Dark Apollo

by Sara Craven

  'You'll wait a long time.’ she said tersely.

  'But I think my resources will outlast yours.’ He paused again. 'Which reminds me.’ He reached for his jacket, flung across the parapet beside him, and extracted a bulky envelope from an inside pocket. ‘This is for you.’

  The envelope was crammed with Greek drachmae in a variety of denominations. Camilla thrust it back at him. 'What is this? A down-payment on my ultimate co-operation? No way, Xandreou.’

  'Actually, the money is yours, Kyria Dryden.’ His tone jeered at her own formality 'The refund on your hotel room. Fortunately Kostas has a conscience, as well as a bitch of a wife. He closed her fingers round the envelope, and despite herself, a swift burning tingle ran up her arm at the brush of his hand on hers. ‘Take it,’ he urged softly. 'You will need all the cash you can set if you seriously mean to prolong this battle between us.’

  She looked down at the envelope. ‘You didn’t have to hand it over. You'd be quite entitled to keep it—as rent.’

  The dark eyes flashed. 'Please do not insult me by such a suggestion,' he said. 'You are my guest here—you and your sister.’

  'But I'd rather we paid our way,’ she said stubbornly. 'You—you can't pretend we're welcome here.’

  'Perhaps not, but it provides an opportunity to settle matters between us before you go home.’

  She took a breath. 'You're really so sure you'll win?' she said bitterly.

  ‘Oh, yes.' His voice was soft. 'One way or another.’

  His glance seemed to touch her, lingering on her mouth, then sweeping down to the swell of her breasts, reminding her that his most lethal armament in this conflict was his virile, char­ismatic sexuality.

  Whereas she had nothing to fight with but her own convictions and determination. Could they ever be enough?

  Nic lifted himself lithely from the parapet, glancing at his watch. 'I must get back, I'm expecting a call from New York.'

  ‘A personal call?' some demon prompted her to ask.

  His mouth twisted. 'My sister has been busy,' he commented with a touch of grimnness. ‘But I don't think, matia mou, that is any concern of yours.’ He paused. 'Think about what I have said, and remember I am prepared to reopen negotiations at any time.’

  'I'll negotiate,’ she said steadily. 'But only on condition that you let Katie see Spiro. Can't you see that she might be able to jog his memory? Isn't it at least worth trying—to have him cured—restored to the way he used to be with no blank spots in his mind?'

  His face hardened. 'Spiro will recover in time. And if there are blanks——' he shrugged '—well, your sister's intervention in his life is best forgotten anyway.’

  'That's cruel.’ Camilla's voice shook.

  ‘It is also practical.’ His smile held no amusement. 'When you realise, finally, that you do not make conditions, you will be free to concentrate solely on the terms of our eventual bargain. There is no other real alternative, I promise you.’

  He absorbed, with irony; the stricken look on her face. 'And now I wish you goodnight, Camilla.’ The dark eyes glittered at her. 'Sleep well in my bed, agape mou—if you can.’

  He inclined his head to her almost formally, and was gone, his parting words smarting like lash of a whip across her consciousness.

  ‘No problem.’ Katie said cheerfully, tucking into her helping of Soula's delicious chicken in lemon sauce that evening.

  Camilla stared at her. 'I wish I shared your confidence,’ she said wearily. 'We're here, and Spiro might as well be at the end of the universe.’

  Katie shook her head. 'He's not that far away,’ she said firmly. 'Arianna says we must just be patient for a while—bide our time.’

  'Really?' Camilla queried drily. 'Just re­member, darling, that Arianna's a Xandreou as well. And it was her idea to strand us here, out of harm's way. Are you quite sure you can trust her?'

  'Absolutely. Nic's trying to rule her life too— push her into marrying a man she doesn't love.'

  ‘Oh.' Camilla digested this. 'And Arianna presumably has other plans?'

  'Of course.’ Katie said serenely. 'She's in love with Petros— Deroulades.'

  'My God.’ Camilla said faintly. The young the unlikeliest of targets for glamorous and worldly as Arianna. Yet there was great kindness in his face, she thought slowly, and integrity in the gaze behind his spectacles.

  I knew she was up to something, she thought, but not this.

  'And he loves her too,’ Katie went on. 'They've known each other all their lives. In fact the Xandreou family paid for Petros's medical training. But he's not rich or powerful, of course, so Nic wouldn't even consider him as a suitable husband for Arianna.' She sighed. 'Arianna says if he had the least idea they were in love he would be terribly angry. Petros would lose his job at the clinic and be sent away from Karthos altogether, and she would never see him again. And Nic's vengeance would follow him wherever he went.’ she added.

  'I can imagine.’ Camilla said grimly.

  Katie pushed away her empty plate. 'So, they have to pretend when they meet in public, and see each other properly in secret.’

  'She told you all this today?' Camilla asked, frowning.

  Katie nodded. 'It's a mutual pact,’ she said. ‘She helps reunite me with Spiro, we do what we can for Arianna and Petros in return.'

  ‘I don't like the sound of this,’ Camilla shook her head. 'We have enough problems already. And Nic Xandreou may actually have a point,’ she added grudgingly. 'Arianna seems an expensive proposition for someone on a doctor's salary. Maybe she needs a convenient millionaire.'

  'Camilla,' Katie was shocked. 'You're surely not on his side?'

  'I'm not taking sides,’ Camilla said defens­ively. 'Just trying to be realistic. If we in­terfere, we could have Nic Xandreou's vengeance following us as well, and we don't need that.'

  'You forget,’ Katie said gently. 'We'll have Spiro to protect us.' Her eyes shone. 'Every­thing's going to be fine. I know it.'

  Camilla could find nothing to say in the face of such sincere and passionate conviction.

  Later, alone in her room, she found herself hoping that Katie was right—about all of it.

  She looked around her with dissatisfaction. Her plan to swap accommodation with Katie had been forestalled firstly by Soula who had unpacked for her, and put all her things away. Any attempt at change now would inevitably become some kind of big deal, and might even get to the ears of Nic Xandreou, who would draw his own all too accurate conclusions.

  And I don't need that, she muttered to herself.

  And then Katie had disclosed, starry-eyed, that she could see the lights from the Villa Apollo from her window, which made her feel that Spiro was close to her.

  And after that, of course, there was nothing more to be said.

  I shall have to bear it, Camilla thought. Even if I can't manage the usual grin.

  She took the passports and the envelope of money Nic had given her, and looked round for a safe place to put them. The drawer in the night-table beside the bed seemed the obvious repository, but that was easier said than done, she realised with vexation, when the drawer re­fused to budge.

  At first, she thought it might be locked, then she realised that something bulky had been put into the drawer and become wedged. After some manoeuvring with her steel comb, she managed to free the obstruction, and open the drawer.

  She found herself holding a photograph in an ornate but tarnished silver frame.

  It was the picture of a girl, the face radiant, almost flawlessly beautiful. Blonde hair tum­bling on to bare shoulders. Full lips parting in a smile to reveal perfect teeth. Violet eyes, glowing a provocative invitation.

  And all of it oddly but elusively familiar, Camilla thought wonderingly.

  There was a scrawl of writing across the bottom left-hand corner. The words seemed to leap up at her. 'To Nic, on our wedding-day. Forever, Rachelle.'

  Camilla drew a sharp breath. Of course, she thought. It was Rachelle M
organ, the actress. She'd blazed across the cinema world in a brief, stormy career, which had included an Oscar nomination as well as rows with leading men, and an eventual sacking from a film. She'd never made another, and Camilla remembered reading some years before of her death from a drugs overdose in some Los Angeles motel.

  She sank down on the edge of the bed. This—this was the girl Nic Xandreou had married, she thought faintly. A far cry from the docile Greek heiress of her imagination. And clearly a very different marriage from the ideal he'd outlined to her. Perhaps she could now understand, if not condone, his reasons.

  Rachelle Morgan had died alone a long way from Karthos, and the sea pavilion. In fact, Camilla could recall in all the attendant publicity about her career no mention of any mar­riage, or any husband left to mourn in the tragic aftermath.

  No wonder Nic was bitter, nor that the scars of his loss had gone so deep.

  For him, 'forever' had been over too soon. If it had even existed at all...

  Nic Xandreou was no all-conquering god. Just a man, as Arianna had said, who'd been burned and now feared the fire in consequence.

  Or was it Rachelle Morgan who'd been scorched instead? The thought struck her like a blow from a clenched fist. Had she, like some latter-day Icarus, flown too near the Xandreou sun, not comprehending its power, only to drop like a stone to earth in the ruin of her wings?

  Who could say what demons had driven all that beauty and talent to destruction?

  Hands shaking, Camilla put the photograph down beside her bed. She would keep it there, she thought, shivering, as a timely reminder. A warning even.

  She felt suddenly cold. 'Dear God.’ she whispered. 'He could destroy me too—so very easily.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Sleep did not come easily to Camilla that night. Huddled awkwardly under a single sheet at the edge of the bed, she found her search for temporary oblivion distorted and disturbed by unwanted thoughts and images which even pursued her into her dreams.

  A tall man with skin like bronze, and eyes like a dark flame, moved through those dreams, lay beside her, snared her pillow.

  She could feel the warmth of his body against hers, the fever of his lips, the frank enticement of his hands as they explored her. Found herself reaching out in turn, seeking him vainly in the still heat of the night. Only to realise, with a frightening sense of desolation, that she was alone.

  She drew an angry breath, kicking away the imprisoning tangle of sheet from her over­heated body. What was happening to her? How could she possibly feel these things about a man who was still virtually a stranger, and almost certainly an enemy?

  'Damn you, Nic Xandreou,' she whispered into the darkness. 'I should never have come here, and now I'm trapped, and I can't get away.'

  She escaped at last into a restless doze, only to be jolted back into wakefulness again by the certainty that she could hear something— someone moving on the terrace outside.

  She sat up, pushing the hair back from her face, staring towards the shuttered windows, her heart thumping erratically. She'd thought the sea house too remote for intruders, but now…

  She swung her feet to the floor, reaching for the white cotton peignoir trimmed with broderie anglaise which matched her nightgown.

  The early morning air was fresh as she stepped out on to the terrace. The sky was pale, almost misty. The sea was a ripple of silver. A faint breeze stirred in the bougainvillaea above her head. There was no one there, of course, and yet...

  'Kalimera.’

  Camilla whirled with a startled cry. Nic Xandreou was standing, hands on hips, a few yards away outside the open window of the saloni from which he'd obviously just emerged. He was wearing ancient denim jeans, hacked off at mid-thigh, and a short-sleeved black shirt, unbuttoned almost to the waist. He looked tough, virile, and devastatingly sexy-last night's dream come suddenly alive in front of her.

  Remembering the precise nature of that dream, Camilla found colour mounting in her face, and her hand went to her throat to clutch the edges of her peignoir more tightly together.

  'You!' she said unevenly. 'What are you doing here?'

  His brows lifted, the amusedly cynical ap­praisal of his dark eyes telling her that neither the blush or the betrayingly defensive gesture had been lost on him.

  'This is my property.’ he reminded her drily.

  'But you never come here,’ she protested, then caught herself. 'At least…’

  'That is what Arianna told you,’ he sup­plied. 'She exaggerates. I come to visit Soula, naturally.'

  'At this hour?' Camilla glanced at her watch,

  'No, this morning I've been fishing so there will be fresh mullet for your dinner tonight.'

  She said blankly, ‘I don't believe it.'

  Nic shrugged. 'The proof is in the kitchen. Do you wish to look?'

  'No—I mean—I can't see you as a simple fisherman, alone in the dawn.'

  He laughed. 'Yet to a Greek the sea is like the blood in his veins. And on a boat you have time to be alone—to think. Often, it’s the only time.'

  'A boat?' Camilla parodied astonishment. 'I thought you had your own shipping line.'

  'I do.’ he said silkily. 'But that is not the same thing at all. Like my father before me, I keep a caique for my own use.’ He paused. 'However, I did not intend my visit to wake you. I apologise.'

  She bit her lip. 'It doesn't matter. I didn't have a particularly good night, anyway.’

  'No?' The dark eyes mocked her.

  'No,’ she returned tautly. 'This isn't exactly an easy situation—for any of us.’

  Nic shrugged again. 'You can resolve it any time you wish,' he retorted.

  'You mean—take the money and go.’ She lifted her chin. 'Never.’

  'That will not be your final decision,’ he said. 'I can wait.’

  'It isn't my decision to make—or yours. Spiro and Katie are the people concerned—or should be.’

  'Unfortunately such sentimental notions have no place in real life.’ He sounded bored.

  'And what do you know about "real life", Xandreou, shut up in your ivory tower of power and money?' Camilla's voice had an edge. 'You only have to wish for something and it's granted—snap your fingers, and everyone dashes to obey.’

  'Naturally you exclude yourself from this fascinating picture of mass acquiescence.’ Nic said grimly.

  'Of course. You can't expect to own the whole world.’

  'I've never wanted to.’ His tone hardened. 'Once I thought, as you seem to do, that love could conquer all barriers. But not any longer. A collision between two different worlds can lead only to disaster.’ His face was brooding, bitterly introspective, as he looked around him. 'This is a lesson I was forced to learn with the kind of pain I would wish on no one—least of all my young brother.’

  'But you can't protect him from ex­perience—or prevent him making his own mis­takes.’ Camilla protested. 'It doesn't work like that.’

  'So you admit that Spiro and your sister would be a mistake.’

  'No.’ she said wearily. 'I'm trying to say that you and I aren't qualified to make judgements for them.’ She took a deep breath. 'It's ter­rible—a tragedy that your marriage ended as it did—that someone so lovely, with so much going for her—' her voice faltered a little '—should be simply wiped out, but Katie and Spiro are still entitled to lead their own lives, whatever the cost.’

  Nic Xandreou was very still, his tall figure suddenly menacing in the clear morning light.

  'What do you know of rny marriage?'

  'Nothing at all, really.’ She swallowed. 'But—but I found your wife's photograph, and realised who she was.’

  'What are you saying?' His face was thun­derous. 'Show me.’

  Camilla turned and went back into the bedroom, uneasily aware that he was fol­lowing. She picked up the photograph and handed it to him. 'It was in this drawer. It must have been pushed in there and forgotten.’

  He said harshly, 'An unforgivable ov
ersight. I gave orders for everything to be removed. I wanted nothing left here to remind me.’ The dark eyes looked around him, taking in the disordered bed, the intimate clutter of Camilla's toiletries, and discarded clothes. 'Nothing,’ he repeated slowly.

  Her voice shook a little. 'But you can't easily forget—beauty like hers.’

  'Yet you can try.’ His mouth was set. He took the backing from the frame, which he tossed contemptuously aside, then ripped the print across, again and again, letting the torn frag­ments flutter to the floor.

  Camilla gave a small distressed cry. 'Oh, no.

  ‘It was simple, believe me.’ He swung back to her, his smile almost a snarl. 'This—this is the complication.’

  His hands were hard on her shoulders as he pulled her towards him. Her startled eyes read the purpose in his face, but even as her lips framed a negation his mouth possessed hers, making no concession in its fierce demand. The scent of his skin, fragrant with sunlight and the sea, seemed to invade her senses—to fill her being with a harsh and undeniable longing.

  She found she was kissing him in return with the same vibrant, consuming urgency, her lips parting eagerly to accept the thrust of his tongue.

  Pinned against his body, she was aware of every bone, muscle and sinew in his taut, virile frame. Could feel the heat and strength of his arousal, mirroring the rising flame inside her.

  Nic’s hand shook as he ribbons of the peignoir, allowing his lips to traverse the vulnerable line of her throat, and the curve of her shoulder. His fingers slid under the strap of her nightgown, tugging it down, baring one rose-tipped breast to his caress.

  His palrn cupped the soft mound, his thumb brushing the tautening peak, piercing her with a shaft of bewildered pleasure bordering on pain.

  The dark head bent to her, and he took the small engorged bud into his mouth, laving it with his tongue, his mouth like fire against her skin. She felt her body judder in anguished de­light, her hands lifting to twist in the thick, crisp hair at the nape of his neck.

  He lifted her on to the bed, and lay beside her. She was caught in the dream again, she thought dazedly, fright and excitement warring for mastery inside her.