by Julia James
He gave another sigh, more heavy this time.
‘Vanessa—some people have a very relaxed attitude, and some, like the Duchesse, do not. She just isn’t someone I could introduce you to.’
‘Too grand, huh?’ Vanessa tried to put a laugh into her voice, though it still sounded shaky. But then, she felt pretty shaky herself, with Markos’s unexpected sharpness coming right after that horrible friend of his speaking to her like that. ‘Doesn’t she speak to bourgeois commoners like me?’ She forced herself to sound light-hearted, self-deprecating.
Markos’s expression was odd. Probably, she thought, because she’d hit the nail on the head, and he was embarrassed by having to admit to the Frenchwoman’s snobbery.
Then someone a little way away was hailing him, and the moment passed as he responded and led Vanessa across, his hand cupping around her elbow.
‘Guido—it’s good to see you.’ He launched into fluent Italian.
Gratefully, Vanessa resumed her safe and familiar role—the woman at Markos Makarios’s side. Deliberately, she put aside the two upsetting incidents that had just happened. They meant nothing. She mustn’t think about them. She was with Markos.
That was all that counted.
The remainder of the evening passed without further incident, and gradually Vanessa’s spirits were restored. OK, so she didn’t belong in this glittering, high society world that the man she loved lived in, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t learn to belong. Unpleasant incidents like those that had happened earlier were rare—in fact, she didn’t think they’d ever really happened before. True, she’d been on the receiving end of some dagger-drawn looks, but they had invariably been from other women, and it had not taken her long to twig that the cause of their unfriendliness was that she was the one with Markos Makarios. Women were all over him like flies to a honeypot, and she could hardly be surprised at that when she was so smitten with him! She was bound to encounter jealousy and resentment from other women less fortunate than herself. Markos himself never gave her cause for anxiety in that respect. He was obviously accustomed to being fêted by females, but he never flirted with any of them—never made her think he was more interested in them than he was in her. He was always attentive, always possessive. It was a warm feeling that set a golden glow around her heart.
As they moved around, clearly a couple, smiling and sipping champagne, or nibbling the delicious canapés that circulated endlessly, a stray phrase came back to her. She tried to banish it, because it had come from that odious man who had said such creepy stuff to her, but for all that it repeated itself in her mind.
Future plans, the man had said. What were her future plans?
A faint furrow creased between her eyebrows. She pushed the thought away. She didn’t want to think about things like that. After all, she had no plans. She was simply with Markos, that was all.
For how long?
The words pricked into her consciousness like an insect bite. She brushed them aside as if they were just that. She wouldn’t think about things like the future, or how long she had with Markos. If she didn’t think about them, they didn’t exist. She was too happy, too blissful, too floating on her wonderful, unbelievable personal cloud nine to think about anything like that! Markos was so good to her, so wonderful. It was enough—of course it was enough!—just to have what she had.
And she had so much. She had everything her heart could desire—the most wonderful man in the world to love, who wanted her with him.
Her eyes went to him, standing so tall, so devastatingly gorgeous beside her. Her heart swelled with love.
As she gazed, happy to do nothing more than that, to take in the perfection of his profile, he seemed to sense it, pausing minutely in his conversation. His eye caught hers, and for a brief, shivering moment he just looked at her. She could read the message in them as clearly as if he’d spoken aloud. Then his long dark lashes swept down and he went on talking again.
But at her back she could feel the pressure of his fingers, softly smoothing the satin of her gown, conveying their unmistakable message and making her limbs feel weak.
They left very soon after.
Vanessa slid the ice-blue cocktail dress over her head and felt it slither down her body. Brushing her hair aside, she crooked her arms back to zip it up, then stared at her reflection in the huge mirror in the dressing room off Markos’s bedroom.
She frowned. Had she put on weight? The material seemed to be clinging slightly around her stomach and hips. The last time she’d worn this particular dress a few weeks ago it had fitted perfectly. She breathed in, and looked at her reflection again. She looked all right, it was just that the dress felt a tad more clingy than it had done before. Maybe she was imagining things. Maybe it had shrunk slightly with cleaning.
Surely she couldn’t have put on weight. She was scrupulous about what she ate. Naturally slim, now that she was with Markos she knew she could not afford to lose her figure even minutely. She wanted to look perfect for him the whole time. The trouble was, all this high life seemed to come accompanied by the most gorgeous gourmet food wherever they went, even when they ate in, and it was all so tempting! That was one reason why she was such a regular habituée of the gym and pool in the basement of the apartment block, or of the fitness suites in the hotels they stayed at when they were abroad. Exercise toned her body, and kept her in peak condition for Markos.
It also helped to pass the time when he was working.
She frowned again, breathing out slowly. Yes, the material was definitely brushing against her stomach and hips. She bit her lip. She would have to cut back on the food and increase her workout time, that was all. It might only be a few pounds she’d put on, but there was, she could see now, a discernible swell to her tummy that she was sure had not been there before.
Maybe it was just monthly bloating, of course. Not that she usually suffered much from PMS, but perhaps having an active sex life—a very active sex life, she thought with an inward blush—was making a difference of some kind. If it was PMS, though, it was a bit odd, as she’d only just finished another period. But then that had been an odd period too—just as the one before, up in the mountains, had been odd. Much shorter. Different.
Out in the bedroom, she heard the phone start to ring, distracting her thoughts as she hurried to answer it. It must be Markos, saying where to meet him that evening.
‘Hello?’ she said, picking the handset up, sounding very slightly breathless.
‘Good evening, Vanessa. Did I disturb you in bed? Or in the bath, perhaps?’
The male voice was definitely not Markos. Nor could it possibly be either Taki or Stelios, the two Greek members of his staff who acted as a mix of bodyguards, chauffeurs and general factotums to him.
‘Who is this?’ she asked, more sharply than she usually spoke.
A laugh came down the line.
‘Forgotten me so soon? I’ll have to remind you, won’t I? We met the other evening, when Markos was so foolish as to abandon you.’
Vanessa stiffened. It was that creepy friend of Markos’s. Cosmo Dimistris. Well, whatever he wanted, she didn’t want to speak to him.
‘Markos isn’t here at the moment,’ she answered, making her voice impersonal and formal. ‘I’ll tell him you called. Do you want to leave a message?’
Damn, she was sounding like a secretary. But she just wanted Cosmo Dimistris off the line.
The laugh came again. It sounded distinctly sleazy.
‘The only message I’d like to leave Markos is that you’ve told me I’m better in bed than he is—but it’s a little soon for that. Not too soon, I hope. Tell me, have you thought any more about moving on yet? I’m flying to Mexico next week. Come with me—I’ll be throwing some wild parties. You’d be really hot—’
Vanessa dropped the phone as if it were suddenly burning. As if she had just been touched by something slimy and disgusting.
Oh, God, that horrible, horrible man! How could he say such creep
y stuff to her? She hoped he wouldn’t turn into a pest. Surely he had got the message now?
But the following afternoon she discovered that Cosmo Dimistris was about as thin-skinned as a rhinoceros. She was walking back into the lobby after having had her regular beauty treatments in Sloane Street when the concierge came round from the desk.
‘Special delivery,’ he said.
She took the package, wondering what it was. Up in the apartment she had her answer. It was a slim jewel case, gift-wrapped inside the courier packaging. A card was tucked into the ribbons. Staring, she read it.
The necklace that goes with this is in Mexico. Phone me and it’s yours.
A telephone number was scrawled underneath. There was no name, and she didn’t need one. She knew exactly the creep who’d sent this insulting and objectionable ‘present’.
Tight-lipped, she opened the case, revealing a bracelet set with emeralds. Her fingers clenched. For a moment she just stared at the bracelet, wondering how on earth she was going to get rid of it. She had no idea where that odious man lived, and didn’t want to. She clicked the lid shut and turned the box over. To her relief the jeweller’s name was on the base. She could just have it returned to them. They would know who had bought it and get it back to him.
A footfall behind her made her jerk her head back.
Markos was walking out of his study.
Instinctively, breath catching, she whipped the case and its wrapping behind her back, a horrified expression on her face. She’d had no idea Markos was home.
‘What have you got there?’ He sauntered towards her.
‘Nothing,’ she said automatically.
He gave a slanting smile. ‘You’re looking very guilty over nothing.’
‘It’s just junk mail,’ Vanessa replied quickly.
Markos’s eyebrows rose.
‘That gets stopped in the postroom.’ A gleam entered his eye. ‘Don’t tell me. It’s something secret. A pregnancy testing kit, perhaps, hmm?’
The gleam had become a glint, and there was something in it that disturbed Vanessa, but she was too shocked by what he’d just said to do anything other than stare open-mouthed.
‘A what?’ she echoed weakly.
Something shifted in Markos’s expression at her response.
‘So not the worst, then?’ he responded smoothly. ‘What about the next worst? Something from a secret admirer, perhaps?’
The words were humorous, and so was the tone. But to her horror Vanessa felt the blood drain from her cheeks. As it did, she saw Markos’s face change. Before she could move he had come up to her and snaked his hand around her back, drawing her hand forward.
Wordlessly, without looking at her, he took the jewel case from her.
In dead silence he flicked the lid open, then glanced at the accompanying card with the message on it.
‘And just who is inviting you to Mexico to collect the rest of these emeralds?’
Vanessa felt a wave of ice go down her spine. Never had she heard Markos speak in such tones to her—not even the other evening, when he’d been so curt about her interrupting that stuck-up Duchess. To Taki, sometimes, or Stelios, if he was out of humour or something had been fouled up, but even then she had never heard that cold steel in his voice.
She stared helplessly.
‘Well?’
His face was grim and closed.
Still she could not answer, paralysed with ice in her veins. Chill grey eyes bored into her. This wasn’t Markos. It couldn’t be Markos…
‘Do you intend to go?’
The words cut through her paralysis. Her pupils flared.
‘Of course not! I wouldn’t go near that disgusting man with a bargepole!’
Something changed in Markos’s eyes.
‘What man? Who is he? Who sent these?’
Vanessa took a step back, throwing her head up.
‘That horrible man at the hotel the other day! Cosmo Dimistris, or whatever his name was!’
Markos’s eyes narrowed. ‘Cosmo? Cosmo sent you this bracelet? What the hell gave him the idea that you’d take it from him? Or go to Mexico to collect on the necklace?’
There was anger in his voice. More than anger.
Accusation.
Something snapped in Vanessa.
‘Well, it wasn’t me, believe me! He came up with the charming idea all on his own. He slimed up to me at the party when you were off talking to that stuck-up French duchess who cut me dead! And you can send it back to him right now, OK? Along with his oh-so-charming offer to take me on as his mistress!’
‘What?’ Markos’s voice was a knife-cut.
Breath hissed in Vanessa’s throat.
‘Exactly! He had the almighty gall to stand there and tell me I could be his mistress for the asking!’
Greek spat from him. Vanessa didn’t ask for a translation. It would not be fit for her ears, she knew. His expression was thunderous.
‘He was lucky I didn’t slap his face on the spot!’ she went on, anger still burning in her. ‘That’s why I rushed up to you and interrupted you the way I did and upset the Duchess. I didn’t mean to be bad-mannered, but that creep really upset me. Saying I could be his mistress!’
Markos’s face was still grim, but she could see the anger was no longer directed at her, but at his horrible friend. He gave a sudden snort of grim humour.
‘I trust you told him you were still mine? And that you were not in the market for a change of protector.’
A shudder went through her.
‘Markos—don’t! Not even in jest. It’s just too horrible.’
His mouth pressed tightly. ‘I was not jesting, believe me. Cosmo Dimistris can forget all about poaching my mistress from me!’
Vanessa’s hands clenched. ‘Markos—please. Don’t even say that word. Not even about a creep like him.’ She shuddered again. ‘Mistress.’ There was revulsion in her voice.
Markos stepped forward, his hand going around the nape of her neck. He tilted her face up to him with his other hand and dropped a light kiss on her mouth.
‘No man’s mistress but mine,’ he said reassuringly, as he let her go again.
But Vanessa was still upset, even after this comforting gesture.
‘No, please—don’t use that word. It’s so horrible. I know you’re just trying to make a joke of it, but—’
‘A joke?’ There was a blank note in his voice.
Vanessa gazed up at him, her expression confused. ‘Well, yes, of course it’s a joke…saying I’m your mistress…’
Markos dropped his hand. ‘You think it a joke to be my mistress?’ His expression was suddenly taut.
The confusion deepened in Vanessa’s eyes. ‘I—I don’t understand.’
‘What do you not understand? You’ve been my mistress for half a year, and in all that time you—’
She jerked back.
Staring up at him.
Disbelieving.
‘Markos—don’t say that. Please.’ Her voice was faint suddenly.
The planes of his face were still taut, but now the expression in his eyes had changed to blankness.
‘Don’t say what? Vanessa, you are not making sense.’
‘Mistress.’ Her voice was fainter still. ‘You keep saying mistress. It’s a joke, isn’t it, Markos? Just a joke. Saying that to me? Calling me that?’
Her eyes were huge in her face. In her chest, she could feel her heart rate quicken, anxiety build. Something was going wrong here—she was getting it wrong. She had to be! Markos spoke such superb English she sometimes forgot he was half-Greek. Maybe she was confusing him.
He was still gazing at her blankly.
‘I repeat,’ he said, and she could hear the edge underlying his words as he spelt them out. ‘Why do you think being my mistress is a joke?’
Vanessa shut her eyes, then opened them. She had to explain. He’d got hold of completely the wrong end of the stick.
‘No—you don’t understand.
I mean, I know you are just using the word “mistress” as a joke, but I just… I just don’t see it as funny, Markos. I’m sorry. It’s such a repellent thought—’
His face had stilled.
‘You think it repellent to be my mistress?’ The anger was there now, unhidden.
And suddenly, with a ghastly sick realisation, Vanessa realised that it was not Markos who did not understand her—but she who did not understand him.
Oh, God, he means it. He really means it. He’s not joking, he’s not making fun of the word—he means it.
She heard herself speak, still in that same faint voice.
‘You mean it, don’t you? When you say mistress you mean it.’
Angry exasperation flashed in his eyes.
‘Why on earth should I not mean it? Of course you are my mistress! Thee mou, you’ve been living with me long enough!’
She started clutching at straws. His English was not perfect. It couldn’t be. It must be that he didn’t understand the implications of the word mistress. She was searching desperately for some comfort, some reassurance…
He took a step towards her, reaching for her.
‘Vanessa, what is this? If that louse Cosmo has upset you, I’m truly sorry. He will never come near you again, I promise.’ His voice was conciliatory, caressing. His eyes washed over her, warm and familiar. ‘You are mine—all mine—you know you are.’
He made to embrace her, all his anger gone now completely. He was Markos again, the Markos she knew…
Or did she?
She stepped back, away from him. Her heart was still racing, eyes huge and uncertain.
‘Your mistress.’ There was flatness in her voice.
Fear.
Markos was just looking at her. Slowly, he nodded.
‘Yes, my mistress. Vanessa, what is this? Why are you being like this? What is happening?’ For a moment he just went on looking at her, searching her face, a frown of incomprehension on his brow.
Vanessa could say nothing. Her throat was too tight. Then, suddenly, Markos’s brows snapped together.
‘My God,’ he breathed abruptly, ‘what else did he say to you? Cosmo Dimistris—what else did he say to you?’