Mediterranean Millionaire's Mistress

SHE'D lost her best friend and discovered she wasn't who she thought she was--all in the space of a few weeks. Two unrelated but cataclysmic events which had catapulted Ianthe from safety into the frightening sphere of the unknown, and in the painful process introduced her to a whole other reality. "Well," she said. "Now that I'm here, I may as well make the best of it." Frowning in the mirror at the doubt she saw reflected so clearly in the rich caramel depths of her dark brown eyes, she tried to stem the tilting sensation that made her feel as though she was desperately endeavouring to keep her balance when a deep fissure had just cracked open beneath her feet. "Keep breathing...just keep breathing." Her own advice rang a little hollow round the plain whitewashed walls of the hotel room, with its lone faded picture of a Greek Madonna and child--but still she grabbed at it, standing perfectly still until some of the terror ebbed away and she was breathing normally again. A slow trickle of sweat meandered down the valley between her breasts. She would fight this...shehadto. There weren't any safety nets any more to catch her if she fell. From the moment she'd decided to fly out to the small Greek island she had chosen at random on the map, with a tumultuous mix of grief and excitement pounding through her heart because that was where she would start her quest of self-discovery, Ianthe had promised herself that she would avoid anything that remotely resembled routine. She would discover an adventurous spirit inside herself if she had to take a shotgun to it and force it out. "There's no going back, Ianthe, so you may as well get used to the idea and just accept it." This time her advice didn't ring so hollow, and a strong surge of determination made her feel as if she was being carried along on a jetstream of renewed purpose. She was twenty-nine years old, until recently the owner of a thriving and successful business, and would not argue the fact that so far her life had been fairly unre-markable. The beloved only child of parents who had already been in their forties when she was born, she had been brought up with caution instilled into her very marrow, so that she almost never did anything spontaneously, and Ianthe hadn't ever rebelled against that. Until three months ago, that was--when the tumultuous events that had overtaken her had propelled her into acting in a way she had never acted before. Locking the door of her room, she hurried down the wide 'Roman baths'-style steps that led to the hotel's small reception, suddenly needing to be amongst people again. Her flip-flop sandals slapped almost too loudly against the cool marble as she walked, so that she was conscious of the echoes being the only blemish on the otherwise subdued atmosphere. Depositing her key in the appropriate box on the wall, she went outside into a blaze of sunshine and a cornucopia of scents. She didn't really have a clue what she was going to do with her first full day on the island, but after all wasn't that the point? Instead of planning practically every moment to the nth degree, she would let the day take her wherever it willed. She would open herself up to opportunity instead of trying to predict every outcome. As she set off down the shiny, slippery-stoned alleyway, Ianthe silently ordered herself to relax her shoulders and slow her stride. She was on holiday, for goodness'sake, not running a marathon! She breathed in with another passionate burst of determination, inhaling air that was crammed with the scent of so many delicious things it was hard to pick out just one. All she knew was that the balmy cocktail was stimulatingly different from anything she'd experienced in a long, long time. Minutes later, sitting outside a waterside taverna that had royal blue cloths on the tables and matching umbrellas, Ianthe focused interestedly on the outrageously glamorous yachts tCox, Maggie is the author of 'Mediterranean Millionaire's Mistress ', published 2006 under ISBN 9780373125845 and ISBN 0373125844.