Devil in Disguise

by Jessica Steele

  Her heartbeats quickening, she turned again to look at Lazar. His eyes were still closed. He looked to be completely oblivious to her sitting there beside him, yet she knew he must be aware she had not returned to the villa.

  Once again she looked at his mouth, felt herself hypnotised by the warm curve of it. And then she knew for all her brave thoughts, for all her mental stiffening of her backbone, it would be absolutely impossible for her to tap on that communicating door tonight, to go to him cold, and announce, 'Here I am.'

  She felt her stomach turn over at the thought, and had to grit her teeth to stay where she was, not to get up and bolt there and then.

  It was daylight now, she forced herself to think rationally. If she had to take that gigantic plunge into womanhood, then wouldn't she feel better if she broke down some of the icy fear in her by experimenting while it was still light? Discovered what a kiss was like when there were no night-time gremlins to haunt her? Supposing it was horrible? Supposing in the dark that first kiss was vile? Supposing Lazar got furious with her if she fought that suffocating darkness of his kiss and for all he had said, it did turn out to be rape?

  Realising she was on the verge of panicking, Clare grabbed at all the courage she could muster. It had to be now before that panic swamped her.

  'Lazar,' she said quickly, and took fright when his eyes opened and he looked straight into her 'own. Silently she battled not to run, swallowed hard, then said, 'Lazar, will you—k-kiss me?'

  Idly he surveyed her flushed face, then to her utter mortification, 'No,' he replied succinctly. And not waiting to see what effect that had on her, he promptly closed his eyes again.

  Completely shattered, she just sat and stared at him, her uppermost feeling one of mortification. He had no idea what it had cost her to make such a request„but to turn her down—just like that! Her feeling of mortification changed to one of absolute fury. She felt so violently angry she could have pummelled his head, that after she had dragged up every ounce of courage she possessed, he had coolly said 'No' and looked ready to go to sleep.

  It was temper this time that would have had her storming back to the villa. But she was finding she was made of sterner material than she had thought. She just wouldn't go to his room cold tonight. She couldn't and wouldn't. It was too unthinkable that she should enter his room having had not even the merest contact with him of that sort, to have him douse the light and...

  'Why won't you kiss me?' she asked a minute or so later, her fury squashed under the weight of her having to force the issue. 'I thought that was what you w-wanted?'

  This time he answered without bothering to open his eyes. 'If I remember rightly,' he corrected her lazily, 'the release of your brother depends on you kissing me.'

  A small, 'Oh,' escaped her, and her temper surged into life again.

  Angrily she looked at his still face and then to his mouth. And as she looked, her temper, her anger left her. Something, she had no idea what, was urging her on to feel that mouth against hers. Confused, she turned her eyes seawards, staring at the horizon for long minutes until some compulsion so strong she couldn't ignore it had her turning back to look at him. His lashes were still now and frustratingly she thought he had nodded off.

  Quietly, just in case, she asked, 'Are you asleep?'

  Not a muscle flickered in his face to show he had heard, and then he was replying, `No, I'm not asleep.' He didn't bother to open his eyes as he added, 'I'm here, ready and waiting to be—seduced.'

  Shocked colour flooded her face, though for the briefest instant she thought a muscle had twitched near his mouth as though he was having a hard time not to laugh. That muscle stayed firm as she stared at it, but it didn't help the tumult of her emotions at all to suspect he might inwardly be laughing at her.

  'I've never kissed anybody before,' came blurting out before she could stop it.

  That had Lazar's eyes coming wide awake, showing the surprise with which he received her statement. Then his look hardened, an expression crossing his face which could only be translated as the Greek equivalent of `Tell that to the Marines.' He closed his eyes again.

  The minutes ticked by as Clare sat staring at him, her emotions growing to fever pitch as she realised if there was any kissing to be done, it was going to be up to her to do it.

  Her face flushed, she edged nearer to him, the sun warm on her back, her body casting a shadow as gradually, very gradually she bent over him. Her facewas. very close to his, her heart pounding as though it would leap out of her body, when he made her aware he knew exactly what she was up to.

  `Go on,' he urged, his eyes closed still, 'be a devil.'

  Of course that had her backing away. But it was instinctive, and only for a few seconds. Then she brought her face close to his, and snatching at a wave of courage, she quickly touched her mouth to his, and just as quickly pulled back again—only to find she had no need at all to panic because there was not an atom of response coming from Lazar.

  She turned her head seaward again, analysing to her surprise that not only had she liked that brief contact, but, shatteringly, had felt piqued that there had been no reaction from him.

  Again she felt that same compulsion to look at him, not knowing who she was more annoyed with, herself or him that, by the look of it, he would shortly be asleep. She no longer had to force herself to experiment with the feel of his mouth beneath her own, and this time as she bent over and placed her dry lips over his she allowed her mouth to stay against his for a moment longer. Then she drew away hurriedly as she saw his eyes were open and those dark eyes were looking straight into hers. Trembling, she sat up straight. She had lost her voice, but she found that Lazar was having no such trouble.

  `Is that the best you can do?' he queried softly, and never had she felt more totally inadequate.

  'I told you,' she said stiffly, `I don't know how.' Then her temper, her frustration and feelings of inadequacy all jumbled up together, and she exploded, `It's like kissing a—a log!'

  She watched his eyes narrow slightly, heard a small laugh escape him. `Why not try it again?' he suggested softly, his voice encouraging.

  Clare stared at him. She could feel a sort of fascination creeping over her, and yet she was wary. She had a feeling she was no longer the one in control of this kissing business.

  `You won't ...' she began, the remembrance of how she had fainted that day he had held her in her mind, ‘.. won't .. .’

  'I promise I won't do anything you won't want me to,' Lazar told her easily, lying perfectly still, his arms down by his sides.

  Somewhere, somewhere in her head, warning bells were starting to go off, but for the first time in her life Clare took no notice of them. She had the greatest urge to feel Lazar's mouth again.

  It felt exactly the same as the other two kisses, she thought, feeling strangely disappointed. But, just as she was about to remove her mouth from his, she felt his lips move, and a tingle of she knew not what shot through her. Startled, she made to jerk away, only to find Lazar had moved a hand to the back of her head and was holding her steady.

  His mouth only inches from her own, he looked into her eyes. `It's all right,' he soothed, just as though he was gentling a shying pony, `all right,' he breathed softly, and she felt the gentle pressure of his hand bringing her head down again until her mouth met his.

  With only the minutest of movement with his mouth, he had Clare discovering she was enjoying being kissed. He was in no hurry to force her through this first enormous barrier, and slowly, unaware of it, she relaxed. Again unhurriedly, he moved her until she was lying down too, the top half of her resting unashamedly over his chest.

  He lifted her face to break his kiss, saw for himself there was no fear in her face, then brought her head down again, his mouth moving tantalisingly beneath her own, so that she had the feeling of wanting to move her mouth too.

  Then Clare became aware of other movement as, not hurrying, he turned with her until it was she who was lying on her
back, she with Lazar's chest over hers—and it was Lazar who was doing the kissing.

  With her arms down by her sides, Lazar's arms one either side of her, not touching, she wondered what she had been afraid of. This mutual kissing between a man and a woman was really very pleasurable. Somehow her eyes had instinctively closed, but she opened them again, innocently enchanted, when Lazar pulled his head up to gaze deeply into her brown pools of openness.

  'Theos!' he breathed on a hushed note, her innocence there for all the world to see. `I didn't believe you, but you really haven't been kissed before, have you?'

  `I—I think I like it,' she said, not recognising that husky voice as her own.

  And Lazar smiled, his shaken look changing to one of teasing as he asked softly, `Only think?'

  Her face pink, the husky stranger inside her answered, `No—I kn-know I like it.'

  He laughed at her reply, a gentle laugh as though her answer had pleased him, seeming to have forgotten which one of them was supposed to do the seducing, for Clare felt seduced by the way his lightened look took those years away from him. She found herself asking:

  'W-would you do it again, please?'

  For a moment she thought she had been too forward, for the light look left him as he stared sternly at her. Was he considering her question seriously she wondered, or ... His hand came to her face, a gentle finger running over her lips, his touch making her tingle again, before he used that finger to part her lips.

  `Keep your mouth like that the next time I kiss you,' he instructed, his hand moving away.

  `Like this?' she mumbled, and left her lips parted. Lazar lowered his head and as his mouth claimed hers, Clare, with a veritable explosion of feelings inside her, knew that this was what kissing really was. The other kisses he had given her were just a preliminary to the real thing. His lips were parted as he had instructed hers to be. His mouth was mobile, seeking, receiving, making her mouth mobile too without her even having to think about it.

  She tensed in momentary shock when she felt his tongue tip the inside of her bottom lip, and her hands came up to grip hard on to his naked shoulders. Her heart pounding madly, she pulled away.

  `Are you all right?' Lazar asked, nothing urgent in his tone.

  Chokily, she answered, `Yes,' knowing herself uncertain.

  Something was going on in her nether regions of which she had no experience. She felt on shaking ground, unsure, her only certainly being she wanted him to kiss her again. The hands holding tensely on to his shoulders suddenly relaxed. Of their own volition her lips parted the way he had instructed this time by instinct—in invitation. A small light of triumph appeared in his eyes as he gazed at her sweet supplication, then Lazar was claiming her mouth, his hands coming up to caress her shoulders, in delicious, tingling movements.

  Thinking was a thing of the past as Clare gave herself up to this newly discovered world of kisses, her body feeling she would be ready to stay there all day enjoying this wonderful intimacy.

  His mouth left hers to plant tiny kisses on her throat, she heard a low moan escape him, and was in heaven because she too felt like moaning with the pleasure of it all. She was in the seventh heaven of delight while his hand continued to caress her shoulders, and gave her lips readily when once more he took them.

  And then, shockingly, something else was happening. While the very heat of her blood turned to fire, Lazar's one hand left her shoulder and with consummate ease caressed its way across her breastbone and beneath the top of her swimsuit, not stopping until it had captured the swollen rise of her breast, naked beneath his hand.

  The feel of his hand, his fingers caressing tenderly over the hardened peak, was so personal, so unexpected, she couldn't believe it was happening. Shocked out of the feeling of mutual gratification, a strangled gasp broke from her. From somewhere three times her normal strength had her pushing him violently away, then she was on her feet, her eyes wide and horrified.

  `Oh ! ' she cried hoarsely, her sudden scarlet colour changing to ashen.

  Lazar was on his feet too witnessing her distress, her horror. His hands stretched towards her as he took a step nearer.

  `Do not be afraid,' he said quietly, `I ...'

  `You ... You ...' She was struggling for words, backing away, her face bereft of colour as new knowledge of herself took hold. `You ...' came strangled from her again, her eyes huge in her blood-drained face, this new unbelievable truth threatening to have her collapsing.

  'Oh God!' she groaned, and as Lazar went to take another step forward, she turned and fairly flew across the sand.

  CHAPTER SIX

  CLARE was shaking uncontrollably when she reached her room, her breath harsh and panting. She gripped hard on to the end of the bed as the shock of what had happened slowly receded—but not the shock of her discovery. Who was this new person who had awakened within her in the hot summer climes of Northern Greece?

  She had been aware of a growing dissatisfaction with the person she was before she had left England, but within the space of less than a week, new life had surged up from the depths of her being. Temper she had never before possessed had spurted to the surface on at least two occasions she could recall. Violent anger too, that had her wanting to hit a man without the semi-hysteria that had been there that time she had hit him.

  And now this other shattering new emotion she had discovered out there on the beach. This person within her enjoyed being kissed—had kissed back with heat that had come naturally from her—and, oh God, that wanton female had come to life and had so shaken her she had had to run. For feeling rocked to her very foundations to find Lazar's hand on that very private part of her, she had discovered that far from not wanting his hand touching her breast, he had aroused in her a desire to have his hand there, and not just that, but more, much more.

  Had that really been her out there? She who ever since that night five years ago had been protected with a zeal that would put many a uniformed guard to shame.

  Wishing she could stop shaking, Clare groped to sit on the bed, her legs unable to support her any longer. She was confused now as to whether or not Lazar had desired her, was too shattered to get her thoughts straight about what effect she had had on him. She knew only in her bewildered state that whether he wanted her or not—God help her, nothing had prepared her that she should want him.

  Trying to get herself under control but feeling an ache for his touch, she was nowhere near to getting on top as she recalled that new wonderful excitement he had brought to life within her, when her bedroom door opened and sent all thoughts flying.

  Her head jerked up, her face still a shocked white, to see Lazar standing there. Her hat, dress and sandals in his hands told her he had picked them up when he had followed her from the beach. He stood making no attempt to come into the room, his expression stern as he surveyed the way she couldn't stop shaking, the paleness of her, her eyes over-large in her face.

  'You need a drink.' His voice sounded like gravel in her ears, and she could have wept that to him she must seem like an immature schoolgirl. 'We both do,' he added shortly, then tossed her things to the bed. `Get dressed, then join me in the salóni.'

  Not anywhere near ready to have any sort of conversation with him, Clare felt too vulnerable to have him return to her room with the drink he said she needed. She didn't want him coming back and finding her still in her swimsuit.

  Hoping that if she was fully dressed some of her scattered wits might return, she went to the bathroom, quickly showering grains of sand from her body. When she was dressed she found that though her shaking had lessened, she still felt too mixed up to face Lazar.

  But she had to go. She didn't want him here in the intimacy of her bedroom. She wasn't yet at home with this new passionate being she had discovered inside her; she was wary of her, didn't trust her.

  Lazar was standing staring out of the window when Clare nervously entered the salóni. He had a glass of something in his hand and by the damp look of his hair he
too had taken a quick shower before changing into a fresh shirt and trousers.

  As quietly as she had come in, he had heard her. He turned, his eyes going over her still pale face. He looked as stern as he had in her room, she thought, her insides fluttering. But suddenly his sternness left him—and she wished it hadn't, for he gave her a gentle smile that threatened to have her insides breaking up.

  `How are you feeling now?' he asked quietly.

  `F-fine,' she stammered, and wasn't allowed to feel awkward a moment longer when he indicated the couch.

  `Sit there. I'll fix you a drink.'

  She smelt brandy in the glass he handed her, but didn't want it so made no attempt to sip at it. But she had reckoned without Lazar standing over her and instructing kindly: `Drink it down, Clare. You will feel better for it.'