by Sara Craven
‘And you’ll do what? Stop?’ Her challenge sounded strained and breathless, the words forced from her throat as her body began to melt into its own involuntary reaction to the smooth ebb and flow of his possession. Even as she tried to tell herself that it was impossible. That she couldn’t be feeling like this again—not so soon…
‘Yes,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I will stop. If you wish it. Do you?’
For answer, her hands went up to clasp his neck and draw him down to her and her waiting, trembling mouth. At the same time she raised her legs to encircle his hips, mutely inviting his deeper penetration.
His response was instant, almost explosive, as he thrust into her, all restraint gone. As he created a new and driving rhythm, which swept her away with him on a rising tide of heated, passionate delight, forcing her to give as totally, and take as fiercely.
She clung to him, the breath sobbing from her lungs, aware of nothing but the frenzy of sensation building inside her with each hard, compelling stroke from his strong loins.
Once more she could feel the throbbing deep within her as her body gathered itself for that swift, relentless ascent to rapture. And as Alex took her over the edge into the ultimate agony of culmination, and she was gripped by the first shattering convulsions of her climax, she cried out half in exultancy and half in fear, and heard his voice crack on her name as his body in turn shuddered its satiation into hers.
Then silence.
Natasha lay wrapped in Alex’s arms, his head heavy on her breasts and her body still tingling voluptuously from pleasure given and received.
But, in contrast, her mind was reeling, especially as the sudden chill of reality had already begun to invade her euphoria.
Was this what everyone expected and experienced during sex? she wondered numbly. This exquisite fusion of soul and body into the moment when nothing else existed on earth or in heaven but this shared, irresistible, intolerable glory?
Was it what she’d have found with Neil, if she’d given herself to him? she asked herself, and knew that it was not. That it never could have been.
People called it ‘the act of love’, she thought. But, where Alex was concerned, that was a complete misnomer, and ‘the act of lust’ would be far more appropriate.
Because that was all it had been, or ever would be. That was what she must remember at all costs.
It was the performance that had transformed her irrevocably into Alex Mandrakis’s willing mistress. Nothing more. Nothing less. In the process, dragging her down from any moral high ground remaining to her and leaving her with no room for pretence, and nowhere to hide.
All the same, Natasha was shaken by the memory of her own abandon.
Total self-betrayal in one easy lesson, she lashed herself, or, rather, a master class in sensual expertise from someone who had probably forgotten more about pleasing women than most men would ever know.
A man whom she’d allowed to discover, with paramount ease, exactly what it took to turn her into this sobbing, trembling, ecstatic thing, as the instrument of his pleasure. And who would expect no less from her in future.
Oh, God, she asked herself. What have I done? I must have gone crazy. But now I have to become sane again. I have to. Because I can’t let myself simply become…his creature. Not if I’m going to survive, and walk away when he’s finished with me.
Leaving—and not looking back—has to be my main, my only priority in all this.
She became aware that Alex was stirring—lifting himself away from her in order to lie beside her and look at her, a smile in his dark eyes.
‘So,’ he whispered, stroking her damp hair back from her face. ‘Do you like me any better now, agapi mou?’
Natasha averted her gaze, conscious that her heartbeat had quickened, and that there was an unaccustomed tremulousness inside her which she knew, somehow, had nothing to do with sex, or the astonishing attunement that their bodies had achieved, but was concerned instead with the tenderness in his eyes and fingertips and the oddly wistful note in his voice. All of which spelled the serious danger she feared so much.
And which needed to be dealt with. Fast…
She stiffened. ‘No,’ she said thickly. ‘Why should I?’
His caressing hand stilled. ‘I hoped—because of the joy we have just shared,’ he said, after a pause.
‘Oh, I see,’ she said. ‘You wish me to congratulate you on your technique, perhaps. Well, I do, naturally.’ She added tautly, ‘You’re living proof, kyrie, that practice makes perfect. In fact, you could probably get a response from a block of marble. Is that what you want to hear?’
Alex propped himself on an elbow, staring down at her, his expression incredulous.
‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘It is not. On the contrary, I thought—I believed that our lovemaking might create a new understanding between us.’ His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘If nothing else, I know now how to persuade you to call me by my given name.’
Her face warmed in embarrassment as that particular circumstance invaded her memory with stinging clarity.
‘Then think again,’ she advised coldly. ‘What happened just now has nothing to do with any kind of love. And the only thing that’s changed between us, Kyrios Mandrakis, is that I now despise myself almost as much as I hate you. And I’ll never forgive you for that.’
The dark brows snapped together. ‘For what?’ His voice was clipped. ‘For showing you how to be a woman with her man?’
‘You are not my man.’ She stared back at him defiantly. ‘And you never will be. You’re merely a temporary misfortune that I hope to be rid of very soon, so that I can get on with the rest of my life.
‘And when eventually I do meet someone,’ she added, ‘he’ll be the opposite of you, Kyrios Mandrakis, because, quite apart from the other qualities you so signally lack, he’ll have a sense of decency.’
He said harshly, ‘And you, Natasha mou, on the other hand, will not be quite so naïve as you were. Tell my successor he should be grateful to me for that.’ He swung himself off the bed and strode into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Natasha turned onto her side and lay very still. Her ploy seemed to have been successful, she told herself unsteadily. But how many times would she need to make him angry before she became too much of an irritant, and he finally let her go?
And once she had been sent away, she wondered, how long would it take her to forget that lithe, magnificent body he used to such incredible effect?
When would the remembered touch of his hands and the taste of his mouth cease to torment her?
At the same time, it occurred to her that tonight he had used protection, so presumably he had rethought his original intention to shame the Papadimos name by making her pregnant.
And for that, she supposed, she should be grateful. Yet gratitude did not appear to be a major priority at the moment.
She sat up slowly, retrieved the fresh nightgown from the floor, put it on, then pulled the covering sheet up over her body and switched off the lamp in an attempt to settle herself for sleep, although her mind was still wide-awake and teeming with questions she didn’t understand, and certainly couldn’t answer.
Because, with every day, every hour she spent with Alex, her mental and emotional confusion seemed to be growing. Spiralling out of control in some strange and disturbing way.
Therefore, she’d done absolutely the right thing, said the right words just now. She couldn’t afford the slightest temptation to weaken, even if she was haunted by the bleakness in his face as he’d left her.
But nor could she escape the realisation that when he came back to bed he would, in all probability, still be angry with her, so that any further sexual contact he instigated between them might be more punishment than passion. A thought with the power to make her shiver.
Yet I had to protect myself, she argued silently. I had no choice. And tensed as she heard him come back into the bedroom.
She felt the mattress dip slightly as he
lay down beside her, and, as his lamp was extinguished in its turn, waited, heart thudding, for him to reach for her.
Only he didn’t do so. And as the minutes passed, lengthened, she realised that there was going to be no further contact between them that night—physical or even verbal.
It was a long while before she eventually risked a glance over her shoulder, to find that he was lying on the far side of the bed, his back turned to her and his soft, regular breathing indicating that he was already asleep.
She told herself she should be thankful she’d been spared the possible repercussions from her outburst, and closed her own eyes with determination, trying to ignore the deep, sensuous ache within her which informed her with unwelcome candour that if Alex had decided to take her in his arms again he would once more have found her much more than willing.
It also emphasised that, for her, sleep was not going to be an option—not then, or for some considerable time to come.
And that it would be uncomfortably easy for her to burst into tears instead.
When she opened reluctant eyes the next morning, Natasha made two discoveries.
Firstly, that the Selene was moving, and secondly that Alex had gone, leaving her in sole occupation of the big bed and totally unaware of his departure.
She sat up slowly, looking round her, wondering when they’d sailed—and where he was.
Because this was not the way she’d planned this new day to begin as she’d lain beside him last night, staring with aching eyes into the darkness.
Naturally she would not—could not apologise for what she’d said, because that would involve her in some kind of explanation, and she certainly couldn’t let him know that her attack on him had been pure self-defence, in case he asked himself why she felt she needed to take such stringent measures.
But there’d been no reason at all not to simply…slide across the bed to where he was lying, and offer a silent attempt to defuse the situation by some form of reconciliation.
Only he wasn’t there to be coaxed into lovemaking. The very fact that he’d left her to sleep without a word was almost certainly a sign of his ongoing displeasure with her, she thought, biting her lip, as she threw back the sheet and slid out of bed. So she would just have to change to Plan B, which, as yet, did not exist.
He’d used the bathroom earlier, she realised when she padded in, barefoot, because there was a damp towel in the linen basket and a tang of soap and aftershave still lingering faintly in the air. For a moment it was like being in his arms again, breathing the scent of his skin, and Natasha stood, her eyes closed, her body warming as she allowed herself to remember….
As she heard herself say his name softly, yearningly into the stillness.
Her eyes flew open, and her hand went to her throat as she realised what she’d done, and exactly what she was thinking and feeling.
No, she thought shakily. This is not true. It is not happening to me.
She was feeling…overwhelmed, that was all. Knocked sideways by her incredible physical reaction to Alex as he’d initiated her into the mysteries of sex. Nothing more.
Because how could she possibly want a man who’d overturned her life with such ruthless cynicism? she asked herself. Someone, moreover, who only three days ago had been a complete stranger to her.
But was that really the truth?
Had she ever managed to get Alex Mandrakis out of her mind since she’d seen him on the night of that embassy reception three years before?
It was a crush, she told herself desperately. That’s all. I was little more than a child then, for God’s sake. And he was older, glamorous, and totally out of my league for all sorts of reasons besides the feud. The utterly seductive appeal of forbidden fruit by the cartload.
It should have been over and done with as soon as it began, but I—I kept it alive somehow. Allowed that awareness of him to be continually sparked by all the stories featuring him in the newspapers, whether they were in the business pages or the gossip columns.
In fact, she thought, swallowing, if she was being honest at last, she’d gone looking for them. Had devoured, avidly, every word written about him, only to discover painfully in the process that many of them had the power to affect her personally. To matter, and even—in some ridiculous way—to hurt her.
That was when she’d tried to stop, telling herself that, for her own peace of mind, she had to end this dangerous obsession with her family’s enemy, because he was nothing but a despicable, loathsome, womaniser—not worth a second thought.
He was not Romeo, she’d told herself with determination. And she was definitely not Juliet. End of story.
Except that it wasn’t the end. Not then. And certainly not now.
Instead she was being forced to deal with the extraordinary sense that a door had suddenly opened into a new and different world, and Alex had been there waiting for her, as she’d always known, somehow, that he would be.
No, she thought frantically, that—that is a complete delusion. It has to be. Anything else is totally impossible. It’s sheer insanity to let myself think that I might ever have been in love with him. Or—even worse—that I still could be.
Because until Stavros and Andonis intervened with that disastrous marriage scheme, I’d managed to put him out of my mind. Convinced myself that my fixation with him was finally over. I’m sure of it.
And if I’d stayed safely in England, I’d have kept it that way. A sweet, silly memory to smile about sometimes in the far future when I was safe and happy with someone else.
But instead I found myself trapped, facing him in his bedroom. Discovering what it meant to belong to him in bed. And if ever there was a time when I needed to hate him, it was then—as he touched me for the first time…
So I tried to hate him. Heaven help me, I tried. Only to find that nothing had changed. That, although I might have buried the old feelings for him, they were still alive, simply waiting for resurrection.
That I wanted him still. And, more than that, I loved him.
She sank down onto the tiled floor, kneeling with her arms wrapped defensively round her body, staring blindly into space.
God, she thought, what a fool she was. But at least she’d retained enough common-sense to understand that the feeling of warmth and safety she’d experienced in his arms was and always would be an illusion.
I have never encouraged any of the women who have shared my bed to fall in love with me. It would be a waste of their time, and mine.
Alex’s own words, so she could not say she hadn’t been warned, she thought, rocked by a pain so fierce she almost cried out.
He’d taken her for revenge at the beginning, as a trophy attained in the war with her brothers. But he’d kept her for her novelty value—his still unconquered conquest, she told herself, a sob rising in her throat.
And that was what she would continue to be, from this moment until the day he told her she was free to go.
With the secret of her true feelings, she whispered silently, hers to keep hidden then—and for the rest of her life without him.
CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS the fear of being discovered there, weeping silently as she whispered his name under her breath, that eventually prompted her to move. To drag herself to her feet and begin the essential preparations to face him again.
She showered rapidly, and then found the jade bikini, and its pretty overshirt that she’d rejected the previous day, and pulled them on. Readying herself for his eyes—his pleasure—she thought wryly. Accepting the role imposed upon her, because that was all she could hope for, and she had to believe that it was better than nothing. Had to…
She brushed her hair loose, applied mascara to her lashes and a touch of soft coral to her lips, then stood for a long moment, studying her reflection, searching for some betraying sign of the emotional storm that had gripped her earlier, and the aching emptiness that was left in its place, as she silently rehearsed the part she had to play.
The
n, bracing herself, she went up on deck.
One glance told her that Mykonos was fast becoming a memory on the horizon.
More to the point, there was still no sign of Alex, either.
As she paused uncertainly, Kostas came to meet her. ‘You will take breakfast, thespinis?’
‘Please.’ She forced a smile, as she saw the table under the awning was set just for one. ‘Has Kyrios Mandrakis already eaten?’
He looked astonished. ‘Hours ago, thespinis. Before he leave to go to Athens.’
Natasha was very still. ‘You mean—he’s not on board?’ She steadied her voice. ‘He’s—gone?’
‘Ne, thespinis. He take the early plane from Mykonos.’ He paused, clearly embarrassed. ‘You did not know this?’
She managed to shrug. Even to smile. ‘I knew he’d be returning there some time. I hadn’t realised it would be quite so soon.’
Or that it would be without a word of goodbye….
She found herself remembering what he had said only last night: ‘The next time I walk away will be when it is finished between us.’ And thought with swift anguish, I may never see him again.
From now on, her only contact with him would be the ongoing stories in the newspapers. And if they’d hurt her before, they would now have the power to wound her to her very soul.
‘You wish coffee, thespinis?’ Kostas asked.
‘Yes, please.’ Natasha lifted her chin resolutely. ‘Plus an omelette with cheese and ham, hot rolls, yoghurt and fruit.’
She wasn’t sure how much of it she’d be able to eat, but at least it would seem as if Alex’s decision wasn’t causing her to pine away, she told herself with a brave attempt at defiance as she went to the table and sat, staring across the water with eyes that saw nothing.
So this time she’d really inflicted lasting damage, she thought, pain twisting inside her. But if that was the case, why had she not been taken ashore to the airport herself and sent on her way? After all, there must be any number of direct flights from Mykonos to the U.K., as well as Athens, giving every opportunity for Alex to wash his hands of her for good and all.