the man-beast sank slowly to his knees and then fell, sprawled, the great horned head at Theseus’s feet.

To say the crowd went wild again was an understatement. But, even as Eleanor applauded with the rest, her inner cynic warned that the sheer drama of the moment would end when the beast was obliged to get to his all-too-human feet as the performers took their bow. But, though the applause was prolonged, there was no bow. Still blank-faced as figures on a fresco, the dancers formed a line on either side of the fallen figure. With Theseus and the lead dancer at the impressive shoulders, the male members of the troupe bent as one man to pick up the Minotaur and heaved him up in a practised movement to shoulder height. The women went ahead, hands clasped and heads bowed as, still in rhythm with the wailing flutes and now slow, solemn, hypnotic drumbeat, the vanquished man-beast was slowly borne around the torch-lit arena, horned head hanging, then up the steep steps and through the double doors into the Kastro, to tumultuous applause and cheers from the crowd.

‘So what did you think of our famous taurokathapsia, Ms Markham?’ asked Alexei Drakos as the musicians took up their modern instruments again. ‘You seemed nervous before it started. Were you expecting something different?’

‘Yes.’ She exchanged a rueful smile with Talia. ‘I was afraid a real live bull was involved.’

‘I rather fancied you were, but I couldn’t spoil the drama by reassuring you!’ Talia smiled indulgently and exchanged a glance with her son. ‘Was the dance originally done with an actual animal?’

‘According to myth and legend, yes, and the wall paintings on Knossos in Crete seem to bear that out. But not here.’ He looked very deliberately at Eleanor. ‘I assure you that no bulls have danced on Kyrkiros since I acquired the island. Though I can’t answer for what happened back in prehistory, Ms Markham.’ He beckoned to Yannis, who came hurrying to ask what the ‘kyrie’ desired, and Alexei turned to Stefan.

‘Join your friends now, if you like. I shan’t need you anymore tonight,’ he said in English.

‘Thank you, kyrie,’ the young man replied. ‘Kalinychta, ladies. This has been a great pleasure.’

‘Thank you for your company, Stefan.’ Talia gave him her hand. He kissed it formally, bowed to Eleanor and hurried off to the far end of the terrace, where he was absorbed into an exuberant crowd at one of the tables.

‘So, what would you like?’ asked Alexei.

Talia asked for coffee. ‘After all the emotion expended on that performance, I am not hungry. How about you, Eleanor?’

‘Coffee would be wonderful, thank you.’ Eleanor glanced at her watch as Yannis hurried off with the order. ‘I’ll be leaving soon.’

‘How are you getting back?’ asked Talia.

‘The boatman who brought me is coming to pick me up.’ Eleanor smiled at her gratefully. ‘Thank you so much for inviting me to join you.’

‘We were very pleased to have your company.’ Talia fixed her son with an imperious blue gaze. ‘Were we not, Alex?’

‘Delighted.’ He looked directly at Eleanor. ‘Do you have all you require for your article?’

She nodded. ‘Your festival will make a wonderful finale to my series. Of course, I’ll make it clear that this is an annual event, and stress that Kyrkiros is a private island, not a holiday destination. Was the original bull dance performed as a mid-summer celebration?’

‘According to historians it was probably a regular attraction on Crete.’

‘It is performed here at this time to commemorate the feast of St John, which also happens to be Alex’s birthday,’ said Talia, with a smile for her son.

‘Then I wish you many happy returns, Mr Drakos,’ Eleanor said with formality. ‘As I said earlier, nothing will appear in my article that you could object to.’

‘Earlier?’ said Talia sharply.

Her son shrugged. ‘I had a conversation with Ms Markham on the subject of reprisals. I told her what would happen if she mentioned your name.’

His mother stared at him, appalled. ‘You threatened her?’

‘Yes,’ he said, unmoved. ‘She may write all she wants about the festival and the island. But if there’s a single reference to you personally, I’ll sue the paper she works for.’

Crimson to the roots of her hair, Eleanor stared at her watch, willing the hands to move faster as Talia shook her head in disbelief.

‘Forgive my son, Eleanor. He is absurdly protective about me.’ She frowned at him. ‘After all, even if I was mentioned, who would remember me after all these years?’

‘Don’t be naive, Mother.’ His mouth tightened when Talia very deliberately poured only two cups of coffee.

‘We shall excuse you now, Alexei,’ she informed him sweetly. ‘You must have people to see.’

Eleanor thoroughly enjoyed the sight of Alexei Drakos dismissed with such relentless grace.

He got to his feet, and gave Eleanor a cool nod. ‘I’ll say goodbye then, Miss Markham.’

She inclined her head in cool response. ‘Goodbye.’

‘I’ll come back for you after your guest leaves,’ he informed his mother.

She smiled indulgently. ‘I am perfectly capable of walking indoors on my own, Alexei.’

‘I will come back for you,’ he said with finality.

Talia sighed as she watched him go. ‘My dear, I promise you that Alex will not carry out his threat.’

‘It won’t be necessary. I won’t say a word about you in my article—hugely tempting though it would be,’ admitted Eleanor. ‘But I confess that I’ve taken a couple of photographs of you, Ms Kazan—purely personal shots to show my mother. She was a huge fan of yours.’

Talia smiled radiantly. ‘Really? I fear she will be disappointed to see me as I am now. I would not have been brave enough for cosmetic surgery—not that I had the slightest need to bother, once I left the cameras behind. These days I use so-called miracle creams and try not to eat too many wicked things—like Sofia’s savoury pastries, which are my guilty pleasure. I should have ordered some for you to try, Eleanor.’

‘I’m sure they’re delicious, but I’m not hungry.’

Talia frowned. ‘My son upset you so much?’

Eleanor shrugged, smiling. ‘A thick skin is a basic requirement in my profession.’

Talia Kazan was so easy to talk to, Eleanor had soon described previous assignments and felt guilty when Yannis came to inform them a man was asking for the kyria at the ferry. ‘I’ve been talking so much I forgot the time!’

‘And I have enjoyed listening!’ Talia told Yannis he could go, that she would accompany her guest to the boat herself.

‘Your son won’t like that,’ said Eleanor quickly, and cast a glance along the terrace, where Alexei Drakos was talking to the troupe of dancers, who looked very different out of costume.

‘My dear, Alex can play the autocrat as much as he likes with the rest of the world, but not with me.’ Talia’s smile cleared a way for them through the crowd. ‘Yannis said the south jetty, which is odd, because it’s so much farther away. No matter; a little exercise is good, yes?’

Eleanor disagreed, growing more and more uneasy when she found that the jetty in question was on one of the beaches out of bounds to the public, with no bonfires to guide them. Her misgiving intensified once they’d moved out of range of the Kastro lights. It was hard to make out the path to the jetty and progress was slow.

‘Follow me,’ said Talia. ‘I know the way. Keep close behind—’ She gave a sudden shriek as a dark figure shot out of the shadows and snatched her up in his arms to make a run for the jetty. In knee-jerk reaction, Eleanor tore after him as Talia screamed for her son and struggled so fiercely the man stumbled, cursing, and dropped his flailing burden. Eleanor swung her tote bag at his head while he was still staggering and sent him down hard on the jetty, then jumped on him and got in a few punches before he reared up with a furious roar and kicked her into the sea. She sank like a stone and panicked for endless moments until self-preservation instincts finally kicked in. Lungs bursting, she managed to swim up to the surface, coughing and spluttering, and struggling wildly against powerful arms that restrained her.

‘Stop!’ panted Alexei Drakos. ‘I’m trying to rescue you, woman.’

Limp with relief, Eleanor let him tow her through the water to thrust her up into Stefan’s grasp before heaving himself out of the water onto the jetty.

‘Is your mother safe?’ Eleanor demanded hoarsely, and then wrenched herself away from Stefan to cough up more of the Aegean as Talia pushed him aside to get to her.

‘Tell me exactly what happened, Mother!’ ordered Alexei, thrusting wet hair back from his face.

While Eleanor coughed up more water, Talia explained breathlessly up to the point where the attacker dropped her. ‘Then this brave, brave girl knocked him down with her bag and beat him up.’

‘But not hard enough. The swine kicked me into the water,’ croaked Eleanor hoarsely through chattering teeth. ‘Did he get away?’

Alexei’s smile turned her blood even colder. ‘No, he did not.’

‘Where is he?’

‘On his way to the Kastro, in company with a pair of angry jailers.’

‘Excellent! We should go inside, too,’ said Talia firmly. ‘You two need to get dry.’

Alexei turned as Yannis came hurrying to say that someone else was asking for the kyria. ‘What the devil now?’ he demanded irritably, turning on Eleanor.

‘It must be the real boatman—the one who brought me here earlier,’ she said through chattering teeth.

‘So, how did the other man contact you?’

‘Yannis told us a man was waiting at the jetty,’ explained Talia.

Alexei spoke to the boy sharply and, after listening to his explanation, gave him instructions which sent him running off into the Kastro to fetch his mother. ‘Apparently our prisoner said he was here for the lady. Yannis knew you were about to leave, Miss Markham, so assumed it was you.’

‘Then I’m to blame. I’m so sorry,’ croaked Eleanor in remorse, but Talia shook her head fiercely.

‘Nonsense, it was not your fault!’

By this time Eleanor was so desperate to get back to the taverna and a hot shower she was past caring whose fault it was. ‘Now my real ferryman has arrived, I’ll take myself off—’

‘Absolutely not, Eleanor,’ Talia said flatly, and beckoned to the woman hurrying towards them with towels. ‘This is Sofia, the housekeeper here. I’ll explain to her and then we’ll soon have you in a hot bath and into bed.’

‘But I can’t do that! I need to pay the boatman and get back to the taverna,’ protested Eleanor hoarsely, turning away to cough.

‘Stefan will see to that—also, send a message to Takis,’ said Alexei. ‘You must stay here until I interrogate the kidnapper. In the meantime, go indoors with my mother—please,’ he added.

‘My bag!’ said Eleanor in sudden alarm.

‘The assault weapon?’ His lips twitched as he handed it over. ‘Stefan rescued it, but I can’t answer for the contents.’

‘I hope your camera is undamaged!’ exclaimed Talia.

‘If not, I shall replace it,’ said Alexei, shrugging.

‘That won’t be necessary, thank you.’ Eleanor breathed more easily as she investigated. ‘My phone took a direct hit, and the glass on a picture I bought for my mother is cracked. But the camera seems all right.’ She was horribly conscious of her bedraggled appearance as Talia bundled her up in a towel. So much for looking sexy! ‘The memory card will have survived, anyway. I won’t lose any of the pictures.’

‘Excellent. Now we must go inside and get something hot into both of you.’ Talia spoke to Sofia, who nodded vigorously and hurried off.

To Eleanor’s surprise the musicians were still playing and singing on the terrace, people were talking at the tops of their voices at the tables and a large crowd was still milling around on the beach, where youngsters were shouting as they took turns in leaping over the traditional St John’s bonfires. ‘Didn’t they hear all the commotion?’

‘Too much noise, and I got there so quickly I doubt that anyone noticed,’ said Alexei, rubbing his hair. ‘I followed when I saw you leave the table with my mother and hurried after you in time to hear her scream for me. But I regret that I arrived too late to stop the intruder kicking you into the water. Stefan and a couple of my security men were behind me as I caught him, and they took charge of him while I went in after you.’

‘I wish I’d known all that when I was trying not to drown,’ said Eleanor wryly.

‘Alex dived in after you almost at once,’ Talia assured her.

My hero, thought Eleanor, and won herself a sharp look from her dripping rescuer as he escorted them into the cavernous hall of the Kastro and into the anachronism of a modern lift. After a swift, quiet ascent it opened onto the hall of an apartment that could have been part of a modern building. Impressed by the contrast to the ancient Kastro which housed it, Eleanor wrapped her towels around her more tightly to avoid wetting the beautiful floor as Talia led her to a surprisingly feminine bedroom.

‘You must get into my shower, as hot as you can bear it. You’ve lost your lovely glow.’

‘You look pale yourself,’ said Eleanor anxiously. ‘You had a horrible shock, too.’

‘But I wasn’t kicked into the sea, my dear! Use any of my bath stuff you want.’

‘Thank you.’ Eleanor’s teeth began chattering again.

Talia wagged a finger. ‘Be quick; you need something hot to drink. Wrap yourself in the bathrobe behind the door.’

Eleanor bundled her sodden clothes up in the damp towel and put them in the slipper-shaped bath. To her relief her waterproof watch had survived undamaged and, even more miraculously, the crystal bull-charm was still intact on her chain bracelet. Feeling limp as a rag doll as her adrenaline drained away, she turned on hot water in the shower and used some of Talia’s shampoo. After a few warming minutes under the spray to rinse her hair she dried off, wincing as she encountered various aches and pains, the most painful a large welt on her ribcage, courtesy of a male shoe. Swathed in towels, she slumped down suddenly on the edge of the elegant bath. What a day! She brightened suddenly as she rubbed at her hair. Now she’d helped save his mother from kidnap, maybe Alexei Drakos would give her an interview by way of thanks. And maybe the moon would turn blue tonight!

Eleanor ran one of his combs through her hair, eyed her reflection without pleasure and reached for the hooded white bathrobe on the door. She replaced her watch and bracelet and opened the door in answer to a quiet knock.

Talia came in, wrapped in a long navy bathrobe, her wet hair tied back from her beautiful face. ‘You feel better now, Eleanor?’ she asked anxiously as she applied moisturiser.

‘Lots better, thank you. How about you?’

Talia grimaced. ‘I stripped off every stitch after contact with that man. I had a quick shower in Alex’s bathroom and borrowed his bathrobe so, now I have washed away eau de kidnapper, I am fine.’

‘Thank God for that,’ said Eleanor fervently. ‘What shall I do with my wet clothes?’

‘Sofia will deal with them. She has brought food to the tower room, so come and eat something.’

Suddenly so tired she wanted nothing more than to crawl into the nearest bed and sleep, Eleanor followed Talia to a room with a panoramic sweep of windows and a tray with savoury steam rising from it on a low table in front of a huge leather sofa.

‘Sofia’s special lentil soup will get you warm,’ said Talia. ‘After all this drama, you need something nourishing.’ She shuddered. ‘I thought I was done for when that monster grabbed me, but you attacked him like an avenging fury.’

‘He made me so angry,’ agreed Eleanor, and took the bowl Talia handed to her. ‘Something exploded inside me when the brute snatched you.’ She managed a smile. ‘But you were pretty ferocious yourself. Between the two of us, the man must have wondered what hit him.’

‘I wrenched my shoe off in the struggle and stabbed at his face with the stiletto heel.’ Talia laughed unsteadily. ‘What an adventure!’ She turned as Alexei, now in dry clothes, came into the room with Stefan. ‘Did he tell you anything?’

‘Nothing useful,’ Alex thrust his fingers through damp curls. ‘He was insane with fear, certain I intended to kill him for hurting my mother. But eventually he confessed that he was paid to seize the kyria and take her to the man waiting at the jetty in a boat. The “dog” who left him to my mercy without paying him.’

‘And just who was the man in the boat?’

‘A stranger he met on Karpyros today who offered him money to do a job for him, if he can be believed. He swears he doesn’t know any names, but after some persuasion he gave me his.’ Alexei’s look chilled Eleanor to the bone. ‘He calls himself Spiro Baris, and he’s now locked away for the night, moaning about injuries suffered during the struggle.’ He shook his head in contempt. ‘A struggle with two unarmed women!’

‘Not unarmed, exactly. I had my shoe and Eleanor her useful bag,’ his mother reminded him, eyes sparkling.

Stefan gave a smothered laugh, and Alexei thawed enough to grin.

‘Which of you amazons gave him the black eye?’

‘That would probably be me,’ said Eleanor, contemplating grazed knuckles. ‘I might have got him in the mouth too.’

‘You did, kyria. He has a split lip,’ Stefan said with relish.

‘Do you have any other injuries, Eleanor?’ asked Alexei.

He’d finally brought himself to use her name! She shook her head. ‘A few bruises—the worst one in the ribs from where he kicked me off the jetty.’

‘Oh my dear,’ said Talia, appalled. ‘You must be so sorry you ever set foot on Kyrkiros.’

Alex shot a hard look at Eleanor. ‘Will you mention the incident in your article?’

Oh, for heaven’s sake! She sucked in a calming breath and winced as her ribs protested. ‘And broadcast your breach of security? Of course I won’t.’

‘Thank you.’ He exchanged a glance with Stefan. ‘Go down and have a word with Theo. His crew must make very sure no one’s stayed behind after the last boat leaves the island.’

‘Two of them are guarding the intruder, so I will help him with that,’ Stefan said quickly. He wished them goodnight and hurried from the room.

‘I’d better get down there too,’ said Alexei. He eyed Eleanor with the air of a man with an irritating problem to solve. ‘Tomorrow I’m taking my mother to Crete for her return flight to London. You must go with us—Eleanor. I’ll try to get you on the same flight.’

‘That’s very kind of you, but I’m not due back to work for another week.’ She smiled politely. ‘I’ve paid out of my own pocket for a week’s stay on Karpyros just to lie in the sun and do nothing now I’ve completed my assignment …’ She trailed away at the frowns on both faces.

‘It is not wise to do that, dear,’ said Talia hastily, before her son could start laying down the law. ‘You might get snatched off the beach there.’

Eleanor stared. ‘Why? It wasn’t me the kidnapper wanted.’

‘We can’t force you to leave, of course,’ said Alexei curtly. ‘Think about it while I go down to check with Theo.’ He gave his mother a significant look. ‘Persuade her, please.’

He strode off to the lift, leaving a tense silence behind him.

‘Alex is just trying to do what’s best for you,’ said Talia soothingly. ‘He feels responsible for what happened tonight and wants to keep you safe until you go home. If you go back to Karpyros, he can’t do that.’

Eleanor frowned. ‘But I’m not his responsibility. It’s only natural he’s anxious about you, but I’m a complete stranger.’

‘Who was injured and half-drowned trying to save his mother from heaven knows what fate. Now show me this bruise.’

Eleanor drew the robe aside from her ribs.

Talia breathed in sharply. ‘My dear girl—are you sure nothing is broken in there?’

‘Quite sure. I cracked a rib playing hockey in school once, so I know what that feels like. This hurts a bit, but I’ll mend.’ Eleanor yawned suddenly. ‘My wrestling match has left me a bit tired, though. You must be, too. And you must surely have a few bruises yourself!’

Talia nodded ruefully. ‘But none as spectacular as yours; the only medication I need is hot tea. I keep a tray in my bedroom, so drink some with me after I see to your hand. I need a talk with Alex before I can think of sleeping.’

‘What will he do with the intruder?’

‘Call the police here tomorrow to deal with him, I imagine.’

There was something infinitely soothing after all the drama to sit in a comfortable blue velvet chair in Talia’s white-painted bedroom, drinking tea from a fine china cup.

‘You are quite a girl, Eleanor Markham.’ Talia laughed at Eleanor’s startled look. ‘I mean it. You were very brave tonight.’

‘It was pure gut instinct rather than bravery.’ Eleanor’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘I was so furious with the man I wanted to kill him, but in the end the wretch tried to drown me instead.’

‘I was in despair until Alex brought you to the surface,’ said Talia with a shudder. ‘My son was most impressed with you.’

‘Only because I attacked the man who tried to kidnap his mother,’ Eleanor said flatly. ‘This afternoon he was rather less pleasant when he threatened to sue the paper I work for.’

Talia sighed. ‘Try to forgive him for that. He is over-protective where I’m concerned. His hostility to the press began when he looked me up online on the computer his father gave him. My ex-husband is a powerful man, but even he failed to stop the speculation about our divorce. Unfortunately, that is the part Alex remembers.’ Talia sighed and fixed Eleanor with her famous violet eyes. ‘Since then he has further cause to hate the press. You must have researched us before you came. What did you discover?’

‘Not that much, except that an ex-girlfriend of your son’s sold a colourful story about him to a gossip-column reporter.’

Talia’s eyes lit with a tigerish gleam. ‘Christina Mavros is a liar, also a fool. She swore she would blacken Alexei’s name if he didn’t marry her, so he followed your famous Wellington’s example and told her to publish and be damned.’ She hesitated. ‘Did you learn anything about me?’

Eleanor nodded. ‘I read that you divorced Milo Drakos—”before the ink was dry on your marriage license”, to quote a popular tabloid of the time.’

Talia wrinkled her nose. ‘A little exaggerated, but not far out. You must surely want to know why?’

‘Of course I do. I’m only human, Ms Kazan.’

‘Please—I am Talia! ’

Eleanor smiled ruefully. ‘I’m wary of appearing familiar. But, just so there’s no misunderstanding, none of this will appear in my article. You have my word on it.’

Talia smiled. ‘I know that. And I must talk to you about this tonight because Alex is going to rush me away tomorrow and I will not have another chance.’

‘For what, exactly?’

‘To make a suggestion. If you do not wish to go home yet, why not stay on Kyrkiros until your flight? You will be safe here.’

Eleanor went cold at the mere thought. ‘I couldn’t possibly.’

‘Why not? Once Alex has seen me off at the airport, he can get the ferry back here. I shall insist that he takes a holiday.’

‘Even if he agrees, he won’t want me around.’

‘My son needs to relax, Eleanor, and also needs some intelligent feminine company to relax with. He would never admit it, but his constant aim in life is to achieve bigger and better things than his father.’ Talia smiled sadly. ‘If you did some research on Milo Drakos, you know that is not easy. It worries me that my son leaves no room in his life for normal relationships. With his looks and money, there have always been women available to him as playmates, but since the affair with Christina Mavros he is wary.’ She sighed. ‘I so much want him to enjoy the companionship of an intelligent woman. What can I do to persuade you to stay here for a few days and provide him with that?’

Eleanor’s first instinct was to assure Talia nothing would persuade her, short of locking her in the Kastro dungeons. But then she had a better idea. ‘If you get me an exclusive interview with your son, I will stay for a day or so. My boss is so desperate for his scoop he even ordered me to wear something sexy to persuade your son to talk to me.’

‘So you were not really here for the festival at all!’

‘Oh yes, I was, to round off my series. But Ross McLean is panting for an in-depth interview with the entrepreneur who never talks to reporters. Your son’s warning killed all hope of that.’ Eleanor looked Talia in the eye. ‘But I swear that securing a scoop wasn’t my motive for beating off the kidnapper. I just couldn’t bear the thought of the man laying hands on someone like you.’

‘Someone like me?’

Someone so charming and delicate that the thought of some bruiser manhandling her had sent Eleanor into battle without a second thought. ‘Someone I liked so much,’ she said, flushing again.

‘The feeling is mutual, Eleanor, as I have already made clear.’ Talia winced at the sound of raised voices outside. ‘What now?’

Alex appeared in the doorway, his face like thunder. ‘I apologise for disturbing you, Mother, but we have another intruder. He insists on speaking with you before he leaves.’ He turned to the man behind him. ‘In deference to our guest, please speak English.’

Talia’s eyes widened as Milo Drakos, a commanding figure in a pale linen suit, strode into the room. He bowed to both women and lifted Talia’s hand and kissed it, his eyes locked with hers. ‘Forgive my intrusion. I was watching when you left the terrace and saw Alexei race after you with some of his men. I could not leave until I knew all was well with you,’ he told her, in a voice exactly like his son’s.

A delicate flush rose in Talia’s face as she freed her hand. ‘This is a surprise, Milo. What are you doing here?’

‘It is our son’s birthday, is it not?’

Alex made a hostile move, but at a look from his mother he backed off.

‘A card would have done, Milo,’ she observed, in a tone so sweet and cold it sent shivers down Eleanor’s spine.

He surveyed her bleakly. ‘Instead I came to mingle with the crowds, hoping to give my wishes myself. To my surprise, I was granted the unexpected privilege of seeing you here, Talia, and so I stayed, even knowing I risked instant ejection from my son’s island if he saw me.’

‘Of course I saw you,’ grated Alex. ‘But throwing you off Kyrkiros would have attracted unwelcome attention to my mother.’

Eleanor got to her feet hastily. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll say goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, my dear.’ Talia smiled at her son. ‘Escort Eleanor to your room, please, Alexei mou.’

In silence so thick it seemed to drain the oxygen from the air, Alex led Eleanor along the hall to his own bedroom, his reluctance to leave his parents alone together coming off him like gamma rays.

‘I hope you’ll be comfortable in here,’ he said stiffly as he ushered her into a starkly masculine bedroom so unlike Talia’s it could have been in a different building.

‘I’m sorry to turn you out of your room,’ she said, equally stiff.

He shrugged. ‘In the circumstances, the least I can do. But I must collect some belongings before I leave you to the rest you must be desperate for by now.’ He looked back along the hall, his jaw clenched. ‘I apologise. I should have introduced you back there.’

‘I recognised your father from his photograph.’

‘Of course you did. You’re a reporter.’

‘Yes. I am.’ Eleanor sighed wearily. ‘And, before you ask, I won’t mention Milo Drakis in my article either.’

‘Thank you.’ To her surprise, Alex actually smiled. ‘Keeping the lid on all this drama must be hellish frustrating for you.’

‘True. But to avoid any hurt to your mother I’ll make do with a colourful account of the festival and say nothing about the rest.’

‘Even though someone tried to drown you?’ For the first time his eyes held a touch of warmth. ‘I hope this paper you work for pays you well. You earned danger money today.’

Her lips twitched. ‘According to my editor, I get money for old rope. He calls this kind of assignment a paid holiday.’

‘Not quite the way it went down today!’ He crossed to a wardrobe and looked over his shoulder. ‘Help yourself to a T-shirt, or whatever, to sleep in.’

The intimacy of the situation put Eleanor on edge as Alex went into the bathroom.

‘Tomorrow night,’ he said when he emerged, ‘You can sleep in my mother’s room.’

She stared at him in surprise. ‘I thought you were hustling me back to the UK tomorrow.’

He shrugged irritably. ‘I was, but while you were getting cleaned up earlier my mother pointed out that you should be allowed to enjoy the rest of your holiday as planned. I can’t guarantee your safety on Karpyros, but I can if you stay on here. You’d have Sofia to look after you and give you meals, and Theo Lazarides for security. You can have the run of the place, other than my office, and if you find the Kastro too intimidating to sleep in alone I can ask Sofia to move up here until you leave.’

‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked, astonished.

A flash of respect lit the dark eyes. ‘I owe you, Ms Markham. You risked your own safety, even your life, to help my mother today. I pride myself on paying my debts. Or do you have a different reward in mind?’

She nodded. ‘Actually, I do, but I’ll let your mother fill you in on that. Right now, I’m so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open.’

He hesitated, and then surprised her by shaking her hand briefly. ‘Thank you again, Eleanor Markham. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight.’ She watched the door close behind him, wishing she could be a fly on the wall when he re-joined his parents.

Instead of doing so immediately, Alexei Drakos went into the tower room to stare out at the night sky, his mind more occupied with Eleanor than his parents who, much as he hated to admit it, were probably both pleased to be left alone together for a while. Besides, they were not his immediate problem—unlike the woman occupying his bedroom tonight.

He shook his head impatiently. He’d obviously gone too long without the pleasure of a woman to warm his bed. Since the degrading business with Christina, he’d avoided all women, which meant that part of Eleanor Markham’s appeal was her appearance in his life at a time of sexual drought. But the bright eyes in that narrow face had caught his eye this afternoon, otherwise he wouldn’t have offered his help. The discovery that she was a journalist had been like a punch to the ribs.

He winced. It was she who had taken that kind of blow tonight, in her fight to save his mother. No getting away from it, damn it. He owed her. He turned away abruptly, squaring his shoulders. Time to knock on his mother’s bedroom door and politely request that his father leave. God, what a night!

CHAPTER THREE

ELEANOR woke next morning to a knock on the door, and for a moment stared blankly at her surroundings. She heaved herself up in Alexei Drakos’ vast bed, wincing as her various bruises came to life.

Sofia backed in with a tray, smiling. ‘Kalimera, kyria.’

Eleanor returned the greeting, and asked after Talia.

‘Kyria Talia has gone, but she left you this.’ Sofia took a letter from her apron pocket. ‘She told me to see you rest. Eat well,’ she added as she went out.

Eleanor tore open the envelope quickly.

My Dear Eleanor,

I looked in on you earlier but you were so deeply asleep I did not disturb you. Our intruder is now on his way to police custody but my son insists on escorting me on the ferry to Crete to catch my plane. On the voyage I shall ask him to give you your interview. Enjoy your stay on Kyrkiros. Alex is returning there later, so make sure he gives you your reward for your bravery last night.

Please contact me at the address and telephone numbers above when you get back. In all the excitement, I forgot to ask for yours, and I would so much like to see you again, Eleanor.

With my grateful thanks,

Talia.

Eleanor folded the letter very thoughtfully and turned her attention to the tray. She was hungry, and not even the thought of Alexei Drakos returning to play hell about an interview spoiled her enjoyment of orange juice, rolls warm from the oven and all the coffee in the pot. When Sofia returned she escorted Eleanor to the immaculate guest bedroom, where Eleanor’s clothes, including canvas deck shoes, were now dry and ready to wear.

Eleanor thanked the woman warmly, and asked when kyrie Alexei was returning.

Sofia looked puzzled. ‘He is not returning here from Crete, kyria. But you are to stay as long as you wish.’

Eleanor washed her bitter disappointment away in the shower. So there would be no interview with Alexei Drakos after all. Get over it, she told herself irritably. Comfortable again in her own clothes—other than the canvas flats, which seemed to have shrunk a size after their dunking—she made for the lift and took it down to ground level. Voices led her along the hall to a vast kitchen where Sofia was drinking coffee with two other women.

‘Kalimera,’ Eleanor said in general greeting, and received warm smiles in response. She was introduced to buxom Irene and thin Chloe, both of whom, as far as she could make out, praised her for her bravery of the night before.

‘You saved kyria Talia,’ stated Sofia, and scowled venomously. ‘The dog has gone with the police. Did he hurt you?’

Eleanor patted her ribs. ‘His foot,’ she explained, illustrating with a kick. ‘When he pushed me in the water.’

‘You could have died!’ exclaimed Irene with drama.

Eleanor shook her head. ‘Kyrie Drakos saved me.’ Not that it had been necessary. She could swim well enough. She smiled hopefully. ‘Could someone take me over to Karpyros now, please?’ If Alexei Drakos wasn’t coming back here was no point in hanging around. Besides, her belongings were back in the taverna, and she needed her laptop to get some work done.

‘Yannis will take you after you eat,’ Sofia said firmly. ‘I will bring lunch to the tower room.’

Taking this as her cue, Eleanor left the kitchen and went up in the lift to spend a long time gazing at the spectacularly beautiful view of vine-clad slopes rising from cobalt-blue sea before she settled down to make notes about the day before. She sighed in frustration as she wrote, wishing she could spice the account up with details of the bungled kidnap. But even without it the article on Kyrkiros would be the most interesting one of the series, partly because of the photographs she’d taken of the bull dance and partly because the island was owned by Alexei Drakos. He could hardly object if his

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