LITMIR.BIZ

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stopped beside her. She stilled, then took another sip, pretending to ignore him, while every nerve ending quivered warily at his closeness.

      “You never told me you could windsurf.”

      The rasp of the zip sounded loud in the silence. Gemma was achingly aware of his peeling off his wet suit and slinging it over the back of the bench. Underneath he wore a pair of boardshorts that rode low on his hips. The unwelcome memory of last night clear in her mind, Gemma tried not to notice that his stomach was taut and tanned, the defined muscles revealing that he worked out regularly—or led a very active lifestyle.

      Gemma whipped her gaze away and shrugged. “I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. I would’ve thought I had.” Why had Mandy not told him? Especially as it was clear it was something Angelo excelled at. Her parents had paid for lessons for both her and Mandy to learn to windsurf down at Buckland’s Beach, near their childhood home. Mandy had been more interested in flirting with the youths in the class than learning to sail. Deciding to distract him with flattery Gemma added, “You’re good. Those were some great moves out there.”

      But Angelo didn’t bite. “So, when are you leaving?”

      Gemma drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m not.” His expression never altered, but she sensed his sudden tension.

      “Last night you said you were going, why have you changed your mind?”

      Even though his tone remained even, his eyes told a different story. Her gaze fell before his challenging stare, landing on his legs. His thighs were solid, the skin darkened to a deep bronze by the Greek sun. She felt herself flush and quickly looked away over the sea. She didn’t want this awful awareness of this man. “Because my reputation would be mud in entertainment circles if I walked away from my contract.”

      “I would see to it that didn’t happen.”

      He wanted her gone that much? Gemma swallowed, then said baldly, “I can’t go, I need the money.”

      A coolness entered his voice. “Is this where I’m supposed to offer to pay you to leave?”

      “No!” Gemma jerked her head up to stare at him, horrified by the conclusion he’d drawn. “But I’ve got a contract and I’m entitled to payment for doing my job. I need it.”

      “What do you need the money for?” Angelo dropped down beside her and his arm stretched along the back of the bench, so that it rested behind her head.

      She thought furiously. “Medical expenses,” she said at last, trying to ignore his arm. It wasn’t easy. “From the…er…car accident.” She swallowed again and stared out over the sea.

      “That’s what caused your amnesia?”

       Damn. What to say now?

      The silence stretched. He was waiting for her reply. Gemma discovered she wasn’t crazy about lying to him. Strange, because she’d never thought it would worry her in the least. Not after what he’d done.

      “Witnesses say it was a hit and run,” she expanded, sticking to the story she’d originally planned. “Luckily when I came round in hospital I remembered who I was. But I don’t remember anything about you, about Strathmos…or anything that happened for a while after I left Strathmos.”

      “So you’re suffering from retrograde amnesia. You lost the events immediately before the accident.”

      Retrograde amnesia? Gemma blinked. “Uh…yes.” His interest took her aback. She gave him a weak smile. “Have you been doing research?”

      “A little. Did you experience any memory loss after the accident?”

      This time she was prepared. “Yes. There was some anterograde amnesia. I remember waking up in hospital. I don’t remember the accident itself—or getting to the hospital. The specialists did say that the events I could no longer recall before the accident might return as time passed. But to date they haven’t. I lost several weeks of my life.” She delivered the explanation as she’d prepared it.

      “Was there any other damage?” His fingers brushed her shoulder. Despite the thick protection of the Neoprene wet suit, Gemma felt as though she’d been scorched.

      “No, I was fortunate,” she said a trifle huskily as shivers coursed through her.

      “Nothing lucky about it,” he said abruptly. “Such an accident should never have happened. Did the police catch the perpetrator?”

      “No.” Gemma fidgeted. She hadn’t expected his concern and outrage on her behalf. She folded her arms across her stomach, feeling terrible. Then she recalled her father’s depression, her mother’s tears after Mandy’s unnecessary death. Instantly her heart hardened. “Now can you understand why I need money?”

      “What will you do when you finish here?”

      “My agent is looking for something for me.” There had been offers, but Gemma hadn’t been in a hurry to take another booking. She hadn’t been sure how long she needed on Strathmos to learn the truth.

      “So long as you know that your contract to sing here will not be extended. I don’t want you here.”

      Gemma gulped. That was pretty direct. It also meant that she had less than three weeks to find out the truth. “I understand.”

      Two days passed without catching sight of Angelo. On Wednesday morning Gemma lounged beside the resort’s heated outdoor pool, soaking up the mild early morning sunshine. She’d heard that Angelo sometimes swam laps after breakfast before the resort guests started to congregate.

      Huge sheets of glass shut out the unpredictable autumn wind without obscuring the view of the Aegean. In the centre of the pool a marble quartet of golden winged horses danced under the spray that jetted from three tall fountains. Through half-closed eyes, Gemma could almost imagine the mythical beasts thundering across the heavens, steered by the sun god.

      A young poolside waiter had just delivered a tall glass topped with a pink umbrella and a row of cherries on a swizzle stick when a familiar voice shattered the fantasy.

      “So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

      Tensing, Gemma wished she was wearing more than the tiny bikini with the skimpy bandana top. Hidden behind sunglasses, she said, “Don’t you have more important things to do than look for me?”

      Angelo waved his hand dismissively. “You told me you are here for the money. Right?”

      “Y-es,” she stretched the word out, waiting, wondering why his eyes had turned as hard as stone.

      He dropped down on the lounger beside hers; only a low glass-topped table on which her drink stood separated them. Uncomfortably conscious of his closeness, Gemma pushed her sunglasses firmly up her nose, grateful for the protection they offered from his icy scrutiny.

      “I’ve just learned you wanted this contract badly enough to take a drop in pay.” His voice was edged in steel. “I want to know why. How could you afford to do that with the medical expenses you cried about only a couple of days ago?”

      Raising her shoulder, Gemma dropped it with false aplomb. “I took the drop because I was desperate for money. I needed an income—I haven’t been getting regular work.”

      His gaze glittered with suspicion. “You once told me that one of the joys of being an exotic dancer is that there’s always work. So if you were short of work why sing? Why not dance?”

      Gemma forced herself not to shudder. She’d never understood why Mandy danced or how she put up with the hoards of leering men—even if the money was good. “Uh—I don’t do that anymore. I love singing.” That, at least, was true. “And singing pays more when I get the right spots, which I’m getting more often. I’m on the rise.”

      “What’s this?”

      Something in his sharp tone turned her head. He was scowling

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