journey by boat. An odd way to travel home,' Cristos quipped.
'Home?'
'This is a Greek {gland.'
'You can't know that for sure.'
Burnished golden eyes sought and challenged hers. 'I know. 1 ap1 Greek and the very air here smells of my homeland.'
Betsy said nothing and ate her meal. He was the sort of guy who always set her back up. He was so full of himself, so arrogant. He knew everything. He even knew things he couldn't possibly know. Rising from the table, she said stiffly, 'I'm going to bed.'
'You should make the most of your rest,' Cristos murmured equably. 'We'll be up at dawn. We need to gather enough wood to light a bonfire and keep it burning. If the smoke is noticed hopefully someone will come to investigate.'
It was a good idea but she didn't say so because she had decided that he was already well aware of how clever he was. She slid into the cool of the bed, let her weary limbs sink into the comfortable mattress. Somewhere between closing her eyes and stretching out she fell asleep.
A dark male drawl that was already becoming familiar wakened Betsy again. She was deliciously warm and relaxed. 'We should get up…'
Her lashes lifted and she focused with drowsy admiration on the darkly handsome male face above hers. His black lashes were impossibly long and lush, unnecessary enhancements to eyes of lustrous gold. He was breathtakingly good-looking and devastatingly masculine, two traits that even she recognised were rarely found in one package.
'I want you to know this is a first,' Cristos informed her steadily. 'I've never slept with a woman before and not had sex.'
For a split second, Betsy lay there just staring up at him and then the implications of that sardonic assurance of his sank in. Eyes bright with accusation, a feverish flush on her cheeks, she hugged the sheet to her and sat up. 'You shared this bed with me last night?'
CHAPTER THREE
CRISTOS watched with a maddening air of scientific interest as Betsy lurched dut of the bed in comical haste. It shook him that she looked so good first thing in the morning. Coppery red hair flying in tousled waves round her oval face and sheathed only in his crumpled shirt, she was very sexy.
'You don't need to act as if you've never shared a bed with a man before,' he said very drily.
'I haven't!' Betsy launched back at him. 'Nor is it something I can treat like a joke.'
Cristos had never felt less like laughing. 'Are you saying that you're… gay?'
Betsy froze and then shook her bright head in wonderment. 'You really don't know where I'm coming from, do you?'
Relaxing from his worst-case scenario, Cristos reclined back against the pillows. 'When you said you'd never shared a bed with a guy, you were obviously exaggerating. '
Betsy folded her arms. Furious as she was with him, she was beginning in a funny way to enjoy herself. 'And how do you make that out?'
'I very much doubt that you're telling me you're a
virgin.',
'Why?' Betsy heard herself say defensively. 'Did you think I would be ashamed of the fact?'
Silence fell, a silence so thick and heavy it screamed at her. Cristos could not conceal his surprise. Her face burned with colour. Wishing she had kept her mouth firmly closed on the subject, she vanished into the bathroom. Why was she embarrassed by what she had just revealed? She had always been shy and Rory had been her only serious boyfriend. Two months after she had begun dating him, he had gone abroad to work for a year. Against the odds they had stayed together, but when Rory had finally returned to London Betsy had been reluctant to rush into intimacy with him. Even though he had asked her to marry him, she had felt that she needed more time to get to know him again and her caution had strained their relationship. Her sister had stepped into that breach.
A virgin. She was a virgin. Was that what was different about her? Cristos asked himself in bewilderment. His every expectation had been violently overthrown. He wondered why she should suddenly seem more desirable than ever. The strength of his own desire was beginning to exasperate him. She was just a woman like other women. Sexual hunger was simply an appetite to be satisfied. There was nothing special or different about her. But he was in dire need of another cold shower. Thrusting back the sheet, he told himself how fortunate he was that that was all that was available.
Betsy was astounded to find women's clothing hanging in one of the bedroom units. 'Whom do you think these belong to?' she asked when she heard Cristos behind her.
Cristos reached over her shoulder and drew out a woman's dress. 'This looks brand-new-'
'Tacky taste… ' Betsy held the garment against her slim body, soft mouth down curving at the fact that it was strappy, low-necked and short. She swooped with delight on a pair of mules, hauled them out and dug. her feet in. The mules were a good size too large but a great deal preferable to bare feet.
'It all seems to be beach wear… you might as well use it.' Cristos checked the size on an item and reckoned it would fit her like a glove. Coincidence? He didn't think so. Someone had put a great deal of planning into their reception on the island. He was not at all surprised to open the other unit and discover a selection of male apparel.
After checking that her injured foot was already well on the way to healing, Cristos went off to shave. Betsy donned a purple bikini and tied a sparkly blue sarong round her slender waist. The air was still cool before the build-up of the day's heat. The front door was wide and she hovered to drink in the beauty of the fresh dawn light filtering down over the sea and the pale sand while the sun rose in crimson splendour in the east. Finally tearing herself from the view, she noticed the champagne bottle still parked beside the flowers that Cristos had mentioned. Already the petals were dropping from the blooms. As she lifted the vase the sheet of paper that had been tucked between it and the champagne slid frown flat on the table surface. Someone had typed several lines of a foreign language in large print on the paper.
'Cristos… ' She went pink as she realised how easily his name came to her lips because she thought of him that way. 'What's this?' she asked, extending it to him as he appeared in the bedroom doorway.
An ebony brow lifted as he studied the sheet. 'This
. is in Greek… where did you get it from?' ~
'It was on the table…'
His brilliant dark gaze narrowed. 'It wasn't there yesterday. '
'But it must've been,' Betsy pointed out.
'If it had been there I would've seen it,' Cristos breathed with implacable assurance.
'I only saw it when I lifted the vase,' Betsy proffered in consolation. 'For goodness' sake, what does it say?'
Lean jaw line clenching, Cristos vented a harsh laugh. 'It's a load of rubbish. It says that we will not be harmed and that whether the ransom is paid or not, we'll be set free. As if you didn't know!'
Betsy stiffened, her bemusement complete. 'What are you talking about?'
'This!' Cristos crushed the notepaper in one powerful fist and let it drop at her feet again in a blatant gesture of contempt. 'It wasn't here yesterday. Therefore you must have planted it.'
'Me… plant it? Are you crazy?' Betsy countered in disbelief.
'If this is an attempt to persuade me to accept my imprisonment here~ it's failed,' Cristos spelt out rawly. 'Right now the only person who concerns me is my grandfather, Patras. He's eighty-three and tough as they come. He's already buried my parents and my little sister. But he may not have the strength to survive the stress of my disappearance and the threat of another loss!'
Betsy was very tense. 'Do you think I'm not concerned about my own family? I don't know why you're so suspicious of me-'
