The moment the Jeep was back at the villa she was out of it, extracting Ari as fast as she could. To her relief, Nikos kept the engine running, and the moment Ari was down drove straight off round to the villa’s garages. Ari, seizing Ann’s hand, headed indoors, where he was intercepted by Maria, the nursery maid, who exclaimed dutifully at Ari’s grievous wound, then whisked him off to get cleaned up. Gratefully, Ann escaped to her room. Under a punishingly hot shower she mercilessly berated herself. How could she have let Nikos Theakis do that to her? Touch her, caress her, kiss her…
And why had he done it? But she knew, with a hollowing damning of herself. It had been a power play, pure and simple. He’d done it deliberately, calculatingly, just to show her that he could. To show that she would succumb because he could make it impossible for her not to! That she was powerless against him…
I can’t let him have that kind of power! I can’t!
No—she had to fight it. And at least now, she told herself urgently, in her head, she was now prepared for his new battle against her. He’d shown his hand, made his move, and that meant he could no longer launch a surprise attack on her the way he’d done on the beach. She was forewarned now, and that meant forearmed. All she had to do was be on her absolute guard against him.
Whatever it took.
Because the alternative was—unthinkable.
Nikos stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror of his self- contained apartment in the villa, his razor stilled in one hand.
He was playing with fire.
His mouth tightened. That was the only word for it. He hadn’t thought it would be. Had thought it would simply be a matter of killing two birds with one very satisfying stone—gratifying the increasingly persistent desire to enjoy a woman he wanted whilst simultaneously ensuring that Ann Turner was led very nicely up the garden path to a position where she could be ejected, once and for all, from his family.
But that incident on the beach had proved otherwise. Had proved that he was, indeed, playing with fire in what he was doing.
I was out of control so much I didn’t even notice when Ari was in danger.
The words formed in his head, sobering and grim. A warning, clear as a bell. And one he would be insane not to heed.
Whatever Ann Turner had, he had to ensure that the only person who got burnt was her. Not him.
With controlled, precise strokes, he started to shave.
Outside the door to the salon, Ann paused. She could feel her chest was tight, her nerves taut. She wanted to bolt back to her room, but it was impossible. She had to get through this evening—the rest of her time on Sospiris. Ignoring com¬pletely the man who’d turned her into a quivering, sensuous, conscienceless fool.
Gritting her teeth, she walked in.
Her eyes went to him immediately, sucked to him. Her stomach hollowed, taking in, in a devastating instant, the way he stood there, casually dressed in dark blue trousers, open necked shirt, freshly shaved, lifting his martini glass to his mouth, his unreadable eyes resting on her. For a second so brief it hardly existed she felt his gaze make contact. Then it was gone. His attention was back on Tina, who was talking about archaeology.
Smiling awkwardly, Ann went across to Mrs Theakis and Cousin Eupheme.
How she got through dinner she wasn’t sure, but she managed it somehow. Inevitably the conversation included a discussion of the day’s expedition, and Ann had to fight the colour seeking to mount in her cheeks. Her comments were disjointed, and in the end she pleaded a headache from too much sun, and fled back to her room before coffee was served. She felt Nikos Theakis’s dark gaze on her as she left the dining room.
For the next two days Ann stuck to Tina and Ari like glue. It was easy enough. The following day Ari had a playdate on Maxos, with the young son of wealthy friends of the Theakises, and after handing him over to the family’s nanny at their sumptuous holiday villa, Tina took Ann off to spend the afternoon at the dig her fiancé was directing, before heading back to collect Ari again. That evening she was relieved to discover that Nikos was out.
‘He is dining with the family that little Ari spent the day with,’ said Mrs Theakis, when Ann joined her. ‘One of their house guests has a tendre for him,’ she said dryly. She looked directly at Ann. ‘My son is very… popular with our sex, my dear. He has much of what they want. Most noticeably, con¬ siderable wealth.’ Was there the slightest snap in her voice as she spoke? Ann wondered. Then another thought crossed her mind—a horrible one.
Is she warning me off? She felt cold at the thought.
‘And so handsome, too!’ This from Cousin Eupheme, who had, Ann had already observed, a visible soft spot for Nikos Theakis.
‘Yes,’ allowed Mrs Theakis. ‘It is a dangerous combination. For him, that is. A man who is both rich and handsome.’ Again she looked directly at Ann, and now Ann knew that indeed she was being specifically warned. ‘Such a man can be tempted not to treat women with the respect they should have from him.’
Ann stared. This was not what she had thought Mrs Theakis had been going to say.
Mrs Theakis continued, in the same gentle, contemplative voice she always used. ‘I would hesitate to call my own son spoilt, and yet— Ah, Yannis—epharisto!’ This last to the manservant, who had approached with the customary tray of pre-dinner drinks.
To Ann’s relief, the subject of the conversation turned, with Mrs Theakis asking Ann what she had made of both Tina’s fiancé’s dig and her fiancé himself. Tina was still with Sam, Ann having brought Ari back to Sospiris on her own. Ari had been full of his enjoyable adventures on his playdate— except for one aspect.
‘She kept kissing me, and I did not like it!’ he’d complained.
‘Who was that?’ Ann had asked, amused.
‘A grown-up lady. She asked me about Uncle Nikki. I said he was busy working. That is what he tells Yannis to tell ladies when they phone him. I told her that too. She did not like it and went away. I was glad. I didn’t like her kissing me.’ He looked at Ann. ‘Uncle Nikki does not kiss. He hugs. And he carries me on his shoulders. If,’ he’d added, punctiliously, ‘I do not pull his hair.’