Kyriakis's Innocent Mistress. Diana Hamilton

her visual assessment and Bonnie dropped her eyes, her face flaming as something like an electric charge skittered through her.

      His bare feet were planted firmly apart on the rock as he finally spoke, his deep, only faintly accented voice sending ripples down her spine. ‘You are hurt. Will you trust me to get you down from this place?’

      Pulling herself together, Bonnie found her voice. ‘Of course. Thank you. I’d be grateful.’ She attempted a smile. It wobbled. What was wrong with her? She had both her feet firmly on the ground—metaphorically, if not physically at this precise moment—and she wasn’t the air-headed type to go to pieces just because she’d happened across the most lip-smackingly gorgeous man to inhabit the planet.

      She was a practical, down-to-earth qualified remedial nurse and—

      Every last sensible thought was swept out of her head as the gorgeous stranger hoisted her, without apparent effort, into a fireman’s lift and carried her down the steep rocks with the surefootedness of a mountain goat.

      Carefully depositing her on the soft white sand, he hunkered down in front of her, long, deft fingers gently exploring her injured foot.

      His touch was magic. A lock of soft black hair fell forwards over his tanned forehead. She wanted to run her fingers through it.

      Stupid woman!

      She was shivering all over.

      Merely the entirely natural after-effects of her hairy passage down from the cliffs!

      Only she hadn’t felt scared. She’d felt safe—gloriously safe.

      ‘Just a slight sprain and a tiny cut,’ he pronounced, a smile playing at the corners of that devastating mouth. ‘I’ll take you to the house and clean the cut.’

      Forcing herself out of the entirely unwelcome ditzy-schoolgirl-meets-pop-star mode, Bonnie located her best no-nonsense voice and used it. ‘You’ve been very kind already, but—Stavros, is it?—I don’t want to put you to any more trouble on my account. I’m sure that if I just rest a while I’ll be fine to go on.’

      Dimitri Kyriakis didn’t correct her.

      She must have heard him calling to his manservant/minder, to remind him to drive down to the port to collect the incoming mail that had been waiting for two days since the weekly ferry had docked.

      The longer his father’s blonde, gold-digging bimbo remained in ignorance of his true identity the better.

      His father had taste, though, he conceded grimly. The bimbo was even more enticingly sexy in the flesh than she’d appeared in the photograph. All that long, silky pale blonde hair, falling in a tousled touchable mass to well below her shoulders.

      Pretty shoulders, sleek of skin, warm with tan, partially concealed by the turquoise-blue halter top that lovingly cradled truly superb full and shapely breasts. Her cropped top left her tanned midriff naked and tempting above a pair of skimpy shorts. And those legs—

      ‘It will be no trouble,’ Dimitri contradicted her truthfully. ‘It would be my pleasure to help you.’

      Help you to unburden yourself, to tell me exactly what a woman with her eyes on the opportunity to marry an old man for his money is doing scrambling around on an island hardly anyone has heard about, out of her preferred milieu of fancy restaurants, swish hotels and designer boutiques.

      Unless, of course, the old man was with her. It seemed unlikely. And did she know that Andreas Papadiamantis was facing a vastly reduced financial status? He guessed not.

      She would run like a rabbit if he told her. There was only one reason a beautiful young woman would shack up with an old man, he decided, with the cynicism born of long experience of the female sex. Inform her of the non-existence of the bottomless pit of money and she’d take to her toes.

      Yet there was a more entertaining way of depriving his enemy of his bed companion, he thought, staring into a pair of beguiling smoke-grey eyes.

      He had never had any trouble in attracting the female sex. Quite the opposite. But he never knew whether his personality was the attraction or his massive wealth.

      The latter, he suspected.

      It cut both ways. On the few occasions when he’d taken a mistress, he had made it plain that he didn’t do long-term.

      So what was new? Earlier he’d played with the idea of settling down, creating a family. Seeing the photograph of this blonde had had the idea taking a nosedive. Meeting the blonde in the flesh had killed it stone-dead. For a while. The fates had delivered another chance to take his revenge for what his father had done all those long years ago right into his lap.

      Never one to lose an opportunity, Dimitri swept the delectable gift from the fates up into his arms. His smile as she wound her arms around his neck with a gaspy little sigh was grim. And satisfied.

      He had her!