The Power of the Legendary Greek Page 7

  ‘No. I don’t.’ Her eyes fell.

  ‘Thank the gods for that,’ he said dryly. ‘Then why such panic?’

  She drew in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘Bad experience lately.’

  ‘A lover who refused to take no for an answer?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Luke’s eyes darkened. ‘He hurt you?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Can you talk about it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Perhaps it would be good for you if you did.’ He put a finger under her chin to turn her face up. ‘Tell me, Isobel.’

  She stared at him in indecision, then sighed wearily. Why not? It was supposed to be easier to confide in a stranger. ‘I have this problem,’ she began very quietly. ‘Due to my lack of relatives, I tend to look for friendship and caring rather than heat and, well, sex, when it comes to relationships. A few months ago I met an artist whose work we put on display at the gallery. He became a regular fixture in my life, good company for meals and concerts and so on. But nothing more than that. But when we got back from what turned out to be our last evening together he asked to see my latest series of watercolours. They were still in my flat, so for the first time I invited him up there.’ She pushed the hair back from her face. ‘He mistook the invitation for something else entirely. I tried to fight him off, but he’s a big man and things got rough.’

  Luke’s eyes smouldered into hers. ‘He raped you, this friend?’

  Her hands clenched. ‘He had a good try. But I fought him so hard I managed to jab him with a stiletto heel in a place which put a stop to proceedings.’ She shivered. ‘But not before he hurt me badly. Psychologically as well as physically.’

  He swore under his breath. ‘It would have been even worse if he had succeeded. You could have been left with child.’

  Isobel flushed, and shook her head. ‘I have close friends—twin brothers who are both doctors—and, on their advice, I’ve taken the necessary precautions for years against that kind of accident.’ She sighed, depressed. ‘Up to that point I’d really thought Gavin was a true friend like the Carey twins. But it was the same old story. He just wanted to get me into bed. And I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ve given up on men since then. Other than the friends I’ve known forever.’

  ‘I rejoice to know it is not something I have done.’ Luke smiled wryly. ‘I was most cast down when you refused to eat with me earlier. My dinner invitations are usually accepted more eagerly.’

  She gave a choked little giggle. ‘I bet they are.’

  His eyes lit up. ‘That is better. You are even more lovely when you smile, Isobel. But, if I say so, you will accuse me of appreciating your beauty more than your intellect.’

  She smiled. ‘Since you’ve been so kind I’ll make an exception in your case, Luke.’

  ‘So we are friends again?’ He smiled slyly. ‘You said you like men who wish to be friends.’

  ‘I do. Not that it matters. I’ll be back in England soon.’

  ‘It is not time for you to go yet. And I shall return here in a few days,’ he went on, surprising her. ‘After the funeral I will work very hard to make sure I get away. By then,’ he added, ‘you will be well again. So take care this week. No climbing down cliff paths even when your ankle is better. If you want to sunbathe on my beach, Spiro will take you over in the Athena. Spiro,’ he repeated significantly, ‘not Milos.’

  She smiled wryly. ‘Actually, I won’t bother either of them, thanks just the same. I’ll be quite happy to sit on my veranda at the cottage, and when I can I’ll stroll down to the taverna to eat.’

  Luke frowned. ‘It would be more sensible to stay here, Isobel.’

  Not if he was coming back. She shook her head. ‘It’s very kind of you, but I really must get back to the cottage. Before I do, have I your permission for a swim in your pool?’

  ‘Wait until I return. I will swim with you,’ he said quickly. ‘Dr Riga is coming to check on you tomorrow, and you must do as he says, ne?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, resigned.

  ‘And when you return to the cottage, take both walking stick and crutch.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Isobel held out her hand, but her smile faded as her eyes met his. There was sudden taut silence between them, then Luke pressed a kiss on the hand. He leaned nearer, his eyes intent on hers. ‘Normally,’ he said softly, ‘I like my women dark and voluptuous. Unlike you, my little English friend.’

  ‘I definitely don’t tick your boxes,’ she said, determinedly prosaic. ‘My hair is fair—’

  ‘Golden,’ he corrected.

  ‘And I’m not in the least voluptuous. Nor,’ she said firmly, ‘am I one of your women.’

  ‘No? But I saved your life,’ he reminded her, his voice deepening. ‘In some cultures that means you belong to me now.’

  ‘Not in my culture! Besides, you just wanted to throw me off your island at first. Not quite the same as saving my life, Lukas Andreadis.’

  ‘Was it not? You were unconscious and your foot was caught in the rock. What would have happened to you if I had not found you? I was destined to rescue you, Isobel. It is useless to struggle against the fates.’ He smoothed the hair back from her forehead, careful to avoid her wound as he twisted a curl round his finger. ‘This hair of yours fascinates me, hriso mou.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘In this instance, golden one.’ He smiled into her eyes. ‘I would like your friendship, Isobel.’

  If only she could believe him. ‘Why did you come back, Luke?’

  ‘I had a brainwave, ne? Your phone!’ He chuckled as he played with her hair. ‘It was the perfect excuse. But now I must go.’ Even though he wanted to stay. Whatever her motive for landing on his beach, he had a sudden desire to lie with her like this all night, hold her close and keep her safe, a discovery which shot Luke upright in panic. She was meant to be a diversion, not a complication in his life. Which had complications enough already. ‘Goodnight,’ he said abruptly, and made for the door.

  ‘Goodnight,’ said Isobel, surprised by his sudden hurry.

  He opened it and turned, his eyes holding hers. ‘Sleep well.’

  As he went upstairs to his room Luke smiled wryly. His plan to charm his little golden bird into bed was not progressing according to plan, exactly. But she could not escape the fate that had sent her to him. His mouth twisted. He had spent too much of his life in plotting revenge to have much softness left in his psyche. His relationships with women were always transitory affairs to satisfy his male needs, with no emotions involved. But this English rose touched him in ways new to him. It was surprisingly vital for his peace of mind that she remained safe and well cared for at the villa rather than return to the Kalypso and risk relapse from her injuries. And he was only too willing to be Isobel’s ‘friend’ for the short time they would have together before he let his little bird fly away.

  So close a friend that soon he would make love to her with all the subtlety and skill at his command and erase all bad memories of men from her mind forever.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ISOBEL had barely closed her eyes before the sound of the helicopter woke her next morning. As she listened to it chop its way up into the sky above the villa she was thoughtful. He’d taken her rejection far better than expected. Not that one solitary ‘no’ from a woman he’d only known five minutes was likely to upset a man so comfortable in his own skin; especially smooth, bronzed skin that sheathed a muscular body so appealing to women he probably had to beat them off with a stick. And, with the kind of day he had in front of him today, he had probably forgotten her the moment he’d taken off into the sky. Yet now he’d gone the Villa Medusa felt oddly empty.

  Eleni brought breakfast earlier than usual. ‘Helicopter wake you, ne? I go shopping today,’ she announced.

  Isobel smiled cajolingly. ‘Eleni, if I give you money, would you mind buying some food for me to take to the cottage? I’m going back there to
morrow.’

  Eleni was dead against this idea and said so in all the English she had at her command, but Isobel was adamant.

  ‘You’ve been so kind, but I’m giving you far too much work. If Spiro will drive me there tomorrow I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Dr Riga comes today,’ said Eleni firmly. ‘He must say. Then I buy food. And now you must eat, Isobel. Kyrie Luke said I must take care of you.’

  This information pleased Isobel more than she cared to admit as she mapped out her programme for the day while she ate her breakfast. Before Dr Riga came she would enjoy a proper shower. And later she planned to settle herself on the shaded part of the terrace to paint, so she could leave the watercolour of the pool for Luke as a permanent reminder of his trespasser.

  To begin on her programme she removed the ankle bandage and the dressing on her temple, then turned on the shower. It was wonderful to stand under a warm spray and get totally clean, and she stayed under it so long Eleni was banging on the door before she’d finished.

  ‘Come in,’ Isobel called. ‘It’s not locked.’

  Eleni hurried in, frowning in disapproval at the discarded bandages.

  ‘I had to take them off. I just had to get clean, Eleni.’ Isobel moved the foot experimentally. ‘It feels a lot better. I thought I’d go outside—let the sun dry my hair a bit before it gets too hot.’

  Dr Riga arrived soon afterwards. ‘Kalimera, Miss James,’ he said, smiling. ‘Lukas asked me to check on you before I start my clinic. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Much better.’ Isobel indicated her damp hair. ‘I had a proper shower for the first time this morning.’

  ‘You have made good progress.’ The doctor took her pulse, then examined her face and bent to probe her ankle. ‘I shall strap this up again to give support,’ he told Isobel, ‘but your head wound needs no more dressing; it is healing well.’

  When Dr Riga had finished he gave a few more instructions, but agreed that she could return to the holiday cottage next day on condition that she was careful.

  When he’d gone Isobel stood up and, with the aid of the crutch, took a few confident steps, delighted with the ankle in its smaller, neater strapping. She collected her bag of drawing materials and went back to the terrace.

  ‘You see, Eleni?’ said Isobel jubilantly when the woman brought coffee. ‘Dr Riga says I can manage quite easily at the cottage now, so if Spiro will be kind enough to drive me I’ll move back there tomorrow.’

  The woman sniffed. ‘Then I come to cottage every day. Make sure,’ she said, eyeing the bag with suspicion. ‘What you do with that?’

  ‘I’m going to paint a picture for Luke as a present,’ Isobel informed her, and won a broad smile of approval.

  ‘Good, good,’ said Eleni. ‘Spiro drives me to shop now, Isobel, but Milos will guard you.’

  Like the crown jewels, thought Isobel, amused. She drank her coffee while she laid out her drawing materials, then made a couple of trips to the bathroom to fill her water pots, delighted with her new mobility. She set up the light folding easel she’d brought with her and wetted the first sheet of paper. Even in the relatively temperate heat of early morning the paper had dried taut as a drum by the time she’d mixed her first batch of paints, and she was able to lay down her first background wash. The drying time was so much quicker than at home it was exhilarating to put down wash after wash at such speed. By the time Eleni and Spiro returned the background of her painting was well under way, but Isobel was flagging and glad to sit down.

  She smiled as the couple came to check on her. ‘You were quick!’

  Spiro shook his head, smiling. ‘We were long time, Miss Isobel.’

  ‘I didn’t notice!’

  ‘Milos say he looked from garden, but you worked all the time,’ said Eleni, her eyes admiring on the watercolour. ‘You are so clever. Kyrie Luke will like very much, Isobel.’

  ‘I hope so. But don’t tell him what I’m doing. It’s a surprise.’

  ‘You hungry now?’

  Isobel nodded with enthusiasm.

  ‘How is your foot, kyria?’ asked Spiro, picking up the coffee tray.

  ‘Much better. Soon I’ll be able to manage without the crutch.’

  ‘Not today,’ said Eleni firmly.

  Isobel’s phone rang as she was about to get back to work after lunch.

  ‘How are you today, little friend?’

  ‘Luke! Where are you?’

  ‘In the car, on the way to the funeral. Has Dr Riga been to see you?’

  ‘Yes. He’s strapped my ankle again, and says I’ll be fine on my own now.’

  ‘I shall ring you tonight,’ he promised. ‘Rest this afternoon, Isobel. I wish…’ But whatever Luke wished was lost in a burst of static.

  Luke’s sombre dark suit matched his mood as he arrived at the church shortly after the priest had received the grieving widower and family with the coffin at the front door. Theo Andreadis ignored Luke, but Zena and Zoe Karras, sisters of the dead Melina, eyed him with open venom behind their brother-in-law’s back. Luke stared them out, then slipped into the back of the church after the cortege entered and prepared to endure the ceremony, his face a rigid mask as he listened to the white-robed priests intoning prayers for forgiveness and repose of the soul of the departed. What soul? thought Luke savagely.

  When the interminable service was over at last he was the first to leave, in such a hurry to avoid his grandfather that the man who hurtled out of the crowd with upraised knife took him by surprise. Luke’s lightning reflexes sent him ducking sideways and the glancing blade pierced the sleeve of his jacket to cut his arm as he slammed his fist into the assailant’s stomach, then, with a swift upper cut to the jaw, sent the man sprawling on the ground. Suddenly there were women screaming and police everywhere. Luke caught sight of his grandfather’s shocked face, but it was the gloating eyes of the Karras sisters that remained with him afterwards, not least because the gloating changed so quickly to furious disappointment. That he was still alive, obviously. He shot a cold, scathing smile at the women, then turned away to the police officers waiting to question him. Ambulances came rushing to the scene, but he held the paramedics off, determined to give all help possible to the police before he allowed anyone to attend to his wound.

  Inspired by talking to Luke, Isobel quickly immersed herself in her painting. The noon light was brighter, more vivid than before, and she spent a long time mixing paints to capture the play of sunlight on the pool. Its frame of greenery was equally challenging. The lush plant life seemed to encompass every shade of green, with overtones of blue and vivid splashes of contrast colour from tamarisk, oleander and geranium; a challenge she responded to with her usual concentration.

  When Eleni coughed tactfully, rattling a tray, Isobel looked up, blinking owlishly, and smiled.

  ‘Drinks—wonderful; I’m thirsty.’

  ‘Isobel, you have visitor.’

  Isobel stared in surprise. ‘Really? Who?’

  ‘Alyssa Nicolaides. No worry. She speak English.’

  ‘How very nice.’ Isobel sat back in her chair, rotating her neck as she stretched. ‘A break would be good. Could you bring her in while I have a wash?’ She waggled her stained fingers and went off with her crutch to change her paint-spattered T-shirt and do something to her face and hair.

  When Isobel got back to the terrace a young woman with a mass of dark curling hair spun round from an intent study of the watercolour and smiled warmly.

  ‘Hello. I’m Alyssa. I was speaking to Dr Riga today, and he said you might like some company now Luke’s gone.’

  Isobel smiled back, delighted. ‘I would, very much. How kind of you. Now I can thank you for packing my clothes.’

  ‘I was glad to help. Alex told me about your accident.’

  ‘Your brother was very kind, too. Please thank him when you speak to him again. Is he back at the hospital now?’

  ‘Yes. He was just here for his days off.’ Alyssa gestured to the painting.
‘I’m impressed. You have enormous talent.’

  ‘Thank you. How about some fruit juice, or water?’

  ‘The juice will be fine. Shall I pour some for you?’

  Isobel nodded. ‘Please. Do sit down—I’ve been standing too long.’

  Alyssa eyed the strapped ankle doubtfully as she pulled up a chair. ‘Will you be able to manage at the cottage on your own?’

  ‘Once Spiro drives me there, yes. The cottage is all on one floor, so with my crutch and the walking stick Luke gave me, no problem.’ Isobel eyed her guest with interest. ‘You speak very good English.’

  ‘We had a marvellous English teacher here in school. I also studied it along with my business degree, and went to work in England. I was there for several years.’ Alyssa grinned. ‘The accent is still strong, but I pride myself I’m fluent.’

  ‘You certainly are. What did you do?’

  ‘I worked in a London bank, with all those hotshot City boys.’ She fluttered her eyelashes. ‘One of them even tried to persuade me to share his trendy riverside apartment.’

  With those eyes and curves and the luxuriant hair, Isobel could well believe it. Alyssa was probably exactly the type of woman Luke usually went for. ‘But it didn’t happen?’

  ‘No. He was a charmer, and I was tempted, but I was homesick. By that time I had saved a fair sum of money, so home I came. Soon afterwards my baby brother introduced me to a handsome surgeon at his hospital.’ She waggled a hand adorned with an impressive ring. ‘And in a few weeks I’m going to marry my Dimitri. In the meantime I keep my English up with tourists at the taverna. But that’s enough about me. Tell me about you.’

  Alyssa listened, fascinated, as Isobel described her painting commissions and her job at the gallery, then bluntly asked her opinion of Luke. ‘He’s a great guy. Do you like him?’

  ‘Yes. He’s been very kind.’

  Alyssa gurgled. ‘How very British and restrained.’