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He was satisfied with that, singing a Greek folk song softly to himself, leaving his passenger to enjoy all that was new and beautiful.

Corfu had impressed her with its greeness, its warmth, and the smell of pines and herbs, and orange and lemon groves. Now the sea itself held her attention, a pellucid blue, shimmering in the bright sunlight, broken only by the white foam wake of their boat.

When suddenly the surface was disturbed by a leaping school of fish she held her breath in delight, and when she saw several dolphins accompanying them, their snouts protruding above the water, she could not believe her eyes.

But when the boatman pointed out Salamyndros, she watched eagerly as the small purple mound grew into a captivating island. It had a large hump in the middle, which she assumed was the mountain he had told her about, its slopes clad with a forest of trees.

At its base, as they drew nearer, she saw white cubeshaped houses with orange roofs, and a tiny blue-domed church. And as Stefan moored at the wooden jetty splashes of vivid colour in the form of wild flowers added to the green of this beautiful island.

Their arrival caused a great deal of interest to a group of black-haired, dark-eyed children who had been playing on the beach.

The boatman said something to them and the eldest ran away towards the cluster of houses. Miranda had caught the name Spyros, so she guessed he had gone to alert the cousin who was the proud owner of the car.

Obligingly carrying her case, Stefan led the way to a rough road that went past the tiny village, then curved round the base of the mountain and disappeared out of sight.

Miranda had no time to look about her. Almost
immediately the erratic throb of a car engine broke the silence, but her eagerness changed to dismay when she saw the vehicle lurching towards them.

To say it was old would have been an understatement. It was ancient! A black, box-type Ford probably built in the nineteen-thirties. Smoke belched from its exhaust and every few seconds, to the delight of the children, it gave a loud backfire.

Spyros leapt out before it had stopped, patting the bonnet lovingly and giving Miranda an ear-splitting grin. ‘Very good, very reliable.’

Stefan said something to his cousin in rapid Greek, gesticulating freely, finally turning to Miranda. ‘It is settled. He will lend you the car. We have another cousin who works for Mrs Alexidis. He will bring it back tomorrow.’

Were all Greeks related? she mused, smiling warmly at Spyros. ‘Thank you, I will be careful.’ She took several notes from her purse and pressed them into his hand. ‘You’re very kind.’

Stefan lifted her case into the back of the shuddering vehicle and shook Miranda’s hand with a warmth she felt sure was not warranted. He gave her explicit instructions on how to reach the villa, and the last she saw of the two cousins was their cloudy reflection in the driver’s mirror, their
'Kalo taxithi
,’ ringing in her ears.

She guessed they were bidding her a pleasant journey, and as the car lurched and jolted over the rough track she decided she would need all their blessings. It was definitely not suitable for roads such as this. Maybe she ought to have settled for a mule after all!

The path took her through olive groves, their silvery leaves trembling beneath the slightest breath of wind. Occasionally she caught glimpses of the shining blue sea and white sandy beaches far below, but for most of the time her attention was concentrated on the track ahead. It was a very poor road and there was evidence of rock slides, due, she presumed, to the advent of the rainy season which Georgios had told her about.

Despite her care she had to stand on the brakes when she rounded a sharp bend and came face to face with an old man shepherding a few sheep. It taught her to be even more wary, and she crept slowly along the road which became steeper and rougher with every yard.

Even so she was not prepared when she was suddenly confronted by a pile of rocks which completely blocked the path. And as if that wasn’t enough, her front wheel settled into a hole which she had not seen because she had been so busy staring at the rocks. The car seemed to slide into it in slow motion, shuddering to a halt with its back end up in the air.

Miranda got out and surveyed the scene despondently. Even supposing she could shift the rocks there was no way she could get the car out. According to Stefan’s instructions she was not yet halfway to the villa.

So what was the next move? If the road was bad for vehicles what would it be like for walking? She did have some flat sandals in her suitcase. Perhaps if she changed she could make the rest of the journey on foot? There was no point in going back and it made even less sense to stay put. There was no likelihood of anyone coming to her rescue.

And really, despite its appearance and age, she could not knock the car. It had served her faithfully so far. It was her own fault she had not seen this pothole.

With a deep sigh she clambered into the back and fished her sandals out of the case, looking at them doubtfully. The soles were painfully thin for this rough terrain. It would be like walking in bare feet.

Nevertheless she exchanged them for her high heels, locked the car—though she doubted whether that was really necessary—and began to pick her way over the pile of rocks.

Then she heard another engine. She paused and listened. If the only other vehicles belonged to the Alexidis family it must be someone from the villa. Perhaps Georgios?

Her heartbeats quickened as she looked expectantly along the road. What a surprise he would have! But when a Land Rover came to a screeching halt at the other side of the rock-pile, it was not Georgios who jumped out.

This man was taller, with a more powerful physique and strong harsh features. His thick brows were knitted over the bridge of a hawk-like nose, his shiny black hair swept from a high proud brow, a hint of silver at the temples.

She guessed him to be about forty, and the faded cords and shirt with a worn collar put him in the category of a workman of some sort.

Miranda gave him a watery smile. ‘Am I pleased to see you!’ Balanced as she was on the rocks the full skirt of her sundress danced about her slender legs, and her golden hair caught the dappled sunlight as it penetrated the trees.

But judging by the dark piercing eyes which surveyed her he was immune to the fetching picture she presented, nor did he reciprocate her feelings. ‘What are you doing?’

His totally unexpected words unnerved her. She attempted to step gracefully over the remaining stones, lost her balance, and fell in an ungainly heap at his feet.

He did not attempt to help her up, not that she expected him to. He was no gentleman, that was for sure. He looked far from pleased to see her, giving the impression that she was an intruder with no right to be there at all.

In the seconds before she scrambled to her feet Miranda looked up, noting the leather boots and long length of muscular thigh, the stem face seemingly miles above, black eyes fixed unblinkingly upon her.

There was something in their depths that made her say crossly, ‘What does it look as if I’m doing? I’m not scrambling over these rocks for fun—I got stuck.'

‘I can see that,’ he said scathingly. ‘Perhaps I ought to spell it out. What are you doing on this road? Where are you going?’ There was the barest trace of an accent.

Miranda lifted her chin and glared. On top of the rocks she had been on a level with him, now her five foot three was dwarfed. He stood at least twelve inches above her, his compelling masculinity asserting itself as it did in no other man she had met.

‘I really don’t see what it has to do with you, but since I seem to be in your hands, I’m going to the Alexidis’s villa. Do you work there?’

Again that hard unblinking scrutiny. ‘You could say that. What’s your business?’

His mouth was wide, lips full and sensual, though at this moment they were in a grim straight line. What right had he to speak to her like this? Miranda asked herself, but wisely kept her words back. If she antagonised him he might very well leave her. She needed his help whether she liked it or not. ‘I want to see Georgios Alexidis. Is he at home, do you know?’

A brief inscrutable expression flashed across his face, and was it her imagination, or did he look even less welcoming than he had before? There was
certainly a hard glitter in those coal-black eyes, a firm set to the strong jaw. ‘So far as I am aware, Georgios is expecting no one.’

‘That’s right!’ She tried to hold his gaze but was compelled to look away from the intensity of his eyes. Never had she met a man who could see into your soul. ‘It—it’s a surprise,’ she continued, giving him a quick defiant glare.

‘You’re English!’ It was a statement rather than a question. ‘I don’t think Georgios will want to see you. He has no—er—friends in England.’

Miranda rarely lost her temper, but this man was really overstepping the mark. ‘And what right have you to speak for him? I’m sure that if you tell him I’m here he’ll definitely want to see me.’

‘And if he doesn’t?’

She arched her fine brows. ‘I shall go home. But I’m not going until I have seen him, so unless you care to help I shall simply go the rest of the way on foot.’ He looked at her flimsy sandals and his lips stretched themselves into the semblance of a smile, except that there was no echoing smile in his eyes. They flicked over her contemptuously. ‘Dressed like that I don’t think you’ll make it.’

And it would give him the greatest pleasure to see her on her knees! He did not have to say the words, it was easy to guess what thoughts were running through his mind. He made no attempt to hide his dislike of her, and she wondered whether he always judged and condemned people so rapidly.

‘You could perhaps be the gentleman you’re so obviously not and offer me a lift,’ she suggested bitterly.

‘And you could perhaps use your common sense and realise that I’m going in the opposite direction.’

The caustic comment stung her, and it was all she
could do to control her temper. But she still needed him—unfortunately. ‘In that case, before you proceed, you’ll have to shift these rocks,
and
the car, and when you’ve done that there’ll be nothing to stop me carrying on up by myself.’

‘Except me,’ he snarled.

‘And on whose authority are you daring to tell me what I can or cannot do?’ Her desperate need to see Georgios made her say things that in other circumstances she would not have dared. Or was it because she had never met a man who treated her like this? She was used to courtesy and politeness, no one had ever been so offensively rude.

‘Since I live here and you’re the intruder, I have every power to stop you from going to the villa. Had Georgios invited you it would be a different matter, but since he clearly doesn’t know that you are about to force yourself on him, I feel it is my duty to prevent such an unfortunate encounter.’

‘Your duty?’ Although Miranda was trembling inside, his harsh words hurting, she jutted her chin firmly, the sparkling grey-green of her eyes fixed on his face. ‘Unfortunate encounter? I think perhaps you ought to get your facts right before making such damning statements. Georgios and I were—very close.’ She had no intention of mentioning their marriage to this hateful man. ‘He’ll be more than pleased to see me.’

His hooded eyes narrowed menacingly. ‘You’re wrong. I think you will find that Georgios does not know you.’

‘I think Georgios should be allowed to judge that for himself.’ Miranda wished she had a few more inches so that she could look easily into his face. Towering over her as he did he had a definite advantage. Were all Greeks so totally aggressive, she wondered, or was it simply her bad luck to meet someone like him?

Georgios had never treated her like this. He had handled her with gentleness and respect, she had felt protected and needed, and submitted herself willingly. Their relationship had been both tender and passionate and she had envisaged a lifetime together, watching him mature from the eager young man he was to a dignified, totally caring husband and father.

If this despicable man in front of her had anything to do with it, Georgios would never know about his unborn baby. He would remain in ignorance that he had a son or daughter who was being denied its real father.

This thought made her even more determined to fight. ‘What are you?’ she demanded. ‘The family watchdog? Vetting all callers before they get past the door?’

He eye her frostily. ‘I do have some authority, but as your determination to see Georgios is as great as mine to keep you away, I will let you have your way, if only to see your disappointment when Georgios denies all knowledge of having met you before.’

Not waiting to see her reaction, he fetched a shovel from the back of the Land Rover and moved the pile of debris that blocked the road. The larger stones he lifted with his hands. Effortlessly and easily he worked, and Miranda found him fascinating to watch.

Muscles rippled, his movements precise, calculated to waste no energy. He looked tireless, his arms swinging back and forth as he wielded the shovel in a rhythm that was entirely hypnotic.

The rolled sleeves of his shirt exposed sinewy arms and bulging biceps. His hands were long and lean, fingers spatulate. Had they met in other circumstances, and had he not been so bitterly opposed to her, and had she not been married to Georgios, she might have found herself attracted.

He had that same indefinable magnetism that had drawn her to Georgios, except that on this man everything was so much more exaggerated. He was a bigger man, to begin with, not only physically. He had an air about him that would make him stand out in a crowd. He was in complete control of himself. She doubted whether anyone ever got the better of him.

Perhaps her intentionally sarcastic remark that he was the family watchdog had not been so far off the mark. He would make a fearsome bodyguard. The Alexidis’s were wealthy, Georgios freely admitted that. Something to do with shipping, she understood, although he had never elaborated. It could be that they needed someone like this hulk of a man to protect them.