For the moment Lena was content to lean back and submit unquestioningly to his ministrations. It was enough that she was here with him, whatever it might mean.
The housekeeper was back in record time with the soup. As it began to warm her inside, as Marcos's touch had warmed her exterior, Lena's numbed brain began to function again.
'Why did you come and look for me?' she asked.
'Because I discovered I had done you a great wrong—that you were not a spy for the Theodopouloses. I went to Lydia's first, hoping against hope to find you still there. Christos! Another day and I would have missed you. But I would have followed you to England, Helena mou, believe me.'
'How did you find out?'
'I had a visitor today—a most unexpected one,' he said grimly. 'A man I would not have expected to dare to cross our threshold—Domenicos Theodopoulos himself.'
'He told you?'
'Yes. Had he been on his own, I probably would not have believed him any more than I believed you. But, Helena, he brought my grandfather with him, to reinforce his argument. Those two cussed old men have made up a quarrel of some thirty years' standing. Would . you credit it?'
'Oh, I am glad!' Lena exclaimed. Then, with concern, 'But your grandfather—was he really well enough to travel?'
'He seemed to have shed years,' Marcos told her. 'Oh, our two families will probably always remain business rivals. A Greek businessman is always a businessman.'
'But it will be a friendly rivalry,' Lena said happily.
'Hmm, maybe!' Marcos said with a wry smile. Then once more his features were severe. 'But there will be no question of a truce with Petros Theodopoulos.'
Lena had long since finished her soup. She set down the bowl and looked at Marcos uncertainly. Where did they go from here? He, it seemed, had ideas about that.
'And now,' he told her, 'you are going to bed.'
'You're going to take me back to Lydia's apartment?' It was difficult to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
'No. I gave my housekeeper instructions to prepare a bed here for you.' He seemed to be watching her reaction closely.
'Isn't that a bit… a bit… unconventional?'
'Maybe,' he said with a certain grimness, 'but I am beginning to believe that some traditions are best disposed of. Come.' He held out his hand. 'I will show you the way.'
Lena had never been upstairs in Marcos's house, and she felt well enough now to look about her in silent wonder as they mounted the semicircular staircase built against one wall. Vibrant, glowing Old Masters lined the wall and that of the wide landing above. The room to which he showed her was richly furnished with sumptuous pile carpets, brocaded fabrics and the most enormous double bed she had ever seen. The sight of the bed made her realise just how weary she was. It looked so inviting, a bed into which one might sink and be almost lost.
'There must be room for six in that,' she commented. Her spirits had undergone an enormous uplift, and though to her the future still seemed uncertain her sense of humour was returning.
'I think I would settle for two,' Marcos said. His voice was suddenly throaty and, startled, she turned to took at him. He had closed the door behind them and there was an expression on his face that she recognised only too well. It was dark with passion, his eyes glittering. She flushed scarlet as her pulses leapt in response.
'M… Marcos,' she croaked. She cleared her throat and tried again. 'Marcos, you don't mean… you… we…?'
'Oh, but I do, agape mou.' He stared into her widened blue eyes and she moistened her lips with her tongue. 'Finally we're alone together with no obstacles, no misunderstandings between us.'
There was one little area of doubt that had not been cleared up, but she was in love with him, and for now nothing seemed more important than that, she thought as he pulled her close, then closer. And she did not protest as his mouth came down fiercely on hers. It seemed a lifetime since he had last kissed her.
The days apart, the longing for him that had seemed so futile, had primed her body for his touch, and his kiss was like that of a starving man: hot, hard and deep.
She lifted her arms as he pulled her cotton T-shirt up.
'Foolish one, to go out at night dressed only in this,' he scolded tenderly. But then his attention was given to her breasts as he cupped and kissed them.
She moaned breathlessly and arched under his hands.
'Undress me,' he murmured, and she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, feverish in her actions until she could tangle her fingers in the wiry dark hair on his chest.
She was dizzy and trembling at the sweet sensations his lips and hands were arousing. She wound her arms around his neck, making wild little sounds in her throat.
His hand had reached the waistband of her jeans now, and the fastening gave easily to his importuning and she moaned at the new intense pleasures he was giving her.
He was whispering in his own tongue, and yet his words sounded incredibly sexy. Only as he began to ease her jeans down over her buttocks did she hesitate, holding back a little.
'Do not be afraid of me, Helena.' He completed the removal of the garment, his touch as he did so a long, sensual caress. Somehow, while retaining his hold on her, he managed to shed his own clothes, then pulled her once more against his powerful nude body. It was obvious how much he wanted her.
Gently he pressed her down on to the bed, moving swiftly to cover her, parting her thighs with his.
She knew a moment's fear before he moved into her, linking their bodies together. But then she knew that whatever the outcome might be she wanted to give him everything: body, soul, heart and mind. She couldn't hold back. She loved him far too much. Slowly, sensuously, he aroused her until her breath came irregularly and within her there was a turmoil so intense she could only cling to Marcos while a violent explosion of sensation rocked her, rocked them both into a new dimension of experience.
Afterwards, as they lay still entwined, sated by their passion, Lena replayed their lovemaking in her mind. It had been as wonderful—more wonderful than she had dreamt it would be. But was it possible those shattering moments could ever be repeated? Fear gripped her. Suppose this was all Marcos had wanted of her? He had spoken of breaking with traditions, but that might not necessarily include those of marriage.
Even as Marcos's arms tightened about her, she told herself she mustn't allow herself to be lulled into a false sense of security. She'd had those few moments. She must be prepared to settle for that and no more. It was a richer memory than she had expected to take home with her. On that thought, incredibly, she fell asleep.
She woke late to find herself alone. There was no sign of Marcos, no evidence that he had ever shared this room. His clothes were gone and hers lay in a neat pile on a chair. She wondered who had tidied up, and flushed with embarrassment at the thought that it might have been the grim-faced housekeeper.
There was a gentle knock on the bedroom door, and a maidservant peeped in.
'Ah, you are awake, thespinis.' She came further into the room. 'Kyrios Marcos thought you might like your breakfast in bed.' She deposited the tray she carried across Lena's knees. 'He asks if you can be ready to leave in half an hour?' And at Lena's affirmative the maid withdrew.
Lena supposed Marcos would be taking her back to Lydia's flat. But what then? Was it to be goodbye? Perhaps Marcos thought last night had made amends for his suspicions of her. She shuddered. She had wanted him so much, and after thinking she would never see him again she had been acutely vulnerable, unable to refuse the passion that had swept them into bed together. She knew with a shaming certainty that he would not have treated a woman of his own race in that way, outside of marriage. No Greek girl would have behaved that way. In sudden self-revulsion, she pushed her breakfast away untasted.
When the little maid came to remove the tray, she carried two suitcases. She looked disapprovingly at the untouched food, but made no comment.
'Kyrios Marcos has collected your other clothes fr
om Thespinis Lydia's apartment. He asks that you wear a dress this morning.'
Lena considered ignoring this suggestion. She felt a niggling irritation that she knew really stemmed from an uneasy conscience. She had always had strong moral views, feeling that the deeper intimacies between man and woman should be kept for marriage. She despised herself for lowering her standards, and felt Marcos could hardly be blamed for despising her too.
However, she did put on a dress, a white Greek cotton she had purchased but never worn, and matched it with high-heeled strappy sandals. Anxiously she considered her face in the mirror, but apart from the shadowed uncertainty in her eyes it showed no signs of last night's earth-shattering experience.
She had to take several deep, steadying breaths before she emerged from her room and went downstairs to face Marcos. What would she see in his eyes?
He was waiting for her in the entrance hall and greeted her with a smile and every appearance of normality.
'Sh… should I have brought my suitcases down with me?' Perhaps he was planning to take her to the airport himself.
'No.' A hand under her elbow, he ushered her outside to where his limousine, with Spyros at the wheel, awaited them.
'Where are we going?'
'How do you feel about a Greek wedding?'
Lena had a sense of deja vu. But she'd been misled by those words once before.
'Who's getting married this time?'
His answer electrified her.
'We are.'
'But you haven't asked me to marry you.' Blue eyes wide, she stared at him in disbelief.
He put a hand under her chin and regarded her severely.
'What do you think last night was all about, agape mou?'
'I was beginning to wonder,' she confessed. But, cautiously, joy was beginning to expand within her.
'You did not think I would take you to my bed if I did not intend to marry you?' He sounded quite shocked. 'I told you, Helena mou, we Greeks respect and cherish our women.'
'But you never said anything about…about love,' she reminded him.
He made a little sound, a throaty rumble in his throat, and his eyes darkened in a way she recognised.
'Everything I did to you last night—every caress, every kiss told you of my love. But if you would have it in words, glyka mou...' He pulled her into his arms, and his lips against hers he murmured over and over again, 'S'agapo, Helena, I love you. Will you marry me?'
'B…but your family—your grandfather…'
'I have told my grandfather that unless I marry you I shall never marry.' A smile lit Marcos's dark eyes and his words made Lena blush. 'The thought that he might be deprived of generations of successors has made him very amenable. Seriously though, Helena mou, I know he will come to love and value you. So, will you marry me?'
'Oh, yes, Marcos,' she breathed. 'Oh, yes.'
'When?' With one finger he stroked her lips, an incredibly erotic gesture.
'Whenever you like.'
'Just as well,' he commented, with the suspicion of a triumphant smile, 'because you are on your way to your wedding now.'
She ought to have been indignant at his high-handed arrangement of the ceremony, at his assumption that she would meekly go along with his plans, Lena told herself some considerable time later. But she wasn't.
'It was a lovely surprise,' she told Marcos when they were alone once more in the great bed that had seen their first lovemaking, 'and a lovely wedding. But how on earth did you get so many people to be there at such short notice?'
'The moment Domenicos Theodopoulos left my office, I told Lydia to get busy with the arrangements.'
'You were so sure of me?' She could not help the little note of chagrin.
'Should I not have been?' he asked gravely as he took her in his arms.
'No,' she reassured him. Then, 'Oh, I do love you, Marcos.'
He held her tight, cradling her against him, and her instant response ignited the fires of his desire. In a maelstrom of passion they came together, moving in sensual rhythm, his lovemaking wringing cries of ecstasy from her as sensual explosions rocked her, deeper and stronger than before as together they exploded into a tumultuous, simultaneous climax.
Just before she too drifted into sleep, still held within the circle of Marcos's arm, Lena stole a loving look at his relaxed features, the mouth still curved in a smile of peaceful satisfaction. A smile lifted the corners of her own lips as she reflected that the Black Lion of Skiapelos was just a pussy-cat, after all.
Black Lion of Skiapelos Page 16