Sharon Kendrik - Savage Seduction

She had ordered Greek salad, a beer and a plate of olives and was sitting enjoying them until when a small child, all dark curls and heart-shaped face, waddled over to her table. The mother called the child back in Greek, but Jade turned and shook her head, smiling, and starting to play ‘peep-bo’ with the toddler, who eventually climbed on to her lap and began to pick up a strand of her blonde hair in wonder. Jade pulled a funny face at the little girl who immediately giggled back as she continued to play with the blonde hair. The feeling of having the child in her arms was a new and rather enjoyable experience, and Jade couldn’t help hugging her, delighted when the little girl nestled back quite happily.

Jade had sensed, rather than seen, that someone was watching her. Well, in fact, most of the res- taurant were. They were enjoying the little inter- play between the child and the young tourist.

But this sensation was different… Little hairs at the back of her neck began to prickle with some nebulous excitement.

She narrowed her eyes, looking into the dim air- conditioned interior of the restaurant, and through the gloom she saw a table, where a man sat sur- rounded by three or four others. A man in a white shirt and white jeans. A man to whom the others listened. A man with eyes as black as olives and as hard as jet. Eyes which gleamed and narrowed, frozen in a stare as they captured her gaze over the head of the child. For a stunned moment Jade stared back, unable to look away—her mouth sud- denly dry, her heart pounding erratically and an unfamiliar excitement stealing over her as she gazed at the man, some unfamiliar and primitive longing sweeping over her as their eyes locked.

The man whose quietly menacing authority had driven away the two tourists, and who now stood on the beach in front of her.

The stranger was Greek; he could be nothing else. He had the proud bearing and the superbly shaped head of his ancestors. But he was tall for a Greek: a couple of inches over six feet, she hazarded. His skin was coloured a luminously soft olive, the kind of colour which made the sales of fake tan rocket, and it gleamed very slightly, the slight sheen em- phasising the ripple of muscle. His hair was as black as tar, rich and thick—a mass of unruly waves worn just slightly too long. Today he was wearing nothing but a pair of sawn-off denims; very faded and very scruffy. Those and a pair of beaten-up sandals. She swallowed at the sight of so much naked flesh on show. She should have been frightened, and yet fear was the last thing on her mind as she returned his gaze. She stared into eyes as cold and forbidding and harsh as jet. Narrow eyes that glittered; eyes which studied her with a detached and yet strangely intense appraisal which was almost intoxicating in itself.

And all of a sudden, it happened again: a replay of the sensations she had experienced the last time she had seen him. She felt her senses clamour into life, felt her heart accelerate painfully, accepted the flood of colour to her cheeks and the almost debili- tating dryness of her mouth as she battled to compose herself.

‘Why are you here on your own?’ came his terse interrogation.

The question floored her; she was so outraged at its implicit chauvinism. ‘Because I like my own company,’ she answered coolly.

He didn’t respond to the inference. ‘Well, do not do so again.’

Jade’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. ‘Don’t do what?’

Jet eyes glittered dangerously. ‘Do not put yourself at risk. This beach is too isolated; a woman is too vulnerable.’

He spoke, she thought suddenly, like a man used to giving orders, and having them obeyed.

‘Who—are you?’ she asked suddenly, in a voice which seemed to have deepened by at least an octave.

He stilled, his ebony eyes narrowed with sus- picion. ‘You don’t know?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! If I knew then I wouldn’t be asking, surely?’

‘No.’ He was examining her face intently, like a man newly given sight, and that slow inspection stirred some answering response deep within her. He looked, she thought dizzily, like a king—there was something stately and proud in his bearing. And yet how could he when, to judge by his ap- pearance, he was obviously a beach bum? She had been reading far too many romantic novels on this holiday—let that be a lesson to her!

‘My name is Constantine Sioulas,’ he replied, in a gloriously deep voice, with only the faintest trace of an accent, and again the black eyes pierced her with their intense scrutiny.

Constantine. She tested the name in her mind; found it the most beautiful name in the whole world, which was really rather appropriate, as the man in front of her was the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on.

‘And you?’ He lifted an enquiring eyebrow. ’What is your name?’

‘It’s Jade,’ she said rather breathlessly, as though she’d just stopped running. ‘Jade Meredith.’

‘Jade.’ He nodded his head, thoughtfully. ‘Yes. It suits you,’ he pronounced. ‘Your eyes are the colour of jade.’

And her cheeks were now the colour of rubies, she thought ruefully as she blushed beneath the slow scrutiny of his gaze, revelling in the approbation on his face, and yet despising herself for the way she was behaving. Why not just fall down in rever- ence at his knees and kiss his feet, Jade!

‘No, they’re not,’ she lifted her chin in a defiant little gesture. ‘My eyes are pale green. Jade is darker.’

He shook his head. ‘Sometimes,’ he contra- dicted. ‘The Chinese say that the colour deepens and intensifies as the wearer acquires wisdom. It would be an interesting experiment—to see whether that is true.’ He gave a small almost reluctant smile, like the smile of a man not used to smiling. ‘Shall I buy you jade, Jade Meredith?’ he said softly. ’Jewels of jade for you to wear next to that pale, pale skin? Together we could watch it growing darker day by day.’

His words were so inappropriate considering that they’d only just met. And yet he spoke them with a coolly assured confidence which only renewed the throbbing of blood to her pulse points.

‘My skin isn’t pale,’ she protested. After nearly three weeks in the sun, it had turned a pale golden colour—she was quite proud of it!

‘Most certainly it is,’ he contradicted, in the rich, glowing voice overlaid with its barely discernible yet totally seductive accent. ‘Pale as milk—at least when you compare it with mine.’

And at his words she found her eyes drawn irre- sistibly to the dark olive of his bare chest and shoulders, the strong forearms, and the equally strong thighs. Her mind responded to his suggestion with frightening clarity as she pictured her lying on a bed with him, his dark limbs tangled with hers, strong brown thigh against a thigh as pale as milk… Jade had to close her eyes briefly to blot out the tantalising image, but it didn’t work.

‘Shall we?’ he whispered silkily.

‘Shall we what?’ she echoed huskily, lost in some misty erotic world of her own.

He smiled, and it was a suddenly ruthless smile. The smile, she recognised with an unquestionable certainty, of a man who was used to getting whatever it was he wanted.

‘I was referring to buying the jade,’ he said softly. ’But we should have to go to the mainland to do that, and I don’t want to waste precious hours doing that, not when there are so many more attractive alternatives.’ He smiled. ‘Come, I shall walk you back to your house.’

It was most definitely an order. Jade bristled. ‘That won’t be necessary.’

‘On the contrary,’ he answered smoothly, but there was a steely quality to his voice now. ‘I insist.’

Most annoyingly, she found the arrogant protec- tiveness in his assertion extremely attractive, but a lifetime of paying lip-service to feminism couldn’t be banished overnight! She met his gaze steadily. ’I said no, thank you.’