‘It is by no means unusual for journalists of both sexes to invade my beach, nor for young women to arrange to be stranded there.’

‘In the hope that you’ll come to the rescue?’

‘Their hopes are usually higher—or lower—than that,’ said Luke, his mouth twisting in distaste. ‘I do not,’ he added sardonically, ‘delude myself that women are attracted to me in person. Only to my money.’

‘And the power you used to amass it. Isn’t power supposed to be the ultimate aphrodisiac?’ Isobel smiled politely. ‘You Greeks have a word for everything.’

Luke inclined his head. ‘The rest of the world owes a lot to us.’

‘What happens to trespassers when you’re not here?’

‘My security deals with them. You would have been removed before I arrived.’

‘Which would have saved a lot of trouble.’ One way and another.

Luke gave her the unsettling smile again. ‘But it would also have deprived me of the pleasure of meeting you.’

THE GREEK TYCOONS

Legends are made of men like these!

Modern™ Romance is proud to introduce you to…the all new Greek tycoons

Modern-day magnates, as gorgeous and god-like as their mythological ancestors, they put the ‘man’ into romance!

This month:

THE POWER OF THE LEGENDARY GREEKby Catherine George

Lukas is the wing-heeled Perseus whose life takes a different turn when the intriguing Isobel James washes up on his beach!

The Power of The Legendary Greek

By

Catherine George

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PROLOGUE

HE STRODE along the top floor of the building towards the double doors standing open at the far end, savouring the moment as he entered the room to smiles of welcome from eleven members of the board. The twelfth member, the only woman present, speared him with eyes like shards of black jet as he gave her a formal bow. The tall windows looked out on a panoramic view of Athens, but inside the boardroom all eyes were riveted on his face as he took the only empty chair and sat, composed, to open his briefcase.

The woman at the head of the table watched his every move like a cat ready to pounce on its prey, but Luke ignored her, supremely confident of success. Due to weeks of secret negotiations held with every man in the room, the meeting today was a mere formality. Once formal greetings were concluded, Luke got to his feet to outline details of his proposal, ignoring the mounting fury of the woman as he brought his bid to a conclusion.

He scanned each face in turn.

‘All those in favour?’

Every hand but one shot up in instant approval as Melina Andreadis surged to her feet in furious dissent. Dressed in stark couture black, her signature mane of ringlets rioting in cruelly youthful contrast around her ageing face, she directed a look of such venom at her adversary he should have turned to stone where he stood.

She swept the basilisk stare over every man at the table. ‘You fools think you can turn my company over to this—this playboy?’ she shouted, incensed, and shook her fist at the man unmoved by her tirade. ‘I vote against! I refuse to allow this.’

Luke stared her down, his face blank as a Greek theatre mask to hide the triumph surging through his veins. ‘It is already done. My more than generous terms are accepted by the Board by majority vote.’

‘They cannot do this. I forbid it. This is my airline,’ she hissed, enraged.

His eyes glittered coldly as they speared hers. ‘No, kyria. It was my grandfather’s airline, never yours. And now it is mine. I, Lukas Andreadis, own it by right of purchase—and of blood.’

CHAPTER ONE

THE smudge on the horizon gradually transformed into an island which surged up, pine-clad, from the dazzling blue sea. As the charter boat grew nearer, Isobel could see tavernas with coloured awnings lining the waterfront, and houses with cinnamon roofs and icing-white walls, stacked like children’s building blocks on the slopes above. She scanned the houses as the boat nosed into the harbour, trying to locate the apartments shown in her brochure, but gave up, amused, when she saw that most of them had the blue doors and balconies she was looking for. She hoisted her backpack as the boat docked and picked up her bags with a sigh of relief. She’d arrived!

Isobel’s first priorities were lunch and directions to her holiday apartment on this picture-perfect island of Chyros. The taverna her brochure indicated for both was inviting and lively, its tables crammed inside and out with people eating, drinking and talking non-stop. She made a beeline for one of the last unoccupied tables under the awning outside, and tucked her bags close to her feet as she sat to study the menu. With a polite ‘parakalo,’ she pointed out her choice to a waiter and was quickly provided with mineral water and bread, followed by a colourful Greek salad with feta cheese. She fell on the food as though she hadn’t eaten for days; which wasn’t far off the truth. She enjoyed the arrival part of holidays a whole lot more than the travelling.

‘You enjoyed the salata?’ asked the waiter, eyeing her empty plate in approval.

Isobel smiled, delighted to hear English. ‘Very much; it was delicious.’ She produced her brochure. ‘Could you help me, please? I was told I could collect the keys to one of these apartments here.’

He nodded, smiling. ‘My father has keys. He owns the Kalypso. Wait a little and I take you there.’

Isobel shook her head, embarrassed. ‘That’s very kind of you, but I can’t interrupt your work. I can take a taxi—’

He grinned. ‘My father is Nikos, also owner of the taverna. He will be pleased if I take you. I am just home from the hospital.’

She eyed the muscular young man in surprise. ‘You’ve been ill?’

‘No. I work there. I am a doctor. But at home I help when we are busy. I am Alex Nicolaides. If you give me your name for my father, I take you to the Kalypso.’

She told him she was Isobel James and, by the time she’d downed more water and paid the bill, the helpful Alex was on hand again.

‘It is near enough to walk,’ he informed her and picked up her luggage, but Isobel hung on to the backpack. ‘I’ll take this.’

‘It has your valuables?’ he asked as they walked along the marina.

‘In a way.’ She pulled the peak of her cap down to meet her sunglasses. ‘Some of my drawing materials.’

‘You are artist, Miss James?’

Isobel smiled. ‘I try to be.’

Her escort was right. It was not far to the Kalypso holiday lets, but in the scorching sunshine it was far enough for Isobel to feel very hot and travel-weary by the time they reached a group of six white cottages scattered on the hillside on the far side of the waterfront. Offset at different angles amongst the greenery, all of them had blue-painted balconies overlooking the boats bobbing on the brilliant waters below.

Her guide checked the number on Isobel’s key tag and eyed her doubtfully. ‘Your house is last, high on hill. You will not be lonely?’

She shook her head. Far from it. The peace and semi-isolation of the cottage was exactly what she needed.

The other houses had been left quite a distance behind by the time the young man led the way up a steep path quilted with soft, slippery pine needles. He put the bags down on a veranda furnished with reclining chairs and a table, and with a flourish unlocked the door of Isobel’s holiday home.

‘Welcome to Chyros, Miss James; enjoy your stay.’

She turned from the view. ‘I’m sure I will. One last thing—where exactly is the nearest beach?’

‘Next to the harbour. But down here is one you will like better.’ He pointed to a path among the Aleppo pines behind the house. ‘Smaller, very pretty, and not many people because the path is steep.’

‘Sounds wonderful. Thank you so much for your help.’ Isobel gave him a warm smile as she said goodbye and went inside to inspect her new quarters, which consisted mainly of one big air-conditioned room with a white-tiled floor and yellow-painted walls. It was simply furnished with a skyblue sofa and curtains, two white-covered beds and a wardrobe; and through an archway at the end a small kitchen and adjoining bathroom. Everything was so scrupulously clean and peaceful it felt like sanctuary to Isobel.

Her friend Joanna, her regular holiday companion in the past before her marriage, had disapproved of Isobel’s choice and had urged her to stay at a hotel on somewhere lively like glitzy Mykonos. But Isobel had opted for quiet, idyllic Chyros, where she could paint, or do nothing at all for the entire holiday, with no demands on her time. Or her emotions.

Isobel unpacked, took a quick shower and, cool in halter neck and shorts, went outside on the balcony. She sent a text to Joanna to report safe arrival and sat down with her guidebook, hair spread out on a towel over her shoulders to dry a little in the warm air before she set about taming it. A fan of Greek mythology from the time she could first read, she checked the location of the island of Serifos, where legend said Perseus and his mother Danae had been washed ashore in a chest set adrift on the sea, but decided the journey there could wait until she’d recovered from this one.

Isobel sat back, content to do nothing at all for a while, but in the end balanced a pad on her knee as usual and began to sketch the boats in the harbour below. Absorbed, she went on working until the light began to fade and sat up, yawning, too tired to go back down to the taverna for supper. Instead, she would eat bread, cheese and tomatoes from the starter pack of supplies provided with the cottage, then, with her iPod and a book for company, she would go early to bed. Tomorrow, as Scarlett O’Hara said, was another day.

Isobel lingered on the veranda as lights came on in the boats far below, and in the houses climbing the slopes above them. Music and cooking smells came drifting up on the night air as she leaned back in her chair to watch the stars appearing like diamonds strung across the dark velvet sky. Contrary to Joanna’s worried forecast, she felt peaceful rather than lonely. For the first time in weeks she was free of the dark cloud she had been unable to shake off, no matter how hard she worked. And there had to be something really special in the air here, because she felt sleepy, even this early. It would be no hardship to go to bed.

She woke early next morning, triumphant to find she’d not only fallen asleep easily, but passed the entire night without a bad dream to jolt her awake in the small hours.

After breakfast Isobel dressed in jeans and T-shirt over a pink bikini, pulled her hair through the back of a blue baseball cap and set out in the cool morning air to find her way back down to the harbour. She strolled past the boats on the waterfront and then turned up towards the town square, returning friendly smiles from ladies in black and from old men already seated outside their doors. She found a little kiosk-type corner shop already open and bought postcards, bread, mineral water and luscious grapes, then retraced her route back to the cottage. Finally, armed with sunglasses and a few basic necessities in her backpack, Isobel set off on the path recommended by Alex Nicolaides.

He was right. It was steep enough to make the descent downright scary in places. But the beach, deserted and utterly beautiful, was well worth the effort when she finally arrived, panting, on the bone-white shingle edging the crescent of sand. Isobel gazed, entranced, itching for paint to capture the way the sea shaded in jewel colours from pale peridot-green, through aquamarine and turquoise into a deep celestial blue. Greenery grew surprisingly close to the water’s edge, with tamarisk and something she thought might be juniper among the pines and aromatic maquis-type vegetation. She sighed, frustrated, as a salt breeze rustled the pines. The scene cried out for watercolour. But getting the necessary materials down that path would be tricky. For now she would settle for just sketching it. Isobel chose the nearest rock formation as a base, took off her jeans and shirt, slathered herself in suncream, then pulled the peak of her cap down low, settled herself on a towel with her backpack to cushion her against the rock and began to draw.

No one climbed down the path to join her, but after an hour or so of perfect peace, small boats began discharging passengers at intervals and soon there were people sunbathing and picnicking, and children playing ball, shrieking joyfully as they ran in and out of the sea. So much for peace and quiet. Smiling philosophically, Isobel braced herself for the climb up the cliff to go in search of an early lunch. But while she gathered up her belongings she spotted a gap in the rocks on the far side of the beach and couldn’t resist strolling over to investigate. On closer inspection, the fissure was very narrow and dark with overhanging shrubbery. But, by taking off her backpack and hugging it to her chest, she could just manage to squeeze along the rocky passage, which narrowed so sharply at one point Isobel almost gave up. But when the passage widened again curiosity propelled her forward, her sneakers slipping slightly on the wet rock as she emerged at last into a much smaller cove sheltered by high, steep cliffs. With not a soul in sight.

Isobel surveyed her deserted paradise in delight. She would make do with grapes and water for lunch, right here. She stripped down to her bikini again and settled under the overhang of a rock formation shaped so much like a rampant lion she promised herself to sketch it later. She drank some water, nibbled on her grapes, then took off her cap and moved further into the shade of the rock to catnap.

But her newfound peace was soon shattered by the roar of some kind of engine. Basic survival instinct sent Isobel scrambling up on to the steep rock as a man on a Jet Ski shot straight towards her. At the very last minute he veered away, laughing his head off as he went speeding out to sea again. Heart hammering, Isobel cursed the idiot volubly, so furious she lost her footing as she turned to jump down and flailed wildly to avoid falling, her scream cut off as her head met rock with a sickening crack that turned the world black.

Lukas Andreadis was looking forward to a swim followed by a good dinner and an entire evening with no discussion of takeovers, air travel, shipping, or any other form of transport. After working towards it all his adult life, he would celebrate his triumphant defeat of Melina Andreadis alone, in the place he loved best. He began to relax as the helicopter flew over familiar blue waters. When the island finally came into view his spirits rose as usual at the mere sight of Chyros, which stood for peace and privacy in a life which held precious little of either back in Athens. But, as he took the helicopter low on its descent to the villa, Luke cursed in angry frustration. A naked female was sunbathing on his private beach. Again.

He set the machine down on the helipad at the back of the house, switched off the engine and jumped out, crouching low until he was free of the rotating blades. He hurried past the pool to make for the trees lining the cliff edge, and scowled down at the figure lying motionless far below. Why, in the name of all the gods, couldn’t they leave him alone? He turned as his faithful Spiro came rushing to greet him, and exchanged affectionate greetings before pointing down at the beach.

‘Someone down in the cove again. Where the devil is Milos?’

‘He needed time off. Shall I take the boat?’

‘No; leave it to me.’ Luke collected his bags and strode past the palms and oleanders in the lush garden. Instead of going through his usual ritual of breathing in the peace and welcome of his retreat, he raced up the curving staircase, threw off his clothes, and pulled on shorts and T-shirt, thrust bare feet into deck shoes, smiling in reassurance at Spiro as the man began to unpack. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t hurt the woman.’

‘I know that!’ retorted the man, with the familiarity of one who’d known—and loved—his employer from birth. ‘Wear your dark glasses—and don’t drive too fast.’

Luke Andreadis collected two sets of keys, stopped in the kitchen for an affectionate greeting with Eleni, Spiro’s wife, then checked again from the cliff edge, his face grim when he saw the prone figure still frying down on the beach. The stupid woman was risking a bad case of sunstroke at the very least—but not for long.

He ran back through the garden, vaulted into the jeep parked behind the villa and drove up the cypress-lined drive and out on to the road, taking the twists and turns of the tortuous descent at a speed which would have given Spiro a heart attack. Forced to slow down as he reached the town, Luke drove more circumspectly through the main square and on past the tavernas and coffee shops on the waterfront, then parked well out of sight at his secluded private mooring at the far end. He leapt onto the deck of the Athena, cast off and switched on the engine and, once clear of the marina, sped across the water past the crowded beach and round the cliffs to his private cove. He moored the boat at a jetty hidden among the rocks, his eyes smouldering. The woman was still there.

‘You’re trespassing,’ he bellowed, storming across the shingle. But as he reached her he realised that the woman was unconscious. Sprawled at an awkward angle, she lay face down and utterly still, a mass of long fair curls streaming over her shoulders. He reached up to turn her face towards him, but dropped his hand when she opened pain-filled blue eyes which darkened in terror at the look of menace on the face close to hers.

‘You had a fall. What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

‘Sorry—don’t understand,’ she said faintly, shrinking from him, then stifled a moan, her face screwed up in pain as she tried to back away.

‘You fell. Your head is injured,’ he said in English, cursing silently as her move brought blood trickling from a gash on her temple.

‘Ankle, too.’ She swallowed painfully. ‘I slipped when you came roaring out of the sea at me on that Jet Ski—’

‘Jet Ski?’ Luke glared at her. ‘You are delirious from your fall, kyria. I do not own such a thing. I came by boat.’ Scowling, he examined the foot wedged tightly in a crack in the rock. ‘I must pull it out. But it will hurt.’

She clenched her jaw stoically and turned her head away.

Luke untied the laces on the blue sneaker but, as he tried to ease the foot out of it, she gasped in pain, beads of sweat rolling down her face.

‘Please. Just pull!’

He obliged, but as the foot came free the girl passed out cold again. With a savage curse he yanked his phone out of his back pocket. ‘Spiro, the woman’s had an accident. She’s unconscious. The clinic will be shut at this hour so I’ll have to bring her up to the house.’ He cut off Spiro’s exclamation. ‘Find Dr Riga, please. Tell him it’s urgent.’

Luke decided against trying to revive the girl. Better she stayed out of it while he manhandled her. Cursing because she was virtually naked except for scraps of pink fabric, he found a towel nearby and shook it free of sand to drape over the girl. He searched in a backpack lying at the foot of the rock, his lip curling as he found a notebook and pencils. But otherwise there was only a small purse with some currency, and a paperback novel in English. No identity. He hooked his arms into the straps but, as he bent to pick her up, her eyes flew open, wild with fear again.

‘You are perfectly safe,’ he snapped impatiently. ‘I shall carry you to my boat.’

Luke was as careful as possible as he carried his burden across the narrow beach, but she was unconscious again by the time he deposited her in the well of the boat. In a black mood, he cast off and set off across the water on the short trip back to moor the boat at the marina, thankful, not for the first time, that his berth was well away from the tavernas. He secured the boat, then, praying she hadn’t fractured her skull, Luke picked up his unconscious passenger who, though slender, was a dead weight. He braced himself, stepped up onto the quay and buckled her in the passenger seat of the Cherokee. Annoyed because he was breathing hard, he tucked the towel around her, shrugged off the backpack and drove back to the villa.

Spiro and Eleni hurried out to meet him, followed by Milos, the gardener, all of them exclaiming volubly over his unconscious passenger.

‘My apologies, kyrie,’ said Milos remorsefully. ‘My mother needed me. What happened to the lady?’

‘She fell on the rocks,’ Luke growled, jumping out.

‘Dr Riga is out on a call,’ reported Spiro, looking worried.

Luke swallowed a curse. ‘Will he be long?’

‘Alex Nicolaides is home, kyrie. I saw him this morning. I could go down and fetch him,’ Milos suggested.

Luke nodded grimly as he checked the girl’s pulse. ‘Get him here as fast as you can, please.’

‘The poor young lady!’ Eleni bent to mop the blood from the unconscious girl’s temple as Milos rushed off. ‘She has hurt her pretty face.’

‘Let me help carry her upstairs,’ offered Spiro, but Luke shook his head.

‘I can manage. But I need you with me, please, Eleni.’ As he released the safety belt the girl came round and struggled to sit upright, shrinking away from him in such terror that Luke’s patience suddenly ran out.

‘You are not in danger,’ he snapped. ‘I have brought you to my house.’

‘No, really—I must get back to my cottage,’ Isobel protested, horrified. Before he could stop her, she slid from the car, then gasped in agony as she put her weight on her injured ankle.

With a face like thunder, Luke scooped her up, ignoring Eleni’s protests when the towel was left behind. He strode up the curving staircase to a large airy bedroom and deposited his unwilling burden in a chair. ‘I will leave you with my housekeeper,’ he panted and stalked out of the room.

The woman smiled sympathetically. ‘I am Eleni. I speak a little English, but not good.’ She took the girl’s arm to help her over to the inviting white bed, but Isobel shook her head, a move she deeply regretted when the pain struck so hard the room swam before her eyes.

‘Sick,’ she gasped, clapping her hand to her mouth, and Eleni acted like lightning to help her hop into the adjoining bathroom. After a painful, humiliating episode, Isobel gasped her thanks and eventually gave in to Eleni’s insistence that she remove the bikini, which had suffered badly during the day’s various adventures. By this time totally beyond embarrassment, Isobel submitted to Eleni’s ministrations as the woman helped her sponge her face and hot, aching body, then wrapped her in a white towelling robe.

‘Thank—you—so—much,’ said Isobel, teeth chattering in reaction as the woman helped her lie down against banked snowy pillows on the bed.

Eleni picked up the bikini. ‘I wash this. You rest,’ she said firmly and went out, closing the door behind her.

The session in the bathroom had rocketed Isobel’s headache to hammer-blow dimensions, which almost blotted out the pain of her ankle but only accentuated her raging thirst as she tried to make sense of her accident. She remembered some idiot on a Jet Ski coming straight at the beach from the sea, then hitting her head and nothing else until she opened her eyes on the angry, handsome face of a stranger and assumed he was the culprit. Which had infuriated him. She tensed as the door opened and her hostile rescuer approached the bed.

‘How do you feel?’ he asked curtly.

‘Not too well.’ She swallowed. ‘I’m so sorry to be a nuisance, but could I possibly have some water?’

Cursing silently for not thinking of it first, Luke nodded stiffly. ‘Of course.’

Isobel watched him as he strode out of the room. He was tall, with a fabulous physique, and in a better mood would be very good-looking. Not that she was concerned with his hostility, or with anything else other than how in the world she was going to get herself out of here—wherever ‘here’ was—and get back to the little cottage she’d paid good money for. And one day of her holiday was already ruined. Tears leaked out of her eyes at the thought, but she knuckled them away, impatient with self-pity as her host returned with her backpack, followed by Eleni with a tray. The woman poured water into a glass and handed it to Isobel, then, at a look from her employer, went from the room, leaving the door wide open.

‘Eleni has looked after my family for years,’ he stated.

Desperate to gulp the water down, Isobel forced herself to sip cautiously. ‘She’s very kind.’

‘I am not?’

‘Of course.’ Her face grew even hotter. ‘I’m extremely grateful to you. And very embarrassed for causing so much trouble.’

Luke shrugged negligently. ‘Tell me your name.’

‘Isobel James.’ She drank the rest of the water and held the cold glass to her cheek, eyeing him questioningly. ‘And you are?’

He laughed scornfully. ‘You do not know?’

She stiffened. ‘I’m afraid not. I only arrived on the island yesterday.’

His dark eyes narrowed to a cynical glitter. ‘So why were you on my beach? You paid someone to take you there by boat?’

Isobel’s knuckles clenched on the glass. ‘No. I went down the path nearest the cottage to the beach adjoining yours. But by mid-morning it was crowded, so when I spotted the gap in the rocks I went to explore.’

‘That way is blocked!’

‘Not quite. I managed to squeeze through.’

‘You were so determined to invade my privacy?’ His eyes flamed with distaste, which touched Isobel on the raw.

‘Certainly not,’ she snapped. ‘I had no idea it was a private beach, nor who it belonged to. I apologise—humbly—for trespassing. And now, if you’ll be kind enough to call a taxi, I’ll get dressed and leave.’

He raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘And how do you propose to walk?’

‘I’ll manage,’ she snapped, praying she was right.

Eleni knocked at the open door and ushered in a familiar figure armed with a medical bag. The two men embraced each other and exchanged greetings before Alex Nicolaides moved to the bed, his eyes wide in consternation as he recognised his patient. ‘Miss James! What happened?’ He turned to her glowering rescuer, obviously asking him the same question in his own language.

‘The lady,’ Luke informed him in very deliberate English, ‘was trespassing on my private beach when she suffered a fall. She was unconscious when I found her. Thank you for coming, Doctor. Please examine her injuries and tell me what must be done for her.’

‘I need Eleni to stay, please,’ said Isobel urgently.

Luke motioned the woman to the bed, but stayed at the foot of it, obviously determined to monitor the proceedings.

Eleni patted Isobel’s hand comfortingly as Alex bent over her.

‘This is very bad luck for you, Miss James,’ he said gently.

His sympathy was so genuine tears welled in Isobel’s eyes, burning as they trickled down her flushed cheeks. Eleni produced tissues to dry the patient’s face so Alex could examine the wound, then he shone a torch in her eyes, held up a finger and told her to follow it with each eye in turn.

‘You have vomited?’

‘Yes.’

‘Does your head hurt very badly?’

‘Yes.’

‘Examine her foot; she hurt that, also,’ Luke said, sounding bored.

Alex frowned as he eyed the swollen ankle. ‘It is necessary to examine for fracture,’ he told Isobel. ‘I will be quick.’

‘Careful,’ warned Luke. ‘She faints a lot.’

A lot? Until today, she’d never fainted before in her life! Isobel clenched her teeth, determined not to faint again as Alex probed gently, though at one point it was a near thing.

‘The ankle is badly sprained only, not broken, Miss James,’ Alex assured her. ‘I will apply temporary bandage, then report to Dr Riga, who will take X-rays to confirm. I will also put a dressing on your face, and give you mild painkillers. Take with much fluid.’

‘Thank you.’ She tried to relax as he strapped her ankle. ‘Did you come here in a car, Doctor?’

He looked up in surprise. ‘No, on back of Milos’s motorbike. Why?’

‘I was hoping for a lift back to the cottage,’ she said, disappointed, and eyed him in appeal. ‘Would you be kind enough to arrange a taxi for me?’

Alex shot a startled look at Luke, who showed his teeth in a cold smile.

‘Miss James may stay here as long as she wishes.’

Not one second longer, if she could help it. ‘How kind,’ said Isobel frostily. ‘But I wouldn’t dream of inconveniencing you. So will you sort out a taxi for me, Doctor?’

Alex looked so uncomfortable Luke took pity on him.

‘I will drive you myself, Miss James,’ he said impatiently. ‘But only when you can manage alone. Demonstrate this for us.’

Isobel summoned every scrap of willpower she possessed to sit up straight. She paused for breath, swivelled round until she could put her good foot on the floor and then took the hand Eleni held out to help her as she struggled to stand. ‘You see?’ she said through her teeth. ‘If you gentlemen will kindly leave, I’ll get dressed.’

‘Miss James, this is not a good idea,’ said Alex, plainly expecting her to collapse in a heap at any second.

‘I must try. The cottage is all on one floor. I have food there, so if Mr—’

She glanced at her host. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know your name.’

‘No?’ He raised an eyebrow in scornful disbelief. ‘I am Lukas Andreadis.’

‘How do you do?’ She turned to Alex. ‘If Mr Andreadis will drive me, I’ll be just fine.’ She swallowed hard on rising nausea and wavered slightly, her hand tightening on Eleni’s.

Luke shook his head. ‘I will drive you when you are fine, Miss James, but that is most obviously not today. Put her back, Eleni.’

‘That is best, Luke,’ said Alex, relieved.

Isobel gave up. She let Eleni make her comfortable, then turned her face into the pillows in despair. Her longed-for odyssey had come to a grinding halt before it had even started. She ignored the hushed interchange in their own tongue between the men, wishing they’d just go away and leave her to wallow alone in her misery.

‘Miss James,’ said Alex, coming back to the bed.

Isobel opened her eyes. ‘Yes?’

‘If you allow me to have your keys, I will take my sister to your house to pack for you.’

‘How kind,’ she said unsteadily. ‘The keys are in my backpack.’

‘I am most happy to do this, but it was Luke’s idea,’ he added.

She turned unsmiling eyes on her host. ‘Then thank you, too, Mr Andreadis.’

‘Here in Greece we believe in helping travellers,’ he informed her indifferently.

‘Unless they invade your beach.’

‘True.’ He unbent enough to smile faintly. ‘Come, then, Alex. I will drive you.’

Eleni closed the door behind them, poured iced fruit juice into a glass and gave Isobel two of the tablets. ‘Drink, kyria,’ she said firmly.

Isobel obediently swallowed the painkillers and drank some of the juice. ‘Efcharisto, Eleni.’ She managed a smile. ‘But please call me Isobel’

Eleni repeated the name shyly, put the glass on the table, then opened the carton of yoghurt.

Isobel eyed it in alarm. ‘I’m so sorry, but I really can’t eat anything right now.’

‘Ochee, not for eating. For your face. It is burning, ne?’

‘Oh, yes,’ sighed Isobel, and submitted to an unexpected beauty treatment. Eleni smoothed the blessedly cool, creamy yoghurt over her face, left it there until it warmed up, then gently cleaned it off with tissues.

‘I will do it more later,’ she promised, ‘but now you sleep, Isobel.’ She smiled and went from the room, leaving the door ajar.

Eventually the pills took enough edge off her aches and pains to let Isobel take interest in her surroundings. Filmy white curtains stirred at glass doors which led on to a balcony, and the room itself was furnished with the type of elegant simplicity that cost the earth. She groaned in sudden despair. She’d come all this way to Chyros to regain her normal perspective on life, yet one day into her holiday and here she was, stranded in a wealthy—and hugely unfriendly—stranger’s house, with no way of escaping until she was more mobile. But why had the man been so sure she’d known who he was? And felt so ticked off about it, too. Perhaps he was some kind of celebrity here in Greece. Her mouth twisted. He needn’t worry where she was concerned. He was good-looking enough in a forceful kind of way, but his personality was so horribly overbearing it cancelled out any attraction he might have had for her as a man…

When Isobel opened her eyes again they widened when she found another stranger looking down at her.

‘Dr Riga, Isobel,’ said Eleni, hurrying to help her to sit up.

The large, bespectacled man gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Kalispera. How do you feel?’ he asked in heavily accented English, and took her pulse.

‘Not too well,’ she admitted.

He nodded, his eyes so sympathetic her own filled with tears again.

‘I’m so sorry, Doctor,’ she said huskily, and took the tissue Eleni had ready.

‘You suffer much pain; you are also in shock and alone in a strange country, Miss James. Tears are natural,’ he assured her. ‘I must take X-ray at my clinic. Eleni will help you dress.’ He smiled reassuringly and went from the room.

‘Eleni,’ said Isobel urgently, ‘will you help me wash again? Did Mr Andreadis bring my clothes?’

The woman nodded and helped Isobel out of the bed, supporting her as she hopped awkwardly to the bathroom. ‘I used iron,’ she said severely. ‘Alyssa Nicolaides packed too quick.’

‘You’re an angel, thank you, Eleni.’ Isobel tried to hurry. ‘I mustn’t keep the doctor waiting.’

Eleni shook her head. ‘He is gone. Kyrie Luke will drive you. Not rush,’ she warned.

After the hurried bathroom session Isobel felt relatively presentable in a white denim skirt and blue T-shirt, though the effect was marred by wearing only one sandal. Otherwise she felt horribly queasy still, and her head was pounding like a war drum. Eleni helped her to the stool in front of the dressing table, anointed her face with more yoghurt, then wiped it away and handed Isobel her zippered travel pack. Resigned to see faint bruising under her eye, Isobel used a comb gingerly, decided against lip gloss and smiled wanly at Eleni.

‘I’m ready.’

The woman nodded. ‘I tell him.’

Isobel would have given a lot to walk downstairs on her own two feet when Luke Andreadis appeared in the doorway in a crisp white shirt and jeans which were obviously custom made by their fit.

‘How do you feel now?’ he asked, his eyes on the bright hair curling loosely on her shoulders.

‘Cleaner.’

‘But you are still in pain.’ ‘Yes.’

He picked her up with exaggerated care. ‘I will strive not to cause you more.’

‘Likewise, Mr Andreadis,’ she returned, holding herself rigid, face averted, as he carried her from the room.

He frowned. ‘Likewise?’

‘Carrying me around can’t be doing your back much good.’

He laughed sardonically as he descended the curving staircase into a marble-floored hall with an alcove containing a striking half-size statue of Perseus brandishing the severed head of the gorgon Medusa. ‘I will survive. You are not heavy.’

‘As soon as humanly possible, I’ll get back to the cottage.’

‘When Dr Riga says you are fit to do so,’ he said dismissively and carried her through a large plant-filled conservatory to put her in the passenger seat of the Cherokee Jeep parked at the back of the villa. Which, now she had attention to spare for it, Isobel could see was a dream of a house.

‘You have a beautiful home,’ she said politely as Luke got in beside her.

‘Efcharisto. I bought it years ago, and altered it to suit my taste. I look on it—and the beach that came with it—as my private retreat.’

‘Is that why you were so furious when you found me down there?’

He lifted a shoulder. ‘Trespassers are a common occurrence.’

She clenched her teeth. ‘Once again, I apologise.’

It was no surprise to find that Luke Andreadis drove with panache. They swerved at speed round one dizzying bend after another on the tortuous descent until at last Isobel had to beg him to stop.

Luke came to a screaming halt, raced round the Jeep and hauled her out, then, to her hideous embarrassment, supported her as she retched miserably over a clump of bushes at the roadside.

‘Can you continue now?’ he demanded as she straightened.

‘Yes,’ she gasped, sending up a prayer that she was right.

He put her back in the Jeep and handed her bag over. ‘I will drive slowly the rest of the way,’ he said stiffly.

‘Thank you,’ she managed, the pain in her head now so unbearable again she could hardly speak.

The doctor hurried out of the modern clinic building as they arrived, his face anxious.

‘You are late. I was worried.’

‘We had to stop on the way because Miss James was sick,’ Luke informed him. ‘I am so used to the road I drove too fast.’

‘Ah, poor child. Bring her in, Lukas. My radiologist is waiting, and also Nurse Pappas with a wheelchair.’

Luke lifted Isobel out of the car to transfer her to the wheelchair, his mouth tightening as he felt her shrink from him. ‘You will obviously prefer this.’

You bet, thought Isobel, as the friendly nurse wheeled her away. Later, after X-rays and a trying episode while her wound was thoroughly cleaned and dressed again, she was given painkillers and water, then wheeled back to the reception area.

‘There is no fracture to the skull or the ankle, but you are suffering from mild concussion,’ Dr Riga reported and smiled encouragingly at Isobel. ‘You need light nourishment and much rest. I will give you more medication for the headache, but take no more until bedtime. And Nurse Pappas has a crutch for you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Isobel gratefully, smiling at both of them.

‘Are you ready?’ Luke tossed the crutch in the back of the Jeep, then installed Isobel in the passenger seat. His face was so grim as he took the wheel; the drive back to the villa was accomplished in silence so tense until Isobel felt obliged, at last, to break it.

‘I’m very grateful for all your help, Mr Andreadis,’ she said formally. ‘Would you give me Dr Riga’s bill, please?’

‘I have settled it,’ he said dismissively.

‘Then I will pay you,’ she persisted.

Luke Andreadis, accustomed to women who expected him to foot bills far more expensive than Dr Riga’s, shot her a scathing look. ‘I require no money from you, Miss James.’

Isobel had no energy to argue, even though the mere thought of owing this man anything at all acted like fire on her skin—which was hot enough already.

Once back at his house, Luke lifted Isobel out, then handed her the crutch. ‘Welcome back to the Villa Medusa,’ he said formally. ‘You can manage with this?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Even if it killed her. But, by the time they made it through the conservatory, Isobel felt too exhausted to protest when Luke handed Spiro the crutch and picked her up to carry her upstairs.

CHAPTER TWO

ELENI and Spiro hurried behind, listening closely as Luke reported in their own language on Dr Riga’s treatment.

‘Eleni asked when you last ate,’ he reported, letting Isobel down in the armchair.

‘This morning on your beach,’ she gasped. No point in mentioning that grapes had been the only thing on the menu. Nor that she’d parted with them and everything else in her system in the guest bathroom, with an encore on the way down to the clinic.

‘I bring food to you very soon, Isobel,’ promised Eleni.

Relieved to have her catering arrangements decided for her, Isobel smiled wearily. ‘Efcharisto, Eleni. But I’m not at all hungry.’

Luke took the crutch from Spiro and propped it against Isobel’s chair. ‘You have everything you need?’

Heartily sick of being heaved around by a man who made it so plain it was a tiresome chore, Isobel made no attempt at a polite smile. ‘Yes. Thank you. I shan’t trouble you again.’

Luke’s smile set her teeth on edge. ‘You were trouble from the moment I first saw you, on my flight over the beach.’

‘Flight?’

‘In my helicopter. It is my habit to scan the beach as I come in to land.’

‘To scope out trespassers!’ She looked him in the eye—or as well as she could with one of her own half closed. ‘At the risk of boring you, I apologise once again for my intrusion, Mr Andreadis.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘Lord knows, I suffered such swift retribution I’ll never do it again.’

‘Even though you failed in your aim?’

Isobel frowned, her thought processes fighting a losing battle with her headache. ‘I don’t understand.’

Luke eyed the motionless Spiro, who obviously intended standing his ground until his employer was ready to leave. ‘With your permission, Miss James,’ continued Luke, ‘I will return after you have eaten. I wish to talk to you.’

Isobel inclined her sore head gingerly. As if she could say no!

Alone, she sagged for a moment in relief, then pulled herself together and tried putting her crutch through its paces. To her intense satisfaction she found that, headache and sprained ankle or not, she was now mobile, if not agile. Hallelujah! After the talk with the hostile Mr Andreadis, a lift back to the cottage was all the help she would need from him.

When Eleni came in, followed by Spiro with a tray, Isobel smiled persuasively and pointed to the balcony doors. ‘Could I eat out there, please?’

‘It is dark,’ said the woman, astonished.

‘Not with the stars and the light from the lamps in here.’

‘Whatever you wish, kyria,’ said Spiro, and took the tray out to the small table on the balcony. He rearranged the chairs, opened the other door to make it easier for her and bowed to her, smiling.

‘Efcharisto, Spiro,’ said Isobel gratefully and limped out onto the balcony to sit at the table, smiling in such triumph at Eleni as she parked the crutch that the woman laughed and patted her shoulder.

‘You are better. Good, good. Now, eat.’ She took a silver cover from an inviting omelette and left Isobel to her solitary meal.

To her surprise, Isobel’s taste buds sprang to life with the first mouthful. Once it seemed her stomach meant to behave, she ate all the omelette and some of the salad and bread that came with it, finding that eating alone, with only the stars for company, did wonders for her appetite. Isobel drank some water and then sat back to gaze out over the garden, her eyes fixed in longing on the floodlit pool. She’d love a swim in it before she went back to her cottage. But fond hope of that with Mr Congeniality on the premises.

A knock on the bedroom door brought her out of her reverie. She picked up the crutch and went slowly into the room, smiling at Eleni. ‘It was a lovely supper. I’ve taken some pills and I feel much better now.’

‘Good, good,’ said the woman, beaming. ‘I bring more yoghurt for face. Use before bed. I help you to bathroom now?’

‘No, thank you. I can manage myself.’

The woman frowned. ‘Then I come back later when time to sleep.’

‘All right, Eleni,’ sighed Isobel, knowing when she was beaten. ‘Before you go, could you put the big chair near the veranda doors? Efcharistopoli.’

Isobel eyed her reflection critically in the large bathroom mirror. Her eye was ringed with interesting shades of plum, but at least it was now almost open again, and her sunburn had toned down, thanks to Eleni’s yoghurt. Pleased with her new mobility, Isobel limped back into the room to sit in the big, comfortable chair, content just to look out into the night while she waited for her visitor.

‘Come in,’ she called later, in answer to the expected knock.

Luke strolled in, his eyes on her face. ‘Kalispera. You look better. Eleni tells me you ate most of your supper.’

‘Yes. It was delicious.’ Isobel sat still and tense, wondering what he wanted to talk about.

‘May I sit down?’

‘Of course.’

Luke drew the dressing table stool nearer Isobel and stood by it for a moment. ‘Shall I fetch your notebook? Since you suffered so much to achieve it, I have decided to grant your interview.’

Isobel stared at him blankly. ‘Interview?’

‘I collected your belongings on the beach,’ he informed her. ‘There was a notebook, also several pencils in your bag. Do you deny that you are a journalist, Miss James?’

Isobel took in a deep calming breath, then took the pad from the backpack on the floor beside her and handed it over.

‘Look for yourself.’

Luke’s mouth tightened as he turned over pages of drawings. ‘What are these?’

‘I would have thought that’s obvious, Mr Andreadis. I drew the boats from the veranda of the cottage when I first arrived, and the other sketch this morning on the beach next to yours. Ideally, I would have used watercolour, but I had no way of getting the materials down such a steep path.’ Isobel looked at him coldly. ‘Other people take holiday snaps. I make sketches.’

‘Which,’ he said slowly, leafing through them again, ‘are most accomplished.’

‘Thank you.’

Luke ran a hand through his thick curls, then looked up, surveying her in silence for so long that Isobel grew restive. ‘It is now I who must make apology,’ he said at last, as though the words were drawn out of him with pincers.

‘Accepted.’ She eyed him curiously. ‘You dislike journalists and guard your privacy very fiercely, Mr Andreadis, so are you some kind of celebrity here in Greece?’

He shook his head. ‘No, just a successful businessman, Miss James. I am in shipping, but also much in the news lately, due to a successful takeover of a private airline.’ His mouth turned down. ‘And I have no wife. This also attracts interest from the press.’

‘About whether you’re gay?’ she said, secretly delighted by the look of outrage on his face.

‘Ochee! I may lack a wife, but it is common knowledge that I enjoy the company of women. Did you think I was gay?’ he demanded.

‘Not easy to tell on such brief acquaintance.’

His eyes narrowed to a glitter, which put her on the alert. ‘Even though we have been in enforced physical contact from the first moment of our meeting?’

Isobel’s face heated. ‘I wasn’t conscious for most of it. And, now that I am, no further contact is necessary. Not,’ she added hastily, ‘that I’m ungrateful for your help.’

He shrugged. ‘I had no choice but to give it, Miss James.’

She eyed him in disdain. ‘You made that very clear—but I’m grateful just the same.’

His eyes softened. ‘It has been a bad start to your holiday.’

‘It has indeed.’ She pushed her hair away from her throbbing forehead. ‘So, if you can spare the time to drive me to my cottage tomorrow to get on with it, I’d be very grateful, Mr Andreadis.’

‘You cannot manage alone there yet,’ he said dismissively.

‘I most certainly can. There is absolutely no difference between getting myself around this room and doing the same at the cottage.’

‘And how will you feed yourself?’

She’d been prepared for that. ‘If Eleni will buy food for me before I go, I’ll manage very well until I can walk properly again. My ankle feels better already,’ she lied. ‘In a day or so I’ll be back to normal.’

He eyed her in silence for a moment. ‘Before you make your escape from the Villa Medusa, please indulge my curiosity. Tell me something about yourself. From your drawings, your interest obviously lies in art, Miss James.’

‘Yes. I have a Fine Art Degree.’

‘You teach?’

‘No. I manage an art gallery and live in the flat over it as part of a deal which includes putting my work on sale at the gallery, as well as the paintings I sell privately.’

‘You live near your family?’

Isobel looked down at the hands she’d folded in her lap. ‘No. My wonderful grandparents brought me up, but they’re dead now.’

Luke leaned forward slightly. ‘And your parents?’

‘I never knew them. They were killed in a motorway pileup in fog when I was a baby.’

‘That is a sad story,’ he said sombrely. ‘But you were fortunate to have grandparents who cared for you.’

‘True. They were the only parents I ever knew, and I couldn’t have wished for better. But, though I’m short on family, I’m blessed with very good friends,’ said Isobel, trying to ignore her headache. ‘In the past my holidays were spent with one of them but, since her marriage a couple of years ago, I travel alone.’

Luke got up. ‘Have you informed this friend of your accident?’

‘I saw no point in worrying her. I’ll be fine in a day or two.’

‘But you are not fine now. Your headache is bad again, yes?’ ‘Afraid so,’ she admitted.

He looked down at her, frowning. ‘I shall send Eleni to help you to bed.’ He held up a peremptory hand. ‘Yes, I know you can manage without her, but she insisted. Is there anything you would like her to bring you?’

Isobel smiled hopefully. ‘I would really love some tea.’

‘Of course. You shall have it immediately. Kalmychta—goodnight, Miss James.’

‘Goodnight, Mr Andreadis.’

Isobel was very thoughtful after he’d gone, wondering why he’d asked so many questions. It made her doubly wary of Lukas Andreadis, mainly because her current opinion of his sex was at an all-time low. But, looked at objectively, from an artistic point of view he was a formidable specimen, with the physique and sculpted features of the Greek statues she’d studied in college. Though more like the Renaissance muscular versions than the androgynous Apollo Belvedere of Ancient Greece. Similar curls, maybe, but Luke Andreadis was very obviously all male, his impressive build a definite plus when it came to carrying her about. His one concession to vanity seemed to be the hair he grew long enough to brush his collar. But she would have expected those curls of his to be black, like his eyes. Instead, they were bronze with lighter streaks, courtesy of the sun. Her mouth tightened. Goodlooking he might be, but when she’d first seen him, down on his precious private beach, he’d been so menacing he’d frightened her to death.

Isobel took more painkillers with the tea Eleni brought her, then submitted to her yoghurt beauty treatment and let the kind little woman help her to bed. Isobel thanked Eleni warmly, wished her goodnight, and then settled down against banked pillows and, though fully expecting to lie awake for hours with her aches and pains for company, eventually drifted off into healing, dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER THREE

LUKE ANDREADIS asked Eleni to take tea up to their guest, then went to his room, but felt too restless for sleep. He made for his balcony with a glass of brandy and leaned against the rail, breathing in the heady nocturnal scents of the garden. After the punishing campaign of the past few weeks he felt anti-climactic, already missing the adrenaline rush of corporate battle. His mouth curled in grim triumph as he relived the victory over Melina Andreadis. She must be incandescent with fury now she no longer controlled the airline acquired by the husband who had once given it to his demanding second wife as if it were a toy to play with. But now, Luke thought triumphantly, she had been rendered powerless. Her ties with the airline had been severed without mercy by the grandson Theo Andreadis refused to acknowledge.

Luke raised his glass to the stars in exultation at the memory of Melina’s fury, of her ageing face, scarlet and suffused with rage. It had been worth every minute of his years of hard, unending work just to see the harpy’s face when the vote went against her. Whoever said revenge was a dish best served cold was right on target. His long fight to wreak revenge on Melina had left little room in his life for personal relationships. But this mattered very little to him now he had finally exacted his revenge. His only sorrow was that his mother had not lived to share in his triumph. His face set in implacable lines. That she was not was another sin to lay at his grandfather’s door. Theo Andreadis had brought up his motherless daughter so strictly her eventual rebellion had been inevitable. The discovery that she was pregnant had enraged her father so much he’d thrown her out on the street. The desperate girl had fled from Athens to take refuge with her old nurse on Chyros, where Olympia Andreadis, daughter of one of the richest men in Greece, had supported herself by working in the kitchen of the taverna owned by Basil Nicolaides, father of the present owner, Nikos.

Luke’s eyes darkened at the thought of his frail, pretty mother, who had escaped from her home in Athens with only the jewels inherited from her mother. These had provided savings hoarded zealously for her child as he grew into a clever, determined boy who soon outstripped his peers academically at school. Young Lukas absorbed knowledge like a sponge and, with the help of a young, enthusiastic teacher early on, became fluent in English, which added to his prowess in all the other subjects on the school curriculum. Fuelled by determination to help his mother, he did odd jobs after school at the taverna to earn money, and at weekends, much to Olympia’s disapproval, went out with the local fishermen for the same purpose. He would have done anything to protect his mother from the blandishments of Costas Petrides, the wealthiest man on the island. Costas had been so eager to marry the exquisite, cultured Olympia he had even professed willingness to take her illegitimate son as part of the deal. But she had politely and relentlessly refused, secure in the protection of Spiro, son of her old nurse, and the support of Basil Nicolaides and his son Nikos, who jointly managed the taverna. But Luke well knew that to this day Costas blamed Olympia’s son for her refusal of such a good catch for a husband.

Luke grew up in a home where there was much love, but very little money. As he grew to adulthood he became consumed with the desire to keep his mother in luxury for the rest of her days, to repay Spiro and the Nikolaides family for their kindness, and eventually to wreak merciless revenge on those responsible for his mother’s situation, with Melina Andreadis at the top of his hit list.

And he had succeeded. He had rendered Melina powerless with the best weapon of all, the loss of backing from her own board. He smiled with grim satisfaction at the memory of her raging, impotent fury as the vote went against her. For a moment it had seemed likely she would attack him with her own red-taloned fingers as the truth struck home that she was powerless to fight against fate when the airline was torn from her grasp. And now Lukas Andreadis was the power behind Air Chyros, the new name he’d given his grandfather’s airline. In the future, instead of making money with as many cheap flights as possible under the grasping Melina’s aegis, it would be run with the emphasis on safety, reliability and luxury, the key elements Air Chyros would be offering once the new planes were in operation.

Luke drank down the last of his brandy and turned back into his room, wincing as the odd muscle protested. He smiled a little. He prided himself on his fitness, which he swam daily to maintain, but it wasn’t every day he was required to rescue a damsel in distress. A very appealing damsel, he admitted, though tumbling blonde curls and big blue eyes were not female assets which normally appealed to him. He liked his women dark, with fiery temperaments and ample curves—he laughed shortly, giving thanks to the gods that he hadn’t been obliged to carry a woman of that description about, or he might have had more than just a sore muscle or two to complain about. But, even though Miss Isobel James looked the picture of innocence, he still harboured doubts about her reasons for her presence on his beach this morning. Yet her stoicism and independence—and the feel of her slender body in his arms—appealed strongly to him. While she, very obviously, was finding it difficult to be grateful to a man she regarded with suspicion, even dislike. A new experience for him where women were concerned. He smiled slowly. Now he was here for a few days it would be diverting to see how quickly he could break down the barrier she’d erected against him. He must think up ways of keeping her here until he achieved his usual success. His mouth twisted in self-derision as he realised that a great part of the lady’s attraction was her immunity to his own—a challenge impossible to resist.

Blissfully unaware of her host’s plans for her immediate future, Isobel woke early again next morning and for a moment gazed blankly round the unfamiliar room until a glance at the crutch leaning against the foot of the bed brought the events of the previous day rushing back. She lay quiet for a while as she reviewed them, amazed that she’d survived the night without one of the nightmares afflicting her lately. Perhaps she was cured of them at last. She was so comfortable she was reluctant to move, but at last she had no choice. With a sigh Isobel sat up, carefully manoeuvred herself to the edge of the bed, reached for the crutch and put her good foot to the floor. Twenty minutes later she was sitting by the open veranda doors, hair combed, teeth brushed, face clean and painkillers washed down with fruit juice. And, though both ankle and head were still making their presence felt, the discomfort was bearable enough to confirm that once she transferred to the cottage she would be able to manage perfectly well on her own.

She looked up with a smile as Eleni appeared with a breakfast tray. ‘Good morning.’

The little woman returned the smile shyly. ‘Kalimera. How you feel today, Isobel?’

‘Much better,’ Isobel assured her. ‘Thank you, Eleni. You’re a star.’

Eleni carried the tray out on to the veranda, leaving the doors open wide for Isobel. ‘Eat well,’ she commanded, and left Isobel to the pleasure of breakfast in the fresh air of a Chyros morning.

Thankful to find her nausea gone, Isobel ate one of the sweet rolls and finished off the tea, looking down in longing through the balcony rails at the pool. She sucked in a sudden breath. A bronzed body had appeared in the water, cutting through it like some exotic sea creature as Lukas swam laps of his pool at a speed that tired Isobel to watch. At last he heaved himself out of the water to stand with arms outstretched and face upturned to the sun for a minute or two before he wrapped his spectacular body in a towelling robe.

Isobel let out the breath she hadn’t even known she was holding, wondering how to get herself off the balcony without attracting his attention. But before she could move he turned, gave her a mocking bow and strolled into the house.

Face flaming, Isobel did her Long John Silver act back into the bedroom to strip off her dressing gown. Time she moved out. She collected some clothes and a polythene bag used to pack shoes, and then went into the bathroom for a sponge down. It was a messy, unsatisfactory process, but she managed it without wetting the bandage on her ankle, and felt absurdly pleased with herself when it was over. She slapped on some body lotion, struggled into her underwear, then pulled on a favourite comfortable yellow T-shirt dress and, with the help of the crutch, made it back into the bedroom just as Eleni hurried in.

‘I came to help,’ said the woman reproachfully.

Isobel smiled in apology. ‘I had to see if I could manage on my own. I really must leave today and go back to the cottage. I’m afraid I used rather a lot of towels.’

The woman shrugged this off as unimportant, and went into the bathroom to collect them. ‘You sit still now. I bring coffee,’ she said firmly, and took the damp bundle away.

Isobel did her sitting still on the balcony, determined not to remain in the vicinity of Lukas Andreadis a moment longer than necessary. When Eleni came back with the coffee she would request a visit from the master of the house, preferably when he was fully clothed, and ask him for a lift down to the cottage. After that she need never see him again. Which would be good because she found his presence disturbing. For one thing, he was a man, and for another she was sure he still believed she’d been up to no good when she invaded his precious beach. While all she wanted from him was a lift back to the cottage so she could enjoy the rest of her holiday alone, in the peace she’d come all this way to find.

When she called in answer to a knock on the bedroom door she heard the slight rattling of a tray and sniffed the enticing scent of freshly made coffee. But, instead of Eleni, it was Luke Andreadis, casual in jeans and T-shirt, who came out onto the veranda to put a tray down on the table.

‘Kalimera,’ he greeted her. ‘May I join you?’

‘Of course,’ she said, hiding her dismay. ‘Good morning.’

‘How are you today?’

‘Much better.’

‘Eleni tells me you did not wait for her to help you dress,’ he said casually.

‘I had to try to manage on my own.’

Luke handed her a cup of coffee, then pulled a chair up to the table. ‘I trust,’ he said, eyeing her ankle, ‘that your bandage is still dry?’

‘I wrapped my foot in a plastic bag.’ She smiled politely. ‘I’m self-sufficient now. So if you’d be kind enough to drive me down to the cottage this morning I’ll leave you in peace.’

He shook his damp head. ‘Not this morning.’

Isobel’s heart sank. ‘This afternoon, then?’

‘Before you can stay there alone, food must be bought for you.’

‘I’ll give you money for Eleni,’ she said promptly.

‘Also,’ he went on, brushing that aside, ‘I must inspect the place for myself first, to check its suitability for your injury.’

Her chin lifted. ‘There’s absolutely no need for you to trouble yourself, Mr Andreadis,’ she said flatly. ‘If I can manage here, I can manage there.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Also cook for yourself?’

‘With a supply of salad vegetables, and bread and cheese, I shan’t need to cook for myself for a day or two. And by then I’ll be good on both feet,’ she assured him, resenting his tone.

‘If you will give me your key I shall go down to the cottage soon,’ said Luke. ‘And then we shall see.’

Isobel sighed, frustrated. ‘If you must. Though I thought you’d be only too pleased to get rid of me.’

His smile set off alarm bells in her head. ‘As I told you, Miss James, we revere the traveller here in Greece.’

‘You were anything but reverent when you found this one on your beach!’

‘Only because I misunderstood the reason for your presence.’ And strongly doubted her story of the Jet Ski. His eyes darkened. ‘It is by no means unusual for journalists of both sexes to invade my beach, nor for young women to arrange to be stranded there.’

‘In the hope that you’ll come to the rescue?’

‘Their hopes are usually higher—or lower—than that,’ he said, his mouth twisting in distaste. ‘I do not,’ he added sardonically, ‘delude myself that they are attracted to me in person. Only to my money.’

‘And the power you used to amass it. Isn’t power supposed to be the ultimate aphrodisiac?’ Isobel smiled politely. ‘You Greeks have a word for everything.’

He inclined his head. ‘The rest of the world owes much to us.’

‘What happens to trespassers when you’re not here?’

‘Milos deals with them. He is ex-army, and officially works as my gardener. But his main function is security. He had time off yesterday; otherwise you would have been removed before I arrived.’

‘Which would have saved a lot of trouble.’ One way and another.

Luke gave her the unsettling smile again. ‘But it would also have deprived me of the pleasure of meeting you.’

Isobel dismissed that with a shrug. ‘You speak very good English.’

‘Thank you. I had a very good English teacher in school and, due to his influence, I studied for my MBA in London.’ He got up. ‘It is good you are not a journalist. I am not usually free with my personal details.’

‘I shan’t pass them on to anyone,’ she assured him.

He looked surprised. ‘They are not secrets. I was born here on Chyros. My background is known to everyone.’

‘Even so, I don’t speak Greek so I’m not likely to talk to anyone about you.’

‘Not even to Alex Nicolaides? He speaks English.’

‘He hardly knows me! Though he was very helpful,’ she added.

‘Which cannot surprise you.’

She raised an eyebrow in silent query.

‘A look in the mirror will answer your question,’ he informed her.

She sighed. Same old, same old. ‘I seriously doubt that. I have a black eye, in case you haven’t noticed, Mr Andreadis.’

‘I could hardly help notice, but it is already fading and detracts very little from your looks, Miss James.’

‘Thank you,’ she said shortly, and bent to pick up her handbag. ‘Here are the keys. Will you let me know your verdict as soon as possible?’

Luke took them, his eyes amused. ‘You are so eager to leave my house?’

Her chin lifted. ‘I really can’t trespass on your hospitality any longer.’

‘You throw the word at me like a missile!’ He chuckled. ‘I shall see you at lunch.’

Isobel scowled as he strolled from the room, feeling all at sea. Lukas Andreadis in friendly mode—if you could call it that—was deeply unnerving. Yet hearing something of his background had whetted her curiosity to know more. But Eleni was the only one she could ask, so there was no way she was going to find out any more unless he told her himself. And, since she was hopefully moving out today, and it wasn’t a question she could ask anyway, that was unlikely. But she couldn’t leave until Luke Andreadis drove her to the cottage, so she would do what she always did with time on her hands—and far too often when she should have been doing other things entirely.

Isobel established herself at the balcony rail, propped one of her larger pads against it and began to sketch the pool. In the bright morning light it shone like a blue jewel in its setting of palms, oleander and feathery pink tamarisk. And as usual her concentration was soon so intense that Eleni had to clap her hands loudly to gain her attention.

‘Lunch, Isobel.’

Isobel closed the sketchbook hastily and turned to smile at Eleni. ‘I hadn’t realised it was so late.’

‘You wash now,’ said the woman. ‘Food nearly ready. You need help?’

‘No, I can manage, thank you.’ Isobel spent a few minutes in the bathroom, then went back into the bedroom to find Luke standing outside on the landing.

‘Eleni says you must come immediately or the food will spoil,’ he informed her. ‘I will carry you down.’

Isobel flushed, taken aback. ‘I thought I was eating up here again.’

‘While I thought you would enjoy lunch on the terrace. Even with the disadvantage of my company,’ he added slyly.

Isobel eyed him irritably. If she’d had prior knowledge of the arrangement, out of sheer pride she might have gilded the lily a bit—or as much as she could in her present condition. The swelling on her face had gone down, the bruise was fading slightly below her eye, which she could now open fully, but it was still no pleasure to look in a mirror. ‘You don’t have to carry me. I can manage with the crutch.’

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