Aphrodite's Tears

by Hannah Fielding

  She felt his glance almost like a physical caress as it passed over her platinum-blonde hair. She instinctively knew how fascinated he was by her fairness, just as she was by the glittering silver blades of his eyes, which now flicked back to hers. Although the neckline of her dress was not low-cut, she felt bare and vulnerable.

  Oriel was no shrinking violet; she was tall and slim but strong with it – she had to be in her line of work – but he made her feel delicate, fragile. What’s more, deep down, that’s how she really was, despite her outward appearance of fierce independence and self-sufficiency.

  ‘I would indeed live up to my nickname, Drákon, if I let you spend a single night in that place.’ His voice became husky and intimate. ‘A woman like you, with flaxen hair, pearly skin and a curvaceous body … Yes, that would be too much of a temptation.’ Damian’s taunting eyes scanned Oriel’s face until they settled on the sensitive contours of her mouth, and she felt the shock of his sensual words all through her body.

  As she gazed back at him, Oriel felt his power, his confidence and his danger. Still, the spring-like tension that she sensed in Damian was in her too – an explosive force that would blow to atoms every barrier she had erected. Where had her cool persona disappeared to? Were a few provocative words by her Greek god – who had ravished her so unforgettably during one night of madness – sufficient to melt her iron resolve and turn her into putty in his hands?

  No! She would not give in to him and let herself down.

  ‘I can handle myself,’ she said with a confidence that was nevertheless starting to wane.

  Damian leaned in a fraction. ‘Shall we put it to the test, agápi mou?’

  Oriel’s head snapped up and she met his glittering gaze directly. ‘Kyrios Lekkas, may I remind you that I am here as your employee, nothing else. Ever heard of the phrase “sexual harassment”? Your cheap allusions could be construed as exactly that in a court of law.’

  They were brave words, yet she didn’t move back. In fact, every time he made a provocative suggestion, it merely caused her pulse to dance in a most troublesome fashion.

  Damian’s smile was subtle. ‘I don’t think so, my dear Calypso. There would have to be witnesses and, to my knowledge, the only attesters to our friendly conversation here are the moon and the sea, much like the night of our other little encounter.’

  ‘You’re wicked,’ she murmured, still unable to look away.

  ‘The wicked are often truthful, eh?’

  ‘You’re also presumptuous, arrogant …’

  ‘You can save your charitable descriptions, Calypso. I’ve heard them all before. They’re true, of course.’

  Despite herself, amusement curved her lips at his roguish conceit. ‘So there’s no point in telling you how to behave like a gentleman when clearly you don’t wish to do so?’

  ‘Clearly.’

  Her smile faded as his eyes, dark as volcanic glass, locked with her own. Oriel’s cheeks flamed and she tried to stand tall, deeply aware of him only inches away from her, tensed and unpredictable; but his hypnotic stare was mesmerizing. Dominance and defiance clashed like silent blades.

  An owl hooted, startling her for a moment, and she glanced up. The stars, so alive and numerous, burned above the treetops and the white moon lit to silver the tender blue curtain of darkness that brooded over them. Then, in the distant depths of the night, the sound of the shepherd’s flute took up again, and to Oriel it seemed as if she were truly in the ancient garden of the wanton god Pan, who was hiding among the tangled groves with his entourage of nymphs and fellow satyrs, and had chosen that moment to manifest his seductive powers.

  ‘Your shepherd is back,’ Oriel said breathily, still looking up at the night sky.

  ‘He will be serenading us a while yet.’

  Oriel willed herself to withstand the sheer force of Damian’s magnetism. He was standing so close that she could feel the heat of his body.

  The lissom, mellow notes of the flute drifted through the air, treacherously beguiling.

  ‘You love the wildness and the mystery of Greek islands, don’t you?’ he added, his voice low and gentle.

  Her gaze fell back on his face. ‘The nights, especially, are very beautiful.’

  Damian’s smile was wry, and it twisted the scarred side of his face, nevertheless lending it an unexpected, compelling charm as his eyes gleamed down at her. ‘It is a magical sort of night. I feel almost a different person. It must be you, beautiful Calypso,’ he told her with an almost sorrowful laugh. The pitch of his voice had matured; it was even deeper, richer than it had been all those years back. The sound of it still had the power to send a shiver down her spine, though now it was a shiver slightly different to that of six years ago.

  He turned his disfigured cheek away from her, a fleeting and unreadable look shadowing his expression. Suddenly she felt a deep ache at the core of her heart for her Grecian god, who looked as though he had been struck by lightning. A curious weakness assailed her. Then he looked back, and she was paralyzed by yearning and by fear.

  Before she could protest, Damian had drawn her to him; his warm palm had run the length of her spine and was pressing into its base where her body curved. He gripped her so fiercely that the skirt of her dress was pulled up, his tight, strong body leaning into hers.

  Every nerve ending in Oriel was ablaze. She was enthralled by his smouldering silver gaze as his mouth inched towards hers. His breathing came in rasps as her breasts crushed against him. His need for her was obvious and she was aroused beyond her control, revelling in the sensation of his hands holding her against his rigid groin. She placed her hand flat against his broad chest, knowing she should push him away, and felt the frantic pounding beneath her touch.

  That was her undoing.

  It was madness to allow these feelings swamping her to drift up to her brain, dulling the nagging voice that warned her not to get herself involved with a man like Damian Lekkas. But there was the ethereal glow of the stars and the moon above them, and the breeze of the night carried an aroma of fruit trees that was dizzying in its sweetness, mingling with Damian’s warm male scent enveloping her – all of it an overwhelming enchantment. In that moment, Oriel’s lips parted softly, knowing this was inevitable.

  Damian’s damaged face came down and his hungry mouth sought out hers, pushing her against the balustrade until she felt the cool stone at her back. One of his hands moved up and tangled itself in her hair, pulling her head back, and she arched towards him, exposing her smooth neck. Oriel heard his sharp intake of breath and felt him tense, every part of him telling her of his wild desire to possess her. His kiss was ocean deep, a torrent of fire that plunged through her senses, and even though it was the worst thing to do, she let him explore her mouth, tasting and filling her until her mind and body were a riot of sensations. He was like a fever in her blood. His hot mouth trailed down to the pulsing vein at the hollow centre of her throat, palpitating like a minute blue flower on a bed of snow. She trembled uncontrollably, acutely aware of the hard male body pressing so tightly against her soft curves as he licked and kissed and bit, finding nerve centres she had never even dreamed existed.

  ‘You’ve missed me, I can feel it,’ Damian whispered hoarsely, his breath like scorching flames against Oriel’s sensitized skin. ‘I want to rip off this dress and love you, right here,’ he murmured against her neck as his other hand slid upwards to her breast and cupped its soft fullness, moving his thumb across the taut, aching nipple.

  At that moment, a dog barked somewhere in the distance, startling a bird that flew out of the undergrowth with a scream that tore through the night. The spell was broken.

  Oriel gasped, jerking away from him.

  ‘It’s only a bird, zoi mou,’ Damian said, his voice thick, drawing her back towards him, his breathing still laboured.

  ‘No, no, Damian, this is wrong … this is madness,’ she murmured, her heart still beating fiercely against her breast. Among the seething tangle of
emotions she was feeling, the reality of her situation came flooding back. This man was a virtual stranger to her. He had a scarred face, a dead wife, a murdered brother … What else had happened to him since that night they had met on Aegina? Who was he really?

  ‘Madness …’ she repeated to herself.

  Damian’s hand tightened on her waist. ‘How can you say that, eh? Every inch of your body is on fire, like mine. You’re still trembling.’

  ‘No,’ Oriel repeated, trying to sound firm. She pulled back and separated herself from him, knowing that he was right and hating herself for not holding out against the arousal of her own body. She was still tingling all over with the exquisite feel of his touch.

  For a moment they stared at each other, both stunned by the instinctive, carnal haze of lust that had overcome them. Then Damian swore under his breath. He ran a hand through his hair, as though trying to gather his wits.

  He let out a frustrated breath. ‘You kissed me as though you had been waiting for someone to kiss you properly all these years. Waiting for me.’

  Oriel almost winced at the truth of it, but her chin went up. ‘I didn’t kiss you, you kissed me.’

  ‘You let me.’

  ‘You’re an egotist.’

  ‘Perhaps, but there are signs that don’t lie. I can still read you like a book, Calypso.’

  ‘You think so? Oh yes, you’re such an expert on women,’ she threw at him resentfully.

  A tiny muscle jerked at the side of Damian’s jaw. ‘You enjoyed every minute, matia mou, don’t deny it …’ She could tell that he had jolted back to his previous cynical self, as if he had realized that he had lost control and was now re-establishing it.

  His eyes glowed like molten silver coals as he stood haughtily in front of her and Oriel took in his strong, dark, mutilated face with its ridges of pale scars that gave him an almost devilish quality in the moonlight – Mephistopheles, she thought. He was right. Every sinew in her body yearned for him to take her with the same wild passion he had shown in Aegina, but he was the last person in the world to whom she would reveal that information.

  This man would never love her.

  ‘I think it’s best I go now,’ she said.

  Mockery slid into his voice. ‘Go? Because you’re afraid of being alone with me …? But maybe you’re right to be wary.’ His glance held an unexpected touch of humour. ‘I am, as you might say, in the driving seat.’

  But Oriel found nothing amusing in the situation. ‘Not for long, Kyrios,’ she retorted impulsively. ‘Tomorrow I’ll be leaving your island.’

  His expression didn’t change. ‘We’ll talk about that in the morning.’

  ‘Will you have someone drive me to the staff house now, please? I’m tired and I want to go to bed.’

  ‘Where you will sleep all alone … such a waste.’

  ‘Do you never stop?’

  ‘When the world says, “Give up,” hope whispers, “Try it one more time.”’

  ‘Not all women are the same.’

  ‘Are you inviting me to find out if you are different?’

  ‘The reason I came here was to do a professional job. I have no interest in other distractions.’ She stopped abruptly, realizing she was starting to sound very pompous indeed.

  He stared at her, amusement lurking in the corners of his mouth. ‘Then take the job. And if you decide otherwise tomorrow, then so be it.’

  Oriel took a deep breath. Damian couldn’t stop her from leaving the island the next day, if that was what she really wanted. The fuss she was making was almost ridiculous. True, he was dangerous, but only because of the physical chemistry that still flared between them. Furthermore, if she did decide to stay, Oriel had no doubt he was too proud a man to force himself on any woman that rejected him. On the contrary, she suspected it would be almost a challenge to his manhood to make a woman really want him, now that a terrible scar distorted what had once been an almost flawless face. Damian was right, she wanted him – more than that, she craved him just as strongly as ever, his kisses and his caresses. The memory of that night of love in Aegina had always haunted her. She couldn’t deny, even to herself, that since then she had sought in every man she met the Greek god who had made love to her with such passion.

  All she knew now was that, with all the travelling and the excitement of the past twelve hours, she felt exhausted. For tonight, there was no fight left in her.

  ‘Fine, we’ll discuss everything tomorrow.’

  ‘And you stay here for tonight,’ he said emphatically. ‘You’re not leaving now, it’s too late.’

  She sighed, shaking her head and looking up at him. A weary smile played uncertainly on her lips. ‘You are one hell of a persistent man, and tonight I am too tired to argue.’

  The steel in Damian’s irises held wicked glints of triumph and awareness. ‘Ah! That’s better, koukla,’ he said. ‘Come, I will show you your apartment. Your baggage has arrived and is waiting for you there,’ he told her as they left the terrace and made their way through the labyrinth of the house.

  Finally they arrived at a pair of huge double doors. ‘We’re here,’ Damian said as he turned the key in the lock. Oriel found herself in a magnificent room with a high painted ceiling representing heroes of antiquity, and tall arched windows that opened on to a magnificent terrace. She let out a little gasp of appreciation. Everything was grand, from the age-polished, carved-wood furniture and the shining marble floor to the pretty voile curtains fluttering in the windows. A touch of the sensuous intermingled with the austere. ‘It’s lovely!’ she exclaimed, going further into the room.

  Some hint of emotion crossed his face before he spoke. ‘I had it refurbished not that long ago,’ was all he said.

  The middle window was wider than the four others, with spiral stone columns reaching from floor to ceiling on either side, creating a focal point. The three walls were covered with large murals, each depicting one of the Fates.

  ‘The Moirae,’ Damian told Oriel, leaning towards her, eyes glowing. ‘Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos. The sisters who determine when life begins, when it ends and what happens in between. Undoubtedly, they were there on the island of Aegina that night we met …’

  The way he looked at her made Oriel drop her gaze quickly. In a crystal-clear flash of memory she recalled the frenzied night they had spent together. ‘That’s a little far-fetched perhaps,’ she murmured, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way her cheeks had coloured.

  Ignoring her comment he crossed over to the central window. ‘There’s a wonderful view from here,’ he said, standing aside to let her past and, as Oriel stepped on to the terrace, the breath caught in her throat and she blinked in disbelief. It was as if she were standing on the deck of a boat with the sea stretching into infinity. She looked up at the sky. These were the same stars that greeted the ancients, the same that would be here in millions of years’ time. It must have been a night just like this that inspired Van Gogh, she thought.

  ‘Incredible,’ she murmured. ‘An absolutely beautiful sight.’

  Damian appeared beside her. ‘The stars of Helios are unusual, so close they look like they can be plucked from the night sky.’ He leaned on the balcony, staring into the night. ‘The saying goes that each star is a lover’s dream, and when a star falls out of the heavens …’

  A voice came from behind them. ‘Ah, there you are, my dear cousin! Still not averse to spinning fairy tales to wide-eyed young women, I see … I would have thought you’d have learnt your lesson by now.’

  The pair turned abruptly. A young woman in a wheelchair was framed in the doorway, staring fixedly at them. Then she rolled a little further on to the terrace and gazed straight at Oriel, a certain curiosity dwelling in her large pale-grey eyes that made the golden colour of her skin seem all the more dark and her features strong and defined – a beautiful raven-haired goddess, the female counterpart of Damian.

  CHAPTER 3

  ‘I am Helena,’ the dark goddess said in a caref
ully cultivated husky voice, ‘and you, I presume, are the new archaiolgos.’ She spoke English with a pronounced Greek accent.

  In a moment’s confusion, Oriel looked from Damian to this striking woman who was glaring up at her haughtily. Yorgos Christodoulou had never mentioned that Helena was confined to a wheelchair and, come to think of it, Damian had never even mentioned his cousin all through dinner.

  She was dazzling. Dressed in a long, royal blue evening dress of chiffon, she looked positively regal. Gold bangles on her arms glowed in the shaded light, jewels scintillated on her lobes, and upon her neck and fingers. Although it all seemed a little overdone, Oriel had to admit that the bright gold jewellery suited her dark beauty. Her eyes, however, were shinier than Damian’s, with an odd brightness that was disconcerting.

  Oriel swiftly recovered her composure. ‘How do you do, yes, I’m …’

  ‘Helena, I thought you would have been resting,’ Damian cut in. Oriel would have been irritated by this interruption but then caught sight of his guarded expression as he eyed his cousin; there was a hint of uncertainty in the furrow of his brow. ‘Despinis Anderson is going to be a great help with the underwater excavations south of the marina,’ he added.

  Helena regarded Oriel somewhat scornfully. ‘She looks sort of ethereal. I don’t say it isn’t becoming, but are you quite sure she’s cut out for this job, especially now you’ve lost yet another member of your team?’

  ‘Ethereal!’ Oriel laughed, determined not to take offence. She held up one finely rounded arm, where the sleek outline of muscle could be discerned under the flawless white skin, and tapped it. ‘Hardly. I’ve worked on some pretty tough sites in my time.’

  Damian gave his cousin a pointed look. ‘Despinis Anderson’s credentials are quite impressive. Stavros would not have chosen her if that hadn’t been the case.’

  Helena looked at Damian almost resentfully. ‘The wilds of Helios are quite unlike the suburbs of England. Besides, Stavros’s decisions, as yours, are made by his hormones, not by his brain.’