Yet for hours the image of her, lifting the cherry-red dress over her head and letting it waft down over her almost-naked body, had made work impossible.
Besides, despite the safety of this isolated island with its state-of-the-art security monitoring, he couldn’t rest easy if she wasn’t near. Every day she explored, sometimes with him and sometimes ostensibly on her own. But Fotis always ensured either he or a trusted local was close enough to step in if danger threatened.
He wouldn’t allow anything bad to happen to her.
Because you gave your word to her brother? Or because you can’t stand the thought of her being hurt?
The answer was both. Yet his visceral reaction to the idea of her in danger had little to do with Leon or their deal.
Nor was his response based solely on sex. The carnal link between them was incredibly strong. But more than that FotislikedRosamund.
She wasn’t afraid to challenge him and he enjoyed the give-and-take of their discussions, even their disagreements. Time and again she’d made him consider things in a new light. She was living proof that he wasn’t always right and that first impressions could be wrong. A valuable reminder for a man in his field. In his work he’d never dream of jumping to conclusions, yet he’d done that with her.
‘Are you hungry? I brought food.’
She lifted her head, expression brimming with a delight that made his heart thud. Her slow curling smile and the pleasure in her grey-blue eyes drew heat through his tightening chest, down past his belly and into his groin.
‘Sounds wonderful. I’m famished.’
‘So am I.’ Not merely for food.
Fotis closed the space between them and dropped a kiss to her parted lips.
Immediately need rose. Her response was as instantaneous as it was generous. She palmed his jaw, leaning up towards him, and he felt her hunger. It matched his. For a deeper taste. For the feel of their bodies against each other. For the sweet bliss of communion.
But he pulled back, making himself straighten, his lungs working like bellows and every muscle protesting. Because he was determined for once not to tumble immediately into sex.
He’d known alluring women, enjoyed his time with enough of them. Yet none had had this effect on him. Weeks it had been since they’d become lovers, and in that time his desire for her, hishunger, had only intensified.
He needed… What? To understand this link between them. To identify the nebulous feelings she stirred. They were unsettling to a man who’d spent his life determinedly alone.
He swung the backpack off his shoulders and onto the ground. ‘I’ve brought cheese and fresh bread—’
‘YiayiaIrini’s bread?’
He nodded, smiling as her face lit with greedy eagerness. ‘Tassos brought some up especially for you.’
Because Rosamund had developed a weakness for the flavoursome bread and nothing, it seemed, was too much effort for the locals where she was concerned. She’d visited the village early during her stay and found the elderly woman removing a loaf of bread she’d baked from the old communal oven. The oven was only used by a few now, but some of the traditional ways hadn’t died.
Naturally Irini had offered the visitor a taste of her loaf, using her smattering of English. A bond had sprung up between the princess and the tiny, sharp-eyed matriarch of the village. Not just with Irini. He’d lost count of the people who’d spent time with Rosamund and liked her.
Heliked her. More than he’d thought possible.
He looked away from her shining eyes as he opened the pack. ‘There are olives and tomatoes. Plus I’ve got a bottle of local wine and apricot tart for dessert.’
‘It sounds like a feast,’ she said as she closed her notebook and put it aside.
Fotis noted with pleasure that she hadn’t snapped it shut the moment she saw him, like she used to do. She was relaxed, anticipation dancing her eyes.
He’d seen her at VIP functions that featured world-famous wines and exquisite gourmet delicacies. Yet here she was, licking her lips over rustic bread, tomatoes warm from the sun and a light wine that was tasty but would never feature on a list of must-have vintages.
Rosamund was anything but elitist.
He pulled out a rug and spread it out while she delved into the rucksack, busily setting out the food. She grabbed a knife. ‘I’ll cut the bread and the tomatoes if you’ll open the wine.’
As Fotis uncorked the bottle and poured it, he tried to imagine any of his previous lovers enjoying such a simple picnic. He couldn’t.
The women in his life hadn’t been socialites, since he had an inbuilt hatred of the species. They were all intelligent, attractive women, not searching for a man to give them a life of luxury. Yet he couldn’t picture any of them here on this superb but wild mountain, avidly eyeing his humble picnic.
