APHRODITE’S
TEARS
by
Hannah
Fielding
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In ancient Greece,
one of the twelve labours of Heracles was to bring back a golden apple from the
Garden of Hesperides. To archaeologist Oriel Anderson, joining a team of Greek
divers on the island of Helios seems like the golden apple of her dreams.
Yet the dream
becomes a nightmare when she meets the devilish owner of the island, Damian
Lekkas. In shocked recognition, she is flooded with the memory of a romantic
night in a stranger’s arms, six summers ago. A very different man stands before
her now, and Oriel senses that the sardonic Greek autocrat is hell-bent on
playing a cat and mouse game with her.
As they cross
swords and passions mount, Oriel is aware that malevolent eyes watch her from
the shadows. Dark rumours are whispered about the Lekkas family. What dangers
lie in Helios, a bewitching land where ancient rituals are still enacted to
appease the gods, young men risk their lives in the treacherous depths of the
Ionian Sea, and the volatile earth can erupt at any moment?
Will Oriel find the
hidden treasures she seeks? Or will Damian’s tragic past catch up with them,
threatening to engulf them both?
EXCERPT:
Oriel had been sitting
on the boulder for a long time, gazing distractedly towards the water, when she
became vaguely aware of something moving in the shallows. The moon had by now disappeared
behind a bank of cloud, extinguishing the glitter of the waves and the silvery
patina on the rocks. The shift in darkness of the night sky made it difficult
to see what had rippled the surface of the water. Frogmen night diving, she
thought, or the slight undulation of the sea in the warm, salty breeze. She
didn’t give it another thought, returning her attention to the winking lights
of fishing boats on the horizon – and then, abruptly, he emerged …
It was a man, but not
one wearing a wetsuit, fins or diving mask; this one was almost naked, his
modesty barely protected by what could only be defined as an apology for a
low-rise brief. He was no mere trick of the light. Sleek and glorious, he was
suddenly hurtling out of the water, throwing spray off his body like Poseidon
rising from the waves.
Oriel’s breath caught in
her throat as she watched him, a small frown crinkling her brow. A curious
sense of apprehension seeped into her veins. In the near-darkness he looked
large, somewhat menacing and disturbingly masculine as he strode through the shallows.
There was an air of unquestioned dominance about this man, an arrogant power
that expressed itself in the controlled motion of his body as he sauntered on
to the beach.
For that fateful minute,
she was totally helpless, in the grip of emotions too basic to be controlled by
rational thought. Instead of turning to leave quickly, she continued to stare
at the stranger who had materialized like a Greek god wading from the depths of
the sea. The moon slid into view again, throwing a wash of silver over long
muscular legs and narrow hips, wide shoulders and a sculpted torso, all
combined in a vibrantly athletic stance. As his approaching form became more
discernible, each smooth, fluid curve of muscle, each long line of sinew and
bone, and each angular feature glistened with a radiance that stabbed Oriel
straight to the heart. Hair as dark as the devil’s soul was dripping wet across
his forehead and he lifted his hand to slick it away from his face, the
moonlight catching every droplet that glittered like tiny diamonds across his
skin.
All at once, Oriel
gathered her wits, conscious that she too was only lightly clad, just a muslin
sarong covering her bikini. She remembered her mother’s warning that it wasn’t
wise for a woman to venture out alone on a deserted beach, and she stood up to
hurry back to her hotel, quickly tucking the letter and photograph into her
sarong.
Too late! She had barely
taken a step before she found herself confronted by the tall, dark figure. Well
above the average height of other Greek men, he towered over her, a dark
silhouette against the moonlit sky. His eyes gleamed like steel against his
deeply tanned skin as his gaze wandered over her and then rested upon her hair,
which cascaded heavily down her back, pale and shining as the moon on the
water. He had a strong masculine face, rather insolent and somewhat primitive –
so much so that despite the tinge of fear fluttering through her, Oriel
couldn’t help but feel mesmerized by this Adonis.
‘What brings a beautiful
girl to such a deserted place on this enchanting night?’ he asked in English.
His obvious Greek accent gave a delightful, smoky edge to his deep voice and
sent an involuntary warmth up her spine. Slicking back his wet dark hair once
more, he studied her openly. ‘You look like the ocean nymph, Calypso, waiting
for Odysseus on your island, ready to bewitch him with your mesmerizing voice.’
Oriel had been too
startled, too alarmed, to reply at first. His comment was unexpected, and those
glittering grey eyes seemed to hold her prisoner, flickering with amusement and
something more intense. It was she who was bewitched.
‘I thought I was alone,’
she murmured, finally finding her voice.
His mouth quirked. ‘So
did I.’ He nodded behind him. ‘I dropped anchor back there to come in for an
evening swim. It’s been a hot day.’ His eyes returned to her, intent and
appraising.
Oriel’s gaze flitted
away and caught sight of a small boat, moored next to the rocks to her left.
Partially obscured by the craggy ridge that shaped the deserted cove, only the
top of the sail was visible, billowing gently in the balmy breeze. She’d been
too preoccupied by her brooding thoughts to notice its arrival.
She felt an urge to push
past this handsome stranger and run away to the safety of her hotel bedroom,
but something about this man had held her there, transfixed. The intriguing
power of his personality gripped her imagination. This stranger could have
stepped straight out of Homer’s Odyssey.
A silky platinum lock
slipped from the scarf Oriel had tied around her head in a band to keep her
heavy, tumbling mane in place, and the breeze blew it across her face. He
reached out a bronzed hand with tapering long fingers and lightly pushed the
strand away, before caressing the length of her hair almost reverently. There
was a sultry burn now in the gaze that wandered from her hair to her mouth and
then settled on Oriel’s wild doe eyes, which stared back at him. Her stomach
curled with instinctive heat.
She felt the impulse to
escape, like a fawn fleeing into the brush. Instead, she stood there, pulse
racing, her legs trembling as an unfamiliar and exquisite sensation flooded the
lower part of her body. It was madness! Never before had this sense of danger –
of seduction – hit her with such potency. Surely it was the island air that had
gone to her head like an enchanted potion.
The dark waves murmured
on the sand, their gently rolling edges lit a luminous blue under the
moonlight. Everything was cloaked in unreality and it was as if the two of them
were caught in a dream. Oriel sensed that the mysterious stranger before her
was also aware of the extraordinary atmosphere that engulfed them.
His fingers were still
touching her hair and she backed away. This man was so overwhelming, and she
was disoriented. In a sudden, desperate panic, Oriel turned to run, hardly
looking where she was going, her bare feet stumbling through the wet sand in
the silver-washed half light. Before she had time to register it, her foot came
into contact with something hard and she tripped and went sprawling forwards.
In the same split second she was jerked sideways by a pair of muscular arms as
the Greek god sprang forward and caught hold of her, their bodies colliding in
mid-air.
Oriel gave a choked cry.
The stranger fell with her, holding her, his body going into a complicated
twist just before they hit the sand so that she landed on top of him, the fall
softened for her by his body. She lay winded for an instant; then, before she
was over the shock, he took her by the shoulders and gently slid her from him
sideways. She found herself on her back, staring up at the milky moonlit sky.
His bulk arched over her, blotting out the moon with the dark circle of his
head, and she looked wildly up at him as the weight of his muscled body pressed
down, splaying her against the sand.
‘Don’t!’ she cried out,
struggling in his arms. His skin was hot and smooth, and she fought the impulse
to relax and let herself melt into him.
The stranger’s eyes
glittered and held hers beneath the perfect arc of black eyebrows. ‘You were
headed for a nasty fall on that rock, you should look where you’re going.’ His
was a face out of Greek tragedy itself. It was so close to hers that Oriel felt
his warm breath on her cheek and her pulse quickened; with it came an acute
awareness: the needs she had suppressed for years were suddenly rushing to the
surface. An aching feeling was invading her lower limbs, a strange weakness. It
was magnified a hundredfold when he leapt to his feet and a strong brown hand
helped her up, his powerful frame looming over her. His silver eyes skimmed the
taut curve of her breasts and she prayed her flimsy bikini top was displaying
no signs of her arousal.
He didn’t let go of her
hand as his eyes bored into hers. ‘You’re trembling, beautiful Calypso.’
Oriel blinked. He was
terrifyingly attractive. She pulled her hand from his, now embarrassed at her
clumsy attempt to flee. ‘It’s nothing. Thank you.’
His sensuous lips
stretched into a slow smile, uncovering a row of pure white teeth. ‘You must
have been here centuries ago, waiting for me on your island.’ Even his speech
was theatrical. She found herself returning his smile and entered into the
spirit.
‘And who were you?’ she
breathed, the question almost catching in her throat; she already knew the
answer.
‘Odysseus, of course.
Remember? I was shipwrecked and washed up on the shore of this island. You fell
in love with me and held me prisoner, but you weaved your magic spell over me
with your beautiful long hair, spun from moonbeams, your mesmerizing voice and
enticing body, and your manipulative ways.’
Oh, he was daring and
arrogant – and irresistible, too. Despite herself, Oriel took up his allusion
of the ancient Greek myth and ventured boldly down the same path, perilous
though it was. ‘And even though I promised to make you immortal, you refused
and wanted to return to Ithaca and your wife.’
Now it was the
stranger’s turn to look surprised. He regarded her with amusement. ‘We made
love and I was lost for seven years.’
‘But it was me who saved
you and built the boat that eventually took you home.’
Finally he laughed,
transforming the hardness of his features into an expression that was
devastating, making Oriel’s heart leap. Even the sound of his laughter was
huskily exotic. ‘Maybe you do not believe in the reincarnation of souls,’ he
said. ‘I’ve never really thought about it.’
The images he evoked
made Oriel long for him to take her in his arms, to be clasped by those strong
hands that had stroked her hair with such gentleness … To lose herself beneath
that powerful body again.
Surrounded by such
beauty and serenaded by the sea, it was as though they were trapped in time.
Maybe it was the lingering adrenaline of her anger at the contents of the
letter and her heightened nervous system. Perhaps it was the nature of this
deserted place that made everything seem like an alluring fantasy. Or maybe it
was simply that this man was unlike any other Oriel had ever met. He was no
Odysseus, she decided: that Greek hero had been a mere mortal. Indeed this man
seemed the personification of Poseidon himself.
His eyes glinted darkly
and pinned her with their glimmering steel, setting her nerves tingling. Had he
read her thoughts? Was he aware of the emotions he had stirred up as he plucked
at needs deep within her that no one had yet aroused? Oriel’s was dry, her lips
parched, and she passed the tip of her tongue over them.
Oh Lord, there was no
sense to this!
Shocked at her
disturbing reaction, she stepped forward to move past him. ‘I’m sorry … I need
to go,’ she murmured, but his fingers caught hold of her wrist. She felt the
strength of them, before his thumb brushed sensually against her skin,
caressing it, melting her very insides.
‘Don’t break the spell,’
he said faintly, his voice low and hoarse. Close to this man, every sensible
instinct told Oriel that she had been right to make a run for it, but as the
shifting moonlight caught and held in his irises, she stared into them,
profoundly aware of his dark masculine beauty and power. Sometimes it took only
a single glance to say everything and, in that moment, she felt her old beliefs
crumble inexorably around her. She lowered her eyes and a frisson of emotion
ran through her body.
FROM THE
AUTHOR:
When I was a child, my governess told me fairy stories. These
tales, full of superstition and magic, were my first inspiration, and the
warmth and colour they still evoke greatly influence my writing. They were also
the experience through which I learned to become a storyteller, as my governess
and I had an agreement – whenever she told me a story, I would have to tell her
one in return.
As a
novelist, I am obsessed by vivid colours, lush landscapes and tales of exotic
customs in far-off lands. I can trace much of this back to a dear and
long-departed friend of my family, Mr. Chiumbo Wangai, who fascinated me as a
teenager with stories of the witch-doctors and magical ceremonies in his native
Kenya. When I visited the country myself, I soon fell in love with its
beautiful countryside and unforgettable sunsets.
Though I
have been telling stories since I was a child, it was only after my children
had grown up and my husband and I had turned our family business into a success
that I felt I could devote myself to writing full time. After I dug out the
various ideas and sketches I had jotted down over the years, I realised how
profoundly my travels throughout Europe, the Mediterranean and particularly
Africa had burned themselves into my memory. I felt driven to turn them into a
novel.
The mystery, magic, heat and passion of Kenya’s landscapes
inspired me to use them as the setting for my first novel. Burning
Embers, a passionate love story set against the backdrop of
the country in 1970. My later travels through Europe provided rich fodder for
more stories, including my novels The Echoes of Love, set in Venice and
Tuscany, Italy; and the AndalucÃan Nights trilogy,
set in the smouldering heat of AndalucÃa, Spain.
