Smokescreen Marriage

by Sara Craven

  ‘No.’ Her voice was a thread.

  He sighed. ‘Don’t fight me any more, Kate mou.’ His voice gentled. ‘Because I could—make you want me, and you know that.’

  ‘Not any more.’ She crossed her arms defensively over her breasts—a gesture that was not lost on him. ‘Understand this, Michael. Whatever you did to me, whatever you called it, it would be nothing more than rape. And I’m sure you don’t want that on what passes for your conscience.’

  His head went back as if she had struck him across the face.

  He said hoarsely, ‘Kate—you do not—you cannot mean this. In the name of God, you are my wife.’

  ‘Only in the eyes of the law,’ Kate said. ‘And even that will change soon.’ She swallowed. ‘Now let me go.’

  There was a long, tingling silence. She saw the incredulity in his eyes fade and become replaced by something infinitely more disturbing—even calculating. A look that sent a shiver curling through her body.

  Then Mick straightened slowly, almost insolently, his arms dropping to his sides.

  So that technically she was free. And all she had to do was turn and walk away. Only she couldn’t seem to move—leave the support of the wall, or the ice-cold compulsion of his gaze.

  He said too softly, ‘So—what are you waiting for. To be wished a restful night, or, perhaps—this?’

  There was not even time for a heartbeat. Suddenly, Kate was in his arms, crushed without gentleness against his lean body, her parted trembling lips being plundered by his.

  There was no tenderness in the kiss he subjected her to. Just a ruthless, almost cold-blooded sensuality that bordered on punishment.

  Her first faint moan of protest was smothered by the bruising pressure of his mouth. After that, she was incapable of speech or even thought. Even to breathe was a difficulty. But there was no mercy in the arms that held her, or the hard lips that moved on hers with almost brutal insistence.

  Behind her closed eyelids, fireflies swirled in a frantic, mocking dance.

  In spite of herself, her starved body was awakening to stinging, passionate life under the searing shock of his kiss. The scent, the taste of him filled her nose and mouth with a frightening familiarity. The awareness that he was strongly starkly aroused sent swift heat coursing through her veins, and awoke memories as potent as they were unwelcome.

  Her head was reeling. Her legs were shaking under her. She was going to faint. She might even die. But nothing mattered except the urgent, agonised necessity of feeling the burning strength of him inside her, filling her.

  She pressed herself against him, letting the wild current of feeling carry her away to recklessness.

  Later, she would be ashamed. Would hate herself.

  But tonight, for a few brief hours, he would belong to her alone. An encounter to treasure in the loneliness ahead.

  And in that instant she found herself free, her release as sudden and startling as a blow. Mick stepped backwards, away from her, studying her through narrowed eyes, as he fought his own ragged breathing.

  Kate sagged back against the wall, staring back at him, her wide eyes clouded with desire, a hand pressed to her swollen mouth as she waited.

  Waited for him to lift her into his arms, and carry her to bed. Waited to feel his mouth on hers again, demanding the response she longed to give.

  He was close enough to touch, yet the distance between them had suddenly become a vast and echoing space, impossible to bridge.

  And his smile, she saw, was cold, and faintly mocking.

  Swift dread invaded her, like a sliver of ice penetrating her heart.

  ‘Kalinichta, matia mou,’ he drawled. ‘Goodnight—and I wish you sweet dreams. As sweet as that night on Zycos, perhaps.’

  She watched him walk away from her across the passage, and heard the finality of his door closing.

  Shutting her out. Leaving her in a limbo of her own making, composed of shame and regret.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IT WAS a long time before Kate could move. Before she could find the strength to walk, stumbling a little, the few yards to her own room.

  She closed the door with infinite care, then trod across the room to the bed. She sat on its edge, hands clenched in her lap in a vain attempt to stop them shaking.

  She’d made him angry. That was the only logical explanation for the last shattering minutes. She’d refused to be manipulated. To allow herself to be used.

  Because that was all it was, she told herself. He couldn’t risk a rendezvous with his mistress, and he needed a woman. So, why not amuse himself by seducing his gullible wife all over again?

  Kate winced as her teeth grazed the tender fullness of her lower lip.

  Perhaps he’d thought again about the public resumption of his liaison with Victorine, recognising it as the kind of conduct the Theodakis board would condemn.

  Or maybe he’d decided he needed the surface respectability of his current marriage after all, no matter what might happen in private.

  The cynicism of it nauseated her.

  But, that being the case, why hadn’t she walked away from him, while she had the chance? What had induced her to stay, and provoke him into that storm of devastation that he’d unleashed on her.

  It was madness—and, bitter as the acknowledgment might be, she only had herself to blame.

  And why hadn’t she fought him? she asked herself wildly. She could have struggled—kicked—bitten. But she’d done none of those things.

  She slipped off her shoes, and lay back on the bed in a small, defensive curve.

  Because she hadn’t wanted to, she thought. That was the next unpalatable truth she had to deal with.

  However much her reason might condemn Mick, and affirm that she could not go on living with him after such a betrayal, her physical responses were operating on a different planet.

  At his lightest touch, her body seemed to open, like a flower, creating that deep, molten ache which only he could heal. Even the thought of him could make her whole body clench in hunger and need.

  None of the hurt, the anger and bitterness had managed to cure her of wanting him, and she was going to have to live with that.

  But, which was far worse, Mick was totally aware of the war going on between her mind, and her too-eager senses, because he knew her better than she knew herself.

  He’d pinpointed her weakness with mind-numbing brutality, leaving her without a hiding place, or even an excuse. And he’d done it quite deliberately.

  He was also the one who had, in the end, walked away.

  And, somehow, she had to survive the despair and humiliation of that knowledge, and go on.

  When all she really wanted to was run ignominiously away.

  Except that would be pointless, Kate thought, burying her face in the pillow. There could be no escape, because Mick had her on the end of some invisible chain, and all he had to do was tug, and she would be drawn back inexorably. And no amount of time or distance would change a thing.

  And how was she going to live with that?

  She cried for a while, then, silently, achingly. When there were no more tears left, she sat up wearily, pushing back her hair from her face.

  She took the diamonds from her ears and around her throat, and put them back in their cases, then undressed, and donned her simple white cotton nightshirt.

  She had known from the beginning, she thought, as she lay in the darkness listening to the whisper of the sea, that she and Mick came from two different worlds. Yet in truth they were light years apart.

  How could he regard such a transgression, such a complete betrayal, so lightly? she asked herself wretchedly. Unless he felt he was powerful enough to ignore the normal rules of morality.

  He’d clearly expected her to shrug and smile, and take him back when he asked for forgiveness. Presumably that was how other wives of his acquaintance reacted to their husbands’ passing adulteries.

  But this was no trivial, transient affair, she reminde
d herself unhappily. No moment of weakness to be instantly regretted.

  Because Victorine had clearly got into his blood. A habit he was unable to break. Maybe even a necessity…

  Her mind closed at the thought.

  Perhaps he even hoped that I’d be docile—besotted enough to accept some kind of ménage à trois, she thought bitterly.

  She shivered, and turned over, trying to compose herself for sleep, but it would not come. Her mind was wide awake, endlessly turning on the treadmill of their last encounter.

  Or perhaps she was just scared to sleep. Frightened in case the dreams that Mick had ironically wished for her might indeed be waiting to enclose her in their dark thrall, and draw her down to her own private hell.

  It was nearly dawn when she at last closed her eyes, and only a few hours later when the sun woke her again, pouring through the slats in the shutters.

  For a moment, she was tempted to stay where she was. To pull the sheet over her head, and lie still, like a hunted animal gone to ground. Or even to feign illness.

  But Ismene wanted her to talk about the wedding arrangements, she remembered, and she was also having lunch with Linda. Life was waiting for her, and could not be avoided.

  It won’t be for much longer, she told herself, as she bathed and dressed in her denim skirt and a simple white vest top. She hung small gold hoops in her ears, and used concealer to cover the shadows under her eyes, and blusher to soften her pallor.

  She could hear the clash of crockery in the kitchen, and a woman’s voice singing softly in Greek as she went through the living room, and out on to the terrace by the pool.

  A table had been laid there, now littered with the remains of breakfast, and Mick was seated beside it, engrossed in some papers.

  He was wearing shorts and a thin cotton shirt, open to the waist, and his hair was damp, indicating that he’d been swimming.

  Kate paused, slipping her hands into the pockets of her skirt, and feeling them ball nervously into fists.

  He glanced up at her hesitant approach, his gaze cool, almost dispassionate, with none of the mockery she’d feared.

  He said, ‘Kalimera,’ and pushed a small silver bell across the table towards her, as she took her seat. ‘If you ring, Maria will bring you some fresh coffee and hot rolls.’

  ‘Is that who was in the kitchen?’ Kate frowned. ‘Why is she here?’

  ‘I decided it would be better if one of the servants was here to look after us.’ His tone was expressionless.

  ‘But I’ve always done that.’ The words were out before she could stop herself.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘But that was then. This is now.’ His brief smile did not reach his eyes. ‘And I have resolved, matia mou, to spare you all your wifely duties.’

  She was aware that warm colour was staining her face, but kept her voice steady. ‘I see.’

  ‘But, of course, there are also the nights,’ he went on. ‘When Maria will not be here.’ He paused. ‘So, a man is coming from Argostoli this afternoon to put a lock on your bedroom door—in case my animal instincts should suddenly overwhelm me, you understand.’

  ‘Please—don’t…’ Her voice was husky.

  ‘Why not?’ Mick shrugged. ‘I am merely trying to simplify matters. To make your final days here as trouble free—and as safe—as I can. I thought you would be grateful.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You’re—very considerate.’

  ‘Thank you.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Perhaps we can maintain the normal courtesies, if nothing else.’ He rose, stretching casually, causing Kate to avert her gaze rapidly from the long, tanned legs and the silken ripple of muscles across his bare chest and diaphragm.

  ‘Now ring for your breakfast,’ he added, putting his papers together. He offered her a quick, taut smile. ‘I will not stay here to spoil your appetite.’

  She wasn’t hungry, but she made herself eat some of the rolls, honey and fresh fruit that Maria brought.

  She might be sick at heart, she thought, but there was no point in making herself physically ill as well.

  After all, the last thing she wanted was to look as if she was fading away under Victorine’s gloating gaze.

  ‘You do not look as if Michalis allowed you much sleep last night, sister,’ was Ismene’s exuberant greeting, when Kate joined her up at the villa. She gave her a wide smile. ‘Life is good, ne?’

  ‘Very good,’ Kate returned, mentally crossing her fingers for the lie. And so much for cosmetic cover-ups, she added silently.

  It was a relief to escape from her own problems into Ismene’s joyful plans for her marriage.

  Rather to Kate’s surprise, the wedding was not to be some glittering international event packed with the rich and famous.

  The Theodakis clan was a vast one, and Petros also came from a large and widespread family. After that the guest list seemed restricted to old friends.

  Most of the arrangements were already in place, largely thanks to Linda, Kate gathered. Her own task was largely one of room allocation at the villa, and booking accommodation in local hotels for the overflow.

  As she’d suspected, Victorine’s sole contribution had been a series of snide remarks about Ismene’s marrying beneath her.

  ‘But I told her that would never be her problem,’ Ismene said with undisguised satisfaction. ‘As there is no way down from the gutter.’

  Kate choked back a laugh. ‘Ismene—you could get into real trouble.’

  ‘I thought so too,’ Ismene admitted. ‘But although she told Papa and he was stern with me, I do not believe he was really angry.’ She gave Kate a hopeful look. ‘Do you think he is becoming tired of her, Katharina? I could not bear it if she became my step-mother. And nor could Michalis.’

  ‘No.’ Kate’s throat tightened. ‘I—I’m sure he couldn’t.’ She hesitated. ‘I think maybe we need to leave them to—work things out for themselves.’

  But, perhaps, in the end, everyone would get what they wanted without scandal or an explosive rupture between Mick and his father, she thought later, as she drove down to Sami.

  If Ari no longer wanted Victorine, he might not care too much if she was ultimately reunited with Mick. Father and son seemed to share a cynical view of women as commodities to be traded.

  If only she herself could have been excluded from this sexual merry-go-round.

  Yet, she knew in her heart that, in spite of betrayal and heartbreak, she would not have missed the heady delights of those first months with Mick for anything in the world.

  Although that was small consolation when she contemplated the empty desolation that awaited her.

  ‘I thought we’d have lunch in the garden,’ Linda said briskly, leading the way to her sheltered courtyard. ‘While we still can. The weather’s going to change,’ she added, directing a critical look at the sky.

  ‘How do you know?’ Kate asked baffled.

  ‘Live here for long enough, and you get the feeling for it.’ Linda smiled at her. ‘I bet Mick would tell you the same.’

  ‘Yes.’ Kate returned the smile with determination. ‘Can you forecast whether we’ll have a fine day for the wedding?’

  ‘I can guarantee it.’ Linda poured wine. ‘The sun always shines on the Theodakis family. Haven’t you noticed?’ She paused as her maid brought bread and salad, and a platter of crasato—pork simmered in wine. So Kate was not forced to reply.

  ‘Well,’ Linda said when they were alone, and eating. ‘What’s the problem?’

  Kate dabbed at her lips with the linen napkin. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  Linda sighed. ‘Honey—who are you kidding? You do not have the look of a girl in the throes of a blissful reunion with her man. And Mick looks as if he’s strung up on wires, too. So, what’s happening.’

  Kate stabbed at her pork. ‘I can’t tell you. Not yet.’

  Linda whistled, her face concerned. ‘That bad, huh?’ She was silent for a moment. ‘I admit I wondered when you just disappeared like
that. I planned to talk to Mick about it, if he’d let me, but he was never around long enough. Always working like a demon, rarely touching base. Which should have told me something, too,’ she added thoughtfully.

  ‘But when I heard he was bringing you back, I hoped that meant you’d managed to resolve your differences. God knows, there were bound to be plenty. You’re both strong characters. But so were Ari and Regina, and they rode out their storms. In fact, they thrived on them. I thought you’d be the same.’

  Kate smiled over-brightly. ‘I think that would rather depend on the storm.’ She took some more salad. ‘This food is delicious. And what herb has Hara used in the potatoes?’

  Linda picked up the cue, and the conversation turned to food, and, from there, to the wedding.

  ‘Have you decided what you’re going to wear?’ Linda asked.

  Kate wrinkled her nose. ‘Not really. I have this pale-green dress that Mi…that I bought back in New York. That’s a possibility. But Ismene is talking of going to Athens shopping for a couple of days with Mrs Alessou,’ she added. ‘I could always go with them and find something there.’

  They were just drinking their coffee, when they heard footsteps and Ari came round the corner of the house. He halted, brows lifting when he saw Kate.

  ‘Me sinhorite. I beg your pardon, Linda. I did not realise you had a visitor. I should have knocked at your door and not taken it for granted that you could receive me.’

  ‘Old friends never intrude,’ Linda assured him, her face faintly flushed. ‘Sit down, Ari, and have some coffee with us.’

  ‘No, no, I was just passing, and I thought…’ He sounded awkward. ‘The vineyard I mentioned last night. I am going there now, and I wondered if you would care to come with me. But I see it is not possible. Another time, perhaps.’

  ‘It’s perfectly possible,’ Kate said firmly, concealing her surprise. She pushed back her chair, and stood up. ‘I was about to go, anyway. I have an ocean of things to do this afternoon.’

  ‘You could always come with us, pedhi mou,’ Ari suggested, with what Kate felt was real nobility.