Rich as Sin

by Anne Mather

  Matthew seemed to take forever, and she was on the point of deciding she could at least put on her dressing-gown when he came back. But he hadn’t had a shower. His hair was dry, and there was no lingering smell of soap clinging to his body. On the contrary, his skin was still glistening with sweat, and when he came towards the bed she saw he was fully aroused.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, and before she could ascertain his intentions he had scooped her up into his arms.

  Shock soon gave way to comprehension, when he carried her into the bathroom. Instead of the shower she had thought he was taking, Matthew had filled the enormous tub, and now he paused on the marble rim, looking down into the gently steaming water. Then, just when she thought he was going to lower her into the tub and leave her to her ablutions, he stepped down into the pool by means of the shallow steps cut into the side, and deposited her on the ledge that encircled it below the waterline.

  The water was neither hot nor cold, and Samantha felt the instant relief of its soothing balm, pine-scented and luxurious, against her sore body. She realised she really could have swum in its depths, but it was far more sybaritic just to let its heat relax her.

  ‘Good, hmm?’ Matthew murmured, and Samantha, who had been too bemused by her surroundings to notice that he was still there, caught her breath.

  His presence both shocked and disturbed her. Shocked, because she had never taken a bath with a man before; and disturbed, because she was aware that her attraction towards him had by no means been abated by what had happened.

  ‘I—very good,’ she answered him now, suddenly aware of her breasts, clearly outlined beneath the water that lapped about her shoulders. And of the abandoned way she was lounging, also visible to his appraising gaze. ‘Um—thank you.’

  Dammit, why didn’t he go? she wondered frantically. He must know how embarrassing this was for her. She couldn’t believe, with his vast experience, he didn’t know exactly how she was feeling.

  But instead of getting out of the tub he reached for an ivory tablet of soap that was set on a dish to one side of the bath, and applied its softness to the sponge he was squeezing in his other hand. Then, to Samantha’s astonishment—and mortification—he began to lather her arms and shoulders.

  ‘I—don’t,’ she protested, as the sponge made a circle round her breast, and Matthew’s lips tilted at her obvious distress.

  ‘Why not?’ he asked, ignoring her in any case. ‘I’ll be very thorough, I assure you.’

  ‘Because—because you can’t,’ Samantha gasped, her voice rising dramatically as the sponge moved lower. ‘Matt—please! You’re embarrassing me.’

  Matthew’s hand stilled. ‘Don’t be silly,’ he said, leaning towards her and circling her lips with his tongue. ‘Just pretend I’m your body-slave.’ He drew back and grinned. ‘I am, anyway.’ The sponge slid along her thigh. ‘Come on. I won’t hurt you. I promise.’

  ‘Oh, Matt!’ To her dismay, she felt the stirring heat of the same emotions that had betrayed her once already. It couldn’t be true, she told herself. After the fiasco of what had happened, how could she even contemplate making love with him without horror?

  ‘Oh, baby,’ he countered softly, drawing her off the ledge and into his arms. ‘God, Sam, what are you doing to me?’

  What was she doing to him? Samantha could have laughed at the incongruity of it all. What was he doing to her, more like? With the water soothing her aching limbs, the idea of making love again was no longer so painful, and all thoughts of right and wrong fled.

  Matthew lifted her out of the bath with the utmost tenderness, wrapping her in a huge silky towel that encased her like a cocoon. Then, uncaring of his own wetness, he laid her on the bed and finished his task.

  However, by the time he had attended to her breasts, punctuating the towel’s soft abrasion with sensuous kisses, and caressed the calf and instep of each long, shapely leg, she was weak and clinging to him. She no longer cared that his throbbing arousal might hurt her yet again. She just wanted him inside her, hot and fulfilling.

  And he was hot: hot, and fulfilling, and marvellously real. There was no pain, just an aching fullness as he stretched her taut muscles, and slid into her sheath. His mouth bruised hers as he withdrew part-way, only to thrust himself inside her again, and a growing sense of anticipation flowered in her stomach.

  Instinct took over. She was hardly aware of what she was doing. With Matthew’s tongue taking possession of her mouth, mimicking the hard possession of his body, and his hands cupping her bottom to bring her even nearer, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and let him take her. The plunging heat as he drove himself into her was like a mounting wave of pleasure, the slickness of his body welding them together. She moaned out loud as the fiery heat of their lovemaking reached a crescendo, and then a splintering delight engulfed her, sending her spinning over the brink …

  Samantha dressed for supper with shaking hands. Although she knew Matthew would be there to support her, she would have given everything she possessed just to avoid joining the rest of his family for the evening meal. She was convinced they would know exactly what had happened between that too-obvious walk along the beach, and supper. She was sure they would see Matthew’s mark upon her. And, although the only bruises she had were hidden by the long skirt of her Laura Ashley print, she felt so different that she couldn’t believe she didn’t look different, too.

  But different didn’t mean like him, she reminded herself tensely. In spite of what had happened—in spite of the fact that he had turned her world upside-down in the space of a few hours—Samantha knew that nothing had really changed. She was still the owner of the Honey Pot Café, and Matthew was still Aristotle Apollonius’s grandson.

  Still? She questioned her use of the adverb. Matthew wasn’t ‘still’ anything. Until today, she hadn’t even realised he owned J.P. Software International. J.P.? She frowned. P for Putnam, no doubt. If only she had been more astute. She might have put two and two together before it was too late.

  But it was too late, she acknowledged. Much too late. Whatever happened in the future, today had been a crucial turning point in her life. It was the day she had learned now naïve she had been to believe she had control of her life. It was the day she had learned that, whatever happened now, she would have to tell Paul she couldn’t marry him.

  She looked down at her bare finger. Even though she had only been wearing her engagement ring for a few weeks, she missed its narrow band. It had represented so many things to her—home, security, normality! The common-sense values she had always lived by. Now she realised what a momentous thing she had done when she had taken it off on the plane. She had done more than remove a ring, she thought ominously. She had shed the beliefs of a lifetime.

  She drew an uneven breath. So what now? she wondered tautly. Where did she go from here? The common sense that had deserted her when Matthew touched her had now returned with a vengeance. All right, for a few hours he had shown her heaven. But, although she didn’t have his experience, she was sensible enough to realise that what he had shared with her he had probably shared with someone else. More than one someone, probably. She had to accept that, no matter how painful that possibility might be.

  So where did that leave her? What could she expect from this relationship? At the most, a few weeks of Matthew’s time. A brief, if sexually satisfying, affair, with no commitment from either of them? Or would she become another Melissa, using any ruse to see him, even if it meant using another man? For she had the uneasy feeling that Matthew’s strange appearance at Melissa’s engagement party was less of a coincidence than he had admitted. He had said Melissa had expected to marry him! At least Samantha had had no such expectation.

  She sighed, and took another look at her appearance. The dress was fine, but she wasn’t. She didn’t belong here. No matter that only an hour ago she had held Matthew, shuddering in her arms. No matter that, in spite of everything, she was very much afraid she had fallen in love with him.
She was only prolonging the agony. He didn’t love her. He wanted her, that was all. She doubted he had ever really loved anybody. Love—and marriage—were not part of his agenda. They didn’t fit in with his plans for the future. So how could she, when her ambitions would always be so different from his?

  Half of her wished there were some way she could leave without seeing Matthew again. The prospect of the weekend ahead filled her with alarm. No matter how strong her resolve might be—to break this alliance before it broke her—the longer they were together, the harder it was going to be. She didn’t want to get used to being with him. She didn’t want him to break her heart.

  But the other half, the emotional half of her being, saw the next two days quite differently. Forty-eight hours was a long time, she told herself optimistically. Matthew might even fall in love with her. And, as she couldn’t get away, why shouldn’t she take what the gods had offered, and be grateful?

  Fat chance! she thought, pragmatism overwhelming her illusions. Get real, Sam, she ordered bitterly, dragging a brush savagely through her hair. This was life, not some fancy daydream! And anyway, did she really want to marry a man who saw no shame in seducing another man’s fiancée?

  She threw down the brush, and turned away from the mirror. It didn’t help to see her own culpability in her eyes. Matthew would not have made love to her if she hadn’t accepted his invitation. The only person responsible for messing up her life was herself.

  The knock at the door brought an abrupt end to her unhappy introspection. And, although moments before she had been torn with indecision, she didn’t hesitate before going to answer it. There was nothing she could do, she insisted, when the low insidious voice of reason still protested. When she got back to England, she would tell Matthew she couldn’t see him again. But, until then, she was helpless.

  She had locked the door on his departure an hour ago, the defensive action a small sop to her conscience. Which was probably why he hadn’t just walked in, she acknowledged drily. After what had happened between them, she couldn’t imagine Matthew showing any reticence.

  But, when she opened the door, it wasn’t Matthew who was standing outside. It was his mother. And Samantha gazed at her blankly, but with a growing sense of dread.

  ‘Samantha.’ Caroline Putnam—or did she still call herself Apollonius? Samantha wondered wildly—smiled disarmingly. ‘May I come in?’

  ‘I—of course.’ What else could she say? Samantha stepped back automatically. ‘Um—is something wrong?’

  It was a foolish question. Something was obviously wrong, or Matthew’s mother wouldn’t be here. Images of herself and Matthew in various stages of undress flashed guiltily before Samantha’s eyes. Dear God, she hadn’t seen them, had she? Samantha fretted. The door hadn’t been locked then. Matthew had remarked upon it.

  The older woman said nothing until Samantha had closed the door behind her. Then, linking her hands together at her waist, she paused in the middle of the floor.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news,’ she said, and for an awful moment Samantha was afraid that something dreadful had happened to Matthew. She clasped her hands, and pressed them to her throat, feeling absurdly as if she was choking. But his mother’s next words removed that fear, and replaced it with another. ‘I have to tell you, on his behalf, that Matthew’s had to return to London.’

  ‘To London!’

  Samantha blinked, and Caroline Putnam nodded. ‘Yes. I’m afraid there’s been something of an emergency. Melissa—that is, the girl we all hope Matthew will eventually marry—has been involved in—in an accident. Naturally, as soon as he heard, he made arrangements to fly back to England to be with her.’

  A mixture of feelings swept over Samantha at that moment. Dismay; disbelief; indignation. How could Matthew have gone back to London and left her here, whatever the emergency? He must know how she would feel. How could he do this to her?

  ‘I’m sure this must have come as a shock to you,’ Caroline was saying now, and Samantha knew she had to hide her real feelings. There was no way she was going to let Matthew—or his mother—know how humiliated they had made her feel. She had to pretend her reaction was one of inconvenience.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ she said, turning aside so that she could surreptitiously dry her damp palms on her skirt. ‘What a nuisance!’

  ‘Yes.’ But Matthew’s mother was not as gullible as all that. ‘He’s hurt you, hasn’t he? I was afraid he would.’

  ‘No!’ Samantha’s response was more defensive than she would have liked, but the other woman’s words had stung. She didn’t want anybody feeling sorry for her. ‘I—our relationship was never serious, Mrs Putnam. If Matthew told you that it was, then he was exaggerating.’

  ‘Well—no. No, he didn’t.’ Samantha winced. She had never expected he had. ‘But I know, from personal experience, you understand, that my son can be totally insensitive.’

  There wasn’t a lot Samantha could say to that. ‘I agree’ sprang most readily to mind, but that would have sounded too much like the resentment she was desperate to hide.

  ‘Anyway, I—just wanted to warn you,’ Caroline continued after a moment. ‘And—naturally you’re welcome to stay for the rest of the weekend, if that’s what you’d like to do.’

  That was her cue, Samantha realised bitterly. No one, least of all Matthew’s mother, really wanted her to stay for the rest of the weekend. This wasn’t just a social gathering; it was a family party. And now that Matthew had gone, she had no legitimate reason to remain.

  ‘Um—that’s very kind of you,’ she said now, watching the wary expression on the older woman’s face. Was Caroline really afraid she might call her bluff, and accept her invitation? For a malicious moment Samantha was tempted to hesitate, just to get her own back. But she didn’t. ‘However, I think I’d rather go, if you don’t mind.’

  Caroline’s relief was almost palpable. ‘Of course I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘But I’m afraid you won’t be able to leave until tomorrow morning. I’ll arrange for Niarchos to come and pick you up. Would nine-thirty be all right? Or perhaps a little later?’

  ‘Nine-thirty would be fine,’ replied Samantha firmly, and Caroline smiled.

  ‘Good. I’ll have my secretary check out the times of flights to England. I’m sure that won’t be a problem. There are several flights in and out of Athens every day.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Samantha adopted what she hoped was an equally determined smile, and waited for Caroline to leave. She had done what she came for with obvious success. So why was she waiting? What more did she have to say?

  ‘Er—about supper—–’

  Samantha stiffened. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I—we’ll—quite understand if you’d rather have it here, in your room,’ Matthew’s mother ventured smoothly, and, although until that moment that was exactly what Samantha had wished, the older woman’s insensitivity struck a nerve.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ she responded now, realising exactly what Matthew’s family would think if she didn’t appear. Poor cow, they’d titter, only it would sound somewhat different in their language. Too embarrassed to show her face, now that Matthew’s deserted her! ‘I’d like to join you, if you have no objections. It’s such a lovely evening. It seems a shame to waste it.’

  Which was why Samantha found herself sitting on the terrace wall some time later, gazing somewhat tearfully at the moon. It was all very well pretending a brashness she didn’t feel, but she wasn’t as thick-skinned as Caroline imagined. It had taken an enormous amount of courage to walk into a crowded room earlier that evening and behave as if she had a right to be there. Oh, she had been introduced to many of the other guests that afternoon, and one of them, at least—Matthew’s cousin, Alex—had made no secret of his willingness to take Matthew’s place. But, without the man who had brought her here, she felt very much the outsider, and that was why, after the meal, she’d escaped outdoors.

  She wondered what Matthew was doing a
t this moment. She wondered what emergency had necessitated his presence. Had Prince Georgio had an accident, perhaps? Or had Melissa simply broken her engagement? Whichever it was, and whatever Matthew had said, his family still expected him to be the one to marry her. So what was he doing with her? Samantha sniffed. Was it all a game to him, or was he trying to make Melissa jealous?

  She shook her head, and tried to take pleasure in her surroundings. It was a beautiful evening. By moonlight the water looked dark and mysterious, and the sky was a silver-studded arc of blackness overhead. From indoors, the plaintive sound of bouzouki music stirred her senses. There was a breeze, too; quite a cool breeze, that brought the scent of Havana tobacco drifting to her nostrils. It should have been a night for love, but instead Matthew was far away in London, comforting a woman who was engaged to someone else …

  ‘You do not find the view to your liking, Miss Maxwell?’

  The gruff, accented voice came out of the darkness, somewhere to her right, and Samantha started violently. She had been unaware that she was not alone on the terrace. She had believed everyone was inside, indulging in the impromptu dances Greek music always seemed to inspire. They were rehearsing for tomorrow evening, when a group of musicians had been hired for the occasion. Samantha had heard all about it from Henry Putnam before Caroline’s scrutiny—and her own despair—had driven her to seek this quiet sanctuary.

  Now, she turned her head and saw the glowing tip of a cigar. And, as her eyes adjusted to the shadows, she saw it was Matthew’s grandfather, sitting watching her, framed by a fan-backed cane chair.

  She had met him earlier. Caroline had performed the introduction—if introduction was the right word for the perfunctory presentation she had made. It had been a reluctant duty at best, and she had made sure Samantha was not allowed to stay around and make any embarrassing comments. Matthew’s mother had taken her off on the pretext of wanting to introduce her to someone else, and so far as Samantha was aware he had forgotten her. But apparently not.