A Cinderella for the Greek

. Make sense to her.

He shifted his position, hooking his arms loosely around his splayed bent knees. ‘So,’ he said, his tone quite different now, ‘what shall we do tomorrow? How about if we take the catamaran out?’

Gratefully, Ellen followed his lead. This was the Max she wanted. Carefree and easy-going. Revelling in the days and nights they spent here.

And she was grateful, too, the next day—to experience the thrill and the speed of skimming over the azure swell as she clung to the tarpaulin between the twin hulls of the wind-hungry vessel, with Max commandingly at the helm.

‘Enjoying it?’ he shouted to her over the rush of wind.

‘Fantastic!’ she yelled back, and then gave a cry, snatching more tightly at the tarpaulin, as with a careless answering laugh Max spun the helm, heading right into the wind, and the catamaran tacked with a lift of one hull before coming about again.

Exhilaration filled her as he headed downwind back to shore. With easy strength she helped him haul the vessel up on to the beach, then flopped down on the hot sand.

Max lowered himself beside her. Her eyes were shining, her face alight. There was sand in her hair, and it was windblown and tangled. A memory of how Tyla had hated getting her hair in a mess sifted through him—how she’d fussed endlessly about her appearance, wanting him and every other man to admire her constantly. Desire her.

His eyes softened. Ellen—his own beautiful lioness—was fit and fabulous. She’d believed no man could desire her, and even now that he had convinced her how very, very wrong that misconception had been, so that she now finally accepted the truth of her own appeal, there was still no trace of the fussing and self-absorption that Tyla had indulged in endlessly.

How easy that makes her to be with—she accepts my desire for her as naturally as breathing now, returns it with an ardour that takes my breath away!

And it was much more than simply the time she spent in his arms, breathtaking though that was. It was her enthusiasm, her sheer enjoyment of everything—from food, to sunbathing, to swimming, to gazing up at the stars—everything they did together.

I like being with her. I like her company—I like her thoughts and views and opinions. I like it that she likes this simple place and that she does not yearn for bright lights and sophisticated glamour. I like her laughter and her smiles.

She was smiling now—smiling right up at him as he loomed over her.

‘Good fun?’ He grinned, and she laughed again exuberantly. ‘You can sail her tomorrow,’ he promised, and then busied himself with kissing her.

From kissing her it was an easy progression to sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her up to their open-air room, making use, yet again, of the very large bed.

His last conscious thought, barely forming in his head, was just how good it was to make love with Ellen—how very, very good. And then there was no more thought, no more conscious awareness of anything at all, only rich, sating fulfilment.

* * *

Max’s hand was resting lazily over Ellen’s warm, sand-speckled thigh as they lay in partial shade on their little beach, having breakfasted on their terrace after an early-morning workout at the open-air gym in what would shortly be the reception and central services area of the resort. They were sunning themselves, waiting for enough wind to rise so they could take out the catamaran.

It was their penultimate day there, and Ellen was only too conscious of a sense of deep, aching reluctance for this blissful, wondrous time to end. She could feel a little tug on her insides—a sense of yearning for this time not to be over, not to be done with. She glanced over the sparkling azure water to the curve of the tiny bay edged with vivid glossy foliage. The fronded roofing of their wooden cabana was barely visible, blending into the verdant greenery.

She gave a low, regretful sigh. These past days—one slipping effortlessly into the next, so that she’d all but lost count of them—had been so wonderful. So idyllic. They had been cocooned on this lush tropical island, living as close to nature as they could. Away from all the rest of the world, away from all its problems and difficulties.

A little Eden—just for the two of us. And I was Eve—woman new-made. Discovering for the first time just how joyous being a woman can be.

New-made, indeed—and from Adam’s rib. A smile tugged whimsically at her mouth.

Max made me—he made me a woman, sensual and passionate.

Oh, he’d done it for his own purposes, his own ends—she had no illusions about that. He had been perfectly open about wanting her to discover what life could be like beyond what she knew he saw as the prison of her childhood home. The place that had trapped her in misery, in the past, in her bitter feud with Pauline and Chloe. But she didn’t care. How could she? His motives could never detract from the effect his liberation had had on her. The wondrous, glorious gift he had given her!

The gift of his own desire for her.

And hers for him.

Her eyes went to him now with familiar pleasure as he lay beside her on the sand, dark glasses shading his eyes so that she did not know if he was dozing or awake.

It was the latter. ‘Why the sigh?’ he asked, turning his head towards her.

‘Oh, I guess it’s just that I... Well... This time tomorrow we’ll be heading back to London.’

She felt his gaze on her through the opaque lenses. ‘You’ve enjoyed it here?’