by Sara Craven
Her mouth trembled. ‘Michalis—mou.’
‘At last you admit it.’ There was a note of shaken laughter under the words. ‘And now I will tell you why I am here. Because there is still unfinished business between us. I know it, and so do you.’ He paused. ‘Is it not so?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was barely audible.
He made a slight, unsmiling inclination of his head, then leaned across and tapped imperatively on the driver’s glass partition.
He said. ‘The Royal Empress Hotel. And hurry.’
They stood together in the lift as it sped upwards. They were silent, but Kate could hear the sound of her own breathing, harsh, even erratic.
They did not touch, but every inch of her was quivering as if it already knew the caress of his hand.
Her heart was thudding painfully, as he unlocked the door, and ushered her into the large sitting room beyond.
Mutely, Kate allowed herself to be divested of her raincoat, then stood, trying to compose herself as she took stock of her surroundings.
It was a beautiful room, she saw, with elegant, highly polished furniture and large pastel sofas, complementing an exquisite washed Chinese carpet.
One wall seemed to be all glass, giving a panoramic view of the Thames.
And a door standing ajar allowed a glimpse of the bedroom with its king-size bed draped in oyster satin. Bringing her suddenly, joltingly back to a reality.
Dry-mouthed, she thought, ‘What am I doing here?’
She knew she was being ridiculous. She was a grown woman, and she was here of her own free will, but she was still as nervous as a teenager on her first date.
Because the truth was that she didn’t really know what to expect. Not this time.
She’d been alone with Grant often, she reminded herself with a kind of desperation, either at her place or his, but she’d never felt like this. Never been so much at a loss, or in this kind of emotional turmoil.
But then her relationship with Grant had been quite different. They’d been finding out slowly and cautiously whether they might have a future together.
But, if she was honest, she’d never burned for him. Craved the touch of his mouth—the caress of his hands on her body. Never been so conscious of his sheer physical presence. She’d assumed that going to bed with Grant would be the final confirmation of their commitment to each other. Settled, even comfortable.
But with Michael Theodakis she could make none of those assumptions.
He would demand total surrender, and the thought of losing control of her body—and her emotions—so completely frankly terrified her.
But that wasn’t all.
The brutal reality of the situation was that she’d come here to go to bed with a man she hardly knew. Someone infinitely more experienced than she was, who might well make demands she could not fulfil.
Biting her lip, she took a quick look over her shoulder.
He’d discarded his overcoat and jacket and was on the phone, waistcoat unbuttoned, tugging at his tie with impatient fingers as he talked.
She wandered across to the rainwashed window, and stared out, her thoughts going crazy.
If she told him she’d changed her mind, how would he react? she wondered apprehensively. He’d warned her that he had a temper. Could she risk provoking him again?
He replaced the receiver and came over to her, sliding his arms round her waist and drawing her back to lean against him. He bent his head, putting his lips against the side of her neck where the tiny pulse thundered.
He said softly, ‘I hope you like champagne. I’ve asked them to send some up.’
‘Yes,’ she said breathlessly. ‘That would be—lovely.’ She glanced back at the window. ‘On a fine day, this view should be spectacular.’
Oh, God, she thought. She was actually making conversation about the weather.
‘Then it’s fortunate it is raining.’ He sounded amused. ‘So we do not have to waste time admiring it.’
He turned her to face him, his hand sliding under the edge of her shirt to find the delicate ridge of her spine. Making her shiver in nervous anticipation as his fingers splayed across the sensitive skin.
He pulled her intimately, dangerously close to him, forcing her to the awareness that he was already strongly, powerfully aroused.
She stood awkwardly in the circle of his arms, her heart thudding. She thought, ‘I don’t know what to do…’
He cupped her face in his hands, making her look up at him.
He said. ‘You are shaking. What is there to frighten you?’
She tried to smile. ‘There’s—you.’
His mouth twisted wryly. ‘I am only a man, Katharina mou, not a monster. And I ask nothing that you have not given before.’
She said huskily, ‘That’s just the problem.’
He frowned slightly. ‘I don’t understand.’
She swallowed. ‘Michael—I just don’t—do things like this.’
His face was solemn, but his eyes were dancing. ‘Is that a matter of principle, agapi mou, or do you simply not want to do them with me?’
She said baldly, ‘I mean I never have.’
There was a pause. ‘But you were seeing a man,’ he said quietly. ‘A man you planned to marry.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But we weren’t—living together. We decided to—wait until I came back from Greece.’
He was very still. ‘And before that?’
‘There was no one I cared about sufficiently.’ She stared rigidly at the pattern on his loosened tie. ‘I—I always swore to myself that I’d avoid casual sex. That I’d only ever go to bed with a man if I couldn’t help myself. If the alternative was altogether more than I could bear. I—I suppose I felt it should actually mean something…’
Her voice tailed off into silence.
‘And now?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘I just don’t—know any more.’ She looked at him. ‘I’m sorry. I should never have come here. I don’t know what I was thinking of.’ Her voice rose a little. ‘I mean, we’re strangers, for God’s sake.’
‘Hardly strangers,’ he reminded her, a note of laughter in his voice. ‘After all, you have spent one night in my bed already.’
‘Yes,’ she said huskily. ‘But that time I was alone. Now it would be—different.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It would.’
There was another silence, as he looked down at her, his eyes meditative. His thumb stroked her cheek, and moved rhythmically along the line of her jaw, and the curve of her throat above her collar. She caught her breath, her heart juddering frantically.
‘You don’t want me to touch you?’ he asked gently.
‘I—didn’t say that.’
‘Then you think I will be unkind—uncaring in bed? That I will not give you pleasure?’
He sounded completely matter of fact—as if he was asking whether she preferred classical music to jazz, she thought wildly.
She said shakily, ‘It’s—not that. I’m scared I won’t know how to please you. That you’ll be disappointed.’ She paused. ‘You’ve had so many other women.’
‘But never you, matia mou,’ he said. ‘Never until this moment. And while I have been seen with a great many women, I have actually slept with very few of them. Perhaps I think it should mean something too,’ he added drily.
‘Then—why me?’
He swung her round, so that she could see herself reflected in the window. He pulled the clip from her hair, letting it tumble in a shining mass on her shoulders.
‘Look at yourself.’ His voice was oddly harsh. ‘This is the picture of you that I have carried in my mind—in my heart all these weeks. That has tormented me by day and kept me from sleep at night. And now I want the reality of you, naked in my arms. But, if necessary, I am prepared to wait. Until you are ready.’
She said unevenly, ‘And if you have to wait a long time?’
He shrugged. ‘I can be patient. But, ultimately, I expect my
patience to be rewarded.’
He turned her round to face him, his hands framing her face.
‘Do you accept that, Katharina?’ His eyes seemed to pierce her soul. ‘Do you agree that one day—one night—when you cannot help yourself—you will come to me?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was a thread of sound.
He smiled, and released her, stepping back.
He said quietly, ‘Then it begins.’
CHAPTER FIVE
AND that was where it should also have ended, Kate told herself bitterly.
She should have taken advantage of the brief respite he’d offered, and vanished. After all, Halcyon owed her leave, and she could have gone anywhere. Stayed away until he’d tired of waiting, and gone back to Greece. And found someone else to act as his smokescreen.
Her hair was dry, so, wearily, she began to make preparations for the night, turning off the fire, extinguishing lights, rinsing her beaker in the kitchen.
She was tired, but her mind would not let her relax from this emotional treadmill.
Oh, she’d been so easy to deceive, she thought, staring into the darkness. So eager to believe anything that he told her—to accept all that he seemed to be offering.
And he’d been clever too, making her think that she was in control—that she was making the choice. When really he’d been playing her like some little fish on his line.
Starting with that first afternoon…
The champagne had arrived with a bowl of strawberries, and a plate of small almond biscuits.
Michael had beckoned to her. ‘Come and drink some wine with me,’ he invited. ‘And let us talk.’
Kate walked reluctantly across the room and seated herself on one corner of the sofa he indicated while he occupied the other.
‘Is this a safe distance?’ he asked mockingly, as he handed her a flute of champagne. ‘I am not sure of the rules in this situation.’
‘I expect you usually write your own.’ The champagne was exquisitely cool and refreshing in her dry mouth.
‘In business, certainly.’ His tone was silky. ‘But not usually in pleasure.’ He let her digest that, then picked a strawberry from the dish, dipped it in champagne, and held it out to her. ‘Try this.’
Kate bit delicately at the fruit, feeling self-conscious. ‘That’s—delicious.’
‘Yes.’ He was watching her mouth, as he took the next bite himself. ‘It is.’
Kate crossed her feet at the ankles, nervously smoothing her skirt over her knees. ‘So what do you want to talk about?’
‘It occurred to me that we might get to know each other a little better.’ He drank some champagne. ‘What do you think?’
She shrugged nervously. ‘If you wish. What do you want to know?’
‘Everything.’ He offered her another champagne-soaked strawberry. ‘Are your parents living?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘They died five years ago. Their car—skidded on black ice, and hit a wall.’
His brows snapped together. He said quietly, ‘I am sorry, pedhi mou. Does it still hurt you?’
‘Not like it once did.’ She shook her head. ‘But it meant I had to grow up fast, and make my own life, which I’ve done. And now I have a job I like which allows me to travel.’ She paused. ‘Are you an only child too?’
‘I was for twelve years, and then my sister Ismene was born. She was only six when our mother died.’
‘Oh,’ Kate put down her glass. ‘That must have been terrible.’
‘It wasn’t easy, especially for Ismene, although my aunt Linda did her best to take my mother’s place.’ He paused. ‘The Regina hotels were named after her.’
Kate was silent for a moment. Then, ‘What’s your sister like?’
He considered. ‘Pretty—a little crazy—and talks too much.’ He shrugged, his mouth slanting wickedly. ‘A typical woman.’
‘Oh.’ Kate’s hands clenched into fists of mock outrage, and he captured them deftly, laughing as he raised them to his lips, then turned them so that he could brush her soft palms with his mouth, swiftly and sensuously.
‘And she falls in love all the time with the wrong men,’ he added softly. ‘Something you would never do, I’m sure, matia mou.’
No, Kate thought, her heart pounding. But I could come dangerously close…
She removed her hands from his grasp, and picked up her glass again. A fragile defence, but all that was available.
‘What—kind of men.’
‘While she was at school in Switzerland last year, we had to buy off her art master, and a ski instructor.’
Kate choked back a giggle. ‘She sounds quite a girl.’
‘You could say that,’ Michael agreed drily. ‘In the end, my father decided it would be safer to keep her at home on Kefalonia.’
She waited for him to say something more about his father, but instead he took the champagne from the ice bucket and refilled her glass.
‘I wasn’t going to have any more,’ she protested. ‘I’m going to be drunk.’
‘I don’t think so.’ He smiled as he replaced the bottle. ‘A little less uptight, perhaps,’ he added, proffering another strawberry.
She had plenty to be uptight about, Kate thought, taking a distracted bite and watching him transfer the rest to his own mouth.
Somehow, imperceptibly, as they talked, he’d been moving closer to her. Now, his knee was almost brushing hers, and his arm was along the back of the sofa behind her. She could even catch the faint, expensive fragrance of the cologne he used, reminding her, all too potently, of the brief giddy moments she’d spent in his arms.
She felt his hand on her shoulder, gently stroking its curve, and jumped, splashing champagne on to her skirt.
Michael clicked his tongue reprovingly, and leaned forward, brushing the drops from the fabric, his fingers lingering on her stockinged knee.
He said softly, ‘I do not think the mark will be permanent.’
But he was so wrong, Kate thought, her pulses leaping frantically. Because she could be scarred for life.
He kissed her cheek, his lips exploring the hollow beneath the high bone, then dropped a fugitive caress at the very corner of her mouth. He traced the line of her jaw with tiny kisses, before allowing his tongue to tease the delicate whorls inside her ear.
As her head sank, helpless, on to his shoulder, his lips brushed her temples, her forehead, her half-closed eyes.
Everywhere he touched her, her skin bloomed, irradiated with a delight—an urgency she had never known before. Her whole body was melting, liquid with desire.
But he didn’t kiss her mouth, as she needed him to do so badly, and his hand only caressed her shoulder and arm through the thin wool, and not her eager breasts.
And she was longing to feel his hands—his mouth on her body. To know him naked against her.
How was it possible, she wondered dazedly, for him to touch her so little, yet make her want him so much?
‘Michael.’ Her voice was husky suddenly, pleading. ‘This—isn’t fair.’
She felt him smile against her hair. ‘Are you speaking of love—or war, matia mou?’
‘But you said you wouldn’t…’
‘I came a long way to see you, agapi mou. Do you grudge me this small taste of you?’ He tugged at her earlobe gently with his teeth. ‘After all, I am torturing no one but myself.’
‘You know,’ she whispered. ‘You know that isn’t true.’
She turned, pressing her mouth almost frantically to his, begging him wordlessly for the response she craved.
But he moved back a little, framing her face between his hands.
He said, ‘I think, Katharina, it would be wise if I took you somewhere for dinner now. We need other people round us.’
‘Why?’ She stared at him.
‘Because if we stay here, you may have too much champagne and I—I may succumb to temptation.’ He got to his feet in one swift lithe movement, pulling her up with him.
His voi
ce sank to a whisper, ‘So let us behave well, pedhi mou—for tonight at least.’
As they rode down in the lift, she said, ‘I’m not really dressed for going out to dinner. Can it be somewhere not too smart?’
‘Of course. No problem.’
‘Oh,’ Kate said. ‘You’ve just reminded me of something.’
‘What is it.’
She frowned, trying to remember. ‘That night on Zycos, you were in my room talking to another man. Something about problems—solving them or causing them. I can’t quite recall…’
There was an odd silence, then he shrugged. ‘You must have been dreaming again, pedhi mou.’
‘But it seemed so real,’ she protested.
‘So did the other dreams you had that night,’ he reminded her drily, sending warm colour into her face. He paused, his mouth hardening and his eyes suddenly remote. ‘But always reality is waiting.’
She felt as if a cold hand had touched her. She said his name questioningly, and he looked back at her, his face relaxing.
‘Come, my beautiful one.’ He took her hand. ‘Let us enjoy our own dream a little longer.’
He was warning me, Kate thought, tears running down her face in the darkness. Because that’s all it ever was—all it ever could be—a dream, and I was a fool to believe in it. To believe in him.
But I did, and now I have to live with the consequences. And the memories. And I don’t know if I can bear it…
Lack of sleep left her feeling jaded, and aware of a slight headache the following morning. Although that was probably the least of her troubles, she reminded herself wearily.
And her day proved just as tricky as she’d expected. The French youngsters hadn’t the slightest interest in the Tower of London and, clearly, would have preferred playing computer games in some arcade. But, in a way, Kate was glad of the challenge. Because it stopped her from thinking.
But when she’d bidden a final ‘au revoir’ to her reluctant charges and their harassed supervisors, she was once again alone, with a decision to make, and nowhere to hide.
She would have to agree, she thought wearily, as she let herself into the flat. Let him see that no sacrifice was too great in her determination to end their marriage.