Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Copyright

The kiss left Chelsea breathless.

He’d made no attempt to do more than just kiss her, yet she’d felt as if every part of her body was under siege.

“Why?” she got out, and saw Nikos’s lips curve ironically.

“Because I wanted to.”

“Do you always do exactly as you want?” she countered.

“Not always, but you have a mouth made for kissing.”

KAY THORPE was born in Sheffield, England, in 1935. She tried out a variety of jobs after leaving school. Writing began as a hobby, becoming a way of life only after she had her first completed novel accepted for publication in 1968. Since then she’s written over fifty, and lives now with her husband, son, German shepherd dog and lucky black cat on the outskirts of Chesterfield in Derbyshire. Her Interests include reading, hiking and travel.

The Thirty-Day Seduction
Kay Thorpe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

STEADYING herself as the boat rode the spreading bow wave from a passing tourist carrier, Chelsea viewed the island ahead with anticipation tempered by a certain disquiet. Ethics at war with ambition again, she acknowledged wryly; the bane of her professional life at times. Given the same opportunity, how many in her line would hesitate to take advantage?

“Skalos,” declared the man at the wheel of the luxurious cabin cruiser, reducing speed. “Welcome to my home.”

Chelsea turned her head to smile at the handsome young Greek, admiring the lithe lines of his olive-skinned body, clad only in denim shorts at present.

“I hope your family feel the same way.”

White teeth sparkled in the sunlight. “My friends are always welcomed!”

“Even foreign ones?”

He laughed. “We have no quarrel with the English.”

“All the same,” she murmured, “we’re not exactly old friends.”

“We’re neither of us old enough to be old friends,” he returned equably. “And why should it make a difference how long we’ve known each other? Two days or two years; it would be the same. We are-how do you say it-comparable?”

“Compatible.” Which they certainly appeared to be, Chelsea reflected. From the first moment of meeting, back there in Skiathos, they had got on like the proverbial house on fire. All the same, it was doubtful if she would be doing this had Dion not been who he was.

“How many Pandrossoses live on the island altogether?” she asked casually as the low-hilled, wooded landscape took on detail in the hot afternoon sunlight.

“Nikos is the only one, apart from ourselves,” Dion confirmed. “But there are several other families allowed to make their homes there too.”

“It’s privately owned?”

“Owned by the company.” The handsome features darkened for a moment. “The company my father should have been made president of four years ago when his brother died.”

From what she knew of Pandrossos affairs, the deceased president’s son, Nikos Pandrossos, had inherited too much power in the way of company shares to be ousted by his uncle, Chelsea mused. Nor could he be faulted in his handling of the business since. Pandrossos Shipping had gone from strength to strength.

He would be thirty-six now, which was young still to be in such a position. A multi-millionaire, it went without saying. Three years ago his wife and mother had both been drowned in a boating accident, leaving him with a young son. That was all the personal detail anyone appeared to know of the man. An enigma, that was Nikos Pandrossos. As stirring a challenge to any selfrespecting journalist as a red rag to a bull.

Coming into an inheritance at eighteen from her maternal grandfather, sufficient to keep her in a reasonable degree of comfort, Chelsea had seen no reason to opt out of university, emerging three years later with a firstclass degree and an overriding desire to become something big in the world of journalism. She’d been lucky enough to land a job on a leading newspaper, which had supplied the grounding she needed, and moved on from there to World Magazine for a year, during which she had made something of a name for herself. With no financial pressures, she’d been able to go freelance after that, enjoying the freedom of being able to choose her own storylines, most of which she had found little difficulty in selling. At twenty-five she had what most people-including herself-would consider an enviable lifestyle.

Her decision to take a couple of months out, flitting around the Greek Islands, had elicited no more than a resigned injunction to take care from her parents, who had long ago learned to accept her independence. Skiathos had been her third port of call, after Limnos and Alonissos, with the intention of fitting in as many points south as she could manage over the coming weeks. Something she had always wanted to do, and from which she hoped to gain enough material for a whole series of articles.

She had been sitting over morning coffee at one of the harbour tavernas, watching the boats coming and going, when Dion had arrived, drawing every female eye in the vicinity as he leapt ashore after securing his craft. A young man well accustomed to having his pick, Chelsea had judged, as he’d stood, hands thrust into the pockets of his tight-fitting designer jeans, viewing the immediate prospects. She’d looked away before the discerning dark eyes found her, but she’d sensed his gaze coming to rest on her.

He hadn’t been the first Greek male to find her combination of long wheat-gold hair and vivid blue eyes an instant attraction by any means. She had formulated a nice line in cool, composed rejection of all take-over bids, which had stood her in pretty good stead up until then. Dion, however, was made of sterner stuff. Instead of moving on, he’d laughed and taken a seat, introducing himself with a charm calculated to melt the most resistant of hearts.

The name alone had been enough to dry any protest she might have made, the discovery by dint of carefully casual questioning that he was indeed a relative of the man so many had tried and failed to interview a potent force.

Even so, if she hadn’t liked Dion as a person that would have been it, Chelsea assured herself now. She’d enjoyed every minute of the time they’d spent together-especially after Dion had proved himself unexpectedly willing to accept their relationship on her terms. His announcement that he had to return home in order to attend his young cousin’s fifth birthday celebrations, and his invitation to accompany him, had elicited mixed feelings, but the enticement had proved too strong in the end. This would be the closest anyone from her part of the world had ever managed to get to Nikos Pandrossos the man. If she could manage to talk him into granting her an interview, it would be a real feather in her journalistic cap.

They were coming into a small bay where a graceful twin-masted yacht already rode at anchor. Trees backed the curve of sand, giving way to one side to reveal what looked like the start of a narrow roadway-if the car parked there was anything to go by. A man alighted from the vehicle as Dion cut the engine to bring the launch in to a well-timed stop at the jetty built out from a rocky platform, lifting a hand in brief greeting.

“Cousin Nikos,” said Dion. “He must have just got in himself.”

Chelsea made no reply, aware of her suddenly increased creased pulse-rate as she studied the waiting figure. Taller than the average Greek, with shoulders like an ox beneath the tautly stretched white T-shirt, he looked intimidating even from this distance. He was wearing jeans, close-fitting about lean hips and outlining the muscular strength of his thighs. Masculine as they cameand dangerous with it, came the mental rider.

Dion leapt out and tied up the boat before extending a hand to assist her onto the jetty.

“I’ll take your bag,” he said, reaching for the holdall that was the only luggage she had allowed herself this trip. His eyes sparkled devilishly at her involuntary protest. “Must I fight with you for it?”

Laughing, Chelsea gave way. “I suppose I’m too used to doing things for myself,” she said, falling into step at his side along the jetty.

The laughter faded as they descended the carved steps from the rocky platform and trod the stretch of sand to where Nikos Pandrossos awaited their coming. Dark as Dion’s, his eyes scanned her from the toes upwards with a thoroughness that brought faint flags of colour into her cheeks, taking in the shapely length of leg revealed by the brief white shorts, the curve of hip and slender waistline-lingering for a deliberate moment on the firm thrust of her breasts beneath the halter-necked top-before lifting to meet her blue regard with a faint but unmistakable curl of a lip.

“This is Chelsea Lovatt, Nikos,” declared Dion, sounding just a mite confrontational to Chelsea’s ears. “An English friend come to spend a few days.”

“Chelsea?” queried the older man, not having shifted his stance. “You’re named after a district of London?”

“I’m named after a character in a book my mother read while she was carrying me,” Chelsea answered lightly, gathering her wits. “I think she hoped I might turn out the same.”

The curl increased a fraction. “And did you?”

“I’ve no idea,” she parried. “I never read the book.” She put out a hand, registering the surprise that sprang momentarily in his eyes. “I’m honoured to meet you, Kirie Pandrossos.”

The dark head inclined, revealing the merest hint of grey at the temples as a shaft of sunlight touched the thickly curling pelt of his hair. His hand was cool to the touch, fingers closing over hers in a grasp of tempered steel, sending a thrill like an electric shock the length of her arm.

“The honour is all mine, despinis,’ he mocked.

Chelsea resisted the urge to snatch her hand away the moment he released it, feeling the tingle still in her fingers as she thrust them into the pocket of her shorts. Having met the man, she was beginning to realise just how formidable a task she had set herself. She was here under false pretences to start with, which was hardly going to help her case. There was every likelihood that he would have her deported-from the island, at leastthe moment he discovered her real purpose.

Never say die, she told herself firmly, refusing to give way. Challenge was her lifeblood.

“Will you give us a lift to the house?” asked Dion.

“I’d scarcely leave you to await other transport,” returned his cousin. He turned to open the Range Rover’s front passenger door, noting Chelsea’s involuntary hesitation with a sardonic little smile. “I don’t bite. Not unless I’m provoked. If you’d feel more comfortable in the rear, however…”

“I’m happy to sit anywhere,” she said airily, mentally girding her loins again. “Thank you, kirie.”

“You may call me Nikos,” he declared as she slid into the seat.

“Thank you, Nikos, then.” Chelsea took care to eradicate any hint of irony from her tone. “I’m not much for formality either.”

Dark eyes dwelt for a meaningful moment on the long stretch of lightly tanned leg, even further revealed by the pull on her shorts. “So it may be assumed.”

He closed the door before she could come up with a response, leaving her feeling more than a little overexposed. Dion had donned his shirt again before leaving the boat, but had given her no reason to believe herself inadequately dressed. Considering the scanty wardrobe she had with her, she was probably going to have a problem meeting the criteria anyway, she reflected ruefully. The things she’d packed had been chosen for their lightness of weight and washability rather than propriety.

Dion got into the rear seat, leaving his cousin to go around and slide behind the wheel. The car was turned about in three short, sharp moves and headed up the curving incline between the trees. Acutely aware of the muscular thigh she could see on the periphery of her vision, Chelsea turned her attention to the view from the side window as they breasted the final rise and emerged from the tree line.

From here she was looking directly towards the mainland, some five or six miles distant, the mountainous horizon line hazed by heat. Close by lay another, very much smaller island, bearing what looked like the crumbling remains of a small tower on its highest point.

“Does the ruin over there have any significance?” she asked with interest, anticipating some historic provenance.

“It’s just a ruin,” said Dion.

“All that’s left of what was once a tiny chapel,” expounded his cousin. “We’ve never taken the trouble to explore its origins, but you’re at liberty to do so, should you wish it.”

Chelsea gave him a swift glance, struck by the strength of the carved profile with its high-bridged nose and clean jawline. His mouth was well-shaped, lips firm. Wonderful to kiss, came the unwonted thought, hastily discarded.

“That’s very kind of you,” she said, “but I’m hardly going to be here long enough to start looking into historical detail.”

“You have other commitments?”

“Well, no. At least, nothing concrete. I’m just going where the fancy takes me for the next few weeks-seeing as much of the islands as I can.”

“Alone?” The tone left little doubt of his opinion. “Is that wise?”

“I can take care of myself,” she returned without undue emphasis. “And travelling alone means I only have myself to please.”

“You have family back home?”

“Parents, yes.”

“They saw no harm in allowing you to do this?”

Her laugh was just a little short. “They have every confidence in me.”

“But obviously little authority over you.”

“In my country, women my age are considered old enough to govern their own lives.”

“In my country, women your age are normally answerable to their husbands,” came the unmoved response. “Is there no man in your life?”

“No one I plan on marrying, if that’s what you mean.” Chelsea was fast losing patience with this inquisition. “I’ve no interest whatsoever in marriage.”

Nikos gave her another of those swift, assessing glances. “You should think seriously about it while you still have the time.”

About to let fly with a pithy answer, Chelsea caught herself up. Considering the reason she was here at all, she was hardly doing her case much good by getting ratty with the man. She needed to cultivate him, not antagonise him. What she didn’t need at the moment was to let drop any hint of her true colours.

“I appreciate your concern for my welfare, kirie, really I do,” she said on a lighter note. “Few would take the trouble.”

The overture made no visible impression. “You were to call me Nikos,” was all he said.

Quiet up until now in the back, Dion obviously decided it was time he made his presence felt. “My sister will be happy to have you here,” he said. “She’s always complaining of the shortage of feminine companionship. Florina is unmarried too-although she hopes to be wed before too much more time passes.” The last with an odd emphasis. “You’ll like each other, I’m sure.”

Chelsea hoped he was right. Being here under false pretences was bad enough, without finding herself at odds with any member of his family. Abandoning the whole idea would probably be the wisest course, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not while there was any chance at all of achieving her aim. Nikos would be a hard nut to crack, but she might just manage it if she put her mind to it. First and foremost, she had to get beneath that guard of his.

“If she speaks English as fluently as the two of you do there’ll certainly be no problem in communicating,” she said. “My Greek is pretty basic as yet”

“Travel broadens the vocabulary,” said Nikos. “As does tourism also.”

Chelsea’s brows drew together. “You’re involved in the tourist industry?”

“The whole of Greece is involved in the tourist industry,” came the dry return. “Our economy, to a great extent, depends upon it”

“I shouldn’t have thought you met all that many tourists yourself, though,” she ventured, unable to visualise this man mingling with the average package dealers. “The island being private, I mean.”

“Our lives are hardly confined to Skalos,” he said, making her feel a bit of an idiot

“Does Dimitris know yet that he’s to have a birthday party?” asked Dion, before she could make any further comment. “Or is it still to be a surprise?”

“Better he should be surprised rather than disappointed should anything go amiss,” his cousin replied. “Do you like children?” he added to Chelsea.

“I couldn’t eat a whole one,” she quipped before she could stop herself, drawing a splutter of laughter from the rear. “Sorry, that was crass,” she apologised, neither daring nor caring to glance in Nikos’s direction. She added cautiously, “I like some children.”

“You’ll love Dimitris,” Dion assured her. “He’s a real little character!”

“You’re welcome to attend the party if you wish,” invited his cousin, leaving Chelsea feeling that the younger man hadn’t left him much choice.

An opportunity to see the Pandrossos homestead was hardly to be turned down, however, though it seemed necessary to at least make the gesture.

“That’s very kind of you, she said formally, “but I wouldn’t want to intrude on a family occasion.”

Nikos drove the car between double iron gates, expression unrevealing. “Dimitris is the only child in the family, so we must go outside of it for companions for him. We have guests coming from the mainland too, so there’s no question of intrusion.”

“In that case, I’d very much like to come. “Thank you, ki… I mean, Nikos.”

His nod was a mite perfunctory. “Think nothing of it.”

Sparkling white in the sunlight, the house that came into view was more modem in design than Chelsea would have anticipated-a single storey spreading out in several directions, as if bits had been added almost as afterthoughts. A disappointment in many ways, she had to admit.

Nikos drew up before the arched doorway, but declined to accompany the two of them into the house.

“I’m invited for dinner tonight,” he said, “so I’ll see you then. Kali andamosi.”

The equivalent of “bye for now’, Chelsea surmised, not having come across the phrase before. She felt deflated as he headed the car back along the driveway, aware of having made a great deal less than a good start on her campaign-buoying herself up with the thought that she was at least no further away from achieving her aim.

“Come and meet my mother,” said Dion. “My father is away on business at present, although he may be back in time for tomorrow’s festivities.”

If the outside of the house had been a disappointment, the inside was scarcely less so. Lavishly furnished, and heavy on marble and gilt, it left Chelsea with an impression of magazine room settings rather than a home. But then why should these people be expected to conform to her preconceptions simply because they were Greek? she asked herself, following Dion out through the rear of the house to a wide terrace which overlooked an equally spacious swimming pool, with the sea forming a suitable backdrop.

The woman reclining on one of the long, luxuriously padded loungers set beneath a spreading umbrella looked up at her son’s approach, her smile taking on a certain resignation as her eyes fell on Chelsea. When she spoke it was in Greek, and too fast for Chelsea to follow, although as Dion didn’t look in any way perturbed she could only surmise that the welcome mat hadn’t been fully withdrawn.

“This is Chelsea Lovatt from England,” he said. “I invited her to stay for a few days before she continues her travels.”

“Khero poli, Kiria Pandrossos,” Chelsea proffered. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“My son’s friends are always welcome,” returned the other in excellent, if slightly more stilted English than Dion’s own, reinforcing what he’d said himself. “Come, take a seat. You are here on holiday?”

“That’s right.” Chelsea sat down on the nearby chair indicated. “I’m trying to see as many Greek islands as I can before I go home.” She gave a smile. “This one wasn’t on my itinerary, but I’m grateful for the opportunity to add it to the list.”

“Very few foreigners visit Skalos,” confirmed her hostess, not unkindly. “Dion, you will order drinks for all of us.”

“Of course,” he said. “What would you like, Chelsea?”

“A long, cold lemonade would be wonderful,” she said.

Chic in a gold-coloured kaftan, her dark hair swept up and back from her face, Kiria Pandrossos relaxed back onto the lounger as her son went back into the house. Dion was her own age, Chelsea already knew, which meant his mother must surely be in her forties, yet she could easily pass for mid-thirties.

“It’s easy to see where Dion gets his looks from,” she murmured, hardly realising she had spoken out loud until she saw the gratified smile touch the other woman’s lips.

“My son and I share many qualities.” She paused, viewing the lightly tanned and well-balanced features before her, the cascade of sun-streaked hair. “You are very attractive yourself. But of course you would have to be for Dion to have taken an interest. He is much drawn to blonde hair.”

A warning that she wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last, Chelsea sensed. Unnecessary, as it happened, because she had no designs on the man in question. But his mother wasn’t to know that.

“I did consider shaving it all off just to see if I still made the same impact,” she said, tongue in cheek.

Kiria Pandrossos looked startled for a moment, then relaxed again as she saw the twinkle in the blue eyes opposite. “That would be a drastic experiment indeed. Few men are drawn to bald-headed women, whatever their other looks. Dion would certainly not be one of them.”

“I already guessed that,” Chelsea assured her, and added impulsively, “He and I are just good friends, and happy to be that way. When I leave, there’ll be no heartache on either part.”

“Speak for yourself,” quoth the subject under discussion, coming out in time to catch the last. “My heart is already broken!”

Chelsea laughed. “It will soon mend.”

“English women have no romance in their souls!” he complained, slinging himself down on a lounger. “I’ll lie here and pine for what might have been between us!”

Kiria Pandrossos looked as if she found the repartee a little confusing. Obviously unaccustomed to the kind of relationship she and Dion had forged, Chelsea reflected. Kisses were the only form of intimacy they had exchanged-and those themselves light-hearted. They were neither of them looking for any kind of commitment.

The drinks arrived, borne by a youth wearing the seemingly mandatory dark trousers and white shirt of the serving classes in this country. Dion could well have carried them out himself, Chelsea thought, but doubted if the idea would have even occurred to him. Born into money the way he had been, he took service for granted.

“I was not informed that you had called for a car to bring you from the beach, or I would have been expecting you,” said Kiria Pandrossos when they each had their glass.

“I didn’t call,” her son confirmed. “Nikos brought us. He said he would be joining us for dinner tonight.”

“Ah, good! He was uncertain of his movements today. Hestia must be told that there will be two more at table.”

“Already done.” Dion paused to take a drink from his glass. “Florina will be happy to see our cousin.”

“As shall we all.” His mother sounded faintly reproving. “You must not tease your sister, Dion. Her emotions are too fragile.”

“It’s Nikos who does the teasing,” he retorted. “He knows how she feels for him, but he still holds back!”

“He will speak soon, I am certain. Dimitris needs a mother to care for him when his father is away from home. He must know this.”

So Nikos Pandrossos was to marry his cousin, Chelsea reflected, concentrating on her drink. At least, that appeared to be the hope. It would be a good move for the family; there was no doubt. It was Florina she felt sorry for-as she would feel sorry for any woman married to a man like Nikos Pandrossos. An autocrat if ever she saw one!

CHAPTER TWO

LOOKING inland, the bedroom to which she was eventually shown was as sumptuously furnished and decorated as the rest of the house; the wide bed draped in pale lemon silk to match the beautifully hung drapes, the floor carpeted in thickly piled Prussian blue. There was an en suite bathroom, complete with a sunken bath convertible to a Jacuzzi at the flick of a switch.

“I could hardly be anything else,” Chelsea confirmed when Dion expressed a hope that she would be comfortable. “This is sheer luxury!”

“My mother admires the Italian style of living,” he acknowledged. “You’ll find Nikos’s house very different.”

“A traditionalist, is he?” she hazarded.

“If you mean that he prefers the old ways to the new, then, yes.”

Chelsea kept her tone light. “With women very much secondary citizens, I take it?”

“Of course. Women are born to serve the male!” Grinning, Dion dodged the pillow she snatched up and slung at him. “Some women, at least.”

“Does Florina see her role in life that way?” Chelsea felt moved to ask.

“My sister,” he said, “will do whatever is necessary to achieve what she desires the most in life.”

“To marry Nikos?”

“Yes.”

Chelsea sat down on the bed-edge to unzip her bag and start taking things out, voice casual. “What happened to his wife?”

“The boat in which she and my aunt were returning from a visit to the mainland developed engine trouble and was driven onto rocks in a squall and sank. The crew escaped, but they were trapped below.”

“It must have been dreadful for him, losing them both together,” said Chelsea, in swift, surging empathy. “How on earth did he cope?”

“The way he copes with everything. No one ever knows Nikos’s true feelings.” Dion came away from the windowsill, where he had been leaning. “I’ll leave you to finish unpacking.”

“There’s little enough of it to do,” she said. “I hope you don’t go in for dressing up in the evening, because I’m going to be seriously letting the side down. I set out to travel light.”

Dion laughed and shook his head. “We are very informal. Not,” he added, “that you could look anything but beautiful whatever you wear. With eyes such as yours, you have no need of jewels!”

“Corn!” Chelsea was laughing too. “Pure, unadulterated corn!”

“It works with others,” he returned, unabashed.

She didn’t doubt it. Given the opportunity, most would be only too ready to respond to any line he cared to use, however corny. It was a source of some wonder to her still that he left her so relatively unstirred in the physical sense.

His cousin was a different matter, she had to admit. He radiated a sexual attraction impossible to ignore. Not that it made any difference to her prime objective.

So far she had no formulated plan of campaign. The ideal would be to find some way of putting him in her debt, although she couldn’t begin to think how that might be done. All she could do was play it by ear and hope for a break of some kind. Being nonconfrontational would be a good start.

Dion was watching her curiously. “You looked just then as if you had some problem,” he remarked. “Is it one I can help you with?”

“I was just wondering whether to go for a swim before I finish unpacking,” she improvised, holding up the bikini she had just taken out. “If it’s all right to use the pool, that is?”

“Why else would it be there?” he returned. “I’ll go and put on bathing trunks and we’ll swim together. You can find your way back out to the pool?”

“I’m sure of it.” Even if it had been a spur-of-themoment suggestion, the thought of a dip was tempting. It was still only just gone six-thirty, and dinner was hardly likely to be served before nine. Plenty of time to tidy herself up in. “I’ll see you out there,” she said.

The blue bikini looked just a little too brief for present circumstances. She put on a black one-piece suit instead, missing the fact that the smoothly clinging Lycra outlined her shape far more provocatively. An over-sized white shirt did double duty as a covering wrap; it would hardly do to parade through the house semi-naked. Her hair she tied back into her nape with a rubber band. There would still be plenty of time to wash it before dinner.

Kiria Pandrossos was gone from the terrace when she reached it, her place taken by a younger version who eyed the newcomer with a total lack of welcome.

“You must be Florina,” said Chelsea, extending a smile herself. “I’m Chelsea Lovatt, a friend of Dion’s.”

“Why are you here?” The question was abrupt.

Chelsea kept the smile going. “Your brother invited me. He’ll be out in a moment. We’re going to have a swim.”

The striking face failed to relax. “Dion treats our home as a hotel! He has no right to bring people here without first asking permission.”

“Your mother didn’t seem to mind,” Chelsea felt bound to respond, and saw the other’s expression sour even further.

“My brother can do no wrong in her eyes, but that does not make what he does right.”

Sibling jealousy, Chelsea concluded, feeling some sympathy. Sons were all-important in this country. Florina was a year or so older than her brother—of an age when she might be counted as being well and truly on the shelf marriage-wise. Waiting for her cousin to make a move wouldn’t have helped. In all fairness, the man should surely clarify his intentions.

Dion’s arrival was a relief. If he registered his sister’s lack of enthusiasm for their new guest he refused to acknowledge it.

“I’ll race you six lengths of the pool,” he challenged Chelsea, having already sampled her prowess in the water. “And this time I will win!”

Laughing, she slid out of the white shirt and kicked off her sandals, then followed him to the pool-end to pose with him in the classic position. They entered the water in perfect unison, surfacing within seconds of each other and striking out powerfully.

Chelsea had given up competitive swimming on leaving school, but she had kept up the practice because it was one of the best ways of keeping fit. She had little difficulty keeping pace with Dion over the first lengths, and would have beaten him by a short head over the last had her more charitable instincts not caused her to lose just enough ground for him to touch a couple of feet in front. Pandering to male pride, maybe, but it meant far more to him than it did to her.

“You win,” she said in mock resignation, treading water.

Curly black hair sparkling with water droplets, perifania restored, Dion could afford to be generous. “Only just. You swim faster than any other female I ever encountered! It took me by surprise the first time.”

“I know.” Tongue tucked firmly in cheek, Chelsea made a wry grimace. “I suppose I’ll just have to settle for second best when it comes right down to it.”

She turned to swim across the width of the pool to where a metal stepladder extended down into the water, this time using a more restful breast stroke. The sight of the man now seated with Florina on the terrace brought her to an abrupt halt only halfway up the steps. It was too late to drop back into the water because he was looking right at her, mouth taking on the fast-becomingfamiliar slant as she vacillated.

He got to his feet to take a towel from the nearby rack and bring it across. Except that instead of placing the towel where she could reach it and retiring again, he opened it up and held it out invitingly, dark eyes cynical.

“Are you coming out?” he asked. “Or did you change your mind after all?”

“Coming out.” She suited her actions to her words, hauling herself the rest of the way up the ladder and accepting the towel without looking at him directly. Dressed now in beautifully tailored cream trousers and dark brown silk shirt, he was no less disturbing. “Don’t let me splash you,” she tagged on, hoping he would back off and give her room to breathe.

“Water will do me no harm,” he said. “Why did you allow Dion to win just now?”

Feeling considerably more confident with the towel wrapped securely about her, Chelsea raised a pair of innocently widened blue eyes. “Why would I do that?”

“Because of what you hope to gain, perhaps?”

Her brows creased. “Gain?”

“You’re far from ingenuous, so don’t try playing the part for me,” Nikos returned hardily. “Dion may see no further than your face and body, but I’m not so easily blinded. You have a purpose in giving way to him the way you just did-a purpose in being here with him at all, in fact.”

Her heart jerked, then steadied again. There was nothing to suggest that he’d guessed the truth. If she read him correctly, his suspicions lay in quite another direction.

“If you think I’m after joining the family, you can forget it,” she said bluntly, abandoning discretion for the moment. “Dion won the race on his own merits. Please don’t try spoiling it for him by suggesting anything other.”

The strongly carved features took on a disquieting expression. “The only suggestion I might-”

He broke off as his cousin hauled himself out of the water at Chelsea’s back, obviously not prepared to continue the discussion-if it could rightly be called thatin front of the younger man.

“We didn’t expect you until later,” said Dion, sounding somewhat less than welcoming to Chelsea’s ears.

“I have matters to discuss with your mother,” Nikos answered, adding with a certain irony, “If a reason is needed.”

His glance came back to Chelsea for a fleeting moment, the message clear to her if to no one else: he hadn’t finished with her yet. Then he was moving away, shoulders powerful beneath the brown silk, back tapering down to waist and hip. A hard man in every sensecertainly not one to be trifled with. Chelsea found herself beginning to regret ever having begun this quest.

Hardly a gainful attitude for an ambitious journalist, she rallied. The harder the battle, the more worthwhile the victory. If it all came to nothing in the end, at least she could console herself with the thought that she hadn’t given up at the first hurdle. It was up to her to rid Nikos of this notion that she had designs on his cousin for starters.

“What was he saying to you?” asked Dion, jerking her out of her introspection.

“Nothing much,” she returned lightly. “I think I’ll go and finish unpacking rather than get back in again. I’d like to wash my hair, if there’s time.”

“We eat at nine,” he said. “That gives you almost two hours still.”

“Time to spare then.”

Sitting alone again, Florina watched her coming with baleful expression. Chelsea gave her a smile in passing, wondering if she was to shoulder the blame for Nikos’s disappearance. If he’d wanted to return to the other’s side, he would surely have done it.

She saw no sign of him as she made her way to her room, although there were plenty of doors he could be behind. With her own door safely closed, she stood for a moment viewing her image in the long dressing mirror across the room, trying to see herself the way Nikos obviously saw her—coming to the conclusion that he had met so many predatory women in his time he probably took it for granted that they were all at the same game.

One thing he could rely on, she had no designs in that direction where he was concerned. She’d as soon stick her head in a tiger’s maw!

Showered, hair washed and dried, she fingered through her travelling wardrobe. Consisting, apart from shorts and swimwear, of two crease-proof shift dresses, three skirts, one silky trouser suit and various tops, the choice was limited. In the end she settled on one of the shifts, in a blue almost the same colour as her eyes, contenting herself with a dab of pale pink lipstick and the merest touch of brown mascara. Her only jewellery was a simple gold chain and matching bracelet, which was all she had brought with her.

Weather permitting, meals were always served outside during the warmer months, Dion had already advised. It was still only eight-twenty when she left the room, and apart from a couple of servants no one else was yet in evidence. Emerging once more onto the terrace, she found a table already set out, with aromatic candles lit to deter any flying livestock. The sun was a great golden orb, touching the mainland mountain ridge.

Standing at the stone balustrade, breathing in the evening-scented air and admiring the view, Chelsea felt at peace with the world. The hustle and bustle of life in the city seemed a million miles away. So far she wasn’t missing it at all.

The sense of being watched came over her suddenly, lifting the hair at her nape and sending a tingle down her spine. It was no great surprise to turn her head and find Nikos seated on another section of the terrace off to the side of the villa.

“I didn’t see you there!” she exclaimed with false brightness.

“Obviously not,” he returned drily. He got to his feet, lithe and powerful as any of the big cats in his movements, causing her heart to beat faster and louder as he came towards her. “You would like a drink?”

Chelsea shook her head, feeling stimulated enough at the moment without alcohol. “Not right now, thanks.”

“Then perhaps a walk before we eat?”

She looked at him uncertainly, unable to fathom the change in attitude since their last meeting. The dark eyes were impenetrable.

“Why the sudden friendliness?” she asked, deciding to take the bull by the horns, so to speak. “Only a couple of hours ago you were convinced I had designs on your cousin.”

“I was perhaps a little hasty in that assessment,” came the unfazed reply. “We’ll begin again?”

Beware of Greeks bearing gifts, an inner voice urged-except that a change of opinion hardly came under that heading. It took a big man to admit that he might be wrong. If Nikos could bring himself to make the gesture, then she could surely meet him halfway.

“That would be…nice,” she said, disgusted by her failure to come up with something a little more inspired. Words were supposed to be her stock-in-trade, for heaven’s sake!

“Would it not?” Nikos agreed. “Shall we take the walk I proposed? The gardens are very beautiful at this time of the year. A suitable setting,” he tagged on smoothly, “for a beautiful woman. I can find no fault with Dion’s taste.”

Coming from any other man, Chelsea would have found the compliment too flowery by half, but she couldn’t deny the buzz it gave her to hear it from him. Careful, she warned herself. Falling for the man was strictly off-limits—stir parts of her that others had never reached though he undoubtedly did.

“You’re too kind,” she murmured, and saw a smile touch the firm lips.

“Kindness isn’t a quality I’m often accorded.”

Chelsea could imagine. Ruthlessness, yes; it was there in every line of those granite features. She had already had a taste of that side of his personality, and was likely to experience it again if she let on what she was really here for too soon.

Just as likely later too, came the thought, pushed to the back of her mind where it could do the least harm.

“I don’t suppose it’s a quality you can often afford,” she said. “Too many people ready to take advantage.”

His gaze narrowed a little. “Which people?”

“In business.” Chelsea hadn’t meant to get this far this fast, but there was no retreating now. “I know who you are, of course. The name Pandrossos is known the world over. Which is why I can’t really blame you for thinking I was out to get a foot in the door via Dion. He’s what in my part of the world would be called the catch of the century!”

Amusement glinted suddenly in the dark eyes. “You have a turn of phrase that does little credit to the English language at times. I’d be grateful if you took pains not to pass on such terms to my son tomorrow.”

“He speaks English at five?”

“The early years are the best time of all to learn. When I’m home, he and I speak English together regularly. The tutor he’s to have at the end of the summer will be bilingual too.” Nikos paused, shaking his head as if the subject was not one he had intended discussing. “Are we to take our walk?”

Chelsea caught herself up, storing the snippets of background material away for future use. She was still a long way from the goalpost.

“Why not?” she said.

Stretching away on both sides of the house, the gardens proved extensive, with the Italian influence very much in evidence here too. Horticulturally illiterate, even back home, Chelsea had no idea what any of the myriad shrubs and plants were.

“It really is lovely,” she remarked, feeling bound to make some comment, however unimaginative, after strolling in silence along the paved paths for several minutes. “So beautifully laid out.”

“Selene likes order in every aspect of her life,” confirmed Nikos.

“Mistress of the moon,” Chelsea murmured, drawing a speculative glance from the man at her side.

“You know something of our mythology?”

“I enjoy dipping into it,” she said truthfully. “If memory serves me right, Selene was usurped by Artemis, who killed her lover, Orion, because she thought he was playing around with Eos.”

“A generalised interpretation, but not wholly inaccurate. The gods were no more exempt from the desire for vengeance when deceived than we mortals.”

Chelsea pulled a leaf from a nearby aromatic shrub, crushing it between her fingers and bringing it to her nose to sniff. “You’re saying you might be moved to act the same way under similar circumstances?”

“To kill, no. There are other forms of retribution.”

The matter-of-fact statement sent a sudden shiver down her back. Of a different kind, maybe, but what she was doing could still be classed as deception.

Darkness had fallen, the fireflies flickering in the trees like so many fairylights. Cicadas filled the air with their incessant song.

“Shouldn’t we be getting back?” she asked. “It must be almost nine.”

“There are still several minutes.” Nikos paused at a stone seat set beneath an archway. “We’ll sit here for a moment or two and watch the stars emerge.”

Other than walking on without him, Chelsea had little choice but to take the seat indicated, feeling the brush of his arm against hers as he sat down beside her. He was too close—too assertively masculine for comfort. Her stomach muscles ached with tension.

“Your hair is luminous in the moonlight,” he said softly. “A river of silver!”

“Very poetic,” she commented, doing her best to keep her voice steady.

Nikos gave a low laugh. “I appear to be making you nervous.”

“You’re confusing me,” she admitted. “When I arrived on the island you looked at me as if I were some kind of cheap pick-up, then you accused me of making up to Dion with an eye to future prospects, and now…”

“Now?” he prompted as she let the words trail away.

“You tell me,” she challenged.

The smile was slow. “Attack is often the best means of defence.”

“Against what?”

He made no verbal answer, sliding an arm about her waist to turn her to him, his other hand coming up to circle her nape beneath the heavy fall of hair, eyes glinting as he lowered his head to find her mouth with his.

The kiss left her breathless. He’d made no attempt to do more than just kiss her, yet she’d felt as if every part of her body was under seige.

“Why?” she got out, and saw his lips curve ironically.

“Because I wanted to.”

“And you always do exactly as you want to, of course.”

“Not always, but some things one cannot deny oneself.” His fingers moved caressingly at her nape, bringing her tinglingly alive again. “You have a mouth made for kissing—a body made for loving. Dion could never satisfy you.”

Chelsea fought to retain some semblance of control against her treacherous inclinations. If he kissed her again she was going to lose all sense of proportion. “I told you, we don’t have that kind of relationship,” she said through her teeth. “Just stop this, will you? I’m not available to either of you!”

“I think perhaps you may be, should I care to pursue the matter,” Nikos responded, but he let go of her, watching her struggle to contain the involuntary regret with amusement in his eyes. “The flesh is more than willing.”

He wasn’t far wrong. The desires he had aroused in her were unprecedented. Face burning, she got to her feet, wishing the damned moon would disappear behind a cloud.

“You read a great deal too much into too little,” she declared with asperity. “We’re going to be late for dinner.”

“They will wait.”

“I imagine Florina is well used to it where you’re concerned,” she flashed without pause for reflection, breath catching as the humour was wiped from his face. “I had no right to say that,” she mumbled.

“No, you did not,” he agreed on a curt note. He rose himself, looming over her. “What has Dion been telling you?”

There was no way out, Chelsea acknowledged ruefully; she had dropped them both right in it.

“Nothing,” she said, making the attempt on Dion’s behalf at least. “Just something I sensed, that’s all. Call it feminine intuition.”

“A finely tuned faculty indeed.” The satire withered her where she stood. “And what exactly was it that this intuition of yours suggested?”

“Can’t we just leave it at that?” she pleaded. “I’m probably completely wrong, anyway.”

There was a moment when she thought he was going to insist, then he inclined his head in mocking acknowledgement. “Doubtless. You’d be wise to keep a rein on your imagination.”

He turned to start along the path, leaving her to follow in his wake like some reprimanded schoolgirl. To hell with that! she thought, and caught him up, falling into step at his side.

“My stomach’s beginning to think my throat’s been cut!” she remarked brightly.

Nikos gave her a glance more exasperated than angry. “The only injury sustained thus far is to the spoken word!”

“Sorry.” Chelsea put on a penitent expression. “Old habits die hard. I’ll do my very best to speak like the Queen from now on.” She affected a cut-glass accent. “How now brown cow, and all that.”

His laugh was reluctant, but it was a laugh. “You,” he said, “need to learn respect!”

What she did need, came the thought, was to be kissed again the way he had kissed her back there; she could still feel the imprint of his lips on hers. A dangerous yearning, considering the effect just the one kiss had had on her. Nikos Pandrossos was not a man to trifle within any sphere.

Considering which, the chances of his agreeing to be interviewed once he realised who and what she really was were becoming ever more remote, she had to concede.

“No ready retort?” he taunted.

“Too chastened,” she countered, temporarily shelving the problem. “Wasn’t that the intention?”

This time the laugh held a note of genuine humour. “It takes more than words to subdue you.”

They had reached the foot of the steps leading down from the terrace, viewed with varying expressions by the group gathered there as they mounted into the light. Chelsea could only be thankful that her lipstick was the non-transferable variety-although Nikos couldn’t have known that. If the thought had occurred to him at all, it didn’t appear to be causing him any concern.

“Tell Hestia she can begin serving now,” Selene Pandrossos directed her daughter, with what Chelsea considered admirable constraint. “We were beginning to think you had spirited our guest away, Nikos.”

“I wanted to see the gardens before it went dark,” Chelsea rushed in before he could answer. “Kirios Pandrossos was kind enough to take me round. It’s entirely my fault that we’ve held things up.”

“It’s been dark for the past half an hour,” put in Dion, making no attempt to disguise his scepticism.

“The gardens are very large,” countered his cousin imperturbably.

“And very beautiful,” Chelsea confirmed.

Looking beautiful herself in virginal white, Florina eyed her with open hostility. Chelsea could hardly blame her for feeling that way. Had she been kept dangling on a string for years, only to see the object of her desire usurped by another woman, and a foreigner at that, she would have felt the same. It would be a waste of time telling her that she had no interest in her cousin.

It was hardly true anyway-in any sense.

CHAPTER THREE

NEVER a hasty event, and taking the late start into consideration, the meal went on until well gone midnight. All conversation was conducted in English, in deference to the guest, which made Chelsea feel even more of an outsider. Seated between Kiria Pandrossos and Dion at the big round table, with Nikos directly opposite, she was constantly aware of the dark eyes on her. Florina was by no means blind to the fact either, she reckoned.

Fending off questions about her background wasn’t easy. More than once she found herself on the brink of admitting the truth and accepting the consequences. That she didn’t was largely because of Dion, who would be devastated to discover how he’d been used. In all fairness, he had to be put in the picture first-and exonerated from any blame if and when the occasion arose.

It was almost twelve-thirty when Nikos departed. Kiria Pandrossos took her leave too, followed almost immediately by Florina, with a cursory response to Chelsea’s “kalinichta’.

“She’s distressed over Nikos,” explained Dion unnecessarily. “Because he spent so much time alone with you in the gardens.” He eyed her speculatively. “You looked disquieted when you returned.”

Not so much shaken as stirred, thought Chelsea with assumed flippancy.

“Your cousin’s an intimidating man,” she said. “Difficult to relax with.”

“Yet you asked him to accompany you?”

“A spur-of-the-moment idea because I couldn’t think of anything else to say,” she improvised, not about to acknowledge that the suggestion had come from him. “I didn’t expect to find him out here on his own.”

“He wouldn’t have been alone if Florina had known.”

“I’m sure.” Chelsea twirled the stem of her wine glass between finger and thumb for a moment before lifting it to drain the last of the contents, placing it back on the table to add tentatively, “Do you think he will eventually make the move?”

“To marry her?” Dion lifted his shoulders. “With Nikos, who can tell?”

“If he really does know how she feels about him, it’s hardly right of him to let her go on hoping if he has no intention.”

The shrug came again. “You heard me say that to him in the car earlier.”

“I heard you say that she hoped to be married in the not too distant future,” Chelsea conceded. “I didn’t realise at the time that it was aimed at him.”

“Nikos would have known it”

“Then hints obviously aren’t enough. Someone should try telling him straight.”

Dion gave her a bland smile. “If you’re so concerned for my sister’s welfare, perhaps you should do it yourself.”

Already tried, already failed, she could have told him. She laughed and shook her head. “I’ll pass on that one.”

“I thought you might.” He drained his own glass, indicating the still half full bottle of wine. “You’d like some more?”

Chelsea shook her head. “Not for me, thanks. In fact, I think I’ll be off to bed, if you don’t mind?”

“I’m desolated,” he claimed, looking slightly put out. “No other girl ever treated me the way you do. Do I not make your heart beat even a little bit faster?”

“Of course you do,” she soothed, recognising wounded male vanity when she heard it. “I’d have to be blind not to find you outstandingly attractive.”

“But you’ve no desire to share your bed with me?”

“I don’t share a bed with any man,” she said firmly. “I thought we had all that clear.”

The grin was reassuring. “We do, but I’m only flesh and blood. It’s man’s nature to desire a beautiful woman. Nikos was stirred by you himself; that much I could read of his thoughts. Never has he looked at Florina the way he looked at you tonight He demanded to know earlier if the two of us were lovers already.”

Chelsea tried to keep an even tone. “And what did you tell him?”

“That we were just friends. Not that he believed it ‘Between a man and a woman,’ he said, ‘there is no such thing as just friends.’“ Dion paused, eyeing her with the same speculation he had employed before. “Do you find him attractive?”

What Nikos made her feel went far beyond mere attraction, she acknowledged, remembering those tumultuous moments in his arms.

“As I already said, I find him thoroughly intimidating,” she claimed, not without truth. “He isn’t nearly as good-looking as you.”

“He’s older, and many women prefer older men. Especially when they’re wealthy too.”

“I don’t care about money,” Chelsea returned, truthfully again. “I’ve enough of my own to get by on.”

She paused, tempted once more to let Dion in on her secret. There was a possibility that he might feel honourbound bound to give her away, but she doubted it. There was little love lost between him and Nikos.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” she said, before she could change her mind. “A confession, I suppose you’d have to call it.”

The speculation increased. “So tell me?”

“I’m a journalist.” It came out in a rush. “I should have been honest with you right away, I know, but when you asked me to come here with you it was too good an opportunity to put at risk. No one’s ever managed to interview your cousin. I’m hoping to be the first.”

Viewing the handsome, and at the moment inscrutable face, she knew a gathering despondency. “I shan’t blame you if you feel like telling me to take off,” she added. “No one likes being used.”

“No, they don’t.” The agreement was severe, the scowl even more so. “You should be ashamed!”

“I know,” she said. “I took a mean advantage.”

Dion studied her for a moment, the mock anger replaced by a certain calculation. “No more than I intended taking of you,” he said at length. “And still intend, if you prove willing.” He shook his head at the look on her face. “Not that. I asked you here for quite another purpose.”

Intrigued enough to forget her own position for the moment, Chelsea eyed him questioningly. “What purpose?”

“There’s this girl,” he said. “A daughter of one of the families allowed to share Skalos. I want her to think that you and I are an item-isn’t that the way you say it?”

“It’s the way some people say it.” She paused. “What is it you’re after, exactly?”

“I intend to show her she’s far from my only interest,” he stated with a flash of fire in his eyes.

Pride rearing its head again? Chelsea reflected.

“Why would you need me for that?” she asked. “You must have a whole list of girls you could call on.”

“Those who would like to be with me, yes.”

But none likely to agree to being used as a mere instrument, Chelsea surmised. At least it explained why Dion had been so ready to accept the limitations she had imposed on their own relationship.

“Having already told Nikos there’s nothing between us, isn’t it going to make you appear more than a bit of a liar if we start putting on an act for this girl’s benefit?” she said cautiously, thinking it wasn’t going to do her credibility much good either.

“We don’t have to put on an act,” he assured her. “It will be enough for Elini to see us together.”

Enough for what? Chelsea wondered. “I suppose I owe you something for not being honest with you from the start,” she said with some reluctance.

“If you do this for me, I’ll do everything I can to help you get what you want,” Dion promised. An innate decency prompted him to add, “Although I should warn you that there’s very little possibility of success. Nikos despises those who put themselves on public display. Nor would I advise attempting to publish anything without permission.”

“I wouldn’t do that anyway.” Chelsea could make that promise in all honesty. “I knew the odds were against me when I took this on, but it was worth a try. Still is,” she added, stiffening her resolve. “There has to be a first time for everything.”

Dion came to his feet along with her, a certain regret in his eyes as he scanned her face. “Must you really sleep alone tonight?”

“Really,” she said. She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Kalinichta, friend.”

He made no effort to stop her as she turned to go indoors, but she could sense frustration in him. Nikos was probably right, she thought drily: there was no such thing as a purely platonic relationship between a man and a woman-certainly not where the man was concerned, at any rate.

In bed, but unable to sleep, she found her thoughts dwelling on Nikos again, seeing him in her mind’s eye, features sculpted from solid rock, body taut with muscle, remembering the feel of his lips on hers, the power to crush in his hands. She hadn’t known what it was to desire a man until now, because she had never before met a man who aroused her to such an extent. For the first time she could understand that love didn’t have to be a part of the equation.

Taking account both of what he had said to her in the gardens and the expression in his eyes every time she had met his gaze during the rest of the evening, there was every reason to believe that he found her equally desirable. If she couldn’t find fulfilment in one direction, she might at least…

She broke off her thoughts at that point, shocked that she could even contemplate such a move. There was such a thing as moral fibre.

Morning brought no change in Florina’s attitude. Chelsea gave up trying after receiving monosyllabic replies to all her overtures.

The skies were clear of any vestige of cloud, the rising heat tempered by a gentle breeze blowing in from the sea. Despite enjoying a lazy morning alongside Dion on the terrace, she knew it wouldn’t take long to become bored with the easy life. She needed to be up and doing-to have something to keep both body and mind active.

The party was due to begin at four. Dion’s father still hadn’t put in an appearance when they left the house on the hour. Dion was driving, with his mother occupying the front passenger seat, leaving Chelsea to share the rear with his sister. The latter spoke not a single word during the journey, gazing steadfastly out of the window, her face set in lines that warned off any attempt to start a conversation.

Compared with the haute couture outfits both the Pandrossos women were wearing, the silky black trousers and sleeveless top Chelsea had on were definitely second-rate, but they were the only things she had with her that were even remotely suitable to the occasion. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, she told herself stoutly. Who was going to be taking any notice, anyway? This was Dimitris’s day.

Their destination lay barely a couple of miles away around the other side of the headland. Reached through olive groves, the house drew a breath of delight. Creeper-covered white walls nestled beneath a faded red roof, each tall and graceful window flanked by dark blue shutters. Big enough to house several families, Chelsea judged, but still looking like a home rather than a showplace.

They were not the first arrivals. Several cars were already parked around the gravelled area fronting the house. Dion slid an arm around Chelsea’s waist as they entered a spacious hall which appeared to go all the way through to the rear of the building, where tall double doors were folded back to reveal a magnificent, uninterrupted view of the sea.

“I thought we didn’t have to pretend anything,” she said out of the corner of her mouth.

“No more we do,” he confirmed, but he made no attempt to remove the arm, steering her in the direction of the rear exit with his mother and sister following on behind.

The doorway gave on to an iron-railed terrace, from which a flight of stone steps led down to a wide, paved courtyard brilliant with spilling plant life. There were several umbrella-shaded tables, but the majority of people gathered down there were standing around in small groups. The shouts and screams associated with young people enjoying themselves could clearly be heard, although they were nowhere to be seen.

“They’ll be down on the lower level,” Dion supplied, anticipating the question. He indicated the stone archway at the far end of the courtyard. “Through there. The gardens are built on several levels down to the shore. Nikos will have organised entertainment on one of the lawns so that they don’t injure themselves.”

He scrutinised the groups below, his grasp tensing a little as he found what he sought. “There’s Elini. The one in red.”

Chelsea followed his gaze, coming to rest on a curvaceous young figure in a bright red dress that showed off the cloud of black hair to its best advantage. No more than eighteen, she judged, studying the captivating face; something of a flirt too, if the way she was smiling up at the young man next to her was anything to go by.

Kiria Pandrossos and Florina had already descended to greet friends and neighbours. Chelsea allowed herself to be drawn down the steps, fixing a smile on her face as Dion proceeded to introduce her to people. The response appeared genial enough on the surface, though she sensed a certain reticence in some. It was only to be expected, she supposed, that not everyone would welcome a foreigner in their midst on a purely Greek occasion.

The group Elini was with Dion left till the last. Chelsea attempted to weigh up the girl’s reaction when they were introduced, but saw little sign that her presence was arousing any jealousy-assuming that was what Dion was after.

She stiffened involuntarily as someone came up behind her, knowing who it was even before he spoke.

“Come and meet my son,” said Nikos, making it sound as much like a command as an invitation. “He’ll be delighted to practise his English on you.” His smile encompassed the rest of the group, Dion included. “Signomi, parakalo.”

They were halfway across the patio before Chelsea drew breath. Nikos wasn’t touching her in any waywasn’t even all that close-yet she could feel the sunstoked heat of his body radiating through the white slacks and shirt he was wearing. Only the women had bothered to dress up, she had already noted, the men opting for comfort rather than style.

“It’s a lovely day for it,” she remarked, driven once more to say something-anything.

“For what?” Nikos queried without particular inflexion.

“A child’s birthday party. So much better if it can be held outdoors, where they can let off steam without creating havoc. I mean, no matter how good they are normally, kids tend to get over-excited on occasions like this. I can remember my mother going spare over the mess my guests used to create!” She was babbling and she knew it, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “Of course, you don’t have to cater for weather variations to quite the same extent we do back home. People even take out insurance against having an event rained off.”

“With very short odds, I imagine,” Nikos commented drily. He glanced her way, eyebrow lifting. “Do you have anything more to say on the subject?”

Chelsea pulled a rueful face. “I’m not always so garrulous.”

“But with me you have to talk in an effort to conceal what I make you feel.”

They had reached the archway. Down another flight of steps lay a walled and grassed area where what appeared at first glance to be several dozen children were whooping it up with a whole troupe of clowns. Nikos made no immediate move to descend, studying her face with unconcealed amusement.

“So assured on the surface, so timorous beneath,” he taunted. “Would you deny your response to me?”

Several suitably flippant replies raced through Chelsea’s mind, all of them discarded. The only way to deal with this situation was to answer in like vein.

“Not for a moment,” she said. “I’m sure there’s no woman alive whose heart fails to palpitate when you’re around.”

“Ah, but not all women stir me the way you do.” His voice had lowered, infinitely seductive in its caressing intonation.

“Tough!” she shot back at him, determined to keep her end up. “As I told you last night, I’m not on the market.”

“Last night was last night.” Eyes glinting in the sunlight, he indicated the steps. “Shall we go down?”

Conscious that several pairs of eyes were on them, Chelsea took the line of least resistance. At least there would be no more such talk with children in the vicinity. Time to unravel her stomach muscles and get a hold of herself.

A small, wiry figure emerged from the general throng as the two of them reached the bottom of the steps, tearing across to issue a breathless greeting. Dressed in shorts and T-shirt, as were most of the children, black hair cut short to control a riotous curl, he had a positively angelic little face, every feature exquisitely defined.

Not bothering to wait for Nikos to perform formal introductions, Chelsea gave the boy a broad smile. “Hallo, Dimitris, my name is Chelsea.” She held out the small package she had been toting around. “Happy birthday!”

Looking a little nonplussed, the boy waited for his father’s nod before accepting the present, not forgetting to say, “Efcharisto.” He showed the usual childish impatience in tearing off the wrappings, viewing the handsized LCD pinball game enclosed with puzzled eyes.

Forgetting Nikos for the moment, Chelsea squatted at the boy’s side to show him how to use the game, sparking an eager desire to try it for himself. Next moment he was racing off to show the machine to his friends, gathering a little crowd about him, all clamouring for a go.

“Thank you,” said Nikos as Chelsea straightened. “You appear to have a very good idea of what appeals to small boys.”

Big boys too, she thought with irony. The difference being that she wasn’t out to gratify the latter.

“Just a token,” she said. “Makes me feel a bit less of a gatecrasher.”

Nikos gave her a quizzical look. “You were invited.”

“Only because common courtesy made it impossible for you to do anything else.”

“True,” he agreed. “But it was no great hardship. Your presence would enhance any occasion.”

“Such a gentleman!” she muttered, and saw his mouth stretch into a slow smile.

“Not always, ylikia.”

What “ylikia” meant, Chelsea had no idea. Nor did she care to ask. She turned her attention a little desperately to the group of young women seated together around a table in a far corner. “Are they the children’s nannies?”

“Nurses, yes. One of them Dimitris’s.”

“Do you have to leave him often?” she asked. “On business, I mean.”

“No more than I must. A boy needs a father.”

“More than he needs a mother?”

The chiselled features were suddenly austere. “Is this another attempt to tell me what I should do?”

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