Black Lion of Skiapelos

by Annabel Murray

  'Not yet, Helena,' he said throatily, 'not yet. Let us get the talking over first, while I can still control myself. Surely that coffee must be ready now?'

  She was swamped in a wave of disappointment and literal physical pain. But she knew he was right. They had to talk. She had to be sure of his motives. With hands that shook slightly, she poured coffee into two mugs and preceded him into the living-room. She sat down. She had to. Her legs felt weak and tremulous. But Marcos seemed unable to settle. He paced around the room sipping his coffee, stopping occasionally to inspect a book here, an ornament there, until Lena felt she could scream with the mounting tension. She sipped nervously at her coffee.

  'You were surprised when you found Marianthe had married my cousin Manoli?' he said suddenly. It was a relief to have the silence broken. 'Yet you knew Marianthe did not want to marry me. She told me so. That is why you connived at her running away.'

  'I knew she didn't want to marry you,' Lena confirmed, 'but I didn't think she had any choice. I thought her father would force her to go through with it.'

  'He probably would have done,' Marcos said. 'But I refused to take an unwilling bride, to make a girl for whom I have a great deal of affection unhappy.'

  'You… you said "affection".' Lena took a sip of her coffee to moisten her dry mouth. 'Weren't you in love with her, then?'

  'No. But I could scarcely tell her that.'

  Lena's heart thumped erratically.

  'So what would have happened if she'd agreed to marry you?'

  'If she had been in love with me, and since neither her father nor my grandfather would absolve me from the betrothal, I would have married her. It would have been a matter of honour.'

  'But wouldn't that have made you unhappy?'

  'Yes, but in this life we cannot always put our own happiness first.'

  'But you did want to be released? You asked them?'

  Marcos grimaced.

  'That was the cause of my argument with my grandfather on our last day at Skiapelos, the cause of a similar disagreement with Kyrios Lychnos when we returned Marianthe to Mykonos—before you helped her to run away.'

  'And when you took her back again?'

  'By then I knew she was not in love with me, that she preferred my cousin. That gave me a stronger lever against her father, at least.'

  'And your grandfather?'

  'He is still angry with me. He feels I should have insisted on the marriage taking place. When he found that Marianthe had married Manoli without his knowledge there was another quarrel, the one which led to his heart attack.'

  'Do you think he'll ever forgive you?' Marcos was Thalassios's eldest grandson, the one in charge of his business affairs. 'Will he disinherit you?'

  Marcos shrugged.

  'As you know, my grandfather has a long memory. It took Irini's death for him to soften towards her. That was a little late.'

  Lena dared not ask the question that obsessed her. Suppose Marcos wished to marry someone else. Would he feel constrained to get his grandfather's approval first? Her coffee was finished. She had no occupation for her hands. She clasped them tensely in her lap.

  'And now, Helena,' Marcos too put down his empty mug, 'now that explanation is out of the way and with it—I hope—your scruples…' he stood before her, towering over her '… I can make love to you.'

  But Lena was a little on guard now. He's said he didn't love Marianthe, but he hadn't even hinted that he might love her.

  'Marcos, I don't think…'

  'Don't think,' he urged her, 'allow yourself to feel— as you felt just a few moments ago. Then, you wanted me to make love to you.' He reached out for her and pulled her to her feet. 'I want to give you whatever you want, glyka mou.'

  Then tell me you love me, she pleaded with him silently. She ached for him. Only tell me that and I'll do whatever you want me to do.

  'Helena?' His voice was husky, sexily so. He put his arms around her, gently, unthreateningly, and with a little sigh she buried her face against his chest.

  'Don't…don't rush me, Marcos,' she pleaded.

  He misunderstood her fear.

  'You shall have all the time in the world,' he assured her. He sat down and pulled her on to his knee. 'We will go at your pace. Kiss me, Helena,' he commanded. 'I want you to kiss me.'

  The heat and strength of his body was working its old insidious spell, enveloping her in sensuality. But still she resisted him.

  'I… I don't feel I really know you,' she prevaricated. It wasn't true. She knew all she wanted to know about this man, but for one thing. 'We haven't known each other very long.'

  'It isn't time that matters, but the depth of feeling. And every time we are together there is that feeling between us. Kiss me, Helena,' he repeated. He captured her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. As their eyes locked her pulses leaped and there was a delicious tightening in her abdomen. She cupped her hands around his jaw—blue-shadowed now and excitingly rough to her soft palms. She leaned forward slowly, saw the desire flare in his dark liquid eyes.

  'All right,' she whispered as her mouth brushed his.

  She had taken the initiative as he'd demanded, but that was all he allowed her. Now his mouth was in command and she wouldn't have wanted it any other way, Lena decided as she shifted and sighed, softening into his arms. His hands cupped her breasts and they tightened and swelled to his touch. Their nipples, taut and sensitive, strained against the soft material of her dress. He moved the balls of his thumbs against the hardened peaks, eliciting a fevered moan from her. He was so incredibly exciting.

  'Do you want me, Helena?' Through the haze of passion his words reached her, making her limp and liquid with desire. 'Do you want me? Because I want you.' When she did not answer, his mouth began a fevered foray moving from her mouth to nibble at her neck, to trail along her jaw, over her cheeks, then back to her neck once more, moving down to where the 'V' of her neckline revealed the curve of her breasts and the shadowy cleft between. His caresses had an increased urgency, demanding primitive, ardent responses from her. 'Do you want me?' he repeated between kisses.

  She trembled. Her head was spinning and she could not think clearly, but this was the moment of decision from which there would be no going back. The decision was taken.

  'Yes, Marcos,' she whispered against his lips. 'Oh, yes, please!' Her hands moved over his back, but she wanted to feel his naked skin.

  She unfastened his shirt and slid her hands beneath the silky material to feel the warmth of his bare skin. Her touch electrified him and without warning he stood, lifting her in his arms.

  'Which is your room?' he demanded throatily.

  At a nod of her head he carried her there and set her on her feet by the bed.

  'How does this come off?' He inspected the buttons of her dress. Her own hands shaking, she helped him deal with them and the remainder of her clothes.

  As she stood shyly before him, his eyes devoured her naked loveliness.

  'Kalliste! Most beautiful!' He breathed as he cupped her breasts. He lowered his head to take one aching nipple in his mouth, and sharp as an arrow she felt sensation deep within the feminine core of her.

  She wanted him to take his clothes off too, and her fingers worked on the buttons of his shirt; as he made a wordless sound of pleasure, she felt for the zipper of his trousers.

  'Gently, Helena, slowly,' he murmured. 'We have waited a long time for this. We will make it a memorable occasion.' Again he kissed her tingling breasts, circling the tip of each nipple with his tongue.

  She was nearly out of her mind with need. She plunged her hands into the thick blue-black hair at the nape of his neck, pulling his head up so that she could kiss him; long, slow, voluptuous kisses.

  His hand slid over her stomach, slowly, oh, so slowly, before it moved lower. Lena sucked in her breath. She wanted him to touch her more intimately. Go on, she urged him silently, go on. His fingers moved further, and she blushed as she could not disguise her reactions. She couldn'
t breathe, couldn't speak.

  'Marcos, please,' she begged, wanting him to stop this delicious torment and make love to her fully.

  'In a moment, agape mou. Be patient. Enjoy.' He whispered erotic endearments against her mouth as he caressed her until she felt she would explode with the tensions that mounted inside her.

  'Very soon, my love, very soon,' he told her, and now he allowed her urgent hands to reach for him.

  A shrill sound cut across the moment. For a moment Lena couldn't think what it was, then she groaned.

  'The doorbell!'

  'Ignore it! Leave it!' Marcos commanded, holding her tightly against him.

  'I can't. We can't.'

  'We can,' he insisted. 'Whoever it is will go away.'

  'But they'll be able to see the lights. And it might be Lydia. I…'

  He swore expressively and began to refasten his trousers.

  'Then stay there. Don't move. I'll go.'

  Still shuddering, aching for his return, she sat on the edge of the bed, listening.

  The voices in the hall were both male. Hurriedly, Lena pulled on her dressing-gown and went out into the living-room. Marcos entered first and she saw at once that he was furiously angry. His face was drawn into a scowl, and behind him came a familiar figure.

  'Petros!' But, before she could demand the reason for her ex-fiancé's presence, Marcos spoke.

  'Since you have another visitor, one who claims a prior right, our business,' he edged the words with satire, 'will have to wait. I'll see you in my office first thing Monday morning. Don't be late.' And he was gone, slamming the door behind him.

  'So that was the Black Lion of Skiapelos,' Petros commented. 'An apt title. And what was he doing here— and you dressed like that? You objected to my presence in similar circumstances. Only then you weren't the one who was half-naked, as you are now.' And Lena realised that her robe had loosened, exposing the deep cleft between her bare breasts. Hastily she adjusted it.

  'Why are you here?' Lena demanded. 'How did you find me?' She felt totally drained. Petros couldn't have timed his arrival for a more inopportune moment.

  'Simple. I merely asked the chauffeur you sent round for your luggage where he was taking it. I must say he seemed a little disconcerted by his surroundings. I suppose you didn't happen to tell Mavroleon whose apartment you were using?'

  'No. Your uncle particularly asked me not to mention his name.'

  'Yes, he would.' Petros sounded amused.

  This was an opportunity to find out just what was the cause of the enmity between Domenicos Theodopoulos and Thalassios Mavroleon, but Lena didn't take it. She was too anxious to be rid of her uninvited visitor.

  'What do you want, Petros?'

  'A little information.'

  'Information?' She was puzzled. 'What about?'

  'Sit down, Lena.' He pointed to a chair. 'We may as well be comfortable.'

  'You're not staying long enough to get comfortable. I want you out of here. My flatmate will be home soon,' she lied. Nevertheless, she sat down. Her legs still felt shaky from Marcos's lovemaking. She felt hollow and bereft. She could kill Petros for this interruption. 'What did Marcos mean when he said you had a prior right to visit me?'

  'I told him I was your fiancé. But never mind that,' he said impatiently as she gave a gasp of horror and outrage, 'what I want to know…'

  'You what? Oh, how dare you? You had no right to tell him that.'

  Petros grinned maliciously.

  'Queered your pitch with him, have I? Did you think you'd found yourself a substitute husband, Lena—and a multi-millionaire to boot?'

  'No,' she said with quiet scorn. 'No, I didn't think that.' Then, in renewed alarm, 'You didn't give him your full name?'

  'No.'

  'Thank God for that.' She was still angry at the lie he'd told. But, now she thought about it, he might not have done her a disservice. Able to think more rationally now Marcos was no longer near her, she realised she might have been about to do something incredibly foolish. He'd made no commitment to her, no promises.

  'You asked me what I want,' Petros cut across her thoughts, 'and I said information. I want you to tell me what you know about this American deal the Mavroleons are involved in—facts and figures.'

  She gasped at his audacity.

  'No way!' Then, 'How do you know anything about America?'

  Petros smiled smugly.

  'Rumours, just rumours at first. Everyone in our circle knew there was something in the wind and that it was the kind of thing to interest the Mavroleons. So when I discovered you were working for them…'

  'You thought you'd come here and do a little industrial espionage.' Lena's expression as she looked at the man she'd once thought she loved was full of contempt. 'You're despicable,' she told him.

  'Oh, but you're the one who's going to do the "espionage", as you call it.'

  Lena gave a disbelieving laugh.

  'You're out of your mind if you think I'd tell you anything.'

  'But you've already been extremely helpful, my dear Lena.' She stared at him uncomprehendingly. 'So thoughtful of you to give me access to your briefcase the other night. I spent several most instructive hours reading through the contents.'

  Lena felt as though her face must have gone chalk-white. Her facial skin seemed too tight and her lips quivered, but with anger now.

  'So you see, Lena, I already know a considerable amount about the deal with America. And since my father-in-law…' He stopped and bit his lip, a look of chagrin crossing his face, but Lena pounced on the slip.

  'Your father-in-law! Who just happens to be a Texas oil millionaire, you were going to say? So you're married! And you had the insufferable gall to give me all that rubbish about realising your mistake, wanting me back.'

  'Disappointed, Lena?' he jeered.

  'Yes!' she flashed. 'I am, but not for myself. I'm disappointed in you. When you threw me over, I thought at least your expressions of regret were genuine. I'd persuaded myself you couldn't help what happened. But I realise now I didn't really know you at all, Petros Theodopoulos. You're a scheming, unscrupulous… I shall write to your uncle and tell him what you're like.'

  Petros burst into loud, rude laughter.

  'When it comes to doing the Mavroleons out of a big deal, I know whose side he'd be on.'

  'Come off it,' Lena said. 'I know he fell out with old Thalassios years ago, but I can't believe…'

  'Believe it, Lena,' Petros said more soberly, and with a conviction that chilled her. 'You don't think Domenicos helped Irini Mavroleon just out of the goodness of his heart, do you?'

  'He insisted that his name shouldn't be mentioned.'

  'Only because Irini was also Domenicos's niece.'

  'What?'

  'You mean to say you didn't know? Old Thalassios Mavroleon was married three times. His second wife was Domenicos's sister, Tina. It was an arranged marriage, like the first one. The two families were the best of friends. But then a few years later he divorced Tina to marry his third wife, Rallia. Since then Thalassios and Domenicos have been at daggers drawn. Anything one could do to spike the other's guns, they did. That's why the Mavroleons don't have an office in London. Domenicos told the British Authorities that Thalassios was involved in some sharp practice, had him made persona non grata. So you see, Lena, you're going to give me the information I want. Otherwise I'm really going to spoil things for you with Mavroleon. You see, my dear, the very indiscreet Sally has told me about your letters. She doesn't like me, and she took great delight in telling me you'd fallen in love with someone else. She also told me who you were working for, and I put two and two together. One word from me—about how you used to work for my uncle—and there's no way the Mavroleons will believe you weren't spying for us.'

  She'd been foolish and careless, and the dupe of two unscrupulous men—even though she found it incredible that Domenicos, of all people, should use her like this. He had always been a kind and considerate employer.
>
  But to add more to the information she'd unwittingly given away wouldn't improve things. No, there was no way she was going to allow herself to be blackmailed. To give in to it was not the answer. Who was it who had said 'publish and be damned!'? Despite her personal despair, there was a savage satisfaction in defying Petros. And perhaps, just perhaps, she could call his bluff. Perhaps, when Petros realised his threat was unavailing, he'd decide not to carry it out.

  'You can tell him whatever you like,' she said. 'In fact, I hope you do. At least he'll know what and who he's up against. But you're getting no secrets out of me.'

  But ten minutes later, after Petros too had slammed out of the apartment, she wept bitterly. She didn't know whether she had Marcos's love, but at least until now she'd had his trust. Despite what she'd told Petros, she didn't like the idea that Marcos's faith in her integrity would be destroyed. And then, with a sinking heart, Lena realised that even if Petros didn't carry out his threat, she couldn't leave it at that. The Theodopouloses were already in possession of information that might be damaging to Marcos's dealings with the Americans. She had no choice. She had to tell Marcos the truth about Petros and the dangerous knowledge he had obtained.

  She hadn't felt like this on a Monday morning since she'd been a child and forgotten to do her homework. The sick apprehension was with her from the moment she woke up, and by the time she reached the offices of the Mavroleon corporation and stepped into the lift she was cold with fear, despite another warm Athens morning. As she entered the sixth-floor office she shared with Lydia, the other girl gave her a worried look.

  'Marcos wants to see you, the minute you get in. He looks really furious about something.'

  So Marcos's anger hadn't abated since Saturday night, and when he'd heard what she had to tell him he would be even angrier. Her heart in her boots, she knocked on the office door.

  To her surprise Marcos wasn't alone. Ranged around the office were his three cousins, their faces all as grim as his. All? No, one perhaps held a glint of sympathy. Dimitri was looking at her as if he felt sorry for her. The usually courteous Marcos did not even ask her to sit down, and it was Dimitri again who offered her one of the deep leather chairs.