by Sara Craven
Unless, of course, he wished to punish her by keeping her hanging around, her entire future still in question. Waiting—and wondering. If so, she thought wryly, he was succeeding beyond his wildest dreams—but not for the reasons he imagined. When—if—he returned, it would be the necessity to hide her true feelings from him which would cause her the real agony.
But at least he couldn’t expect them to part as friends, because that was something they’d never been. There had never been the opportunity, and now, like so much else, it was all too late.
She heard a quiet tread approaching and snatched at her disintegrating self-control as she realised that Mac Whitaker was crossing the deck towards her.
‘G’day, Miss Kirby.’ His greeting was civil rather than cordial. He glanced up at the cloudless sky. ‘It seems we have ourselves another beauty.’
‘It does.’ Natasha paused. ‘They’re bringing me coffee. May I offer you some?’
He hesitated, then thanked her and took the seat opposite.
‘So, it’s goodbye to Mykonos,’ Natasha went on, over-brightly. ‘What a pity. I was looking forward to seeing the famous pelicans.’
‘I’m sure there’ll be plenty of future opportunities,’ Captain Whitaker returned as Kostas appeared with the coffee and a jug of chilled orange juice. ‘When Alex has less on his plate.’
Her heart missed a questioning beat. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Perhaps so.’ She hesitated. ‘I presume that Iorgos the guard dog has gone with him?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but that’s only to keep his Dad happy. The old man worries about him.’
Natasha filled a cup with the dark, strong brew and handed it to him. ‘Has he any reason to do so?’
‘There’ve been threats,’ he said laconically, ‘in the past.’
And she could guess the source, she thought, grimacing inwardly. She said with deliberate lightness, ‘You mean—apart from angry husbands?’
‘With Alex? You must be joking.’ He shook his head. ‘Married ladies have always been strictly off-limits where he’s concerned.’
‘I bow to your superior knowledge.’ She took a deep breath. ‘May—may I know where we’re going?’
‘Didn’t Alex tell you? We’re heading off to Alyssos.’
‘Alyssos?’ Natasha repeated almost mechanically, her mind going into overdrive as she told herself that Alex’s choice of destination might suggest that he hadn’t simply walked away after all.
‘I presume you’ve heard of it.’
‘Well, yes,’ she said slowly, still faintly bewildered. ‘Someone I know used to spend a lot of time there.’
‘Then they must have been loaded,’ Mac Whitaker said. ‘The island’s a mini-paradise for millionaires, with tourism strictly discouraged. Just a couple of pleasant villages, some olive groves and a few houses owned by some very rich people, Alex’s father being among them. In fact, Alex was born there. Or didn’t he mention that, either?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘No, he didn’t.’ But she could understand, she thought, why the island had suddenly become out of bounds for Thia Theodosia. And it was just one more thing to blame on that bloody feud.
Aloud, she said, ‘I thought Alex was an Athenian through and through.’
Mac Whitaker shrugged. ‘Maybe Alyssos is no big deal as far as he’s concerned,’ he said. ‘I don’t think either he or his father have spent much time there in past years, although I know Alex had a load of work done to the place a while ago, as if he was planning to use it again at some point. And I guess that point’s now been reached.’
His smile was polite. ‘Perhaps he’s intending it as a surprise for you.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He’s—good at surprises.’ She paused. ‘Has he issued you with any other instructions—about me?’
‘Not as such, Miss Kirby.’ He took a reflective sip of coffee. ‘Naturally he’ll expect us all to make sure you’re comfortable, and I dare say he’ll be grateful if I can stop you falling overboard, seeing as you don’t swim. But apart from that…’
‘Don’t swim?’ Natasha set down her cup. ‘What gave you that idea?’
Surely not Alex, she thought, her face warming. Not when he’d stood in the shadows of the Villa Demeter watching her water-nymph act.
Mac Whitaker shrugged again. ‘I guess I assumed it,’ he returned. ‘After all, you haven’t been near the pool since you came on board.’
‘Unlike Alex’s previous companions, who couldn’t get enough of it—or of him?’ she queried coolly, and saw him flush in his turn. ‘Perhaps I simply don’t care for its…associations, Captain Whitaker.’
‘I guess that’s a reference to the famous birthday party.’ His pleasant mouth curled in open distaste. ‘Which means I’m not the only one under a misapprehension, Miss Kirby.’
Natasha lifted her chin. ‘Are you trying to say that Alex wasn’t in the pool that night with six naked girls?’
He shrugged again. ‘For a moment or two, yeah—after they pushed him in fully dressed,’ he added grimly. ‘But he guessed he was being set up, even before they stripped off and dived in. I was there, Miss Kirby, and I can tell you that all Alex took off was his dinner jacket, and that he was out of the water well before they got anywhere near him. End of story.
‘The girls were fished out, given their clothes and sent back to shore on Rhodes, together with a flea in the ear for the idiot who’d let himself be talked into inviting them on board.
‘It was all over in minutes. Half the guests didn’t even know anything had happened, until the ringleader decided to make a name for herself with the tabloids.’
‘But if she was lying,’ Natasha argued, ‘why didn’t Kyrios Mandrakis issue a denial? Say what really happened?’
Mac Whitaker’s mouth tightened. ‘Maybe because he has his fair share of pride, and felt it was beneath his dignity to take any notice of such garbage,’ he retorted. ‘Surely you, of all people, must realise that he simply doesn’t go in for stuff like that.’
Natasha stared past him. ‘Or not quite so publicly perhaps,’ she suggested woodenly.
‘Not at all as far as I’m aware.’ His tone was blunt. ‘As it was, do you really imagine he’d have insulted his friends, not to mention their wives and partners—Linda, my own fiancée among them—with behaviour like that?’ He shook his head. ‘No way, especially in Selene’s pool,’ he added drily.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s a sea-water pool,’ he said shortly. ‘Sea equals salt. Not the friendliest environment for that kind of cavorting.’
‘Oh.’ Natasha’s colour rose. ‘I—I didn’t realise.’
‘So I gathered.’ He paused. ‘Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Miss Kirby, but I can’t figure you out at all. Here you are, living with Alex, yet you don’t seem to have one good thought in your head about him.’
What do you want me to say? Natasha asked in silent anguish. Do you want me to tell you the truth—that for the last three years there’ve been times when he’s been the only thought in my head, good or bad?
But that I’ve just realised that I love him with everything that’s in me?
Love him against my will, my principles and my better judgement, and that being without him now is like suffering an amputation?
And that, living with him again, knowing that our time together has strict limits, promises to be a thousand times worse?
Aloud, she said quietly, ‘Whatever may have happened at the party, his playboy reputation is hardly a secret. I can’t pretend to be oblivious.’
‘Yeah, he likes to relax in female company,’ Mac Whitaker agreed. ‘I don’t deny that. He’s a single bloke, and I guess he’s entitled to enjoy himself. But it’s a great pity the fact that he works like a dog doesn’t get mentioned quite as often.’
She looked back at him. ‘You’re very loyal to your employer, Captain Whitaker.’
‘I have reason,’ he said shortly. ‘Alex isn’t just a boss, Miss Kirby, he’s a
good mate from way back, and my family owe him big-time.’
‘I didn’t realise.’ She was genuinely surprised. ‘How—how did the two of you meet, if I may ask?’
‘The Mandrakis Corporation has major holdings in the Oz wine trade,’ Mac Whitaker told her. ‘Dad’s in charge of one of their vineyards, and Alex came to stay with us when he was very much younger, in order to learn the ropes.’
He grinned reminiscently. ‘I have three sisters and a younger brother, so it was his first encounter with family life on that scale. His mother died when he was six, and his father never married again, so he stayed an only child, and a pretty isolated one at that.
‘But Mum’s a genius with shy kids, and she soon coaxed him out of his shell.’
Something in Natasha’s heart twisted at the thought of a withdrawn and lonely boy finding comfort with strangers on the other side of the world.
‘Once he went back to Greece, we didn’t really expect to see him again,’ Mac Whitaker went on. ‘But we were so wrong. He became a regular visitor.’ He sighed. ‘To be honest, I think he was glad to have a place where he could escape some of the tensions at home.’
Natasha said constrictedly, ‘I can understand that.’ She could remember when even some minor clash involving his Mandrakis opponent could throw Basilis Papadimos into a black temper for days, and they had all walked warily. Then, almost as if a page had turned, his mood would lift, and the sun would come out again. Until the next time…
And perhaps Petros Mandrakis had been the same.
She hesitated. ‘Presumably, then, you know about the feud?’
‘Some of it.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘I certainly realised how much Alex hated it and how desperately he wanted it to end.’ His brows lifted. ‘How did you find out about it?’
‘I lived in Athens myself for a time.’ Relieved that he didn’t know the actual connection between them or how she’d come to be with Alex, Natasha decided on a half-truth. ‘Where it was common knowledge, of course. Except for how it started. Did—didAlex ever mention that?’
Mac Whitaker shook his head. ‘Not to me. I gathered it was all a bit of a taboo subject. But, if he’d confided in anyone, I guess it would have been Mum. And she’s totally discreet, besides adoring Alex for what he did for Eddie.’
Natasha’s head was whirling. ‘Eddie?’
‘The young brother I mentioned. The brains of the family. Went off to university, expected to graduate with first-class honours. Only he blew it. Got in with a seriously bad crowd in the city, ended up on drugs and in debt to nasty people.
‘Alex paid him a visit out of the blue, realised what was going on and rescued him. Saved his bloody life, if you must know.’ He counted off on his fingers. ‘Paid off what he owed, put him in rehab and gave him the tongue-lashing of the century. Ed told me later that he’d been far more scared of Alex when he was mad than he’d been of any of the crooks who’d been after him. Result, he’s now clean and got to finish his degree course with a respectable result.’
He paused. ‘And it didn’t do Alex any harm, either. He was in a really bad way himself at the time—chewed up over some love affair that had gone horribly wrong. Taking stupid risks with fast cars, faster boats and dodgy polo ponies as if he didn’t care what happened, and it didn’t matter whether he lived or died. Ed gave him something else to think about, instead of some foolish girl who didn’t know a good thing when it was offered to her.’
He stopped suddenly, reddening, as if belatedly aware this might not be a favoured topic with the current lady facing him across the table.
‘But that’s long in the past,’ he added hurriedly. ‘All forgotten now.’
She said quietly, ‘Are you absolutely sure about that?’
‘Hundred per cent.’ He looked past her. ‘And here comes your breakfast, which I’ll leave you to eat in peace.’
Peace, Natasha thought, forcing herself to eat the deliciously fluffy omelette set in front of her as if she still had an appetite, was hardly the word she would have chosen.
Not when she’d just had it confirmed that Alex had been devastated—almost destroyed—by his failed love affair, and left feeling as if he had nothing left to live for.
She wondered if Gabriella, the exquisitely elfin model who’d accompanied him to the embassy party, had been the woman he’d wanted so badly, and if she’d turned him down as a husband in order to pursue her admittedly star-studded career.
If so, it was small wonder, she thought unhappily, that he’d evolved into this…serial monogamist, using women to satisfy his physical needs, yet denying them any deeper, closer share in his life.
It explained, too, why he might have been prepared, however briefly, to consider the arranged marriage that Stavros and Andonis had offered.
It had only been pretence on their side, of course, yet it had prompted Alex into refreshing his memory about a girl he’d once seen for a few minutes on the other side of a room.
A girl with no reason to want him who therefore, might have proved a suitable partner in a marriage of convenience, she thought, pain tightening her throat. Which he would see as a cynical business contract, with love neither given nor received, its sole advantage being a means for ending that damaging and dangerous feud.
The idea must have seemed definitely tempting to a man with no desire for commitment.
Prompting him to take a second look at his potential bride, she reasoned, if only to make sure hers was a face he could endure to see on the adjoining pillow on those rare nights that he’d spend at home, so that the occasional performance of his marital duties would not prove too onerous a task.
All of which, with the connivance of the venal Stelios, had led to that covert night-time visit.
Even so, she told herself, he’d taken one hell of a risk.
He’d have assumed, of course, at that hour she’d be deeply and peacefully asleep, not lying awake fretting over her brothers’ gleefully revealed schemes.
A moment or two on either side, she mused, and they’d probably have met on the staircase leading up to her balcony, with Alex making an undignified dash for safety before her screams alerted the entire household.
Because she would have screamed—wouldn’t she?
And he would have run.
Unless, of course, he’d stood his ground and survived the inevitable fallout by pretending he’d acted on some wild, romantic whim. And if he’d also added that, having seen her again, he was prepared for the wedding to take place at once, Stavros and Andonis would have been left without a leg to stand on.
Because, ostensibly, that was what they wanted too, and they would not have dared to say otherwise.
It would have been down to her, instead, to flatly repudiate any notion of marriage between them, and make it clear she was returning to England without delay.
Which would have been the end of it, she thought, sighing silently. No fatally damaging letters sent, and all subsequent recriminations thankfully settled in her absence. Her life her own again.
But it didn’t happen like that, she reminded herself flatly. Because he didn’t get as far as the stairs to your room. He didn’t have to when you were there at the pool, with your clothes off. Driven there because, once again, you couldn’t sleep for thinking of him, even if you tried to pretend it was nothing of the kind. That he was no longer a problem.
And nothing else happened, either. Remember that. Because he didn’t walk forward into the moonlight, take the towel from your hands, dry you slowly and gently, then kiss you as he did the other night.
And felt her nipples harden swiftly and involuntarily against the fabric that draped them as she recalled the unlooked-for sweetness of his hands and mouth.
At the same time, it occurred to her that it was not very wise to fantasise about her lover’s caresses when she’d been left alone with no idea when she would see him again, or if he would even want to touch her when he did return.
She needed to re-focus her att
ention, she thought with a kind of desperation. And maybe this was the time for a belated tour of the Selene—surely a better option than spending more time cooped up in the suite, brooding.
‘My real home,’ Alex had once said, and maybe it would give her some further clue into this other identity of his that was slowly being revealed to her. A man who was ‘a good mate’ and went the extra mile for friendship’s sake, as opposed to being merely the casual playboy of the Press stories.
Someone who’d once been lonely and shy, and was still capable of being vulnerable instead of merely a vengeful, uncaring predator.
A lover whose undoubted expertise had been mingled with heart-stopping tenderness.
And a man who had once loved a woman to the point of desperation without the return he’d longed for.
‘You may find him kinder than you think.’ Thia Theodosia’s words, dismissed at the time but now stinging at her memory. Provoking more questions for which she desperately needed answers.
Accordingly, when she’d finished breakfast, she sought out Mac Whitaker on the bridge.
‘I was wondering,’ she said diffidently, ‘if you could spare someone to show me round the boat. Or shall I ask Kostas?’
He swung himself out of his chair. ‘No need for that, Miss Kirby.’ His smile was suddenly much warmer. ‘I’ll go with you myself. Be glad to.’
They started on the main deck in the vast saloon, which he told her was used principally for entertaining, with its graceful fluted columns supporting the corniced ceiling, and the adjoining formal dining room.
Looking at the long, polished table under the elaborate chandelier, Natasha found she was remembering Alex’s sardonic offer to let her practise being a hostess and winced inwardly at the thought of having to sit facing him at the other end of that expanse of gleaming wood.
She was glad to turn away and concentrate instead on the nearby conference room, sited next door to Alex’s private office, which was the only place where she was not permitted access.
‘More than my life is worth,’ Mac informed her cheerfully. ‘And it’s locked anyway.’