Chapter Ten
FOTIS APPROACHED THE old windmill, a breeze riffling his shirt as he topped the ridgeline.
The door was propped open and Rosamund sat on the stone block that wedged it wide. She was writing, her attention on the notebook open on her lap. A broad-brimmed hat lay discarded on the ground. Even in the shade, her rose-gold hair seemed to catch the light.
Her legs were stretched out, casually crossed at the ankles. Fotis thought of how she’d locked those slim, strong limbs around him this morning as she urged him deeper, faster, harder.
He paused and drew a slow breath.
She wore a crimson cotton dress with narrow shoulder straps that left her arms and shoulders bare.
He knew she wore nothing beneath it except a pair of skimpy, lace underpants.
Lying on the rumpled bed, he’d watched her dress, only just restraining himself from reaching for her again, because she’d declared she needed fresh air after spending so long in bed.
He thought he’d done well, not mentioning that she’d been the one to disrupt his offer to prepare breakfast, her seeking, stroking hands revealing that it wasn’t food she’d been hungry for. Inevitably she’d woken the beast in him and they’d stayed in bed for another hour.
Their affair had lasted for weeks and still they were voracious for each other. Just a look, a touch, a half-smile, and nothing mattered but satisfying that hunger. By mutual consent, and while Ricardo was still at large, there’d been no mention of her leaving.
Fotis had found himself working less than he usually did, only when she was busy on her laptop. His business ran well and he trusted his senior staff but soon, surely, he’d have to pull back from her and return to his well-ordered life.
Yet for hours the image of her, lifting the cherry-red dress over her head and letting it waft down over her almost-naked body, had made work impossible.
Besides, despite the safety of this isolated island with its state-of-the-art security monitoring, he couldn’t rest easy if she wasn’t near.
Every day she explored, sometimes with him and sometimes ostensibly on her own.
But Fotis always ensured either he or a trusted local was close enough to step in if danger threatened.
He wouldn’t allow anything bad to happen to her.
Because you gave your word to her brother? Or because you can’t stand the thought of her being hurt?
The answer was both. Yet his visceral reaction to the idea of her in danger had little to do with Leon or their deal.
Nor was his response based solely on sex. The carnal link between them was incredibly strong. But more than that Fotis liked Rosamund.
She wasn’t afraid to challenge him and he enjoyed the give-and-take of their discussions, even their disagreements.
Time and again she’d made him consider things in a new light.
She was living proof that he wasn’t always right and that first impressions could be wrong.
A valuable reminder for a man in his field.
In his work he’d never dream of jumping to conclusions, yet he’d done that with her.
‘Are you hungry? I brought food.’
She lifted her head, expression brimming with a delight that made his heart thud. Her slow curling smile and the pleasure in her grey-blue eyes drew heat through his tightening chest, down past his belly and into his groin.
‘Sounds wonderful. I’m famished.’
‘So am I.’ Not merely for food.
Fotis closed the space between them and dropped a kiss to her parted lips.
Immediately need rose. Her response was as instantaneous as it was generous. She palmed his jaw, leaning up towards him, and he felt her hunger. It matched his. For a deeper taste. For the feel of their bodies against each other. For the sweet bliss of communion.
But he pulled back, making himself straighten, his lungs working like bellows and every muscle protesting. Because he was determined for once not to tumble immediately into sex.
He’d known alluring women, enjoyed his time with enough of them. Yet none had had this effect on him. Weeks it had been since they’d become lovers, and in that time his desire for her, his hunger, had only intensified.
He needed… What? To understand this link between them. To identify the nebulous feelings she stirred. They were unsettling to a man who’d spent his life determinedly alone.
He swung the backpack off his shoulders and onto the ground. ‘I’ve brought cheese and fresh bread—’
‘Yiayia Irini’s bread?’
He nodded, smiling as her face lit with greedy eagerness. ‘Tassos brought some up especially for you.’
Because Rosamund had developed a weakness for the flavoursome bread and nothing, it seemed, was too much effort for the locals where she was concerned.
She’d visited the village early during her stay and found the elderly woman removing a loaf of bread she’d baked from the old communal oven.
The oven was only used by a few now, but some of the traditional ways hadn’t died.
Naturally Irini had offered the visitor a taste of her loaf, using her smattering of English. A bond had sprung up between the princess and the tiny, sharp-eyed matriarch of the village. Not just with Irini. He’d lost count of the people who’d spent time with Rosamund and liked her.
He liked her. More than he’d thought possible.
He looked away from her shining eyes as he opened the pack. ‘There are olives and tomatoes. Plus I’ve got a bottle of local wine and apricot tart for dessert.’
‘It sounds like a feast,’ she said as she closed her notebook and put it aside.
Fotis noted with pleasure that she hadn’t snapped it shut the moment she saw him, like she used to do. She was relaxed, anticipation dancing her eyes.
He’d seen her at VIP functions that featured world-famous wines and exquisite gourmet delicacies. Yet here she was, licking her lips over rustic bread, tomatoes warm from the sun and a light wine that was tasty but would never feature on a list of must-have vintages.
Rosamund was anything but elitist.
He pulled out a rug and spread it out while she delved into the rucksack, busily setting out the food. She grabbed a knife. ‘I’ll cut the bread and the tomatoes if you’ll open the wine.’
As Fotis uncorked the bottle and poured it, he tried to imagine any of his previous lovers enjoying such a simple picnic. He couldn’t.
The women in his life hadn’t been socialites, since he had an inbuilt hatred of the species.
They were all intelligent, attractive women, not searching for a man to give them a life of luxury.
Yet he couldn’t picture any of them here on this superb but wild mountain, avidly eyeing his humble picnic.
He handed her some wine and she leaned in to brush her lips against his, lingering for a tantalising moment that tested his resolve, before withdrawing. She tasted of the sea breeze and cinnamon, and something deeply sensual that was unique to her. Something that made him want to lean in for more.
Blue eyes twinkled. She knew exactly how much he wanted her. ‘Thanks for hiking up with the food, Fotis.’ She raised her glass. ‘Yassou.’
He lifted his own in salute. ‘Yassou, Rosa.’
He loved her reaction to the intimate nickname. The hint of a flush across her throat and the glow of pleasure in her beautiful eyes. It made him want…
Fotis swallowed a mouthful of crisp wine then reached for an olive, breaking their locked gazes.
‘I have a question.’ It had been on his mind for weeks, that incident in Paris that had set the seal on his initial negative opinion. An opinion that didn’t fit the woman he knew.
She tilted her head. ‘Go on.’
‘Tell me about the dress in the Paris boutique. The red one you rejected.’
At first he’d imagined her reaction was simply selfishness. Now he knew better. Her manner at the boutique was at odds with the way she dealt with other people. Completely at odds with how she interacted with the villagers here.
Rosamund paused in the act of laying a tomato slice on a piece of bread. A tiny frown line appeared in the centre of her forehead as she took her time adding another slice. ‘What do you want to know?’
He hated the wariness in her voice and how her lush mouth pinched at the corners. But he wanted more from her, more than sexual gratification. He hungered to know her. He told himself it was a form of self-protection to understand her, yet an inner voice warned he was in dangerous territory.
So be it. He’d crossed a line with this woman and he couldn’t go back. He needed to understand her.
‘It wasn’t just any dress, was it? It upset you and you weren’t yourself, the way you handled the situation.’
‘In what way?’
‘You were abrupt. Terse.’ At the time he’d thought that was typical of her, that she was spoiled and angry when she didn’t get exactly what she wanted.
The way his mother had been when things didn’t work out to her satisfaction, even the smallest things.
‘That’s unusual for you. You make such an effort to put people at ease, particularly those who aren’t your social equals. ’
Her eyebrows arched high. ‘Don’t be a snob, Fotis. Just because my father was a king doesn’t mean I’m superior to someone who makes beautiful clothing, or who can ferry me safely through peak hour Paris traffic.’
As if to emphasise that she’d made her point, she took a big bite of bread and tomato.
He watched her chew vigorously then swallow, but without any sign of enjoyment, as if the conversation had tainted the taste of the food. Her eyes flashed with annoyance yet still he couldn’t drag his eyes away. Her vibrant energy was captivating.
‘I agree. And I know that’s how you feel. Which is why I want to understand what distressed you.’ For she had been distressed, he’d realised.
She looked away to where the indigo sea met the horizon. ‘Maybe I was annoyed at being lumbered with an unwanted bodyguard.’