fresh air,’ she returned defensively. ‘Or perhaps you don’t think it’s necessary?’
He shrugged as if fresh air or poison gas were all the same to him. ‘Do as you wish,’ he said flatly. ‘And then you may prepare breakfast. You will find fresh bread in the kitchen,’ he added shortly.
‘Oh?’ Gemma was intrigued in spite of herself. ‘How did that get here?’
‘One of the villagers brought it.’ His tone was impatient. ‘Now, if you have no more questions, I will go and finish dressing.’
She said, ‘I saw a girl from my window. I thought that perhaps it might be Maria.’
‘Then I advise you not to think,’ he said unpleasantly. ‘Just do as you’re bidden. And call me when breakfast is ready,’ he flung at her over his shoulder, as he turned towards the stairs.
‘Certainly,’ Gemma returned coolly. ‘And where would you like breakfast—in the dining room—on the terrace?’ Or thrown at you, she added silently.
He shrugged again. ‘On the terrace will do perfectly well.’
‘And when I do call you,’ she went on cordially, ‘what do I say?’
He frowned. ‘What do you mean.’
‘Well, I don’t know your name,’ she said. ‘So how do you wish to be addressed. Sir, perhaps? My lord? Your majesty?’
The frown deepened to a scowl. ‘I recommend you to guard your tongue, thespinis . I am not in the mood for your insolence this morning.’
‘So I’ve noticed,’ she returned drily. ‘Sexual frustration and a hangover seems to be a lethal mixture.’
His eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘What do you dare say to me?’
‘Nothing,’ Gemma said hastily. ‘A little joke, that’s all, but out of place. I’m sorry.’
He looked at her for a long, disturbing moment. ‘I think you will be,’ he said at last, and went upstairs.
Gemma drew a deep breath, and expelled it shakily. She was a fool to provoke him, even mildly, under the. circumstances. She would have to keep her natural sense of mischief firmly under control, she decided wryly.
She tidied the living room hastily, clearing away the debris from the previous night, and shaking up the cushions and hanging the rugs to air over the terrace balustrade.
Then she went into the kitchen. The bread was on the table. It was still warm, and it smelled wonderful, Gemma thought ecstatically, as she emptied a carton of orange juice into a jug, and filled a dish from the tin of jam in a cupboard. There was fresh coffee, but she wasn’t sure how to make it in the Greek manner, so she compromised with instant.
She carried the tray out to the terrace and set it on the table, covering the food with a cloth as a safeguard against the inquisitive wasps which were already gathering.
Then she went upstairs. Her hand was raised to tap on his door, when it opened suddenly, startling her. Downstairs, he’d been wearing a pair of faded denims and nothing else as far as she was aware, but now he had changed once again into the Cretan dress, minus the jacket he’d been wearing the previous day. He’d shaved, and his hair was wet from the shower, and she could smell the cool, damp fragrance of his skin.
He was one of the most physically arresting men she had ever seen in her life, Gemma thought dazedly, looking at the way in which his damp hair clung curling to the shape of his head, the length of the lashes which shadowed eyes as black as onyx, the sculpturing of that wickedly experienced mouth...
She said huskily, ‘Your breakfast is ready,’ and turned swiftly to escape downstairs, only to be brought to an abrupt halt by his hand on her arm.
He said silkily, ‘Perhaps the day should begin here. Kalimera , Gemma mou .’ And bending his head, he brushed his mouth lightly across hers.
As a kiss, it was over almost as soon as it had begun, but it left Gemma with the bruising, shameful knowledge that she had wanted it to go on. Her pulses were pounding, and breathing was suddenly difficult. She did not dare look at him again,
He shrugged as if fresh air or poison gas were all the same to him. ‘Do as you wish,’ he said flatly. ‘And then you may prepare breakfast. You will find fresh bread in the kitchen,’ he added shortly.
‘Oh?’ Gemma was intrigued in spite of herself. ‘How did that get here?’
‘One of the villagers brought it.’ His tone was impatient. ‘Now, if you have no more questions, I will go and finish dressing.’
She said, ‘I saw a girl from my window. I thought that perhaps it might be Maria.’
‘Then I advise you not to think,’ he said unpleasantly. ‘Just do as you’re bidden. And call me when breakfast is ready,’ he flung at her over his shoulder, as he turned towards the stairs.
‘Certainly,’ Gemma returned coolly. ‘And where would you like breakfast—in the dining room—on the terrace?’ Or thrown at you, she added silently.
He shrugged again. ‘On the terrace will do perfectly well.’
‘And when I do call you,’ she went on cordially, ‘what do I say?’
He frowned. ‘What do you mean.’
‘Well, I don’t know your name,’ she said. ‘So how do you wish to be addressed. Sir, perhaps? My lord? Your majesty?’
The frown deepened to a scowl. ‘I recommend you to guard your tongue, thespinis . I am not in the mood for your insolence this morning.’
‘So I’ve noticed,’ she returned drily. ‘Sexual frustration and a hangover seems to be a lethal mixture.’
His eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘What do you dare say to me?’
‘Nothing,’ Gemma said hastily. ‘A little joke, that’s all, but out of place. I’m sorry.’
He looked at her for a long, disturbing moment. ‘I think you will be,’ he said at last, and went upstairs.
Gemma drew a deep breath, and expelled it shakily. She was a fool to provoke him, even mildly, under the. circumstances. She would have to keep her natural sense of mischief firmly under control, she decided wryly.
She tidied the living room hastily, clearing away the debris from the previous night, and shaking up the cushions and hanging the rugs to air over the terrace balustrade.
Then she went into the kitchen. The bread was on the table. It was still warm, and it smelled wonderful, Gemma thought ecstatically, as she emptied a carton of orange juice into a jug, and filled a dish from the tin of jam in a cupboard. There was fresh coffee, but she wasn’t sure how to make it in the Greek manner, so she compromised with instant.
She carried the tray out to the terrace and set it on the table, covering the food with a cloth as a safeguard against the inquisitive wasps which were already gathering.
Then she went upstairs. Her hand was raised to tap on his door, when it opened suddenly, startling her. Downstairs, he’d been wearing a pair of faded denims and nothing else as far as she was aware, but now he had changed once again into the Cretan dress, minus the jacket he’d been wearing the previous day. He’d shaved, and his hair was wet from the shower, and she could smell the cool, damp fragrance of his skin.
He was one of the most physically arresting men she had ever seen in her life, Gemma thought dazedly, looking at the way in which his damp hair clung curling to the shape of his head, the length of the lashes which shadowed eyes as black as onyx, the sculpturing of that wickedly experienced mouth...
She said huskily, ‘Your breakfast is ready,’ and turned swiftly to escape downstairs, only to be brought to an abrupt halt by his hand on her arm.
He said silkily, ‘Perhaps the day should begin here. Kalimera , Gemma mou .’ And bending his head, he brushed his mouth lightly across hers.
As a kiss, it was over almost as soon as it had begun, but it left Gemma with the bruising, shameful knowledge that she had wanted it to go on. Her pulses were pounding, and breathing was suddenly difficult. She did not dare look at him again,
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