by Anne Mather
Only she hadn’t known he was Alex Thiarchos at that time, she reminded herself bitterly, as she inserted her key in her front door. He had just been Alex Thorpe, a man older, but otherwise no different from the other men at the party. He had been alone, and lonely, or so she’d thought. She shook her head. Oh, Beth, she chided herself, how more wrong could you be?
‘Is this one of the university houses?’ Alex asked, as she took her key out of the door, and stood aside for him to step into the hall beside her, and Beth gave him an indignant look.
‘No,’ she denied hotly, and it was not until he acknowledged her reply with a wry grimace that she realised she should have been more discreet. So, he knew she owned a house, she consoled herself impatiently. If she hadn’t told him, someone else would have.
‘Mmm,’ he murmured, letting her close the door behind him. ‘I like it. Mid-Victorian, isn’t it?’
‘Do Greeks know about things like that?’ Beth retorted, deciding she could afford to be a little less circumspect now that they were away from the university buildings, and Alex gave her tolerant look.
‘Half-Greeks do,’ he responded, without rancour. ‘My mother was as English as you are.’
‘How do you know I am English?’ she countered, leading the way along the hall. She opened the door into the sitting-room. ‘Would you wait in here, please?’
‘Why do I have to wait?’ He tucked his hands into the back pockets of his trousers and regarded her with cool appraising eyes. ‘Where are you going?’
Beth felt the hot colour invade her neck again. ‘Would you believe—the bathroom?’ she enquired, with more confidence than she was feeling, and Alex shrugged.
‘If you say so.’ He looked into the sitting-room with a critical eye. ‘This is very—formal. Do you mind if I look around?’
‘Yes, I mind.’ Beth gazed at him frustratedly, and then flinched back in alarm when his hand came to loop an errant strand of hair behind her ear.
‘Then don’t,’ he advised her smoothly, and she noticed as she had before how big he was. Or perhaps it was the narrow confines of her hall. Either way, his nearness was becoming increasingly intimidating.
‘You can’t do this,’ she protested, and his hand dropped carelessly to his side.
‘I don’t think you’re in any position to tell me what I can or can’t do,’ he informed her pleasantly. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t pry into your personal effects.’
Beth was breathing quickly, but short of attacking him with her fists there was little she could do. She supposed Pandora must have felt a little as she did, after she had opened the forbidden box. But heavens, who could have anticipated this would happen? And why, when she resented him so much, did she feel so weak every time he touched her?
And, as going to the bathroom had become such a frequent option since she’d discovered she was pregnant, Beth didn’t have time to stand and debate the subject. Besides, what could he find? This was her home. Not her doctor’s office.
Brushing past him, she started up the stairs, and although he turned his head to watch her she determinedly ignored him. He’d soon get tired of baiting her, if she didn’t give him any satisfaction. It was her frustration that amused him; the feeling that he had her where he wanted her.
In the bathroom, she bathed her face and washed her hands. She thought of changing into more casual clothes: jeans, for instance, and an oversized T-shirt, but she dismissed the idea as being unwise. In her regular working attire of dark suit and white blouse, she felt protected. A futile presumption, perhaps, but the only one she could count on.
She did kick off her shoes, however. That was something she always did, as soon as she got home. It was only as she was going down the stairs again that she regretted the impulse. Facing Alex Thiarchos in her stockinged feet would only add to his advantage.
Still, it was too late now, and besides, as she walked along the hall and into the kitchen, she was soon more concerned with wondering where her unwelcome guest could be. A glance into both the sitting- and dining-rooms had assured her he wasn’t there, and the kitchen was empty, too. He surely couldn’t have left without her knowing it, could he? she wondered, aware of a curious mixture of expectation and regret. Though why she should feel any trace of dismay at his departure she couldn’t imagine. The man was trouble, and she knew it. Didn’t she?
She was trying, not very successfully, to come to terms with the complexity of her reaction when a cool draught of air fanned her face. The back door was open, she saw, and suddenly the explanation for Alex’s apparent disappearance became clear. He hadn’t gone. He hadn’t taken pity on her, or decided he had tormented her long enough. He had just stepped outside, that was all. Into the enclosed rear garden.
She went to the door and then, remembering she wasn’t wearing any shoes, she back-tracked to the window. And she saw him at once. He had found the gazebo, which had been in such a dire state of repair when Beth bought the house, and which she had had restored to its earlier beauty. He was standing in the doorway, one hand raised to support himself against the rose-covered trellis above his head, and her heart slammed into her ribs at the feeling of relief it gave her. Dear God, perhaps she shouldn’t be asking herself what he wanted of her. Perhaps she should reverse that to what she wanted of him.
It had to be nothing, of course, she told herself disparagingly, disgusted at the direction her thoughts were taking. Just because she was pregnant, and because of that inclined to be more emotional than usual, she was letting her hormones run away with her reason. It was nothing to do with the fact that he looked tired, or that there was a curiously defeated expression on his face. This had been a difficult time for him. It would have been a difficult time for anybody. She mustn’t start feeling sorry for him. She mustn’t start getting involved.
But still she lingered, watching him with drawn, anxious eyes. It was only natural that she should want to comfort him, she assured herself impatiently. In heaven’s name, his son was dead. In any other circumstances, she wouldn’t have hesitated to offer him her sympathy.
And then he saw her in the window. She knew the moment he realised he was being observed by the way his body reacted. His air of weary introspection disappeared, and he came down the steps from the gazebo, and across the lawn, with deliberate intention. He moved easily, his long legs covering the distance with a loose athletic pace. Long, powerful legs, she noticed, almost inconsequentially, and then hurriedly reached for the kettle as he came through the door.
‘Would you like some tea?’
She was concentrating on filling the kettle, and she wasn’t aware of him moving behind her until his hands gripped her waist. ‘I’d rather try something stronger,’ he murmured huskily, as his lips brushed her cheek, and the kettle crashed into the sink as she whirled away from him.
‘Don’t do that!’ she gasped, all thought of comforting him shattered by the simple panic his touch engendered. And then, realising her reaction had been far too extreme, she added, ‘You—you startled me!
‘Didn’t I, though?’ Alex regarded her between narrowed lids. ‘And if I hadn’t? Startled you, I mean. You wouldn’t have objected?’
‘No—I—well, yes.’ Beth’s tongue stumbled over the words. ‘Oh, please—this is getting us nowhere. Can’t we confine ourselves to finding a solution to Linda’s problems? What—what happened between us isn’t relevant here.’
‘You think not?’
His dark eyes mocked her, and when he lifted his hand to massage the muscles at the back of his neck she started uncontrollably. For a moment, she thought he was going to touch her again, and she wasn’t totally convinced she could handle him in this mood.
‘I—I think you should listen to what Linda told me,’ she insisted, trying not to notice that his forearm was lean and muscular, or that the colour of his hair was repeated in the fine hairs that darkened his skin. ‘For instance, did you know that—that Tony had taken drugs? Or that he’d borrowed money to finance his habi
t?’
At last she had his undivided attention. ‘What?’
His disbelief was not feigned, and, realising she hadn’t gone about this in a very tactful way, she gestured towards the hall behind her. ‘Why—why don’t we go and sit down and talk about it?’ she suggested, licking her dry lips. ‘Linda—’
‘It’s a lie!’
His harsh denunciation broke into her attempt to soften the blow, and this time, when his hands grasped her shoulders, there was no way she could escape from his hold. His fingers dug into her shoulders, the silky fabric of her blouse offering little protection, and his breath fanned her face, moist, and hot, and bitter.
‘It—it is true,’ she stammered, aware of so many things in that moment. Not least, the errant weakness she had to lean against him, to feel his strength and feed from it, instead of trembling in his grasp.
‘Linda told you this?’
‘Yes.’
Beth’s neck was aching from the effort of holding herself aloof, and she couldn’t help wondering if Linda had wanted her to talk to him for just this reason. She must have known what Tony’s father’s reaction would be. She must have guessed he wouldn’t take this without proof.
Alex’s expression was grim. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he said again, but there was less conviction in his denial now. ‘Hell—he would have told me! I’m his father, for God’s sake!’
‘I’m sorry.’
There was nothing else she could say, and the sympathy she had felt for him earlier flooded back at this obvious confusion. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him, she thought. There was little he could do about it now. But surely he deserved to know the truth. It might even help to alleviate his pain.
‘What else did she tell you?’
He was shaking her gently now, not letting her go, but reminding her, if any reminder was needed, that he was still in command. His tone was calmer, though, less aggressive, and she focused on the knot of hair, exposed by the open collar of his shirt.
‘She said—she said Tony—didn’t get on with his grandfather,’ she admitted at last, modifying exactly what Linda had said. ‘I think—I think she feels there—there might have been some—pressure on him to—to do well in his exams.’
Alex’s mouth hardened. ‘From whom?’
Beth bit her lip. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Did she say my father had been in contact with Tony?’
‘Maybe.’ Beth was loath to place blame when she didn’t know all the facts. ‘In any case, it happened some time ago. The drug taking, I mean. According to Linda, Tony had kicked the habit before—before they got together.’
‘Hmm.’
Alex appeared to be considering what she had told him, and to her relief his gaze drifted away from her taut face. But her momentary sense of reprieve was tempered when his eyes dipped lower. It was impossible to hide the shocked arousal of her body, and even though she was wearing a bra her beaded nipples were clearly visible, pressing against her blouse. Relax, she chided herself. He’s not thinking about you. He’s thinking about his son. But her body wouldn’t obey her commands, and she guessed he was aware of it.
‘Tell me about her,’ he said suddenly, and his words were in such counterpoint to her fears that she could only stare at him.
‘About who?’
‘Linda, of course,’ he said patiently, watching his thumbs trace a sensuous path against her shoulder. ‘What do you think of her? What kind of a person is she?’
Beth caught her breath. ‘You’ve met her.’
‘I’ve met many of Tony’s friends.’ Alex grimaced. ‘Believe it or not, my son was not a stranger to me. We—had our differences, I’ll admit. But what father can say he hasn’t had differences with his son? I thought he was happy. I thought he was content with his life here in England. You can have no conception of how I felt when I heard that Tony was dead.’
Beth thought perhaps she could. She remembered how she had felt when her sister died, but that was many years ago, and not something she wanted to remember. She had to stop finding associations between his life and hers. As soon as this was over, she would never see him again.
‘And that’s why I need to know more about the woman who was my son’s wife,’ Alex continued evenly. ‘She won’t let me near her. I don’t even know where they were married, or if there might be repercussions from the liaison I’m not even aware of.’
‘Repercussions?’
‘A child,’ said Alex harshly, his disturbing eyes returning to her parted lips. ‘My daughter-in-law may be pregnant. And, selfish as it might seem, I should not want my grandchild being brought up without my knowledge!’
Beth’s breath escaped on a sigh. ‘She’s not,’ she said swiftly.
Alex’s brows compressed. ‘You asked her?’
‘Yes.’ Beth swallowed. ‘I realise it’s none of my business, but I wondered if—if that was why—’
‘She didn’t want to see me?’
Beth hesitated. ‘Well—yes.’
A spasm of pain crossed his face then and, with a muttered exclamation, he let go of her and turned away. ‘So,’ he said bitterly, ‘it’s finished. I have no son and no prospective grandson.’ He cast a mocking glance over his shoulder. ‘You see a man without heirs, Miss Haley. An unforgivable sin in my father’s eyes.’
Beth tried to regulate her breathing. ‘You could—marry again.’
His lips twisted. ‘I think not.’
‘Why not?’
He shrugged. ‘Because I do not appear to be very good at sustaining relationships,’ he replied bleakly. ‘My wife left me for another man; my son is dead—who knows how, or why?—my daughter-in-law won’t even speak to me, and you…’ he paused ‘…you did your best to ensure I’d never find you again.’
Beth shook her head. ‘Why should you want to find me?’ she protested, and he swung about to face her.
‘Why not?’ he demanded, flinging her own words back at her. ‘Surely you knew how I would feel when I discovered the apartment was empty. My God, are you completely without conscience? Do you know what that did to my ego?’
Beth tilted her head. ‘That’s what all this is about? Your ego?’
His eyes darkened. ‘You know it’s not.’
Beth faltered. His words, and the disturbing intensity of his gaze, were causing all manner of warning bells to go off inside her head. Keep calm, she told herself, he’s only playing with you. But the memories she had kept at bay were sweeping into her mind. Memories of heat, and warmth, and passion; of shadowy bodies locked and merging, of feverish words, and slick skin, and the moist, pulsing power of his possession…
She tried to escape it. She tried to speak coolly, using a slightly sardonic tone to disguise her inner torment. ‘I—I can’t believe you found the experience so—so unforgettable,’ she quipped, hoping to incite his defiance. But Alex’s response was to grasp her upper arm, and this time when he held her there was fire in his touch.
‘Don’t make fun of me, Beth,’ he warned, and for the first time since that night at the flat she feared the consequences of her actions. ‘I may not have been the dream lover of your fantasies,’ he continued, ‘but it was good between us. More than good, damn you, for all your crazy games!’
‘My games!’
Beth could hardly get the words out, and he used her shocked reaction to turn her into his arms. ‘Well, what would you call them?’ he demanded huskily, grasping her wrists and taking them behind her back. He thrust his face close to hers. ‘What else would drive an apparently sober-minded academic to act like a cheap tart?’
Beth gasped. ‘It wasn’t like that!’ she exclaimed, though she could quite see why he would think it was. But at that moment she was more concerned with extricating herself from her present predicament than finding excuses for his accusations. ‘Don’t do this,’ she begged, as his hot breath fanned her ear. ‘Alex, isn’t this rather childish? Let me go, please!’
‘That’s not what you said that n
ight,’ he taunted, taking the lobe of her ear between his teeth. He bit down, hard, causing a little whimper of protestation to pass her lips. ‘As I remember, you were desperate for my body. Desperate for me to touch you…’ He matched his actions to his words, using his hold on her wrists to urge her even closer. ‘Desperate for me to kiss you…’ His lips slid along the resisting line of her jaw, reaching their objective when she couldn’t turn her head any further. ‘Desperate for me to—what shall we call it?—love you?’ His mouth brushed her lips. ‘Oh, yes, you were desperate for that all right. But let’s call it by it’s proper name, shall we?’
‘You’re disgusting!’ she cried, the word he whispered in her ear causing her to fight against his grasp. Desperate, too, to prevent him from discovering exactly how vulnerable she was. It was hard enough to parry his insults, when she could use the authority of her position at the university as a defence. It would be impossible if she betrayed herself here.
But, hampered as she was by his possession of her wrists and the proximity of his body, there was little she could do when his mouth slanted across hers. And, for a dizzying moment, she didn’t want to deny him. His lips were hard, but not brutal, his tongue stroking along her teeth, causing her lips to part. Her jaw sagged, and weakness had her leaning into him, arching against him, seeking to prolong the moist melding of their mouths. For a brief spell, her senses spun out of her control, and he made a hoarse sound that was half-elation, half-defeat.
It was that, as much as anything, that brought a chilling awareness of what she was doing. No, not what she was doing, what she was allowing to happen, she corrected herself fiercely. She couldn’t blame herself for his behaviour. He was controlling the situation, not her.