Ethan’s Temptress Bride

Michelle Reid

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

PARADISE was a sleepy island floating in the Caribbean. It had a bar on the beach, rum on tap and the unique sound of island music, which did seductive things to the hot and humid late afternoon air, while beyond the bar’s open rough-wood construction the silky blue ocean lapped lazily against a white-sand shore.

Sitting on a bar stool with a glass of local rum slotted between his fingers, Ethan Hayes decided that it didn’t get any better than this. Admittedly it had taken him more than a week to wind down to the point where he no longer itched to reach for a telephone or felt naked in bare feet and shorts instead of sharp suits and highly polished leather shoes. Now he would even go as far as to say that he liked his new laid-back self. ‘No worries,’ as the locals liked to say, had taken on a whole new meaning for him.

‘You want a refill for that, Mr Hayes?’ The soft melodic tones of an island accent brought his gaze up to meet that of the beautiful brown girl who was serving behind the bar. Her smile held a different kind of invitation.

‘Sure, why not?’ He returned a smile and released his glass to her—without acknowledging the hidden offer.

Sex in this hot climate was the serpent in Paradise. As one’s body temperature rose, so did that particular appetite, Ethan mused, aware that certain parts of him were suggesting he should consider the offer in the bar-girl’s velvet-brown eyes. But he hadn’t come to the island to indulge that specific pleasure, and all it took was the tentative touch of a finger to the corner of his mouth to remind him why he was wary of female entanglement. The bruising to his lip and jaw had faded days ago, but the injury to his dignity hadn’t. It still throbbed in his breast like an angry tiger in dire need of succour for its nagging wound. If a man had any sense, he wouldn’t unleash that tiger on some poor, unsuspecting female; he would keep it severely locked up and avoid temptation at all cost.

Though there was certainly a lot of that about, he acknowledged, as he turned to observe the young woman who was hogging the small bare-board dance floor.

The serpent’s mistress, he named her dryly as he watched her sensual undulations to the music. She was a tall and slender toffee-blonde with a perfect Caribbean tan, wearing a short and sassy hot-pink slip-dress that was an almost perfect match for the pink hibiscus flower she wore tucked into her hair.

Eye-catching, in other words. Too irresistible to leave to dance alone, so it wasn’t surprising that the young men in the bar were lining up to take their turn with her. She had class, she had style, she had beauty, she had grace, and she danced like a siren, shifting from partner to partner with the ease of one who was used to taking centre stage. Her eager young cohorts were enjoying themselves, loving the excuse to get up close and personal, lay their hands on her sensational body and gaze into big green beautiful eyes or watch her lovely mouth break into a smile that promised them everything.

And her name was Eve. Eve as in temptress, the ruin of man.

Or in this case the ruin of these brave young hunters who were aspiring to be her Adam. For she was the It girl on this small Caribbean island, the girl with everything, one of the fortunate few. A daddy’s girl—though in this case it was Grandpa’s girl, and the sole heir to his fabulous fortune.

Money was one hell of an aphrodisiac, Ethan decided cynically. Make her as ugly as sin and he could guarantee that those same guys would still be worshipping at her dainty dancing feet. But as so often was the way for the fabulously wealthy, stunning beauty came along with this package.

She began to laugh; the sound was soft and light and appealingly pleasant. She pouted at her present young hunter and almost brought the poor fool to his knees. Then she caught Ethan’s eyes on her and the cynical look he was wearing on his face. Her smile withered to nothing. Big green come-and-get-me-if-you-dare eyes widened to challenge his cynicism outright. She knew him, he knew her. They had met several times over the last year at her grandfather’s home in Athens, Ethan in his professional role as a design-and-build architect renowned for his creative genius for making new holiday complexes blend into their native surroundings, Eve in her only role as her grandfather’s much loved, much spoiled, gift from the gods.

They did not like each other. In fact mutual antipathy ran in a constant stream between them. Ethan did not like her conceited belief that she had been put on this earth to be worshipped by all, and Eve did not like his outright refusal to fall at her feet. So it was putting it mildly to say that it was unfortunate they should both find themselves holidaying in the same place. The island was small enough for them to be thrown into each other’s company too often for the comfort of either. Sparks tended to fly, forcing hostility to raise its ugly head. Other people picked up on it and didn’t know what to do or say to lighten the atmosphere. Ethan usually solved the problem by withdrawing from the conflict with excuses that he had to be somewhere else.

This time he withdrew by turning away from her, back to the bar and the drink that had just been placed in front of him. But Eve’s image remained standing right there, dancing on the bar top. Proud, defiant, unashamedly provocative—doing things to other parts of him he did not want her to reach.

His serpent in paradise, he grimly named this hot and nagging desire he suffered for Theron Herakleides’ tantalising witch of a granddaughter.

Eve was keeping a happy smile fixed on her face even if it killed her to do it. She despised Ethan Hayes with an absolute vengeance. He made her feel spoiled and selfish and vain. She wished he had done his usual thing of getting up and walking out, so that she wouldn’t have to watch him flirt with the barmaid.

Didn’t Ethan know he was treading on dangerous ground there, and that the barmaid’s strapping great sailor of a lover would chew him up and spit him out if he caught him chatting up his woman? Or was it the girl who was doing the chatting up? Then Eve had to settle for that as the more probable alternative, because Ethan Hayes was certainly worth the effort.

Great body, great looks, great sense of presence, she listed reluctantly. In a sharp suit and tie he was dynamic and sleek; now simple beach shorts and a white tee shirt should have turned him into something else entirely, but didn’t—dynamic and sleek still did it for her, Eve decided as she ran her eyes over him. She began at his brown bare feet with their long toes that were curling lovingly round one of the bar stool crossbars, then moved onwards, up powerfully built legs peppered with dark hair that had been bleached golden by the sun.

How did she know the sun had bleached those hairs? Eve asked herself. Because she’d seen his legs before—had seen all of Ethan Hayes before!—on that terrible night at her grandfather’s house in Athens, when she’d dared to walk uninvited into his bedroom and had caught him in a state of undress.

Prickly heat began to chase along to her nerve ends at the memory—the heat of mortification, not attraction though the attraction had always been there as well. She had gone to Ethan’s room to confront him over something he had seen her doing in the garden with Aidan Galloway. Bristling with self-righteous indignation she had marched in through his door, only to stop dead with her head wiped clean of all coherent thought when she’d found him standing there still dripping water from a recent shower, and as stark staring naked as a man could be—not counting the small hand towel he had been using to dry his hair. The towel had quickly covered other parts of him, but not before she’d had a darn good owl-eyed look!

Oh, the shame, the embarrassment! She could feel her cheeks blushing even now. ‘I presume Mr Galloway ran back to his fiancée, so you thought you would come and try your luck here.’ Eve winced as Ethan’s cutting words came back to slay her all over again.

‘Your foot, sorry,’ her present dance partner apologised.

He had misinterpreted the wince. ‘That’s okay,’ she said, smiling sweetly at Raoul Delacroix without bothering to correct his mistake—and wished she’d had the wits to smile sweetly at Ethan Hayes that night, instead of running like a fool and leaving him with his mistake!

But she had run without saying a single word to him in her own defence, and by the next morning embarrassment had turned to stiff-necked pride; hell could freeze over before she would explain anything to him! As a result he had become the conscience she knew she did not deserve, because all it took was a glance from those horribly critical grey eyes to make her feel crushingly guilty!

It wasn’t fair, she hated him for it. Hated his dark good looks too because they did things to her she would rather they didn’t. But most of all she hated his cold, grim, English reserve that kept him forever at a distance, thereby stopping her from beginning the confrontation that she knew would completely alter his perception of her.

Did she need to do that? Eve asked herself suddenly. And was horrified to realise how badly she did.

‘Have dinner with me tonight…’ Her present dance partner was suddenly crowding her with his too eager hands and the fervent darkening of his liquid brown eyes. ‘Just the two of us,’ Raoul huskily extended. ‘Somewhere quiet and romantic where no one can interrupt.’

‘You know that’s a no-no, Raoul.’ Smiling to soften the refusal, she also deftly dislodged one of his hands from her rear. ‘We’re here as a group to have fun, not romance.’

‘Romance can be fun.’ His rejected hand lifted up to brush a finger across her bottom lip with a message only a very naïve woman would misinterpret.

Eve reached up and firmly removed the finger and watched his beautifully shaped mouth turn down in a sulk. Raoul Delacroix was a very handsome French-American, with eyes dark enough to drown in and a body to die for—yet he did nothing for her. In a way she wished that he did because he was her age and her kind of person, unlike the disapproving Ethan Hayes who added a whole new meaning to the phrase, the generation gap.

And what was that gap—her twenty-three years to his thirty-seven? Big gap—yawning gap, she mocked it dryly. ‘Don’t sulk,’ she scolded Raoul. ‘Today is my birthday and we’re supposed to be having lots of fun.’

‘Tomorrow is your birthday,’ he corrected.

‘As we all know, my grandfather is arriving here tomorrow to help me celebrate, which means I will have to behave with proper decorum all day. So tonight we agreed that we would celebrate my birthday a day early. Don’t spoil that for me, Raoul.’

It was both a gentle plea and a serious warning because he had been getting just a little bit too intense recently. Raoul Delacroix was the half-brother of André Visconte who owned the only hotel on the island. So like the rest of the crowd whose families owned property here, they’d all been meeting up for holidays since childhood. They were all good close friends now who’d agreed early on that romance would spoil what they enjoyed most about each others’ company. Raoul knew the rules, so attempting to change them now was just a tiny bit irritating—and a shame because he was usually very good company—when he wasn’t thinking of other things, that was.

‘The beach is strewn with good prospects for a handsome Frenchman to play the romantic,’ she teased him. ‘Take your pick. I can guarantee they will swoon at your feet.’

‘I know, I’ve tried one or two,’ Raoul returned lazily. ‘But this was only in practice, you understand,’ he then added, ‘to prepare myself for the woman I love.’

Implying that Eve was that woman? She laughed, it was so funny. After a moment, Raoul joined in the laughter, and the mood between them relaxed back into being playful. The music changed not long after, calypso taking the place of reggae, and Eve found Raoul’s place taken by another admirer while he moved on to pastures new.

Viewing this little by-play via the mirror on the wall behind the drinks optics, Ethan wasn’t sure he liked the expression on Raoul Delacroix’s face as he’d turned away from Eve. Raoul’s look did nasty things to Ethan’s insides and made him curious as to what Raoul and Eve had been talking about. They’d parting laughing, but Raoul’s turning expression had been far from amused.

None of your business, he then told himself firmly. Eve knew what kind of dangerous game she was playing with all of these testosterone-packed young men. My God, did she know, he then added with a contempt that went so deep it reflected clearly on his face when, as if on cue, Aidan Galloway walked into the bar. The darkly attractive young Irish-American paused, found his target and made directly for Eve.

The last time Ethan had seen Aidan Galloway had been a month ago in Athens when he had been a guest of Eve’s grandfather, along with several members of the Galloway family. On the face of it, the younger man had only had eyes for the beautiful fiancée he’d had hanging from his arm. But since coming to this island, Ethan had seen no sign of the fiancée and Aidan Galloway now only had eyes for Eve.

Someone slid onto the stool next to him, offering him a very welcome alternative to observing the life and loves of Eve Herakleides. It was Jack Banning who managed the only hotel on the island for owner, André Visconte. Jack was a big all-American guy, built to break rocks against but as laid-back as they came.

‘Marlin have been spotted five miles out,’ Jack informed him. ‘I’m taking a boat out tomorrow. If you’re interested in some big-game fishing, you’re welcome to come.’

‘Early start?’ Ethan quizzed.

‘Think sunrise,’ Jack suggested. ‘Think deep yawns and black coffee and no heavy partying the night before if you don’t want to spend your time at sea throwing up.’

The barmaid interrupted by appearing with a glass of rum for Jack. The two of them chatted boss to employee for a few minutes, but the girl’s eyes kept on drifting towards Ethan, and when she had moved away again Jack sent Ethan a very male glance.

‘Considering a different kind of game?’ Jack posed lazily.

‘Not today, thanks.’ Ethan’s smile was deliberately benign as he took a sip at his drink.

‘Or any day that you’ve been here, from what my sources say.’

‘Was that an idle question or a veiled criticism of my use of the island’s rich and varied hospitality?’

‘Neither.’ A set of even white teeth appeared to acknowledge Ethan’s sarcastic hit. ‘It was just an observation. I mean—look at you, man,’ Jack mocked him. ‘You’ve got the looks, you’ve got the body parts, and I know for a fact that you’ve had more than one lovely woman’s heart fluttering with anticipation since you arrived, but I’ve yet to see you take a second look at any of them.’

He was curious. Ethan didn’t entirely blame him. The island was not sold on its monastic qualities. The women here were, in the main, beautiful people and a lot of them had made it clear that they were available for a little holiday romance.

But Ethan was off romance, off women, and most definitely off sex—or at least he was in training to be off it, he amended, all too aware that his body was trying to tempt him with every inviting smile that came his way.

Then there was that other sexual temptation, the one that hit him hard in his nether regions every time he looked at Eve Herakleides and recalled an incident when she’d walked into his room to find him standing there naked. She’d looked—no stared—and things had happened to him that he hadn’t experienced since he’d been a hormone-racked teenager. What was worse than the reaction was knowing she’d witnessed it.

So why his eyes had to pick that precise moment to glance in the mirror was something he preferred not to analyse. She was dancing with Aidan Galloway, and the body language was nothing like what it had been when she’d danced with the other men. No, this was tense, it was serious. It reminded him of that kiss he had witnessed in her grandfather’s garden in Athens. The two of them had been so engrossed in each other that they hadn’t heard his arrival—nor had they known they’d also been watched by Aidan’s fiancée, who’d almost fainted into the arms of another young Galloway.

Eve was a flirt and a troublemaker, a woman with no scruples when it came to other women’s men. Her only mission in life was to slay all with those big green you-can-have-me eyes.

Ethan loved those eyes…

The unexpected thought jolted him, snapped his gaze down from the mirror to his glass. What the hell is the matter with you? he asked himself furiously. Too much sun? Too much time on your hands? Maybe it was time he got back into a suit and unearthed a mobile telephone.

‘And you?’ He diverted his attention back to Jack Banning. ‘Do you sip the honey on a regular basis here?’

Jack gave a rueful shake of his head. ‘The boss would have my balls for trophies if I imbibed,’ he murmured candidly. ‘No…’ picking up his glass he tasted the rum ‘…I have this lovely widow living on the next island who keeps me sane in that department.’

With no ties, and no commitment expected or desired, Ethan concluded from that, knowing the kind of woman Jack was talking about because he’d enjoyed a few of them himself in his time.

‘She’s a good woman,’ Jack added as if he needed to make that point.

‘I don’t doubt it,’ Ethan replied, and he didn’t. In the time he had been here, he had got to know and like Jack Banning. Being in the leisure business himself—though in a different area—he wasn’t surprised that André Visconte had a man like Jack in place. In fact he was considering doing a bit of head-hunting because they could do with Jack running the new resort his company was in the process of constructing in Spain.

Though that idea was shot to pieces when Jack spoke again. ‘Her husband was caught out at sea in a hurricane four years ago,’ he said quietly. ‘He left her well shod but heavily pregnant. Left her with a badly broken heart too.’

Which told Ethan that Jack was in love with the widow. Which in turn meant there was no hope of getting him to leave for pastures new.

‘So what’s your excuse for the self-imposed celibacy?’ Jack asked curiously.

Same as you, Ethan thought grimly. I fell for a married woman—only her husband is very much alive and kicking. ‘Too much of a good thing is reputed to be bad for you,’ was what he offered as a dry reply.

Glancing at him, he saw Jack’s gaze touch that part of Ethan’s jaw where the bruising had been obvious a few days ago. He had been forced to wear the mark like a banner when he’d first arrived on the island. Speculation as to how he’d received the bruise had been rife. His refusal to discuss it had only helped to fire people’s imagination.

But the expression in Jack’s eyes told him that Jack had drawn a pretty accurate conclusion. He sighed, so did Jack. Both men lifted their glass to their mouths and said no more. It had been that kind of conversation: some things had been said, others not, but all had been taken on board nonetheless. Turning on his stool, Jack offered the busy bar room a once-over with his lazy-yet-shrewd manager’s eye, while Ethan studied the contents of his glass with a slightly bitter gaze. He was thinking of a woman with dark red hair, silk-white skin and a broken heart that was in the process of being mended by the wrong man, as far as he was concerned.

But the right man for her, he had to add honestly, felt the tiger stir within and wished he knew of a good cure for unrequited love.

‘Try the sex,’ Jack said suddenly as if he could read his mind. ‘It has to be a better option than lusting after the unattainable.’

Unable to restrain it, Ethan released a hard laugh. ‘Is that advice for me or for yourself?’

‘You,’ Jack answered. Then he grimaced as he added, ‘Mine is a hopeless case. You see, the widow’s son calls me Daddy.’ With that he got up and gave Ethan’s shoulder a man-to-man, sympathetic pat. ‘Let me know about the Marlin trip,’ he said and strolled away.

Turning to watch him go, Ethan saw Jack stop once or twice to chat to people on his way out of the bar. One woman in particular came to meet him. It was Eve the temptress. A quick look around and he found Aidan Galloway standing at the other end of the bar. He was ordering a drink and he didn’t look happy. Join the club, Ethan thought, as his eyes then picked out Raoul Delacroix who was watching Eve with an expression on his face that matched Aidan Galloway’s.

As for Eve, her long slender arms were around Jack’s neck and she was pouting up at him in a demand for a kiss. Amiably Jack gave it and smiled at whatever it was she was saying to him. Without much tempting she managed to urge the manager into motion to the music, his big hands spanning her tiny waist, his dark head dipped to maintain eye contact. Like that, they teased each other as they swayed.

Suddenly Ethan knew it was time to leave. Downing the rest of his drink, he came to his feet, placed some money on the bar and wished the girl behind it a light farewell. As he walked towards the dancers he thought he saw Eve move that extra inch closer to Jack’s impressive body.

Done for his benefit? he asked himself, then shot that idea in the foot with a silent huff of scorn to remind himself that Eve Herakleides disliked him as much as he disliked her.

Outside the air was like warm damp silk against his skin. The humidity was high, and looking out to sea Ethan could see clouds gathering on the horizon aiming to spoil the imminent sunset. There could be a storm tonight, he predicted as he turned in the direction of his beach house. Behind him the sound of a woman’s laughter came drifting towards him from inside the bar. Without thinking he suddenly changed direction and his feet were kicking hot sand as he ran toward the water and made a clean racing dive into its cool clear depths.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ Jack cautioned. ‘He’s too old and too dangerous for a sweet little flirt like you.’

Dragging her eyes away from the sight of Ethan Hayes in full sprint as he headed for the ocean, Eve looked into Jack Banning’s knowing gaze—and mentally ran for cover. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said.

Jack didn’t believe her. ‘Ethan Hayes could eat you for a snack without touching his appetite,’ he informed her without a hint of mockery to make the bitter pill of truth an easier one to swallow.

‘Like you, you mean,’ she said with a kissable pout, which was really another duck-and-run. ‘Big bad Jack,’ she murmured as she moved in closer then began swaying so provocatively that he had to physically restrain her.

He did it with a white-toothed, highly amused, grin. ‘Minx,’ he scolded. ‘If your grandfather could see you he would have you locked up—these messages you put out are dangerous.’

‘My grandpa adores me too much to do anything so primitive.’

‘Your grandfather, my little siren, arrives on this island tomorrow,’ Jack reminded her. ‘Let him see this look you’re wearing on your face and we will soon learn how primitive he can be…’

CHAPTER TWO

ETHAN took his time swimming down the length of the bay to come out of the water opposite the beach house he was using while he was here. It belonged to Leandros Petronades, a business associate, who had understood his need to get away from it all for a week or two if he wasn’t going to do something stupid like walk out on his ten-year-strong working partnership with Victor Frayne.

Victor…Ethan’s feet stilled at the edge of the surf as the same anger that had caused the rift between the two of them rose up to burn at his insides again.

Victor had used him, or had allowed him to be used, as a decoy in the crossfire between Victor’s daughter, Leona, and her estranged husband, Sheikh Hassan Al-Qadim. In the Sheikh’s quest to recover his wife, Leona and Ethan had been ambushed then dragged off into the night. When Ethan had eventually come round from a knockout blow to his jaw, it had been to find he’d been made virtual prisoner on Sheikh Hassan’s luxury yacht. But if he’d thought his pride had taken a battering when he’d been wrestled to the ground and rendered helpless with that knockout blow, then his interview with the Sheikh the next morning had turned what was left of his pride to pulp.

The man was an arrogant bastard, Ethan thought grimly. What Leona loved about him he would never understand. If he had been her father, he would have been putting up a wall of defence around her rather than aiding and abetting her abduction by a man whom everyone knew had been about to take a second wife! 19

Leona had been out of that marriage—best out of that marriage! Now she was back in it with bells ringing and—

Bending down he picked up a conch shell then turned and hurled it into the sea. He wished to goodness he hadn’t had that conversation with Jack Banning. He wished he could stuff all of these violent feelings back into storage where he had managed to hide them for the last week. Now he was angry with himself again, angry with Victor, and angry with Sheikh Hassan Al-Qadim and the whole damn world, probably.

On that heavily honest assessment, he turned back to face land again. Leandros Petronades had been his saviour when he’d offered him the use of this place. Not that the Greek’s motives had been in the least bit altruistic, Ethan reminded himself. As one of the main investors in their Spanish project, Leandros had been protecting his own back, plus several other business ventures his company had running with Hayes-Frayne. A bust up between Ethan and Victor would have left him with problems he did not need or want. So when he’d happened to walk in on the furious row the two partners had been locked in, had seen the huge purple bruise on Ethan’s face and had heard enough to draw his own conclusions as how the bruise got there, Leandros had immediately suggested that Ethan needed a break while he cooled off.

So here he was, standing on the beach of one of the most exclusive islands in the Caribbean, and about the lush green hillside in front of him nestled the kind of properties most people only dreamed about. The Visconte hotel complex occupied a central position, forming the hub around which all activities on the island revolved. Either side of the hotel stood the private villas belonging to those wealthy enough to afford a plot of land here. André Visconte himself owned a private estate. The powerful Galloway family owned many properties, forming a small hamlet of their own in the next bay. But if the size of a plot was indicative of wealth, then the villa belonging to Theron Herakleides had to be the king.

Painted sugar-pink, it sat inside a framework of ancient date-and fabulous flame-trees about halfway up the hill. From the main house the garden swept down to sea level via a series of carefully tended terraces: sun terraces, pool terraces, garden terraces that wouldn’t be believed to be real outside a film set. There were tennis courts and even a velvet smooth croquet lawn, though Ethan could not bring himself to imagine that Theron Herakleides had ever bothered to use it. Then there were the guest houses scattered about the grounds, all painted that sugar-pink colour which came into its own with every burning sunset. Almost on the sand sat the Herakleides beach house, the part of her grandfather’s estate that Eve was using while she was here.

It had to be the worst kind of luck that the Petronades and the Herakleides estates were beside each other, because it placed her beach house right next door to his, Ethan mused heavily, as he trod the soft sand on his way up the beach. Other than for Eve’s close proximity he was happy with his modest accommodation. The beach houses might be small but they possessed a certain charm that appealed to the artist in him. Nothing grand: just an open-plan living room and kitchen, a bathroom and a bedroom.

All he needed, in other words, he acknowledged as he came to a stop at the low white-washed wall that was there to help keep the sand back rather than mark the boundary to the property. Set into the wall was a white picket gate that gave access to a simple garden and the short path that led to a shady veranda. Next to the gate was a concrete tub overhung by a freshwater shower head. Pulling his wet tee shirt off over his head he tossed it onto the wall, then stepped into the tub and switched on the tap that brought cool water cascading over his head.

His skin shone dark gold in the deepening sunset, muscles rippled across his shoulders and back, as he sluiced the sand and salt from his body. Standing a few short yards away on the hot concrete path that ran right around the bay, Eve watched him with the same fascination she had surrendered to the last time she had chanced upon Ethan Hayes like this.

Only it wasn’t the same, she reminded herself quickly. He was dressed, or that part of him which caused her the most problems was modestly covered at least. But as for the rest of him—

Water ran off his dark hair down his face to his shoulders. The hair on his chest lay matted in thick coils that arrowed down to below his waist. She hadn’t noticed the chest hair the last time—hadn’t noticed the six-pack firmness of his abdomen. He was lean and he was tight and he was honed to perfection, and she wished she—

‘You can go past. I won’t bite,’ the man himself murmured flatly, letting her know that he had seen her standing here.

Fingers curling into two fists at her sides, Eve released a soft curse beneath her breath. I hate him, she told herself. I really hate him for catching me doing this, not once but twice!

‘Actually I quite like the view,’ she returned, determined not to let him embarrass her a second time. ‘You strip down quite nicely for an Englishman.’

More muscles flexed; Eve’s lungs stopped working. She wished she understood this fascination she had for his body, but she didn’t. She could not even say that he possessed the best body she had ever seen—mainly because it was the only one she had seen in its full and flagrant entirety. That, she decided, had to be the cause of this wicked fascination she had for Ethan Hayes. It fizzed through her veins like a champagne cocktail, stripped her mouth of moisture like crisp dry wine. Tantalising, in other words. The man was a stiff-necked, supercritical, overbearing boor, yet inside she fluttered like a love-struck teenager every time she saw him.

The shower was turned off. He threw one of those cold-eyed looks at her then slid it away without saying a word. He was going to do his usual thing and walk away as if she didn’t exist, Eve realised, and suddenly she was determined to break that arrogant habit for good!

‘You’ve missed a bit,’ she informed him.

He turned a second look on her. Looks like that could kill, Eve thought as, with a scrupulously bland expression, she pointed to the back of his legs where beautifully pronounced calf muscles were still peppered with fine granules of sand.

Still without saying a word he turned on the shower again. A sudden urge to laugh brought Eve’s ready sense of humour into play and she decided to have a bit of fun at the stuffy Ethan Hayes’ expense.

‘Jack just warned me off falling for you,’ she announced, watching him wash the sand off his legs. ‘He thinks you’re dangerous. The eat-them-for-a snack-as-you-walk-out-of-the-door kind of man.’

‘Wise man, Jack.’ She thought she heard him mutter over the splash of water, but she couldn’t be sure.

‘I laughed because I thought it was so funny,’ she went on. ‘I mean—we both know you’re too much the English gentleman to do anything so crass as to love them and leave them without a backward glance.’

It was not a compliment and Ethan didn’t take it as one. ‘You keep taking a dig at my Englishness, but you’re half English yourself,’ he pointed out.

‘I know.’ Eve sighed with mocking tragedy. ‘It worries the Greek in me sometimes that I could end up falling for a die-hard English stuffed-shirt.’

‘Fate worse than death.’

‘Yes.’

He switched the shower off again and Eve rediscovered her fascination with his body as he turned to recover his wet tee shirt; muscles wrapped in rich brown flesh rippled in the red glow of the sunlight, droplets of water clung to the hairs on his chest.

Ethan turned to catch her staring. The prickling sensation between his thighs warned him that he had better get away from here before he embarrassed himself again. Yet he didn’t move, couldn’t seem to manage the simple act. His senses were too busy drinking in what his eyes were showing him. He liked the way she was wearing her hair twisted cheekily up on her head with a hibiscus flower helping to hold it in place. He liked what the pink dress did for her figure and the slender length and shape of her legs. And he liked her mouth; it was heart-shaped—small with a natural provocative yen to pout. He liked her smooth golden skin, her cute little nose, and those eyes that had a way of looking at him as if she…

Go away, Eve, he wanted to say to her. Instead he dragged his eyes away, and looked for something thoroughly innocuous to say. ‘I thought you were all off to a party this evening.’ Flat-voiced, level-toned, he’d thought he’d hit innocuous perfectly.

But Eve clearly didn’t. She stiffened up as if he had just insulted her. ‘Oh, do let’s be honest and call it an orgy,’ she returned. ‘Since you believe that orgies are more my style.’

Time to go, he decided, and opened the picket gate.

‘While you do what you’re probably very good at, of course,’ she added, ‘and play whist with the cheese and wine set at the hotel.’

He went still.

Eve’s heart stopped beating on the suspicion that she had finally managed to rouse the sleeping tiger she’d always fancied lurked within his big chest. Sometimes—usually when she was least expecting it—Ethan Hayes could take on a certain quality that made her think of dangerous animals. This was one of those times, and her biggest problem was that she liked it—it excited her.

‘How old are you?’ he asked.

He knew exactly how old she was. ‘Twenty-three until midnight,’ she told him anyway.

He nodded his wet head. ‘That accounts for it.’

This was blatant baiting, Eve recognised, and foolishly took it. ‘Accounts for what?’

‘The annoyingly adolescent desire to insult and shock.’

He was so right, but oh, it hurt. Why had she willingly let herself fall into that? Eve had no defence, none at all and she had to turn to stare out to sea so that he wouldn’t see the sudden flood of weak tears that were trying to fill her eyes.

And who was the adolescent who made that cutting comment? Ethan was grimly asking himself, as he looked at her standing there looking like an exotic flower that had been cut down in its prime. Oh, damn it, he thought, and walked through the gate, meaning to get the hell away from this before he—

He couldn’t do it. Muscles were tightening all over his body on wave after wave of angry guilt. What had she ever done to him after all? If you didn’t count a couple of teasing come-ons and letting him catch her in a heated clinch with someone else’s man.

She’d also caught him naked and had had a full view of his embarrassing response, but he didn’t want to think about that. Instead he took in a deep breath and spun back to say something trite and stupid and hopefully less—

But he found he was too late because she had already walked off, a tall slender figure with a graceful stride and a proud yet oddly vulnerable tilt to her head. Still cursing himself for the whole stupid conversation, Ethan made himself walk up the path. Though, as he reached the shade of the veranda, he couldn’t resist a quick glance sideways and saw Eve was about to enter her house. One part of him wanted to go after her and apologise, but the major part told him wisely to leave well alone.

Eve Herakleides could mean trouble if he allowed himself to be sucked in by her frankly magnetic appeal. He didn’t need that kind of stimulation. He didn’t want to end up in the same fated boat he had been in before with a woman just like her.

What was it that Jack had called it? ‘Lusting after the unattainable.’ Eve was destined to higher things than a mere architect had to offer—as her grandfather would be happy to tell him. But it was the word lust that made Ethan go inside and firmly close his door.

CHAPTER THREE

EVE tried to enjoy the party. In fact she threw herself into the role of life and soul with an enthusiasm that kept everyone else entertained.

But the scene with Ethan Hayes had taken the edge off her desire to enjoy anything tonight. And she was worried about Aidan. He had been drinking steadily since he’d arrived at the bar on the beach late this afternoon and his mood suited the grim compulsion with which he was pouring the rum down his throat.

Not that anyone else seemed to have noticed, she realised, as she watched him do his party trick with a cocktail shaker and bottle of something very green to the laughing encouragement of the rest of the crowd, whereas she felt more like weeping.

For Aidan—for herself? In truth, she wasn’t quite sure. On that low note she surrendered to the deep doldrums that had been dogging her every movement tonight and slid open one of the glass doors that led onto the terrace. Then she stepped out into the warm dark night, intending to walk across the decking to the terrace rail that overlooked the sea—only it came as a surprise to discover that she was ever so slightly tipsy, so tipsy in fact that she was forced to sink onto the first sunbed she reached just in case she happened to fall down.

Well, why not? she thought with a little shrug, and slipping off her shoes she lifted her feet up onto the cool, cushioned mattress, then relaxed against the raised chair back with a low long sigh. The air was soft and seductively quiet, the earlier threatened storm having passed them by. Reclining there, she listened to the low slap of lazy waves touching the shore, and wondered dully how much longer she needed to leave it before she could escape to brood on her own terrace without inviting comment here?

At least Aidan was already in the right place for when he eventually sank into a drunken stupor, she mused heavily. This was his home, or the one he liked to call home of several the family had dotted around this tiny bay. With a bit of luck he was going to slide under a convenient table soon and she could get some of the guys to put him to bed, then forget about him and his problems for a while and concentrate on her own.

She certainly had a few, Eve acknowledged through the mud of her half-tipsy state. Ethan Hayes and his horrible attitude towards her was one of them. Her grandfather in his whole, sweet, bullying entirety was another. The older he got, the more testy he became, and more determined to run her life for her. She smiled as she thought that about him though, and allowed her mind to drift back to the last conversation she’d had with him over the phone before she’d flown out here from her London flat.

‘Grandpa, will you stop trying to marry me off to every eligible man you happen to meet?’ she scolded, ‘I am only twenty-three years’ old, for goodness’ sake!’

‘At twenty-three you should be suckling my first grandson at your breast while the next grows big in your belly,’ he complained.

‘Barefoot I presume, while making baklava for my very fat husband.’

Eve hadn’t been able to resist it, she chuckled into the night at the outrageous scenario.

‘Spiridon is not fat.’

‘But he is twice my age.’

‘He is thirty-nine,’ the old man corrected. ‘Very handsome. Very fit. The ladies worship him.’

‘And you ought to be ashamed of yourself for trying to foist me off with the most notorious rake in Greece,’ she rebuked. ‘I thought you loved me better than this.’

‘You are the unblemished golden apple of my eye!’ Theron Herakleides announced with formidable passion. ‘I merely want you to remain that way until I see you safely married before I die.’

‘Die?’ she repeated. He was bringing out the big guns with that remark. ‘Now listen to me, you scheming old devil,’ she scolded, ‘I love you to bits. You are the love of my life! But if you stick one—just one—eligible man in front of me I will never speak to you again—understand?’

‘Ne,’ the old man answered, gruff-voiced and tetchy. ‘Yes, I understand that you bully a sick and lonely old man.’

Sick, she did not believe, but lonely she did. ‘See you soon, Grandpa,’ she softly ended the conversation.

And she would do—sooner than she’d thought too—because her grandfather was making a flying visit here tomorrow just to spend her birthday with her. The prospect softened her whole face. She loved that stubborn, bad tempered old man almost to distraction. He had been both her mother and father for so many years now that she could barely recall the time when she hadn’t looked to him for every little thing she might need.

But not a husband, she quickly reminded herself. That was one decision in her life out of which he was going to have to learn to keep his busy nose!

Why a sudden image of Ethan Hayes had to flash across her eyes at that moment, Eve refused to analyse, but it put a dark frown upon her face.

‘Here, try this…’ Glancing up she found Raoul Delacroix standing beside her holding out a tall glass full of a pinkish liquid decorated with just about everything, from a selection of tropical fruit pieces to several fancy cocktail sticks and straws.

‘What’s in it?’ she asked warily.

‘Aidan called it tiger juice with a bite,’ Raoul replied.

Tiger juice, how appropriate, Eve mused dryly, thinking of Ethan Hayes again.

‘I’m game, if you are,’ Raoul said, bringing her attention to the other glass of the same he was holding. ‘It might help take the scowl from your face that you seem to have been struggling with all evening.’

Had her bad mood been that apparent? Eve accepted the glass without further comment, but as Raoul lowered himself onto the sunbed next to hers, she felt a fizz of anger begin to bubble inside because she knew whose fault it was that she was feeling like this!

If she didn’t watch out, Ethan Hayes could be in danger of becoming an obsession.

‘Salute.’ Raoul’s glass touching the edge of hers brought her mind swinging back to where it should be.

‘Cheers,’ she replied, unearthed a curly straw from the rest of the pretty junk decorating the glass, put it to her lips and sucked defiantly.

The drink tasted a little strange but not horribly so. She looked at Raoul, he looked at her. ‘What do you think?’ she asked him curiously.

‘Sexy,’ he murmured with a teasingly lecherous grin. ‘I can feel my toes tingling. I will now encourage the sensation to reach other parts.’ With that he took another pull on his straw.

Laughing at his outrageousness, Eve did the same, and it became a challenge as to which of them could empty the glass of Aidan’s wicked brew first. After that she remembered little. Not the glass being rescued from her clumsy fingers nor the light-hearted banter that went on around her as the rest of the crowd discussed where the birthday girl should be placed to sleep it off. Aidan offered a bed, someone else suggested she was perfectly fine where she was. Raoul reminded them that her grandfather was due in on the dawn flight, so maybe the wisest place for him to find her tomorrow was in her own bed. This drew unilateral agreement because no one wanted to explain to Theron Herakleides why his precious granddaughter had been so rolling drunk she hadn’t even made it home. Raoul offered to deliver her there since it was on the way to his villa, and he’d only had one glass of alcohol. Everyone agreed because no one else felt sober enough to make the drive.

It was all very relaxed, very light-hearted. No one thought of questioning Raoul’s motives as they watched him carry Eve to his car. They were all such long-standing friends after all. All for one, one for all.

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