by -Julia James
Trying to stop her eyes stealing back to where they yearned to go.
To Nikos.
Who had taken her to heaven. And left her in hell.
CHAPTER EIGHT
FOR a second, as Stephanos drew his attention again and Demetria diverted Janine's, Nikos felt a surge of some powerful emotion he recognised as rage. Rage that he had been interrupted.
He had got her! For the first time since she had run from him, as white as milk, on that gut-twisting morning at the villa, he had got her! She had been responding to him— helplessly, totally. Had they been on their own he would have hesitated not a second—he'd have come around the table, swept her up into her arms and made her his own again!
Frustration seethed through him. She was so incredibly, fantastically beautiful! She'd walked into the room and his breath had simply stopped in his lungs. Never, never had she been more beautiful!
Or so untouchable.
Totally untouchable.
But then he'd known that from the moment when, like an icy deluge down his spine, Stephanos's words had sunk in. The girl he'd thought his brother-in-law's mistress was his daughter.
He could still feel now the shock that had buckled through him as the world inverted around him and black had turned to white before his very eyes. The hideous scene in the villa when truth—blazing, self-evident, convincing truth—had dissolved in his hands. And new truth, a truth that had hollowed him out like a knife eviscerating his guts, had stared at him out of Stephanos's eyes.
Janine's eyes.
The two had blurred.
Like something in a nightmare.
And like something in a nightmare his emotions had blazed in total conflict with each other. Horror that he had taken Stephanos's daughter for his mistress. Realisation that that meant Stephanos didn't have a mistress—had never had a mistress—that his sister's marriage was not in danger.
And above all, overriding everything, the realisation that Janine had been taken away from him. Janine—the woman he desired beyond anything. Anyone. The woman he had to possess again—had to. His whole being was focused on her—on Janine.
Who had been taken away from him—when he wanted her so much, so much.
Taken away and walled up, here in her father's house. And there had been only one way to get to her. Only one.
He hadn't needed the excruciatingly painful interview in Stephanos's office the afternoon he'd got back to Athens, or the even more painful telephone conversation with a sobbing Demetria, to tell him that.
Marriage. Stephanos demanded it. Demetria begged it.
As for Janine—
His face darkened. He had tried to make her see why they must marry—not for their family, but for themselves. She was trying to deny what they had. What they still had. What they would always have. Couldn't she see that?
Well, he thought, she'd seen it now. Seen it blaze in his eyes, just as he'd seen it blaze in her eyes.
He had to get her to accept it. He had to!
Frustration ate at him. Stephanos had all but ordered him to take himself off while Demetria got on with organising his daughter's wedding. He'd had no choice but to agree. Stephanos had made it totally, absolutely clear that Janine was out of his reach. Out of his reach totally until she had his ring on her finger.
Nikos's mouth tightened. He'd accepted Stephanos's edict, had been in no position to object, but every day in
Australia had been a torment. Even tonight he was under stringent scrutiny, forced to behave with a formality towards Janine that was excruciating. He would be allowed no time with her alone. Stephanos had made that clear. No chance to speak to her—no chance to touch her, to break through her denial. No time to break through that wall she had put up around herself.
Slowly he let himself exhale, trying to breathe out the frustration that choked him.
It would not be long now. He had to cling on to that. Soon he would have Janine in bed with him again.
He would count every hour.
Janine closed her eyes and leant her head back against the cool leather headrest. Through her body hummed the low vibration of the twin engines of an executive jet. Her hands rested on the wide leather armrests at either side. On her finger a band of gold glinted.
Her wedding ring.
It was done. It was over. She had married the man who had sought her out to get her into bed with him, out of the bed of the man he had assumed was her rich, married lover.
She heard her own voice echo in her mind, after he'd told her that it was 'obvious' that they must marry—'I have never heard anything so sick in all my life!' But she had gone and done it all the same.
No, she wouldn't think about her wedding. Wouldn't think about marrying Nikos. Wouldn't think about Nikos period.
It was much too dangerous to think about him.
Instead she pulled the numbness back over her, like a blanket, and settled down under its reassuring folds.
'Would you care for something to drink, Kyria Kiriakis?'
The soft voice of the flight attendant murmured at her side.
She shook her head. Then promptly changed her mind and asked for a gin and tonic. She'd drunk no alcohol at all at the opulent reception at one of Athens's top hotels. The champagne in her glass had scarcely touched her lips. She didn't think she could have swallowed. She'd made a pretence of eating, but hadn't been able to force the food down. She'd tried desperately not to look as sick as she'd felt.
The reception had gone on and on, a babble of Greek voices. Everyone had been looking at her, she knew, but she had simply stood there, as tall and immobile as a Greek column, in her ivory satin gown with its narrow skirt and long train. She hoped, for her father's sake and for Demetria's sake, that she had simply looked as if she were suffering from bridal nerves. Certainly she'd been on the receiving end of a few envious looks and remarks from a considerable number of the female guests. She'd smiled a pale smile and said nothing. Feeling numb. Endlessly numb.
Her numbness was a blessed relief.
The only time it had come near to cracking—the way it had that evening when she'd stared at her reflection the night Nikos had come to dinner—had been when they had taken their leave. Her father had taken her in his arms and kissed her on her forehead.
'Remember, my darling girl, that I love you very much.'
That was all he had said, and it had nearly undone her. Then Demetria had been kissing her on both cheeks, clutching at her. Her eyes had been fevered. Janine hadn't been able to bring herself to meet them. For their sakes she had gone through this travesty.
Louise's image floated in front of her eyes. How scornful she would have been! Her daughter's travesty of a marriage would have confirmed all the contempt she had ever felt for the institution.
Her drink arrived and she sipped it. The gin kicked in her throat. She took another sip—more of a gulp this time.
A hand reached over from the seat across the aisle and removed her glass.
'Drinking on an empty stomach is not wise.'
She darted her eyes venomously to where Nikos sat, engrossed in the current issue of the Harvard Business Review.
'Give that back!'
He levelled a glance at her.
'You ate almost nothing at the reception. The alcohol will go straight to your head.'
She pulled her eyes away. They had the power to pierce her numbness, and she didn't want that. Her numbness was all that was keeping her going.
She turned her head. Below, the dark mass of the Balkans was relieved only by the occasional gleam of moonlight on a lake or river.
At least it would be cooler in Austria, thought Janine. She had taken no interest whatsoever in the choice of honeymoon destination. She vaguely remembered Demetria asking her whether she liked the Alps, and that was about it.
She went on staring out of the window, seeing nothing.
Across the aisle, Nikos rested his dark eyes on her. The wedding had proved more difficult than he'd ant
icipated. Demetria must have invited everyone she knew.
He understood why. The wedding had been a statement, a very public statement, that he was making the appropriate reparation to Stephanos's daughter. Only Demetria and Stephanos knew that, of course, which was what had made the wedding so hard. Amongst his male acquaintance there was a general consensus that this was, in effect, a dynastic marriage, drawing the families of Ephandrou and Kiriakis even more closely together. That Stephanos Ephandrou's daughter happened to be a total knockout was considered a bonus for him, whatever the financial advantage and the mutual exchange of corporate cross-holdings that must inevitably be the main commercial driver for the marriage. His female acquaintance had been less generous about his motives.
'Nikos, darling, so you've finally met a woman you've had to marry to get into bed!' one ex-lover had murmured to his face that ev ening, with a malicious expression in her eyes.
She didn't know it, of course, he thought, as he flicked his eyes over an article on corporate governance, but she'd omitted one vital word from her analysis.
Back.
Back into bed.
That was what his marriage meant to him. The only way to get Janine back in his bed.
The hotel in the beautiful Austrian spa town had once been the summer residence of a Hapsburg prince. Its baroque splendour had been restored to its former glory, and now catered to the most expensive clientele.
Idly, Janine wondered if it was one of her father's.
She walked silently beside Nikos as they were ushered to their suite, and looked about her as she entered. Gilded furniture and heavy drapes made it seem palatial. Their luggage was carried through to the bedroom, and a maid arrived to unpack for them. Janine smiled vaguely at her, avoided looking at the vast four-poster bed, and went into the bathroom, converted from the dressing room it had once been. She locked the door and started to run a bath. The room filled with billowing steam as the huge claw-footed bath began to fill.
With the same numb composure that had got her through since she had gone back to Athens with her father, she took off her suit. It was ivory white, very tight-fitting, and as elegant as it was expensive. She draped it carefully over a gilded chair. Her hair was still in its elaborate coiffeur, and she unpinned it, shaking it loose, then knotting it loosely back up on top of her head. Then she set about removing her make-up. There was an armoury of toiletries supplied at the vanity unit.
When her face had been stripped clean of every last speck of make-up, she took off her underwear and stepped into the bath. She sank into its foaming depths, lying back and gazing up at the ceiling.
She felt tired. Tired all the way through to her bones. A deep, deep exhaustion.
She went on lying in the hot water.
There seemed nothing else to do.
The light above the vanity unit seemed to be pulsing slowly, going in and out of focus. In and out...
After a while, she did not know how long, she got out, dried herself, and wrapped her body in a large bath towel, letting her hair tumble down over her shoulders.
She felt so tired. She needed sleep.
Probably for ever.
The numbness seemed to be wrapping her more tightly, She walked out of the bathroom into the bedroom.
And stopped dead.
Nikos was getting undressed.
He was down to his shirt and his underpants. His shirt was already open down the front and he was concentrating on slipping off his gold cufflinks.
She stared, transfixed. The tanned, powerful sinews of his thighs drew her eyes inexorably. By effort of will she hauled them away.
It was little improvement. As she raised her gaze it collided head-on with Nikos's. He was sweeping his eyes over her, taking in her tumbled hair, the tightly wound towel around her body, her bare legs and shoulders.
Time seemed to stand still. Then Nikos was strolling towards her and time started again.
He stood in front of her. The expression on his face was strange—a mix of absolute tension and exultation. He looked down on her, his eyes like powerful searchlights.
"You have absolutely no idea,' he told her slowly, in a deep, throbbing voice, 'none whatsoever, how I have ached for this moment...'
His fingers touched her face, just grazing along her cheek.
'Theos mou, but you are so beautiful. So beautiful—and mine at last'
His voice was a husk, low and rasping.
She simply stood there.
This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't.
'Are you insane?'
The words croaked from her.
But he wasn't listening to her. He was reaching for her, letting his hands slide down her bare arms, then back again, as if he was smoothing lustrous marble.
'Nikos!' Her voice was a faint breath now.
His eyes were half closed. Some emotion seemed to be working in him, powerful, inexorable. 'Yes—Nikos,' he breathed. 'At last you say my name. And at last, at last, this hell is over and we can be together again.' His eyes were washing over her, as if he were reminding himself of every curve, every inch of her.
'Theos, but want you so much...'
He began to pull her against him.
She threw him off. A violent, jerking movement convulsed her.
'Get off me!'
Her voice was shrill. Disbelieving. Panicked.
She took a stumbling step backwards. 'Get out!' The pitch of her voice was higher yet.
He stilled. His tanned chest showed dark against the brilliant white of his open shirtfront.
'Out?' He spoke as if she had slapped him.
'Yes—out! Out as in out that door—out! As in get the hell out—as in out! Out!
'You cannot mean that.' His voice was flat. Irrefutable.
As if a note had been struck that hit a resonant frequency the numbness that had wrapped itself around her shattered.
Emotion poured through her as if a dam had burst. Pouring through her like a deluge in her veins.
Her eyes flared.
'What do you mean, I can't mean that? What else should I mean!' She stared at him, transfixed. Her heart had started to beat in huge, ghastly thuds. 'You can't possibly,' she said slowly, her voice strangled, 'you can't possibly have thought that this was going to be a marriage in anything other than name only?'
'In name only?' he echoed. He looked at her as if she were the one who was insane. 'Is that what you thought?'
Her face worked. 'Of course it's what I thought! You told me! You told me that it was for Stephanos's and Demetria's sake—because they felt so guilty!'
His eyes flashed with incredulity. 'That did not mean I intended this marriage to be an empty charade! Theos mou! It's the only thing that has been keeping me sane! I have been just aching to get you back—to take you in my arms again. Make you mine once more!'
He stepped towards her, purpose in his eyes.
'Make love to you again,' he said softly.
She threw her head back. 'Make love?' she bit out. 'We've never made love in our lives!'
He cocked an eyebrow. 'Your memory is so short?' he queried mockingly. He reached for her again. 'Then I must remind you—remind you of each sweet, passionate encounter—each and every time we made love...'
Her face contorted. 'We never made love, Nikos! We had sex, that's all. Sex under totally false assumptions—me about you and you about me. That means we never made love—we had sex! When I make love with a man I want him to know who I am! And I want to know who he is too. Both those conditions were sickeningly absent!'
He dismissed her words as irrelevant sophistry.
'Those conditions no longer apply. And if you think I wanted you to be the woman I thought you were you must be mad! Don't you think rejoiced to discover you weren't Stephanos's mistress?'
His dark eyes were black, not a speck of gold in them.
Her bosom heaved. 'Of course you rejoiced—it meant there was no threat to your sister's marriage after all
!'
He looked at her, his eyes narrowing dangerously. 'You really think that was the only reason for my rejoicing?'
'Well, there wasn't much else, was there?' she threw back at him. 'My God, out of this vile, vile mess that's the only up side there is!'
She was breathing heavily now; her heart-rate had soared, her pulse was pounding.
He shook his head. 'Oh, no, Janine. There is another one too.' He levelled his gaze at her, lambent, sable. I get you back. Back where you belong. In my arms. My bed. I told you—I have ached and ached for you since you were ripped from me. Stephanos kept me away from you, and I knew why and accepted it, even as it drove me mad with frustration—counting, just counting the days, the hours, to this moment—now. It's been the only thing I've hung on to.'
He took a step towards her. She backed away and found the wall behind her. Panic was mounting in her. Panic and another emotion. Stronger, more powerful.
'And now,' said Nikos, as he closed in on her, 'now I have got you back—'
'No,' she answered, and there was a deadness in her voice that had not been there a moment ago. 'You won't lay a finger on me. I couldn't bear you to touch me. Ever again.'
He stilled.
A long, slow shudder of revulsion passed through her.
'Everything you did to me, everything you said to me was a lie. Right from the start. From the first time you saw me everything was a lie. There was nothing that you did or said to me that was honest! You manipulated me, controlled me, deceived me—lied to me from beginning to end! And it was worse than a lie. It was abuse. You deliberately and calculatedly sought my seduction. And I know, with my brain, that you did so in the belief that I was what you and Demetria believed me to be, and that that, to you, justified your actions—but it doesn't make any difference. I feel abused—I was abused. It happened.'
'It wasn't like that—' His voice was harsh.
Her face convulsed. Emotion was churning in her. Sick and angry and poisoned.
'It was exactly like that! I know—I was there, Nikos! I look back now and I see that every' single time you touched me it wasn't me. It was a woman you thought capable of having an affair with a married man! A rich married man twenty years older than me! Do you know what that realisation does to me. Do you? It makes me want to be sick! Physically sick! And for you to stand there and actually tell me that you want to have sex with me again—that you've been dying for it—makes me feel even sicker!'