by Sara Craven
But there was always someone else there, she thought in sudden agony, although I didn’t realise it then. Every time we touched—made love, Victorine was there—Victorine…
She lifted her chin. ‘I hope you haven’t arranged any more—photo opportunities. Because I won’t guarantee to cooperate.’
‘Is that what you were doing in the car—co-operating?’ Mick asked sardonically. ‘I would never have guessed.’
She glared at him. ‘I never pretended I could act.’
He said courteously, ‘You do yourself less than justice, pedhi mou.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘At what time do you wish them to serve dinner?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
Mick sighed. ‘Would your appetite improve if I said that you were dining alone?’ he asked wearily.
‘Oh.’ She was taken aback. ‘You’re going out?’
He shrugged. ‘Why not?’
She bit her lip. ‘I’ll order something later—a club sandwich maybe.’
‘The chef will be disappointed—but the choice is yours.’
She unfastened her travel bag. ‘I think we both know that isn’t true,’ she said tautly. ‘Or I wouldn’t be here.’
She extracted her uniform dress and jacket, and moved towards the fitted wardrobes.
‘What are those?’ His tone sharpened.
‘My work clothes.’ Kate paused, hanger in hand.
‘Why have you brought them?’
‘Because I have a job to go to in the morning,’ she said. ‘But perhaps it’s a trick question.’
‘You had a job,’ Mick corrected, the dark brows drawing together haughtily. ‘If you write out your resignation, I will see it is delivered.’
Kate gasped. ‘I can’t do that. And I won’t,’ she added stormily. ‘When this—farce is over, I’m going to need a career.’
‘But the farce has still a long time to run,’ Mick said with steely softness. ‘And in the meantime, Katharina mou, my wife does not work.’
‘And how long does this embargo last?’ Her voice shook. ‘Until after the divorce?’
‘Forever,’ he said curtly. ‘Married or divorced, I shall continue to support you financially. As I am sure your lawyer has made clear,’ he added with a certain grimness.
‘Yes,’ Kate said raggedly. ‘And I want nothing from you—except my freedom. You don’t have to buy me off, kyrie, or pay for my silence, either.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Our marriage—should never have happened, but I won’t dish the dirt on it—sell the unhappy details to the newspapers. And I’ll sign any confidentiality clause that your legal team can dream up.’
He was very still. He said slowly, “‘Unhappy details” matia mou? Is that—truly—all you remember?’
For a moment, her mind was a kaleidoscope throwing up image after image. Mick walking hand in hand with her through the snow in Central Park—teaching her to skate, both of them helpless with laughter—fetching paracetamol and rubbing her back when she had curse pains.
And holding her as she slept each night.
That above all, she thought with agony. The closeness of it. The feeling of total safety. Of what I thought was love…
She looked stonily back at him. She said, ‘What else was there?’
He said with immense weariness, ‘Then there is nothing more to be said.’
As he turned away, she said swiftly, ‘Before you go—may I have my hairclip, please.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Face expressionless, he gave a brief shrug. ‘I must have dropped it in the car—or in the street, perhaps. Is it important?’
‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘It doesn’t really matter.’
And watched him walk out, closing the door behind him.
‘Nothing matters,’ she whispered, when she was alone. ‘Nor ever will again.’ And felt tears, hot and thick in her throat.
She walked over to the wide bed, and sat down on its edge, burying her face in her hands.
Who was the first person, she wondered, to state that love was blind?
Because she’d realised that she’d fallen in love with Michael Theodakis before they’d even sat down to their first dinner together, loved him, and longed for him during the weeks that followed.
Every night that he’d been in London, and he seemed to be there a great deal, his car was waiting for her when she left work.
He took her to wonderful restaurants, to cinemas, theatres and to concerts. He took her for drives in the country, and walks in the park.
He did not, however, take her to bed.
His lovemaking was gentle, almost decorous. There were kisses and caresses, but the cool, clever hands that explored her body aroused, but never satisfied. He always drew back before the brink was reached, courteously, even ruefully, but with finality.
Leaving her stranded in some limbo of need and frustration, her senses screaming for fulfilment.
She was on wires, her eyes as big as a cat’s, her face all cheekbones.
Only Sandy knew her well enough to be concerned—and to probe.
‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ she asked abruptly one day, when Kate was trying on the little black dress she was planning to borrow from her.
‘What do you mean?’ Kate’s tone was defensive.
Sandy sighed. ‘You’re swimming with a shark, love.’ She sat down on the edge of the bed.
‘I thought you liked Mick.’ Kate stared at her distressed.
‘I do like him. He’s seriously good-looking, too charming for his own good, and filthy rich. What’s not to like?’
Kate forced a smile. ‘And I’m none of those things, so why is he bothering with me? Is that it?’
Sandy spread her hands. ‘Kate, I’m in love with Gavin, and going to be married, but when Mick Theodakis does that smiling-with-his-eyes thing, I become a melted blob on the carpet. I can understand why you’re seeing him.’
She paused. ‘But honey, he’s seen a lot of women. He’s been on some “eligible bachelors of the world” list since he was in his teens.”
She shook her head. ‘You know who he used to date? That supermodel who became an actress—Victorine. One of the girls on the social page told me that they were a real item. He was supposed to be crazy about her—talking marriage—the whole bit. Now, he’s back on the market, and she’s gone to ground somewhere, and no one’s heard of her for over a year.’
She got to her feet. ‘The thing is, he may not believe in long-term commitment, Katie, and I don’t want you to break your heart.’
I think, Kate told herself wryly, that it may be a little late for that.
The following day Mick flew to New York and was there for about a week. He called several times, but, just the same, she missed him almost desperately.
On the day of his return, she flew out of the office, only to find a complete stranger waiting for her.
‘Kyria Dennison?’ He was a stocky man, with dark shrewd eyes, and a heavy black moustache, and she recognised him as one of the men sitting with Mick in the nightclub the night they met. ‘I am Iorgos Vasso. Kyrios Michalis sends his apologies, and asks me to escort you to the hotel.’
‘Is he ill?’ Kate questioned anxiously.
The dark eyes twinkled. ‘He is jet lagged, kyria. Sometimes it affects him more badly than others.’
‘Oh,’ Kate said slowly. ‘Well—maybe I should leave him to rest.’
‘Jet lag is bad,’ Iorgos Vasso said solemnly. ‘But disappointment would be far worse. Let me take you to him.’
‘Your voice sounds familiar,’ Kate said, frowning a little, as the car inched its way through the traffic. She paused. ‘Didn’t I hear you talking with Mr Theodakis in my room that night on Zycos—about solving a problem?’
He shrugged, his smile polite and regretful. ‘Perhaps, kyria. I really don’t remember.’
She sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
Mick was waiting for her impatiently in the suite. He looked rough, but his smile made her heart sing. He
pulled her into his arms and held her for a long time.
‘This week has been hell,’ he told her quietly. ‘Next time, I take you with me.’
They dined quietly in the sitting room, but he only toyed with his food.
‘I’m, exhausted, pedhi mou,’ he told her frankly, when the meal had been cleared away. ‘Would you mind if I took a nap for half an hour? I will try to be better company afterwards.’
‘You’re sure you don’t want me to go—give you some peace?’
‘No.’ He kissed her. ‘Wait for me—please.’
He went into the bedroom, and shut the door. When he still hadn’t reappeared nearly two hours later, Kate went across and tapped on the door.
There was no reply, so, she turned the handle gently and peeped in. One shaded lamp burned in the room and Mick was lying on top of the bed, sound asleep, his shoes and jacket discarded.
Kate walked to the bed, and stood looking down at him. She had never seen him sleeping before and, with his long eyelashes curling on his cheek, he looked much younger. Almost vulnerable.
He’s not going to wake up, she thought. I could simply kiss him goodnight, and leave.
Instead, she found herself kicking off her own shoes, and lying down beside him on the satin coverlet.
She wasn’t planning on sleeping herself. She just wanted to lie quietly for a while, and watch him, and listen to his soft, regular breathing.
But the room was warm, and the bed soft and comfortable, its crisp linen faintly scented with lavender and, in spite of herself, Kate found her eyelids drooping.
She thought, ‘I ought to go home…’ And then she stopped thinking altogether.
She awoke suddenly with a start, and looked around, momentarily disorientated, wondering where she was. Then she saw Mick, propped on one elbow, studying her, his face grave, his dark eyes hooded.
She said, a little breathlessly, ‘I must have—fallen asleep. What time is it?’
‘The middle of the night.’ His brows lifted. ‘You should be more careful, matia mou. Has no one told you it is dangerous to tempt a hungry man with crumbs?’
She said, with a catch in her voice, ‘Perhaps I’m starving too.’
He smiled into her eyes, as he smoothed the dishevelled hair back from her face, and ran his finger gently across her parted lips.
He said softly, ‘I hope it is true, yet you may still change your mind—if you wish.’ He paused. ‘But if you allow me to touch you, it will be too late.’
‘I’m here because I want to be,’ she whispered. ‘Because I can’t help myself.’
She sat up, and pulled off her black sweater, tossing it to the floor.
Mick drew a sharp breath, then took her into his arms, kissing her slowly and very deeply.
His hands were unhurried, too, as they removed the rest of her clothes, his lips paying sensuous homage to every curve and hollow that he uncovered.
When she was naked, he looked at her for a long moment. He said huskily. ‘How beautiful you are.’
Shy colour burned in her face, but she met his gaze. ‘You’ve seen me before.’
‘But then you were angry.’ His hand cupped her breast, his fingers teasing her nipple, making it stand proudly erect. ‘You were not like this. So sweet—so willing.’
But when she tried to unbutton his shirt, to undress him in turn, he stopped her, his hands closing over hers.
‘Not yet.’ He kissed her again, his mouth warm and beguiling, then bent his head to her breast, his tongue flickering against the taut rosy peak. ‘First, agapi mou,’ he murmured, ‘I need to pleasure you.’
It was a long, languorous journey into arousal. Kate found herself drifting almost mindlessly, aware only of the message of her senses in response to the whisper of his hands and mouth on her body. Conscious of the slow, irresistible heat building within her that demanded to be assuaged. Somehow.
When his hand parted her thighs, she heard herself make a small sound in her throat, pleading, almost animal.
‘Yes.’ His low voice seemed to reach her from some vast distance. ‘Soon—my dove, my angel, I promise.’
His fingers explored her gently, making her gasp and writhe against his touch. Almost immediately it changed, his fingers still stroking her delicately, but creating a new, insistent rhythm as they did so. Gliding on her. Circling. Focusing on one small, exquisite point of pleasure.
Her body moved restlessly, searching, seeking, as her awakened senses whispered of a goal to be attained.
As his fingers strummed the tiny moist pinnacle of heated flesh, his mouth enclosed her breast, caressing the sensitised peak with his tongue.
Delight lanced through her as she arched towards him in wordless demand.
It was difficult to breathe. Impossible to think. She could only—feel.
Then, deep inside her, she experienced the first sweet burning tremors that signalled her release. Felt them ripple outwards. Intensify. Heard herself sob aloud as the last vestiges of control fell away, and her entire being was consumed—ravished by pulsations so strong she thought she would be torn apart.
The storm of feeling lifted her, held her in a scalding limbo, then let her drift in a dizzying spiral back to earth.
She lay, dazed, trying to regulate her ragged breathing.
She was vaguely aware that Mick had moved slightly, shifting away from her, and she tried to murmur a protest from her dry throat.
He said softly, ‘Rest a little, pedhi mou.’ And she felt him draw the sheet over her damp body.
She floated, rocked by some deep and tideless sea, her body still tingling from the force of its enrapturement.
She realised that Mick had returned to lie beside her. She reached out a drowsy hand and encountered bare skin.
Her eyes opened. ‘Oh.’
‘Oh?’ There was a smile in his voice, but his face was serious and very intent. He took the welcoming hand and guided it down his body. ‘Touch me,’ he whispered. ‘Hold me.’
At first her compliance was tentative, but she gradually became more confident, encouraged by his small groans of pleasure as she caressed him.
He kissed her hotly, his tongue gliding against hers. His fingers stroked her breasts, moulding them, coaxing them to renewed delight.
His hands strayed the length of her body, delineating the long supple back, the slender curves of her hips, and thighs. Where they lingered.
Kate was trembling suddenly, aware that the same delicious excitement was overtaking her again. Beginning, incredibly, to build inside her.
She was lying facing him, and Mick’s hands slid under her flanks, raising her slightly towards him. He kissed her mouth gently.
He said, ‘Take me—please, my dove. My beautiful girl.’
She brought him into her slowly, the breath catching in her throat as she realised how simple it really was—how right. And just how much she had wanted to feel all that silken strength and potency inside her. To possess, and be possessed.
‘Do I hurt you?’ His whisper was urgent.
‘No.’ Her answer was a sigh. ‘Ah, no.’
His movements were gentle at first, and smoothly, rhythmically controlled. And all the time he was watching her, she realised. Looking into her eyes. Observing the play of colour in her face. Listening for any change in her breathing.
And she smiled at him, her eyes luminous.
He hesitated, then moved away from her.
‘What’s the matter?’ She stared at him in shocked bewilderment. ‘Did—did I do something wrong?’
‘No, matia mou.’ He stroked her cheek reassuringly. ‘I need to protect you, that is all.’
When he turned back, he lifted himself over her, entering her in one strong, fluid movement. She wound her arms round his neck, and, instinctively, lifted her legs to clasp him closer.
The rhythm he was imposing was more powerful now, and she joined it, moving with him in breathless unison.
She could feel the first, elusive bl
ossoming of pleasure, and clung to him, striving for it. Demanding it.
The next moment, her whole being was convulsed in a fierce and scalding rapture. She cried out in ecstatic surprise, and heard Michael answer her as his own body shuddered into climax.
When she could speak, she said, ‘Is it always like that?’
‘Always with you, agapi mou.’ He smoothed the hair back from her damp forehead, then wrapped her in his arms. She curled against him, sated and languid, and felt his cheek rest against her hair.
There was a silence, then he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. ‘Marry me.’
She turned her head, and stared at him, her eyes wide, and her lips parted. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I am perfectly serious,’ he told her. ‘I am asking you to be my wife, Katharina mou.’
‘But you can’t,’ she said, almost wildly. ‘It’s ridiculous. I—I don’t belong to your world.’
‘We have just made our own world, agapi mou. I want no other.’
‘But your family,’ she protested. ‘They’ll expect you to marry some heiress.’
‘My father lives his life.’ His voice was oddly harsh. ‘And I live mine. I wish to spend it with you.’ He paused. ‘But perhaps you don’t want me?’
She said, ‘I think I’ve wanted you since that first night on Zycos. And, yes, I’ll marry you, Kyrios Michalis.’
He framed her face in his hands, and kissed her deeply, almost reverently.
He said, ‘We should celebrate. I’ll call room service and tell them to bring champagne.’
She smiled up at him. ‘And strawberries?’
‘You remember that, hmm?’ He threw the covering sheet aside and got out of bed, stretching unselfconsciously.
Watching him, Kate felt her mouth go dry, and her throat tighten.
She said, ‘Of course. But I couldn’t understand why you didn’t just—seduce me, there and then.’
Mick picked up a red silk robe from a chair and slipped it on. He said softly, ‘But I have been seducing you, agapi mou, every moment we have spent together since I first saw you. Don’t you know that.’
He blew her a teasing kiss and walked away into the sitting room.
Two weeks later they were married in a quiet registry office ceremony with Sandy and Iorgos Vasso as witnesses.