Page 35 of Virgin's Night with the Greek

‘That doesn’t answer the question.’

‘Doesn’t it?’

‘Perhaps it does,’ she said with a tiny nod of understanding. ‘Duty is important to you.’

‘My destiny was drummed into me at an early age.’

‘What would you have done if you’d had the choice?’

‘I’ve have sailed,’ he said without a second’s hesitation. ‘Competitively.’

‘Do you own a boat?’

‘Not anymore.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘Why?’

‘We could have taken it out tomorrow.’

While Leo stopped to inspect a pile of old stones at the edge of the amphitheatre, Willow sat on a rock and took her brand-new sketchbook out of her bag. After several annoyingly poor attempts to capture the dusty, ruined landscape that stretched out before her, she gave up and slipped on her sunglasses so that instead she could watch the man she was sleeping with, an infinitely more fascinating sight.

She had not missed the evasiveness with which he’d responded to her more probing questions as they’d wandered back along the path. Or the trace of resentment in his voice that she thought she’d caught, not for the first time.

What was the story there?

Because there definitelywasone.

Since they’d met he’d indicated too many times to count that, for him, duty trumped all else, and if he were comfortable with that then all well and good, but clearly, he wasn’t. She had the feeling that he was doing a job he didn’t really want. Like her, his life appeared to be limited by circumstances. Maybe, like her, he found the idea of changing those circumstances too great a risk to take.

The question, which was far too personal ever to be broached, of course, the answer to which she absolutely did not need to know, was, why?

CHAPTER NINE

WHYLEOHADarranged for a yacht to be brought over to the villa overnight, so that he could take Willow out in the morning, he had no idea. He hadn’t sailed for years. When the all-consuming nature of his new job had hit home in the aftermath of his father’s death, he’d had to shut down his old life completely in order to be able to concentrate on maintaining the legacy.

But the hint of wistfulness that had woven through Willow’s words when she’d asked him if he owned a boat to take out to sea had been answered by an unexpected yearning of his own, which had nagged away at him all the way back to the house until it had eventually occurred to him that one key point of a holiday, surely, was having the opportunity to do the things you didn’t usually have time for.

The yacht was moored to a rarely used buoy in the cove. After breakfast, laden with bags and a cool box, he and Willow walked down to the jetty, where the tender was tethered. He stowed the kit and helped her aboard, then fastened her into a life jacket before donning his own.

Itching with the need to get his hands on the sheets and the wheel, to flex his toes against the smooth warm wood beneath his bare feet, Leo fired up the engine. Adrenalin pumped through him at the novel idea of spending all day at sea. His head filled with the memory of how much he’d once loved it, how much he’d relied on being able to get onto the water whenever he’d needed to escape his parents’ volatile relationship as an angry teenager burning up with helplessness. And as they sped across the warm south Aegean waters towards the sleek white craft that was bobbing there, calling to him like a siren, the chaos of the last few days dissipated beneath a familiar, welcome blanket of calm.

Leo sailed them into a bay that was perfect for snorkelling and dropped anchor a hundred metres offshore. Willow had never snorkelled before so that was another thing he taught her to do.

Possibly, she didn’t pay as much attention to the underwater paradise as she should have done, but then possibly there was no man on earth as compellingly attractive as him. The cool turquoise sea and brightly coloured fish that darted around them and through the rocks were no match for a set of strong shoulders, powerful thighs and a competency on and in water that she found irresistible.

She hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him as he’d handled the boat. Apart from the anchor haulage mechanism, there was little other automation. This particular yacht was for working, not for relaxing on with a gin and tonic while computers, or a crew, did the rest.

And Lord, how he’d worked it.

The minute they’d climbed aboard Leo had switched into action. While she’d settled herself on a seat, aware that she’d be of little assistance, he’d leapt from deck to cockpit and back again, familiarising himself with the boat, he’d informed her, and conducting various checks of equipment. Once satisfied everything was in order, off they’d set, and from that moment on, he’d barely stood still, whether at the wheel, scanning the horizon, or responding to the flapping of the sail with an impressively masterful tack.

He might like to come across as icy cold and ruthlessly controlled—although, come to think of it, she hadn’t seen that side to him for a while now—but he obviously had a passion for sailing. He’d hardly stopped grinning all morning and he was more relaxed than she’d ever have imagined him capable of being.

She couldn’t help but wonder ifthistime, they really were where they were because of something she’d said, and that, as much as the raw physicality and sheer strength which was on display, warmed her in a way that had nothing to do with the sun drying her off as she lay stretched out on the foredeck beside Leo, who was sitting with his elbows resting on his drawn-up knees and staring at the horizon.

‘Thank you for arranging this,’ she murmured, lethargic after all the snorkelling which had been followed by lunch, her head resting on her folded arms, eyes half-closed.

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