Sara Craven - Her Greek Groom

When the choking sobs began to subside, she was urged into the little tiled shower-room.

‘All will be well, little one,’ Maria said as she left her alone. ‘You will see. Men,’ she added in a tone of robust disapproval.

The warm water and shampoo provided a healing therapy of their own, and Cressy felt almost human again as she wandered back into the bedroom with the largest towel wrapped round her like a sarong.

She checked in surprise because her discarded clothing seemed to have vanished. True, she hadn’t been looking forward to putting it on again, but, apart from a change of underwear in her bag, it was all she had. And she could hardly travel back to Alakos in a towel.

Then she saw that there was something lying on the bed—a dress in filmy white cotton, with a full skirt and a square neck embroidered with flowers.

She heard a sound at the door, and turned eagerly. ‘Oh, Maria,’ she began, and stopped, her breath catching in her throat, as Draco strode into the room.

She swallowed, her hand instinctively going to the knot that secured the towel in place.

She said icily, ‘Get out of here—now. Or I’ll scream for Maria.’

‘You will need strong lungs. Maria is busy in the kitchen.’ He put down the bowl he was carrying on the table beside the bed. ‘And I am here on an errand of mercy. Let me see your foot.’

‘My foot is fine.’

‘You wish to have an infection?’ His tone was inflexible. ‘And spend the rest of your vacation in hospital?’ He pointed to the bed. ‘Sit down.’

‘You have an answer for everything,’ Cressy said as she mutinously obeyed. ‘I suppose you trained as a doctor between fishing and dancing in restaurants.’

His mouth twisted. ‘No, thespinis. I took a course in common sense.’

He knelt in front of her and lifted her foot gently to examine it. His fingers were gentle and cool, and she felt a strange shiver of awareness glide between her shoulder blades and down her spine. He glanced up.

‘I am hurting you?’

‘No.’ Cressy bit her lip, trying to appear composed. But it wasn’t easy. The clean, male scent of him seemed to fill her consciousness, and she found herself breathing more deeply, inhaling the faint fragrance of soap and clean linen. The silky black curls were inches from her hand, and she wondered how they would feel as her fingers caressed them.

Beneath the towel, she could feel her skin warming in swift, unbidden excitement. Feel her hardening nipples graze against the rough fabric…

Oh, God, what am I doing?

Aloud, she said urgently, ‘Look—there’s no need for you to do this. I can manage—really.’

‘You don’t like to be touched?’

‘I’ve never thought about it.’ She found herself startled into honesty.

‘Then think now.’ He paused, and there was a sudden harshness in his voice. ‘Do you like to be in the arms of your lover?’

‘Of course,’ she said, and was glad that his head was bent, and that this time he could not look into her eyes and see that she was lying again.

She was expecting more questions, but he was suddenly silent, concentrating, presumably, on what he was doing.

There was disinfectant in the bowl that he’d brought, and Cressy tried not to wince as he swabbed the blister.

‘What’s that?’ she asked dubiously as he uncapped a small pot of pale green ointment.

‘It is made from herbs,’ he said. ‘It will help you to heal.’

When he’d finished, Cressy had a small, neat dressing held in place by a strip of plaster.

‘Efharisto,’ she said unwillingly. ‘Thank you. It—it feels better already.’

‘Good,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Then you will be able to dance with me tonight.’

‘No,’ Cressy said, feeling her heart thud painfully against her ribcage. ‘No, I couldn’t possibly.’

‘Why not? Because your lover would not like it if he knew?’

‘Perhaps.’ Cressy examined her plaster with renewed interest. This non-existent boyfriend was proving useful, she thought. She had a dress ring in her luggage at the hotel. From now on she would wear it—on her engagement finger.

‘Then why is he not here with you—making sure that no other man’s hand touches his woman?’

She shrugged. ‘He didn’t want to come. He—he doesn’t like very hot weather.’

‘He has ice in his veins—this Englishman.’ The harshness in his tone was inlaid with contempt.

‘On the contrary.’ Cressy moved her foot cautiously. ‘But we have a modern relationship, kyrie. We don’t have to spend every minute of every day together. We—like our space.’

He said slowly, ‘If you belonged to me, matia mou, I would not let you out of my sight.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Isn’t that a little primitive?’

‘Perhaps.’ His mouth smiled but the agate eyes were oddly hard. ‘But it is also—effective.’

He picked up the bowl and the roll of plaster. ‘Come down when you are ready, thespinis. Yannis is waiting to cook your dinner.’

‘I can’t come down,’ she said. ‘I have nothing to wear.’

Draco indicated the dress that was lying on the bed. ‘You call this nothing? Maria has put it here for you. It would honour her for you to wear it. And be an honour for you, too,’ he added sharply. ‘It was her wedding dress.’

‘Oh.’ Cressy swallowed. ‘I had no idea. Then of course I must…’ Her voice tailed away.

He replaced the dress carefully, then went to the door.

He said, ‘I will tell them to expect you—to dine, and then to dance.’

And was gone.

Maria must have been very much slimmer at the time of her marriage, Cressy reflected, for the dress was almost a perfect fit.

Of course, the canvas shoes didn’t really do it justice, but they’d have to suffice.

She’d brushed her damp hair until it hung, sleek and shining, to her shoulders, and applied a touch of colour to her mouth.

Now, she circled doubtfully in front of the long narrow mirror fixed to the wall. No one at her City office would have recognised her, she thought. She hardly recognised herself.

I look about seventeen, she thought. Except that I never looked like this when I was seventeen.

It wasn’t just the dress. There was something in her face—something soft, almost wistful, that was new and unfamiliar. Under their fringe of lashes, her eyes were dreaming.

My eyes. That was what he had called her. Matia mou.

Only she wasn’t going to think about that any more—what he’d said, or done. She was going to eat her meal, get on her ferry, and go back to the sanctuary of her expensive hotel. And if he turned up there, Security would know how to deal with him.

She nodded fiercely, and went down to the courtyard of the taverna.

Yannis welcomed her with extravagant admiration, and Maria appeared in the kitchen doorway, smiling mistily.

But Draco, as a cautious glance round soon revealed, was nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps the mention of a boyfriend had produced the desired result, Cressy told herself, firmly quashing an unwelcome tingle of disappointment.

To her surprise, the taverna was busy, and not just with local people. One of the tour companies had brought a crowd over from Alakos, it seemed, and most of the tables had been rearranged in a long line under the striped awning, and people, laughing and talking, were taking their seats there.

Yannis took Cressy to a secluded corner, protected by latticework screens covered, in turn, by a flowering vine.

He brought her ouzo, followed by dishes of taramasalata and houmous, and juicy black olives, with a platter of fresh bread.

As she sampled them, Cressy saw that a group of bouzouki players had arrived and were tuning their instruments.