Rosalie sighed inwardly.
‘Mind the downdraft!’ he warned, and hurried her to the edge of the helipad as the helicopter took off again in a whirl of rotors.
As it disappeared, Xandros turned to her. ‘Welcome to Kallistris,’ he said.
His eyes were warm, his smile warmer. She felt her insides give a little skip, but she only smiled back, and then both of them turned as a Jeep came rattling along the coastal track towards them.
‘Ah,’ said Xandros, looking pleased. ‘Panos.’
The weather-beaten face of his island’s caretaker broke into a huge smile as Xandros introduced him, warning Rosalie that Panos spoke little English, but that his wife, Maria, was more fluent.
‘Kalimera,’ said Rosalie, gingerly trying out her highly limited Greek.
Her hand was taken in a bear grip, and shaken vigorously.
‘Kyria Lakaris!’ exclaimed Panos, and it gave Rosalie a start to hear her married name.
I’ll have to get used to it, she thought to herself.
Just as she would have to get used to living with Xandros...but as friends, nothing more than that.
She dragged her eyes away from him, hoping forlornly that perhaps with time she would stop wanting to gaze endlessly at him, because now they were married she was going to have to inure herself to his constant presence. She swallowed.
They set off in the Jeep. Xandros chatted in Greek to Panos and Rosalie hung tightly to the window frame as they bumped rapidly along the unmetalled track.
They rounded a rocky promontory, and she gave an exclamation of spontaneous delight. ‘Oh, how beautiful!’
They were looking down on to a small but perfectly formed bay, its furthest end bounded by another promontory. Between the two stretched a pristine pebbled beach lapped by the azure sea that girded the whole island. Nestled in the centre, just above the beach, was a small one-storey villa, framed by a mix of silvery olive trees and pink-flowered oleanders.
It was like something on a picture postcard, whitewashed, with a blue door and matching blue window shutters, the whole house festooned with vivid, crimson bougainvilleas.
‘Do you like it?’ Xandros turned to her.
‘It’s perfect!’ she enthused.
She felt her mood lift. However difficult it was going to be to be here, alone with Xandros, having to conceal her hopeless susceptibility to him, surely the opportunity to be in this beautiful place would make it worthwhile! Never again in her life would she have a chance to holiday on a private Aegean island.
Xandros gave a slashing grin as Panos screeched to a halt in a cloud of white dust and helped her down as a stout, middle-aged woman bustled out through the blue door.
‘Welcome, welcome!’ Panos’s wife greeted them, and then embraced Xandros in a bear hug, chattering away to him in Greek, before guiding Rosalie inside the little villa, saying, ‘Come! Come!’ in enthusiastic tones.
Inside it was much cooler, and Maria led the way off to the left, down a tiled corridor and into a room that was, Rosalie surmised, going to be her bedroom. Xandros’s must be the one beyond.
Did Maria and Panos realise that she was not a true bride in any sense? What had Xandros told them about their marriage?
She gave a mental shrug—that was his concern, not hers.
Panos delivered her suitcase and Maria hefted it on to the bed to start unpacking. Rosalie moved to help, but was waved away.
‘Go! Go to your husband!’ Maria ordered her.
Giving in, Rosalie ventured out into the corridor, making her way outdoors. The heat of the afternoon hit her immediately, and the crystal-clear sea lapping the pebbled beach beckoned. She kicked off her sandals, turned up her trouser hems, then waded ankle-deep into the cool water.
‘This is joyous!’ she exclaimed.
Footsteps crunched on the pebbles behind her.
‘I’m glad you think so.’
Xandros’s voice sounded warm, and Rosalie turned. He’d swapped his chinos for denim shorts, his open-necked shirt for a pristine white tee, and Rosalie was instantly and vividly aware of how the tee moulded his muscled torso, how the denim cut-offs revealed his lithe and powerful bare legs.
She snapped her gaze away, looking instead at his face—which wasn’t much help, for he was sporting aviator sunglasses. The breeze was lightly ruffling his dark hair, and he looked just ludicrously, jaw-droppingly attractive.
She gave a gulp.
Sexy—the overused word was impossible to dismiss. Impossible to deny. It described him totally. Even though it was a completely pointless way of describing him...given the nature of their marriage...
She gulped again, trying to sound normal as she answered. ‘Who wouldn’t?’ she returned with a half-laugh. ‘Everyone who comes here must think so!’
‘No one comes here,’ Xandros said.
Rosalie’s expression altered and she looked at him, puzzled.
‘This is my sanctuary,’ Xandros was saying now. ‘I don’t bring anyone here.’
Except a wife who isn’t a real wife on a honeymoon that isn’t a real honeymoon...
The words hung in her head, unsaid. Impossible to say. Unnecessary.
He went on speaking, changing the subject, and she was glad.
‘Maria’s just serving some refreshments. You must be thirsty, I’m sure.’
She followed him up the beach into the welcome cool under a huge cantilevered parasol that shaded a table and chairs in front of the villa, where Maria was setting down a tray laden with coffee, fruit juice, water and a plate of syrupy nut-strewn pastries.
‘Eat,’ she instructed, and bustled off.
Rosalie gratefully poured herself a glass of juice, cut it with iced water, and knocked it back appreciatively.
‘Are you going to mortally offend Maria and not eat one of her pastries?’
Xandros’s laconic question interrupted her train of thought.
‘They look delicious, but I’ve been eating like a pig since...well, since I was let loose on gourmet food!’ Rosalie answered lightly. ‘I’ll be as fat as one too if I keep going the same way!’
Dark eyes washed over her assessingly. ‘I think that unlikely.’
Xandros’s voice was dry, and there was something about it that made her own mouth suddenly dry. She wished he hadn’t looked at her the way he had.
He doesn’t understand the impact he has—even just saying things like that.
The trouble was, it didn’t help her that he didn’t...
I have to make myself not react! I have to! Or I’ll never survive this honeymoon, never mind six months of being married to him...