Carole Mortimer - Mediterranean Seduction

She gasped as Iannis seized hold of her and swung her around to join in the dance, and then she was forced to concentrate fast, or trip over his feet. The contrast between her dancing partners couldn’t have been more pronounced. Unlike Garlic Breath, Iannis showed no interest in groping her, and diverted all his passion into the intricate steps. His anger was converted into an expressive fire that allowed him to produce strong, powerful moves. And he brought her with him so firmly she didn’t even have to think about her own steps.

Charlotte hardly knew how she found the opportunity to breathe as her body swayed in response to the slightest undulation of Iannis Kiriakos’s commanding frame. But then, just when she thought the music had reached its peak, he made a sign to the leader of the musicians and the music changed again, slowing and deepening to little more than a low, vibrating rumble of sound.

Iannis broke away, leaving Charlotte disorientated until Marianna came to her rescue. Joining her on the dance floor, she took hold of Charlotte’s arm.

‘What have I done wrong now?’ Charlotte demanded, trying not to care that Iannis was trawling the room, collecting up every woman in sight. None of them could resist him, she noticed tensely—though he was at his most charming with the older women, helping them to their feet and moving back chairs for them. ‘Well, Marianna?’ she repeated tensely. ‘Can you tell me what I’ve done wrong?’

‘Iannis is saving your embarrassment,’ Marianna said, her dark eyes gleaming.

‘My embarrassment?’ Charlotte said distractedly, seeing all the young women waiting tensely to discover which of them Iannis would choose. He seemed to pick at random, she noticed, and his imperative gesture brought even the most diffident young girl to her feet. ‘He needs bringing down a peg or two.’

‘Are you the woman to do it?’

‘Marianna!’ Charlotte exclaimed. ‘Of course I’m not. I’m not even interested—’

‘Really?’ Marianna murmured, so softly Charlotte hardly caught the word. But before she could protest Marianna added, ‘All the women are interested in Iannis Kiriakos. Why should you be an exception?’

Not wanting to cause offence, Charlotte confined herself to a faint smile. But inside she was a bubbling cauldron of emotion—emotion that she longed to take out on Iannis Kiriakos, not the kindly Marianna who, for some inexplicable reason, chose to champion him.

‘Here on Iskos only the men take part in the kalamatiana ,’ Marianna expanded.

‘I know that now,’ Charlotte admitted ruefully.

‘I can’t remember another occasion when a woman—especially a young, single woman, and unescorted at that—took the floor,’ Marianna went on with a shake of her head.

‘Perhaps it’s time, then?’ Charlotte suggested, meeting Marianna’s gentle reproach with a smile. ‘And anyway,’ she added fondly, ‘I’m not unescorted. You’re here beside me.’

Marianna smiled at that, and patted Charlotte’s arm. ‘I am now,’ she agreed heavily, rolling her eyes with a sigh.

Charlotte watched Iannis stroll confidently around the perimeter of the dance floor, bringing more women to their feet. Prowling, she mused, like the tiger she had first thought him to be… But would he come back to her?

He did, though he uttered but a single word. ‘Ready?’ He gave a curt flick of his chin to indicate that she should rest her arm on his again, whilst on her other side Marianna blithely marshalled Charlotte into the correct position for the dance.

Arrogant brute! Charlotte thought furiously, trying not to faint with pleasure when she rested her arm on his. Trapped between Marianna and Iannis, she had safety at one side and danger at the other. It made Charlotte feel slightly light-headed, and far too confident for her own good. By the time the dance began her senses were in free-fall and her arm seemed to melt into his. It was impossible to remain detached with Iannis standing next to her. So much machismo should never be let loose, Charlotte decided, flaring a look into his face that warned him plainly— No! But what use was that when her body blatantly called out to him, Yes ?

Brava! she murmured inwardly, complimenting herself on her restraint as she mastered the steps of the dance. It was amazing she could concentrate on anything at all when all she wanted to do was tug him off the dance floor and put her theories to the test.

The line of dancers extended right along the jetty now, to the very limits of the dance floor. ‘Follow me,’ Marianna instructed in a discreet whisper, giving Charlotte’s hand an encouraging squeeze. ‘You are doing really well for a beginner. You will soon pick up the more complicated moves.’

Charlotte made sure she did. There was a very pretty young girl on the other side of Iannis. This fired her determination, particularly as she was quite certain he didn’t lavish the same accusatory stare on his other partner each time he was forced to deliver a prompt.

The rhythm of the bouzoukis was irresistible, and those still seated began to stamp in time and clap their hands, encouraging the dancers to pick up the pace. As the beat pulsed through her Charlotte was lost in the music. Everything outside the dance floor receded until nothing existed beyond the warmth and strength of Iannis’s outstretched arm beneath her own. The desire to move with him was all that mattered to her. Every fibre of her being vibrated in unison with him, until nothing existed outside the dance—nothing but Iannis Kiriakos, and he was the dance.

CHAPTER FIVE

FOLLOWING Iannis in the kalamatiana seemed so natural to Charlotte it was as if they were sharing a secret language only they knew. The dance was like a seduction, with the tension rising and falling between them so that in one sinuous move she offered compliance, only to promise conflict with the next aggressive step. And Iannis had a great sense of rhythm, as she had known he would.

Charlotte basked in the hot stab of his glance. It might be formalised and impersonal, but right now it was all hers, and the music kept them chained together, scaling the heights only to leave them, suspended on a plateau of awareness, before starting to climb again. Always, just when it seemed that they must reach the summit at last, it fell back again to a shiver-inducing, seductive whisper.

Charlotte’s mind was full of music, but her eyes were full of Iannis, and now when he met her stare she found his expression shockingly, thrillingly intimate. Snatching off her shawl, he tossed it onto an empty seat and turned to lavish a fierce glance on her, his intention unmistakable, the promise of it electrifying. She wanted him now, immediately, she didn’t want to wait. All she wanted was for Iannis to drag her from the dance floor and find some dark, secret place where they could be alone.

Charlotte was barely conscious of the fact that her breasts were threatening to overflow their tight constraint, or that her skirt had ridden up above her knees. All she knew was that her clothes had become an encumbrance, that she longed for Iannis to tear them off.

Marianna had retired to fan herself, and her place in the line had been taken by one of the young waiters, but quite suddenly the dance ended, and the line of dancers drifted apart. Still held firm in Iannis’s grip, Charlotte slowly emerged from the erotic trance into which she had fallen and found she was incredibly aroused. Still panting, she gazed at him, then flushed with uncertainty. In the heat of the dance her behaviour could have passed for flair and enthusiasm, but now that the music had slowed she felt less sure of herself.

Several married couples had joined them on the dance floor and they had no such inhibitions. Their movements were blatantly seductive. But that was okay for them, Charlotte realised, feeling increasingly unsure of herself. When she put her hands flat against Iannis’s chest and tried to pull away from him, he challenged her softly.