The little white-haired man was there to hold the boat steady on its rope while Leon jumped in then reached up to lift her down to join him. Their bodies brushed, sending a sprinkle of awareness skittering through her, and on a soft gasp she looked down and away from his knowing gaze, hiding the sudden heat that rushed into her cheeks.
She trembled all the way back to the yacht where two crew members waited to make safe the little boat and help them board. Leon broke their usual routine by escorting her down to her cabin when usually he stayed on the sun-deck when she came to bed.
A frisson of heat tingled through her at the sound of the door closing quietly behind them. She turned to look at him. ‘Thank you f-for a lovely...’ Evening, she had been about to say, but the look in his eyes dried up her mouth, and she had to look away, her agitated gaze darting around the room in search of something, anything she could pretend interest in so long as she didn’t have to look at him. Her eyes alighted on her nightdress laid out on the bed and she snatched it up, crushing the soft cotton to her breasts only to gasp when Leon captured her wrist and pulled her around to face him.
‘Not tonight, agape mou,’ he murmured softly, taking the nightdress from her and tossing it aside. ‘Not tonight.’
Then he was cupping her face, his fingers threading into the silky thickness of her hair as he urged her to look at him. His eyes were dark and disturbingly alive, transmitting his next intention even before he lowered his head. And it was no passive kiss. It was a hot, hunting kiss that demanded an answering response from her and got it hungrily, her hands snaking up to grasp the sides of his face, holding him, urging him on, her mouth warm and seeking, telling him that she wanted this too.
It had been building up all evening. She had known it even while she’d tried hard to pretend it wasn’t there. But now, as his arms slid around her to draw her fully against him, there was no pretending any longer.
Leon wanted to make love to her. Why he had chosen today to change the status quo she had no idea, but it certainly had changed, and she could feel the power of his desire pulsing urgently against her.
He undressed her slowly, his fingers loosening buttons and sliding sensually over her throat, the satin slopes of her breasts, the rounded firmness of her stomach, smothering her soft responding gasps with the passionate crush of his mouth. His hands slid inside the elastic waist of her trousers, drawing the thin fabric downwards with an agonising slowness. She shuddered when he touched her intimately, a crescendo of tight curling pleasure arching her back so that their child pressed against him and her mouth left his so that she could let her head fall backwards on a soft, pleasurable sigh.
His mouth found her breasts, making them sting into tight, painful life and she inhaled on a sharp gasp of air.
‘I hurt you?’ His head came up, burning black eyes shot through with concern.
‘No,’ she denied. ‘I’m just—sensitive, that’s all.’ Then on a driven groan, ‘Oh, God, Leon. Do it again!’
Her breathless plea seemed to rock him, his own breath crashing from his lungs as he caught her mouth. Her shirt slid from her shoulders to land in a pool at their feet, followed by his shirt, then their naked torsos were together, hot and throbbing. He drew her down to lie on the bed, hands hurriedly removing the rest of their clothes before he joined her, and Jemma was already reaching for him, one arm hooking around his neck while the other hand went for the muscled tightness of his hip, pulling him against her, legs tangling, bodies moving in that hot, sensual rhythm of urgent need.
It had been a long time—too long for both of them if their responses were a measure. His mouth was moist and searching on her breasts, his caresses urgent as he aroused her.
‘Will I hurt you?’ he asked tensely when it was obvious neither of them could stand much more of it without full, exquisite possession.
‘No,’ she whispered, and was sure of it. She was ready, her body so supple that it felt boneless in its need. He came over her, his forearms keeping most of his weight from her, but as he carefully thrust himself inside her Jemma let out a frustrated groan and pulled him down on top of her. It wasn’t enough just to join. She needed to feel him—all of him, bearing down on her with all the heat and passion she had missed for so long.
Relief came like the slow-motion shattering of glass, bursting out from a central point where the nub of her desire had coiled itself tightly in readiness for this final devastating blast. He went with her; she felt him, heard him, cried out as he cried out, and their bodies blended in a hot fusion of moist flesh and trembling limbs.
Afterwards, he just held her, held her curled closely into the curve of his own body. And when she tried to move he stopped her, hands tightening, mouth brushing a silent plea across her heated cheek. They didn’t speak, he didn’t seem to want that either, her only attempt cut off with a husky, ‘Shh. You belong, agape mou. You must feel it now. You belong here with me.’ And again the tightening of the arms to stop her when she tried to answer him.
It was a mark, she realised, of how deeply her melancholy earlier had affected him that he needed to keep referring to it. Oh, not just with words, but with the way he had been with her since she woke up this afternoon. More attentive, physically more responsive, in the way he had constantly kept her close to him, touching her—with the caress of his eyes as well as his hands. As if he had realised that the kind of easy friendship they had developed over the last few weeks was not enough for her to feel secure with him, and he wanted her to feel secure. Was that also why he had made love to her just now? she wondered. As a statement of possession, for both of them, because she would have to be stupid not to know that Leon had gained as much from their loving as she had.
Then another thought trickled insidiously into her mind, one which filled her with a purring warmth she had never dared allow herself before. He had already reminded her once today that he cared for her. But then to go to the lengths he had done just to reassure her again? It had to hint at more than caring, more than just a reluctant husband wanting to make the best of his lot.
Could it even be that he was falling just a little bit in love with her?
Jemma sighed wistfully, and burrowed deeper into the circle of his arms, feeling a new level of contentment settle softly over her, and she fell asleep like that, coiled against him, he wrapped around her.
* * *
It was very early in the morning when something woke them. A sound that impinged on their subconsciousness and brought Leon alert with a jerk before he was suddenly leaping naked out of the bed. He glanced out of the window, swore, then turned angrily towards the bathroom.
‘What is it?’ Jemma asked sleepily.
‘Nothing,’ he muttered. ‘Go back to sleep.’
He disappeared through the bathroom door, leaving her lying there frowning in puzzlement at his odd behaviour. Then the noise became louder, and she recognised it as the whirling sound of a helicopter’s blades. She listened sleepily as it swooped low over the top of the yacht then whirled away across the surface of the water before coming to a hovering stop somewhere not far away.
Leon came back showered, with a towel draped around his hips. He didn’t look at her but bent to recover his clothes still lying where he had tossed them on the floor the night before.
‘Is that helicopter bringing someone to see you?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ The answer was tight and angry.
‘But who?’ she persisted. Other than the launch which brought him papers daily to the yacht, no one else had tried to see him.
‘I cannot tell as yet,’ he said. But his angry expression alone said he had a damned good idea. He looked at her at last, that anger flicking at her, until he realised whom he was looking at and he sighed shortly, and came over to sit down on the bed.
‘You look beautiful in the morning, do you know that?’
‘Flattery will not get you anywhere,’ she pouted. ‘I want to know what’s going on.’
‘And you will,�
� he assured her. ‘When I know.’ He covered her mouth with his, tasting cleanly of toothpaste and smelling freshly of soap.
Then he was up again, and shrugging into his creased trousers and crumpled shirt. ‘Stay there,’ he commanded over his shoulder. ‘It is still early. Try to get some more sleep if you can. If you cannot, then ring for your breakfast to be served in here.’ He turned back to her at that, his expression firm when he added commandingly, ‘I want you to remain in here, agape mou, until I have got rid of—whoever it is.’
‘But why?’ she said, puzzled by the command.
‘Because your husband asks you to, of course,’ he answered arrogantly.
‘That is not a good enough reason,’ she responded, watching the economical way he made himself look reasonably decent. ‘And anyway, how do you know that helicopter was bringing someone to see you? You can’t be the only important man on this island. Perhaps it’s come to...’
Her voice trailed off, made to by the sound of the speed-boat being lowered into the water. Leon glanced wryly at her, as if that sound said it all. Then he was coming to lean over her and placing another clinging kiss on her lips. ‘Do as I ask, please,’ he requested. ‘It is important to me that you stay in here.’
‘All right,’ she agreed, but she didn’t like the feeling she got that he was hiding her away like some dark and dirty secret.
‘Thank you,’ he smiled, then kissed the top of her nose and was gone, striding out of the room and firmly closing the door behind him, leaving Jemma feeling hurt and confused.
Surprisingly, she did sleep. She hadn’t intended to—but, after lying there for several long minutes listening to the familiar roar of the speed-boat and the scuffling sounds of people boarding the boat, she felt her eyes drooping sleepily, and the next thing she knew she was being disturbed once again by the swishing sound of the helicopter blades swooping low over the yacht as it sped away.
She sat up, struggling to bring her fuzzy mind into focus. Then she remembered, and climbed quickly off the bed to dress and go in search of Leon.
She found him in the main salon, standing with a cup of coffee in his hand staring out of the window. ‘I presume I can come out now,’ she drawled sarcastically.
He didn’t answer or even turn to greet her, and Jemma paused on the threshold of the room, a cold sense of alarm dispersing her sense of injury.
‘Leon?’ she questioned anxiously. ‘Is something wrong?’
He made an effort to pull himself together. ‘Of course not,’ he said, turning to smile at her. ‘Actually,’ he added, ‘we have been invited to a party tonight.’
‘A party?’ She blinked, not understanding the mixed vibrations she was receiving from him. One set warned her he was furiously angry about something, and the other set were saying he was as relaxed as any man could be.
‘Yes. A birthday party to be exact. Have you had breakfast?’ he enquired suddenly. She shook her head. ‘Then I will order you something.’ Smoothly he walked over to the telephone and punched in the number which would connect him with the galley. ‘Inside or on the sun-deck?’ he asked.
She blinked, shaking her head in confusion. ‘I... Here, I think,’ she decided absently, wishing she could work out what was going on here, because she was sure that something was. ‘Whose birthday party is it?’ she asked him frowningly.
There was a distinct pause before he answered though he tried to cover it up by making the most of replacing the telephone receiver and straightening the twisted cord. Then, ‘My father’s,’ he informed her.
His father’s? A sudden thought hit her. ‘Leon, y-your father does know about me, doesn’t he? Th-that we’re married and I am—pregnant?’
Another pause. Then, ‘No,’ he told her, ‘he doesn’t know about you—or the child.’ That stiff smile touched his mouth again. ‘So you will both come as a—pleasant surprise to him tonight, won’t you?’
Will we? Jemma sank heavily into a chair, that feeling of dread emulsifying. She was remembering the Greek girl from the wealthy family Cassie had once mentioned, and knew without a doubt that, far from being a pleasant surprise for his father, she was going to be the complete opposite.
‘I don’t want to go,’ she said dully.
‘And why not? I thought you wanted to know about my family,’ he reminded her, adding drily, ‘Well, tonight you will get your chance.’
But Jemma shook her head. ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘Not like this. Not just dumped on them with no prior warning. It wouldn’t be fair, not on them, not on me. I won’t do it.’ She shook her head. ‘Go on your own, if you like, Leon, but I shall remain here on the yacht, if you don’t mind.’
‘But I do mind,’ he drawled, and suddenly that hard, cool core in him that he rarely ever turned on her was very evident in the air. She looked up, saw the intractable expression on his face, and her heart sank. He was standing across the room, leaning against the window-frame, but he might as well have been sitting behind his desk in an office somewhere on the other side of the world for the distance she suddenly felt between them. ‘You are my wife now, Jemma,’ he reminded her. ‘And as my wife you will accompany me to my father’s house tonight and be presented to him as such.’
‘And the woman your father had already picked out for you to marry?’ she cried. ‘Will she be there, also?’
Surprise flickered in his eyes, followed by almost instant comprehension. ‘Cassie, I presume,’ he drawled. Then, on a sigh, ‘All right,’ he conceded. ‘So, it is not going to be a—pleasant evening. But whatever happens there tonight, agape mou, none of it is going to change a single thing for us.’
‘You’re sure about that?’ Her voice sounded uncertain and pleaded for reassurance. ‘What if your father throws you out on your ear for marrying yourself to the likes of me?’
Leon actually laughed at that, albeit harshly. ‘I can positively assure you, my darling, that on meeting you, throwing me out will be the last thing on my father’s mind!’
CHAPTER TEN
THEN why do I feel a bit as the lamb must feel when being led off for the slaughter? Jemma wondered miserably hours later as she stood in her bathrobe, staring at the several beautiful evening gowns Leon had provided for her, hating every one of them. ‘Or worse,’ she muttered, ‘as if I’m about to attend my own wake?’
‘Did you say something?’
Leon appeared at the half-open door, already dressed in an exquisitely cut taupe linen suit and a loose-fitting cream shirt left open at the throat to reveal the rich brown skin. He looked sleek and expensive and so darned attractive that her mouth went dry, her senses, just like the first time she’d ever set eyes on him, veering madly off course.
‘You’re not dressed!’ he proclaimed the absolute obvious.
‘Nothing fits!’ she snapped, her eyes sparkling the threat of war if he wasn’t careful. ‘What use is all this—couture elegance to me—’ she waved a scornful hand at the outfits which had been delivered to the yacht barely an hour ago ‘—when I’m six months pregnant and blown up like a stupid balloon?’
‘Have you tried any of them on?’ His voice sounded velvet-smooth in contrast to her shrill onslaught.
‘Why bother?’ she derided, moving to sit down on the dressing-stool. She stretched her bare feet out in front of her and stared mulishly at them. ‘I just know they won’t fit.’
Leon studied her in silence for a moment, seeing what to him what must look like a silly pregnant woman having a temperamental fit! When really she was just plain frightened. She did not want to go. She had, in fact, turned so chicken inside that she was actually shaking like a leaf.
‘Agape mou—’ he walked further into the room ‘—I had these clothes flown in specially from Athens—’
‘I know that!’ she responded scornfully.
Couture dresses from couture houses with couture labels stitched inside, transported from Athens to Argostólion by special courier on one of the Stephanades private planes! She hadn’t even kn
own they owned their own planes until she’d discovered how the dresses arrived. Just as she hadn’t realised—thick, stupid fool that she was—just how wealthy a family she had married herself into until she’d seen the stir they caused when they sailed into the island’s capital of Argostólion this afternoon.
‘It doesn’t mean they will fit,’ she reiterated glumly.
‘Maternity clothes,’ Leon said quietly.
‘What?’ Her chin came off her chest so that she could stare at him.
He sighed impatiently. ‘I may be a mere man,’ he mocked, ‘but I do have some sense. These are garments specially designed for a woman in your condition.’
He was not mere anything, Jemma thought peevishly as she slid her eyes back to the four dresses hanging on the outside of the wardrobe. They didn’t look like maternity wear. One was a slinky blue thing that looked from here as if it poured itself down to the ground. The next was short straight and black, and she knew, because she’d looked, that it had no back in it whatsoever. The red one was pure Ginger Rogers with a gathered layer of fine georgette over a satin underdress. And the last one was white, short and strapless, made in an unusual fabric that was soft and stretchy and as light as air—and looked as though it would fit her rather like an elastic tube would—hiding nothing.
None of them was suitable. ‘Specially designed or not,’ she grunted, ‘I would rather wear one of your shirts than any of them.’
‘Fine,’ Leon said, deliberately, she suspected, taking the wind out of her bad-tempered sails. ‘If that is what you will feel most comfortable in, then wear one.’ He shrugged as if he didn’t care less. ‘But make up your mind quickly because the car will be here in ten minutes to pick us up.’
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