by Margaret Way
Lysander’s gaze softened as he looked down at her. “Well, why wouldn’t they? All families want the best for their children, and with your cousins having become royal it must seem within the bounds of reality. And you’re beautiful, with strong morals like Charlie, Lia and Toby. And, as we’ve said, they’ve been a breath of fresh air to the country.”
“Well, I don’t like Mikhail,” she almost snapped, the sense of being hunted filling her again. “He’s selfish and arrogant, and no title makes that appealing to me.”
“You weren’t tempted by his wealth or power?” he asked, sounding totally unoffended by her anger—more curious, if anything.
She shrugged. “I’ve learned the past year that there are other, more valuable things. What’s the point of wealth if you don’t have love, family or self-respect?”
He kept his eyes on her face, and seemed to take a half-step closer before he halted. “I think you’re a very wise as well as a lovely woman, Mari Mitsialos,” he said quietly.
Blushing, she turned away. “What’s so wise about knowing the one basic fact of life?”
A quizzical look touched those amazing eyes of his. “You don’t think much of yourself, do you?”
She was lost in the feeling his closeness and his smile engendered in her body, and the question confused her. “Why would I?” she asked. “I’m just an average woman. My only claim to fame is through a couple of suddenly royal cousins.”
He chuckled. “‘Suddenly royal’—you have an interesting turn of phrase, Mari.”
She felt a little shiver run through her as he said her name on its own for the first time. Intimate and beautiful and dangerous…
As if he’d seen her internal reaction, he took a step closer, his eyes lighting with a candle of open desire. “The Captain told me to ask you if you’d like to stop at Santorini, which is a really beautiful place, with loads of things to do, or move on to a less populated island. He said we could sail around, finding places to swim until we reach Patmos—” his eyes twinkled again “—which I suspect is his personal favourite, since he was born there.”
She gulped against the yearning threatening to send her into total stupidity. He’s not a chauffeur; he’s not married… “Ah, and here I was thinking he must be a Bible fan,” she croaked. “Isn’t that where some books of the Bible were written?”
Lysander’s brows lifted, as if she’d surprised him again. “I know St John was imprisoned there. There are some tours you can take, if you’re interested in Bible history.”
She chuckled. “And have my parents think I’m ready to return to the fold?”
“Drone…drone…” he chanted, deadpan. When she stopped laughing, he said, “So, what is your choice for the day? The yacht is at your disposal.”
She looked at him with a hopeful, wistful feeling. “I know it’s touristy and all that, but I’d really like to see Santorini. They say it could be the real Atlantis…”
He smiled down at her. “Then Santorini it is. Would you like some company?”
Wistfulness grew in her. “Yes, please—if you don’t mind. I might get lost, or not know how to bargain for things.” And just because she wanted him beside her—and the least of his attraction was his title. She’d been just as fascinated when she’d thought him a chauffeur. Even now she knew who he was she couldn’t go back, couldn’t think of him as a duke, couldn’t distance herself. She couldn’t stay away…
One day. How had she become so enthralled by him in a single day?
As if he understood her inner dilemma, Lysander sobered. “I think you could probably bargain your way into whatever you want by just smiling.”
Mari caught her breath. As if they were in a go-cart on a steep hill, she saw the inevitable crash before them—but they were going to do it anyway, going to take the ride and endure the fall.
She was already on that go-cart, already falling. And she couldn’t make herself care.
“I’ll tell the Captain to head for the dock, then,” Lysander said abruptly, and walked off, his clean stride seeming somehow hunted.
That evening
“Oh, my goodness, how wonderful was that?” Mari walked along the pier to the yacht beside a loaded-down Lysander, who was carrying her bags for her. “I can’t decide which was best—the markets, the tomato balls and couscous, or the volcano.” She gave a delicious shiver. “To think half the island just disappeared in an hour…a minute…”
Lysander smiled down at her, those dancing eyes shining in the light of the setting sun. He looked five years younger than this morning—his load lightened, just a man having fun. “I would have thought you liked the swimming best.”
She shook out her still-damp hair, falling in a corkscrew mess around her shoulders. “Well, wasn’t it wonderful? I know Australia’s famous for its beaches, but the water’s never like that—so gloriously warm, but not hot—except in the North, and then you have to watch for crocodiles. I felt like I was floating around in a warm salt bath.”
“Yes.” His tone—so amused without laughing at her—sent another delicious shiver through her. “The local men seemed to enjoy watching you…um…floating, as well.”
She blushed and shrugged. She couldn’t refute it, since at least a dozen had tried to charm her, both in the water and then offering their help in walking up the rocky sand. “I wasn’t trying to—oh! You don’t think they knew who my cousins are, do you?”
His face softened. “No, Mari, I think they saw a pretty woman enjoying life, and they wanted to enjoy it with you. I know I did.”
She couldn’t look at him as she said huskily, “Then why didn’t you swim with me?”
He didn’t speak, because they both knew the answer; and suddenly she felt a lump in her throat. “Stupid question. I need a shower to wash out all the salt before dinner. Thanks for carrying my bags.” Without meeting his eyes, she held out her hands; he put her bags into them. “See you at dinner.”
“Mari?”
About to run, she turned her head, but didn’t look at him. “Yes?” Curse the huskiness in her voice! Did everything in her have to scream I’ve got a crush on you?
His voice sounded so gentle. “It wouldn’t have been wise for me to swim with you.”
She gulped. “I know. It’s all right. I wasn’t expecting—” Oh, what a fool she was making of herself!
“Will we go swimming tomorrow? It’s supposed to be a beautiful day, and the Captain knows some coves that are private on the way to Patmos, at Naxos or Icaria.”
The pity buried inside the offer made her burn inside with shame. He knew how she felt about him—falling faster than a bungee-jumper off a bridge—and he pitied her. “Someone might see us and put the wrong connotations on it. You can’t risk your career for me. We should stick to tourist things. It’s less—personal.”
“What if I want to get personal with you, Mari?” he asked, as husky as she. “What if I no longer care about the consequences?”
Her cheeks aflame, she whispered, “One of us has to care.” For your sake. And she found that was her real reason; he was a duke, and there wouldn’t be any consequences in their having a relationship for her.
But he could lose his career.
She all but fled inside to her cabin before he could look at her, touch her—or say a single word to change her mind.
Did she dare do it?
Blue dress: safety—little black dress: joy—green dress: protection—lavender silk…bliss…
“What are you carrying on about? For all you know, he doesn’t feel anything but politeness and diplomatic duty for you,” she muttered. “He hasn’t shown one single sign of interest. Wear something sensible and don’t make a total idiot of yourself—again!”
The sun had slowly dropped in the sky and, clad only in her underwear, fresh from her shower, she was choosing dresses at random and tossing them aside. She owned all of three sexy dresses, kept carefully from her parents’ view, and about ten safe, pretty, schoolmarm dresses tha
t screamed, Take me home to meet Mother.
The trouble was she wanted to be sexy and be taken home to meet Mother—but the truth stared her in the face every day, with every word from his beautiful, cultured mouth: Lysander could never take her home. The way she saw it, she had two choices. She could follow her heart and her body’s pleadings, wear one of her three hidden dresses and, if she could seduce him, become Lysander’s lover for as long as she could hold him. Or she could play it safe, do the right thing for everyone else, and lose—
Lose what? That was the question, really. She’d known within a couple of days that Lysander was everything she’d ever dreamed of, but in her dreams she’d seen a man who loved her for life, not for a few days or weeks. Prince or duke, it made no difference for a girl like her. Lysander was as unattainable as Mikhail. She only wished he was as easy to reject and forget.
But still that lovely, silky, low-cut and high-slit lavender dress was in her hands…and then over her head…
Then she’d piled her hair up, letting it fall in tendrils over her neck and shoulders…soft make-up was on her face, and she’d sprayed that gorgeous perfume that made her think of black-hearted roses. And those naughty silver heels her mother had said made her look like a bad girl that she’d never been able to bring herself to return or wear…
Heart pounding and stomach churning, she left the room nine times and came back nine times, pacing the room and talking herself alternately into and out of it all. Brave chance or stupid risk? If only she knew. All she did know was that if she didn’t try, didn’t touch him, she’d regret it for life.
With that thought, finally she screwed her eyes shut and opened the door a tenth time, walked through it and closed it behind her.
Sander choked on his wine the moment she walked into the dining suite. Was it the Fates conspiring against him? He’d talked himself into and out of a tuxedo, into and out of soft, romantic music and candlelight…the staff didn’t know if they were coming or going. Finally “out” had won, common sense had prevailed, and he’d begun to tell himself it was the right and noble thing—for Hellenia, for Persolis and for Mari. Definitely the right thing for everyone concerned to not even think of seducing her.
But then she’d come in wearing that dress.
Soft, swishing silk with thigh-high slits and cut low, revealing creamy cleavage. The honey-satin skin of her throat and neck was revealed by the curls piled high and tumbling down; a scent like sweet sin enveloped him in moments.
And that smile, so naughty and yet as adorably unsure as the look in her eyes, was his downfall. Duke he was, diplomat he might be, but beneath it all he was just a man…
He only knew he was on his feet, walking to her when he lifted one of those soft, sweet-scented hands to his mouth and felt her quiver. Masculine heat and triumph flared through every pore and cell when he saw the look in her eyes. He pulled her to him, a question in his eyes and heart, and she answered with that dazzling, vivid smile. And that scent, reminiscent of full-blown roses on hot summer nights, filled his head as her core body temperature grew with her arousal.
She wanted him so badly she wasn’t even trying to deny it.
She’d come here tonight hoping or expecting—he didn’t know or care. The pounding of his blood made hope expectation, and expectation imperative. He tried to speak, but couldn’t find words. There was only here and now: a lifetime waiting for a single moment.
“I don’t think we’re going to talk about droning in church, are we?” she whispered as he lowered his mouth to her, her eyes shimmering.
He choked on laughter, thinking of all the most poetic words to give her, but his mind failed him and he said simply, “No, we’re not.” And still smiling, he drew her right against him and kissed her.
He’d never known he could smile as he kissed a woman, but Mari did that to him. For years he’d wandered the world, equating success with happiness, learning how to do everything right and please everyone. Then this smiling bundle of feminine joy had come into his life—everything he shouldn’t want and couldn’t have. In a day she’d shown him how empty his smiles had been, how shallow his heart had been until she’d filled him with her sunshine and her passionate commitments, her high principles and her giving nature, so crystal-clear and so wonderfully impulsive. Everything he shouldn’t want and couldn’t have was standing in his arms, in one dazzling package of so-called ordinary woman.
Dimly he heard music as they kissed—the steward must have seen them, and that should have worried him, but didn’t. Slowly he moved to the music, she followed, and still they kissed as he moved her out from the glass-enclosed room to the deck beneath summer stars.
Mari made a soft noise and wound a hand into his hair, tender and intimate, and something inside him exploded. Other women had touched him there, but somehow none of them had affected him the way Mari did. She touched him and he felt so happy inside… More, he had to have more—and he lifted her up against him and made her part of him, body and heart.
Impossible to ignore, unable to deny, he was gone—for the first time since he’d had a crush on a princess, fifteen years ago. What was it about Mari? She was blunt, outspoken and no prettier than twenty women he knew—but her joy in living, her sparkling sense of adventure, drew him time after time. And her caring, her strong moral sense of right and wrong, her fear of hurting others, her vivid passion for—
Him. He’d only seen a shy kind of embarrassment with the men who had flocked around her this afternoon, but for him she smiled, blushed, and the yearning in her eyes came alive…just as he came alive with her, and had done from the first moment he’d seen her.
This was why he’d avoided her from the start. Losing his position with Mikhail had been a convenient excuse. When he was close to her he forgot everything but his need to be with her. Mari held the power to make him toss aside consequences and not care a bit. She was like liquid sunshine, and he wanted more and more…
He wanted too much, too fast. Mari had said clearly that she was going home in a few days. She loved it here, but she belonged in Australia. If she complicated his life, he could take the consequences—but he’d ruin her chances of ever going back to safe anonymity. Would she hate him for that?
“Lysander, Lysander,” she mumbled between kisses. Her hands were tangled in his hair. So much passion, such vivid, innocent need for him—
And if she couldn’t stop, he was completely addicted to the shots of bubbling happiness she injected with a smile, with a touch, with the way she said his name. And her kisses—
Consequences go hang. This was here and now. She was in his arms, and she was staying there as long as he could keep her.
CHAPTER FIVE
Three days later
“AT THE risk of sounding like a complete tourist—what a fantastic place,” Mari sighed as they moved back onto the yacht. “The tour was really excellent.”
“It certainly was informative,” Sander agreed, with a fatalistic feeling inside. If his mother heard of his Bible tour in Patmos, he’d never hear the end of it.
So why was he smiling?
The answer was right in front of him, her curvy backside swaying as she ran up the gangplank. Mari made him smile just by being near him. Her enthusiasm for life was infectious, and it made him feel glad to be here—just glad to be alive.
“Couldn’t you just imagine St John sitting in the cave, seeing all those visions?” she asked, flushed and starry-eyed as she flopped down on a deck lounger. “The guide described it so you knew how he must have felt. Coming here makes it all real, doesn’t it?”
Actually, Sander would have been totally bored but for the constant entertainment of Mari’s wide-eyed wonder as they toured the island. And her italics, instead of annoying him, kept him amused. Mari’s dramatics were as natural to her as breathing, and endearing because they weren’t designed to draw attention to her. She just said what was on her mind, and she was as passionate about others’ interests as her own.
&nbs
p; On that note, he said, “The donkeys were real, at any rate, and very grateful to you.”
Mari’s chin lifted. “It’s a disgrace the way that master treated them. None of the other masters were cruel—their donkeys were well cared for. Somebody should do something about him, like those animal liberation groups.”
“You did something,” he replied, holding in a smile, thinking of her cold refusal to ride on a too-thin donkey with scars on its back. She’d walked all the way up to the caves…and one pleading look from those pretty eyes had had him climbing off his donkey as well. A few sad glances at the state of the donkeys other tourists rode on had had some of their riders joining in the silent protest.
“Maybe you’ll do better business if you learn to take care of your donkeys,” she had told the indignant master. “Take a lesson from the other masters.”
“A private protest isn’t enough,” she said now. “Are we online on the yacht? I’d like to find a website—”
“You can’t save the world, Mari,” he said gently.
“Don’t say that!” Her eyes flashed. “It’s an excuse to do nothing! If everyone cared enough to right one wrong, just one, how much would the world improve?”
She was right. Most of the women he’d been with cared only for their next beauty treatment, or being the first to wear a new dress or hairdo or sunglasses and set a fashion. “So you’re righting the wrongs of donkeys?” he teased, wanting to see her passion continue—with him. Their kisses were getting more intense by the hour, and he was more and more enchanted by her. They both knew it couldn’t last; he’d eventually find his Duchess and have heirs, and she’d find a man to walk her down the aisle—
He had to blank out the thought, for the face he saw was his own—and the face of his Duchess was Mari’s.
“At least I care for something more than my own wants and fears,” she flashed. “Do you? Do you care enough for your people to give up what you love and do your best for them?”