Jessica Hart - British Bachelors - Gorgeous and Impossible - My Greek Island Fling / Back in the Lion's Den / We'll Always Have Paris

She leaned back on her arms and gripped on to the grab-rail behind her seat, her muscles clenching and rattling with every bump in the road. Strange how she hadn’t noticed the potholes in the comfort of her hire car. She was certainly feeling every one of them now.

She hated being a passenger. But she had to admit that the view in front of her was impressive enough. Mark’s broad shoulders filled his shirt, and as he stretched forward on the scooter she could see the muscles in his arms move effortlessly through the controls. His top wasn’t quite long enough, which meant she had occasional tantalising glimpses of the band of skin above his snug-fitting trousers.

Far too tantalising.

Dratted tingles.

Lexi turned her head slowly from side to side, looking for distraction in the stunning Greek countryside as they sped along at about twenty miles an hour. Lemon trees, bright purple and pink bougainvillaea, and pale oleander bushes filled the gardens of the houses they passed on the small country road. Dark green cypresses and pine trees created a perfect skyline of light and shade under the deep azure blue of the sky.

And all the time she could glimpse a narrow line of darker blue in between the trees, where the Ionian Sea met the horizon.

The sun shone warmly on her exposed skin and she felt free and wild and ready to explore. She felt so completely liberated that, without thinking about it, she closed her eyes and relaxed back to let the wind cool her throat and neck. Just as she did so the bike slowed, making a sharp turn to the left off the main road onto what felt like a farm track.

Lexi snapped her eyes open and instinctively grabbed Mark around the waist, her heart thumping. She could feel his muscles tighten under her hands, warm and solid and mightily reassuring.

He glanced back just once, to give her a reassuring smile, before reducing his speed and leaning the scooter through bend after bend of steadily narrowing and even more bumpy road until they came to a passing point outside a stunning tiny white church and he came to a slow, graceful stop.

They had arrived. At the end of the road.

‘Did I mention that the rest of the way is on foot?’ he asked in an innocent voice.

Lexi replied with a scathing look and glanced down at her gold wedge sandals. ‘How far do I have to walk?’

‘Five minutes. Tops. It’s just at the end of the donkey trail and then through the olives.’

‘Five minutes? I’ll hold you to that. Of course you do realise that your terrible secret is now out in the open?’ Lexi grinned, heading down the rocky path between the high drystone walls that separated the olive groves. Pine needles from the conifers softened her tread.

Mark swallowed hard. ‘Any one in particular? I have so many.’

‘This is undoubtedly true. I was, of course, referring to the secret life of The Honourable Mark Belmont, Company Director. The outside world knows him as the suave financial wizard of the London stock market. But when Mr Belmont comes to Paxos? Ah, then the other Mark emerges from his chrysalis. This version enjoys riding his scooter—in public—drinking the local wine and entertaining cats. So that only leaves one question. What other hidden talents are yet to emerge?’

His reply was a quick snort.

‘Landscape painting, perhaps? No. Too sedate. How about speedboat-racing?’ Lexi stretched up and ran her fingers through the low-hanging branch of an olive tree. ‘Or perhaps you’re the olive king of the island and have vats of the stuff back at Belmont Manor, ready to challenge the Greek olive-oil market? That’d suit your aristocratic swashbuckling style.’

He chuckled out loud now. A real laugh, displaying his perfect teeth. ‘Swashbuckling? Not exactly my style. And, in answer to your question, I’m no water baby. But I can heartily recommend the local olive oil.’

‘You don’t swashbuckle or swim?’

‘Never.’

‘Seriously? When you have that lovely pool at the villa?

He froze, half turned and then looked at her for a split second, still smiling. ‘Swimming was for pupils who preferred sport to studying. Apart from my stellar football experience, which was definitely a one-off, sport was not on my timetable. And it strikes me that I’ve been answering a lot of questions. Your turn. What hidden talents does Lexi Sloane have up her sleeve? What’s her guilty pleasure?’

Now it was Lexi’s turn to smile, but she shot him a quick glance as they walked along before speaking again.

‘Apart from good food and wine, you mean? Ah. Well, as a matter of fact I do have a guilty pleasure. I write children’s stories.’

Mark made a strange strangled sound but carried on walking.

‘Children’s stories? You mean teen vampire love and schools for wizards?’

She sniggered. ‘Mine are meant for a much younger audience. Think talking animals and fairies.’ She stopped walking, dived into her shoulder bag, brought out her favourite notebook and flicked to a particular page. ‘I worked on this one during the night when I couldn’t sleep.’

Mark turned around on the narrow path and took a step towards her, peering at the notebook she held out.

To Lexi’s delight his eyes widened and a broad grin warmed his face, as though she’d lit a fire inside him which drove away the darkness of the morning with its brightness.

‘That’s Snowy One and Snowy Two.’ He laughed, flicking over the page. ‘These are wonderful! You didn’t mention that you did the illustrations, as well. When did you find the time to draw the kittens?’

‘I cheated and took some photos before dinner yesterday. They were perfect models and quite happy to stay in position for at least a couple of seconds while I found a pose I liked. Then I worked the photos into the stories.’

She took the notebook back and just for a fraction of a second her fingertips made contact with Mark’s hand. And, judging by his sharp intake of breath, he felt the connection just as powerfully as she did. He immediately started gabbling to cover it up.

‘Well, I am impressed. Are you planning to have your stories published or keep them for your own children to enjoy?’

And there it was. A direct hit. Bullseye. Right between the eyes!

My own children? Oh, Mark, if only you knew how much I long to have children of my own .

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Stupid . She should be able to handle the question better than this. But he’d hit her with it out of the blue. That was all. She could cope.

‘Published, I hope,’ she replied through a burning throat. ‘One day.’

‘Excellent,’ he replied, his warm voice brimming with feeling. ‘In that case I look forward to reading your stories to my nephews at the earliest opportunity.’

Lexi picked up his lighter mood and went with it gladly. ‘Ah. Do I have to add bedtime story-reader to your long list of accomplishments?’

He smiled. ‘I try. Actually …’ He paused long enough for Lexi to look at him, then shrugged. ‘Sometimes reading those stories is the best part of my day. We have a great time.’

With startling suddenness he turned away from her and started down the track, but the sadness and need in his voice were so powerful that Lexi stayed frozen to the spot.

Two things were clear. He loved those boys. And Mark Belmont was going to be a wonderful father to the lucky children he so clearly wanted in his life.

And her poor heart cried at the thought that she would probably never experience that joy.

Just as the thought popped into her head Mark glanced back towards her, and Lexi slid the book back into her bag and pretended to rummage around as she casually replied, ‘I don’t have any food with me except breath mints.’ Then she looked around her and raised her eyebrows. ‘And, while I appreciate that this is a lovely spot, and I’m enjoying the countryside, something tells me that there won’t be a restaurant at the end of this very winding footpath. Am I right?’