by Anne Mather
‘So why are you smiling?’ she demanded, realising belatedly that she hadn’t a stitch covering her, and Andreas drew her close as he pressed his lips to her ear.
‘My darling, I am smiling because I am so fortunate to be the man to awaken you.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘I adore you. You are everything I dreamed you would be, and more besides.’
‘You mean that?’ Sylvie propped herself up on her elbows.
‘I mean it,’ he told her huskily. ‘I have never had a more satisfying experience.’ His eyes darkened. ‘Did I hurt you very badly?’
‘Just a little,’ she admitted shyly. ‘But—but don’t go away.’ This as he would have withdrawn from her. ‘Not yet, Andreas. Not yet.’
It was as well that Sylvie had not told her mother of her visit to London, and her proposed dinner with Andreas. She had planned to spend the night at Wimbledon, but she had intended arriving unannounced, thus providing her mother with no reason to worry if she was late.
In the event, she spent the night with Andreas, and at one o’clock in the morning they were sitting on the floor in his bedroom, eating cold chicken and salad, and drinking champagne.
‘Are you happy?’ he asked her, his eyes caressing, and Sylvie vigorously nodded her head.
‘I can hardly believe it,’ she admitted. ‘I—I was sure Eleni—–’
‘I never loved Eleni,’ Andreas assured her seriously. ‘Oh, we were friends, yes, and I will admit several years ago, it was not a totally platonic relationship.’
He was watching her as he said this, but Sylvie’s averted face prevented him from seeing her reaction, and with an impatient gesture, he went on:
‘I never wanted to marry her, if that is what you are thinking. I had plenty of opportunity, before Giorgios Frederiks came on the scene, but I suppose I was too selfish to make the commitment.’
‘Selfish?’ Sylvie looked up, her eyes guarded.
‘Well? What would you call it?’ he countered shortly. ‘She knew this. That is why she married Giorgios.’
Sylvie hesitated, her teeth digging into her lower lip. ‘But you didn’t marry anyone else.’
‘No.’ Andreas shrugged. ‘Marriage has never been high on my list of priorities. Much to my parents’ regret.’
Sylvie bent her head. ‘Thank you for telling me.’
Andreas sighed, and put down the chicken leg he had been eating, wiping his hands on a napkin. ‘Since I met you again—since you came to Athens, there has been no one else. You know what I mean.’
‘I know.’ Sylvie’s lips tilted. ‘I’m glad.’
‘How could there be?’ he demanded huskily. ‘I have been able to think of no one else but you, and believe me, it has been hell at times.’
‘Hell?’
‘Yes, hell,’ he muttered vehemently. ‘You were so young, so innocent! While I—I was a man who was old enough to know better.’
‘Andreas—–’
‘No, listen a moment. When you went to Monastiros with Leon, I was as jealous as any husband has a right to be! It made no difference that Leon was my brother, that he was sick, and a married man. I could not stand it, so I came to see you. And what did I find? You two holding hands on the terrace, like two lovers on honeymoon together. I was incensed. I behaved badly. But I could not bear to watch you, knowing I could not sleep nights for wanting you.’
Sylvie’s cheeks were burning now, and she shook her head helplessly. ‘You seemed to blame me …’
‘I did.’ His lips twisted wryly. ‘For making me want you. I was too blind to realise it was more than that. That was why I took you to Stavira. I wanted to prove to myself that you were not under my skin. How wrong I was!’ He grimaced.
‘But when Eleni came, you went away.’
‘I had to. Believe it or not, but I still possessed some sense of decency. I knew I could not tell you how I felt while Eleni was there, so I took her back to Athens, with every intention of coming back.’
‘But you didn’t come back,’ she protested.
‘Not immediately, no.’ He sighed. ‘As soon as my father learned I had been into my office to see if there were any urgent messages, he sent for me, and I spent the following two weeks in Tokyo, finalising a grain contract.’ He shook his head. ‘By the time I got back to Monastiros you had gone.’
Sylvie arched her brows. ‘So what did you do?’
‘I did not stay long.’ He compressed his lips. ‘Margot was there, and I had nothing to say to her. However,’ he paused, ‘I did have a conversation with Leon, which might interest you.’
‘Yes?’
‘Yes,’ Andreas nodded. ‘I told him I was going to London, to see you, and he advised me not to.’
‘What?’ Sylvie gasped.
‘It is true.’ Andreas inclined his head. ‘I wanted to see you. I wanted to tell you how I felt. Leon said it would not be fair for me to interfere with your life. He said you were going to the university, that I had no right to try and prevent that. He told me to wait.’
‘And you did.’
‘After some argument, yes.’ Andreas’s tone was dry. ‘He made me see I was being selfish again, that I was not giving you a chance to think for yourself. That was why I went to see him again a few weeks ago.’
Sylvie caught her breath. ‘I’m so glad you did.’
‘So am I,’ he agreed huskily. ‘Although I have to confess that I regret the months we have wasted. But perhaps he was right. Perhaps if you had not taken up your university career, you would have always wondered.’
Sylvie acknowledged the logic of this argument, but she couldn’t help thinking how terrible it would have been if Andreas had not been so tenacious.
‘So we will get married in two weeks,’ he declared now, and Sylvie, still flushed and vibrant, as much from his lovemaking as from the shower they had taken together, gazed at him incredulously.
‘You—you want to marry me?’ she whispered, looking at him over the rim of her champagne glass. ‘I mean,’ she qualified tremulously, ‘you—you don’t have to. Just because—–’
She did not finish the sentence. Andreas, dark and disturbing in the cream silk pyjama trousers which matched the jacket she was wearing, grasped her by the shoulders and hauled her up against him.
‘The champagne!’ she wailed anxiously, as the glass was knocked from her hand, but her anxiety turned to delight as he bore her back against the soft carpet, imprisoning her face between his palms.
‘What are you talking about?’ he demanded, anger vying with the suspicion that she could not be serious. ‘Do you not wish to be my wife?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed, unable to lie to him. ‘I wish to be your wife, darling. I want to marry you, I want to live with you, and have your babies—I only thought—–’
The searching invasion of his mouth turned her eager confession into a yielding supplication, her parting lips an invitation he could not resist. ‘Yes,’ he said breathlessly, when shortage of air caused them to separate, ‘we will be married. I want you to wear my ring, and bear my children. But not yet. Not until I have had some time to have you all to myself.’ He paused. ‘You see, I am selfish. So tell me where you would like to spend our honeymoon?’
Sylvie linked her arms around his neck. ‘Will your father allow you to get away for a honeymoon?’
Andreas smiled. ‘I think so. Now that Leon has recovered, he can take over from me for a couple of months. I believe Fiji is nice at this time of the year.’
‘Oh, darling,’ Sylvie shook her head disbelievingly, ‘what will your mother say?’
Andreas shrugged. ‘She will be shocked to begin with, no doubt. But she will come round, once she sees how happy we are.’
Sylvie expelled her breath unsteadily. ‘I love you.’
‘And I love you,’ he responded, sliding his arms beneath her and lifting her up. ‘Shall we go to bed?’
‘I like the way you say that,’ she agreed contentedly. ‘Hmm—getting married in two weeks—doe
s that mean I shall gave to go and stay with Mummy in Wimbledon until then?’
‘Not if I have anything to do with it,’ he retorted, getting to his feet, and Sylvie gurgled with laughter.
‘Oh, good!’ she said, with feeling.
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IMPRINT: Sexy
ISBN: 9781488704802
TITLE: INNOCENT OBSESSION
First Australian Publication 2014
Copyright © 2014 Anne Mather
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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