The Innocent Carrying His Legacy Page 18

‘Not really,’ she said, directing a pointed look at his faded jeans before closing her eyes again. ‘More like a beach bum.’

  As Leon’s lips curved, he realised it was a long time since a woman had made him smile. He really had been working too hard. ‘Am I hurting you?’

  ‘A bit—but it’s bearable.’

  The biting of her lip indicated otherwise and Leon worked quickly to remove the last spike from her flesh, aware that she was clenching her fingers into white-knuckled fists.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said, at last. ‘You can open your eyes now.’

  Confronted again by that pewter gaze, he felt a wave of desire sweep over him as potent as anything he could ever remember. It made his heart pound. It made his groin ache with a rush of urgent need. It made him want to take her in his arms and kiss her. To lay her down in the sand and get physical with her.

  As she sat up to examine her foot he was able to study her objectively, telling himself she was nothing special. Long, thick hair the colour of wet sand and killer curves contained in a very cheap bikini. But the shiny fabric looked good on her. Much better than it should have done. He was used to women who wore dazzling couture, not something which looked as if it had been picked up from a market stall. And wasn’t it refreshing to see someone dressed in clothes which didn’t cost the equivalent of a small national debt? A woman who didn’t seem to care that her belly was a little rounded as she leaned over to survey his handiwork. A woman without diamonds, or gold, or bling.

  ‘They’ve all gone!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed gravely. ‘They have.’

  ‘Wow. Thank you.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘But you should keep an eye on it. Make sure you keep it clean. Where are your shoes?’

  ‘Over there.’ She pointed to a small heap of clothing, sheltered by an overhanging rock.

  ‘I’ll get them for you.’

  ‘There’s no need.’

  ‘I said, I’ll get them for you.’

  Marnie heard the ring of command in his voice, thinking, This is someone who’s used to being obeyed. And although she didn’t normally let herself get bossed around, there was no reason to object to what seemed like courtesy. Especially when he’d already gone out of his way to be so kind to her—and kindness could be compelling, she realised suddenly. Especially when you weren’t used to it.

  She watched as he headed towards her clothes, thinking that she could have watched him all day, because he was...magnificent. Tall and strong and rippling with muscle. Above the hard thrust of his thighs, his hips were narrow—the denim jeans clinging to the high curve of his buttocks, making her wonder what he might look like naked.

  Her cheeks grew hot as she wondered where on earth that had come from because she’d never even seen a naked man before! Not unless you counted those marble statues with tiny genitals in the museums which some of her more ambitious foster parents had dragged her round when she was younger, until they’d realised that she and her twin sister weren’t ideal candidates for lessons in culture and had sent them packing back to the children’s home.

  The memory was more painful than it should have been and so Marnie forced her attention back to the man who had rescued her. His hair was damp and unruly black tendrils were dangling around his neck, making her itch to tame them into some kind of order. But she wanted other things, too. Things which had nothing to do with giving him an impromptu haircut. Things she’d never wanted before. Suddenly her breasts were aching and there was a strange, sweet clenching in her core.

  She knew exactly what it was but the knowledge was freaking her out because she didn’t do desire. Men left her cold—they always had—even gorgeous men like this one. She was employed by an upmarket unisex hair salon in London and met plenty of lookers in the course of her working week, but to Marnie they were just pretty wallpaper. She didn’t trust beauty. Actually, she didn’t place her trust in much at all because too many times she’d had it thrown back in her face.

  He bent to retrieve her clothing and she wished she hadn’t been so caught up in her daydreams. Because when he turned he caught her staring and as their eyes met something passed between them—a wordless sensation which slid over her skin like honey. And it was weird. On some fundamental level it was almost as if she recognised him. As if he were capable of knowing her like no other man ever could, even though they’d never met before. She shook her head. She was going mad. She must be. Now might be the moment to stop reading those time-slip novels she loved so much. Either that or the strain of the past few months had finally caught up with her.

  And it still isn’t over, she reminded herself bitterly. In fact, it has barely begun.

  She started to scramble to her feet but he must have seen her sway because as he reached her, he extended his hand to support her.

  ‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘Watch out.’

  Those fingers which had ministered so expertly to her foot were now cupping her elbow and although Marnie wanted to revel in the sweet sensation of having him touch her, she forced herself to draw away.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said stiffly, waving away his attempts to help as she wriggled into her loose-fitting T-shirt dress. Gingerly, she slid her injured foot into one sandal, then put on the other and gave her head a quick shake, feeling the warmth of her drying hair as it brushed against her back. ‘Right. Well, that’s all done. I ought to get going. Thanks again for coming to my aid. I’m very...grateful.’

  Leon told himself to let her go. She had managed to find her way down to this small private beach on her own, so presumably she could make her own way back again. He glanced at the discreet golden and coral sign of the upmarket Paradeisos hotel complex which hung in front of a coded wooden gate, and idly wondered if she was trespassing. Probably.

  Should he offer her a lift to where she was staying? His final duty done and his conscience fully satisfied as he saw her safely home?

  But her hair was almost dry now and he realised it wasn’t the colour of wet sand at all. It was as pale as silver. As moonlight.

  His voice wasn’t quite steady as he spoke. It was as uneven as that of a teenage boy who had just realised how a woman could make him feel. Blood was pounding powerfully at all his pulse points and a sense of being properly alive flooded through him. ‘I could give you a lift back if you like,’ he said. ‘Better still, I could drive you round the island first. Have you seen much of it?’

  She shrugged, before lifting her gaze to his. ‘Not as much as I’d like. The trouble is that I work long hours and I often work on my day off because...’

  ‘Because?’

  She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. I went on a round-the-island coach trip when I first arrived but we didn’t see very much of it. The organiser seemed more concerned with getting us to buy vases than wanting to show us the place.’

  He shuddered. ‘I know those vases.’

  ‘Ugly.’

  ‘Neh. As you say, ugly. Yet this island has her secrets. Places where the tourists tend not to go. We could drive through some of the villages. Watch the sunset from the Dhassos Rock. Maybe find ourselves something to eat.’

  Her grey eyes regarded him suspiciously and this was definitely not a reaction he was used to.

  ‘Are you asking me to have dinner with you?’

  ‘Sure. Why not?’

  ‘Well, for a start, I don’t even know your name.’

  Conditioned by a lifetime of expectations, Leon felt an instinctive tension enter his body. ‘It’s Leonidas. Leonidas Kanonidou.’ He watched for some sort of reaction but when there was none, he relaxed a little. ‘Most people call me Leon.’

  ‘Like a lion,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Exactly like a lion. Do you speak Greek?’

  ‘Very funny. That would be the hardest thing in the world.’

  No, not quite the
hardest, he thought ruefully, aware of the exquisite throb at his groin. ‘So, now you know who I am, are you going to have dinner with me?’

  She didn’t answer straight away and even her hesitation was a turn-on. He was used to capitulation. To women being available at the metaphorical snap of his fingers. To being hit on—sometimes subtly, sometimes not. His growing reputation as one of the world’s most eligible men had contributed to his recent absence from the dating scene, his appetite jaded by too much choice and too much opportunity.

  What Leon wasn’t used to was being kept waiting, because people went out of their way to please him. As if his gratitude would somehow improve the quality of their lives. Hoping he would give them a break, or a job, or a wedding ring. He was used to people laughing at his jokes, even if they weren’t funny—which wasn’t often. Was this what happened to men who were not billionaires, he wondered idly—were they judged on their merits rather than the size of their wallet? Was this unknown Englishwoman destined to be remembered as the only woman who had ever turned him down?

  But she didn’t.

  Of course she didn’t.

  ‘Okay.’ She shrugged. ‘Why not?’

  Her reluctance was possibly contrived—yet Leon didn’t care. He seemed to have stopped caring about anything right now, other than this diminutive woman with attitude. He watched her lift her arms to tie her hair back then almost wished she hadn’t because it drew his attention to the heavy curve of her breasts. Had she been intending to showcase the nipples which had tightened so enticingly and was she aware of her power over him at that moment? Another surge of hunger flooded through him, which was crazy.

  Crazy.

  He thought about the busy timetable for the weekend ahead. The selected cream of young Grecian society would be in attendance, eager to participate in the lavish events lined up for them. There certainly hadn’t been many slots available to accommodate the reckless acquisition of a new lover he’d only just met. Plus, there would be an available slew of far more suitable hook-ups than this spiky blonde with the wintry eyes. Leon swallowed. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

  But common sense was no match for the heavy slug of his heart or the growing heat of his blood. It certainly wasn’t powerful enough to stop him grabbing his T-shirt from the back of his motorbike and pulling it roughly over a body which once again was exquisitely aroused.

  ‘Then let’s go,’ he said roughly.

  Copyright © 2021 by Sharon Kendrick

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  ISBN-13: 9780369706829

  The Innocent Carrying His Legacy

  Copyright © 2021 by Jackie Ashenden

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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