by Penny Jordan
She saw the ugly look in his eyes too late to prevent him from ruthlessly plundering her mouth with a force that ground her lips against her teeth, bruising the tender flesh and bringing the taste of blood to her mouth. For the first time in her life Chloe experienced the degradation of a kiss designed to inflict pain instead of pleasure, to enforce and go on enforcing man’s ability to physically dominate woman, and turn what should have been a mutually pleasurable experience into sexual punishment.
‘If it’s force you want then force you shall have,’ Leon ground out as he released her abruptly. ‘Now, shall I show you round the villa, or would you prefer us to remain here—where I can reinforce my intentions of getting from you a replacement for the child you destroyed?’
She destroyed, Chloe thought numbly as she inched past him into the corridor. Was he even now going to go on with that ridiculous charade?
Her lips felt swollen and sore, but she daren’t touch them for fear of drawing Leon’s attention to her. When he reached towards her she flinched away, shrinking beneath the anger she saw blazing in his eyes momentarily before he shrugged with a nonchalance she couldn’t help envying.
‘I’m not about to rape you in the corridor,’ he drawled sardonically. ‘But unless you want the entire household to suspect I’ve just been making love to you, it might be as well if you did something about that.’
Lean fingers flicked disparagingly at the cotton blouse, which she had forgotten was hanging betrayingly over her skirt, as he spoke. Keeping as far away from him as possible, Chloe tucked it back into her waistband, hating the betraying way her fingers trembled, and the knowing gleam in Leon’s eyes as they rested on the soft thrust of her breasts beneath the thin fabric. Overriding every emotion was an intense desire to prove to Leon that she was immune to whatever sexual enticement or harassment he might choose to exert, but at the back of her mind Chloe acknowledged that her feelings mattered little to him. They couldn’t do. If they did he would never have brought her here like this and for such a purpose.
True to his word, Leon insisted on showing her over the villa. It was huge—far larger than she had first imagined, and equipped with every modern appliance and device conceivable, all fuelled by the generator housed away from the main building. An advanced security system protected the island, a necessary precaution in these days, Leon pointed out when she commented on it, especially in view of his known wealth. While acknowledging that he spoke no less than the truth, Chloe couldn’t help feeling that he had a secondary motive in showing her the complex security precautions—it was as though he were subtly reinforcing his earlier claim that there was no way in which she could leave the island without him knowing. Chloe now acknowledged that this was true. Sophisticated technological advances meant that it was possible for an effective guard to be placed over the island while at the same time maintaining its privacy. Electronic eyes could see far more than human ones, and far less obtrusively!
The only form of transport on and off the island was Leon’s own private helicopter, and apart from the occupants of the villa it was completely uninhabited. It was too small to support a population, Leon told her—too small and too barren, but among the rocky cliffs were small sandy beaches which made it a holiday paradise when combined with the heat of the Aegean sun and the silky waters of its sea.
The villa had apparently been built to Leon’s specific design, and as she was shown from room to room Chloe was overwhelmed by a sense of familiarity, and then at last, standing in the huge living room with its elegant Italian furniture, she realised why. It was almost an exact replica of a villa they had visited during their honeymoon. It had belonged to a wealthy recluse and some friends of Leon’s had been renting it. To Chloe it had seemed the epitome of elegance, and although Leon’s villa was larger, she could see now that it was built on very similar lines, even down to the Italian furniture which she had so admired. She touched the pale cream silk settee, stroking the fine fabric, her eyes drawn to the jewel-bright colours of the silk scatter cushions carelessly heaped on to it. Chrome and glass shelving lined one wall, a modern marble fireplace in the same cream as the upholstery dominating another wall. Apart from the brilliant splashes of colour provided by the cushions and several carefully chosen objets d’art the entire room was decorated in the same pale cream as the furniture, the brilliant jades and greens of the cushions now chosen, Chloe realised, to complement the collection of jade housed in one of the chrome wall units.
‘Recognise it?’ Leon mocked. ‘I commissioned the same architect who designed the one in Antibes. It was going to be a present to mark our first anniversary.’
For a moment Chloe felt her defences weakening, but then she remembered how well Leon played his self-appointed role, and she forced herself to raise her eyebrows and say lightly,
‘Really? I’m surprised you kept it. I should have thought it would hold too many unpleasant memories.’
‘You know what they say about revenge,’ Leon said softly. ‘It needs feeding, and living here, always being reminded of why I commissioned it in the first place, helped to feed mine.’
He made it sound as though she were the one at fault; as though she were the one responsible for the break up of their marriage—a marriage which was really no marriage at all.
‘Stop play-acting, Leon,’ she demanded brittlely. ‘There’s no point.’
He turned to make some reply, but before he could speak, Marisa erupted into the room, her eyes blazing in her chalk white face.
‘Leon,’ she demanded, totally ignoring Chloe’s presence, ‘Gina has just told me that you have instructed her to prepare a suite for the Kriticos’. She says they are bringing Nikos with them. I will not have it, do you hear? I will not have him here. I will not be forced into a marriage simply so that you can have an heir. You cannot get rid of me so easily….’ She turned on Chloe. ‘That’s all he wants you for, you know; to provide him with a son, an heir for his business empire. But I will not marry Nikos. I’ll die first!’ She burst into noisy sobs, while Leon looked on impassively.
‘I won’t marry him, Leon,’ she reiterated. ‘I won’t do it. You can’t make me!’
‘You are overwrought. We will discuss this entire matter later—although you already know my views on the subject.’
‘I know that you want to get rid of me so that you can make a baby with her!’ Marisa spat out, glaring at Chloe. ‘Well, I won’t let you! You belong to me, Leon… I won’t let you! I….’
Chloe turned away, filled with sickness and pity, unable to bear to watch Leon scooping the slender body into his arms or to listen to Marisa’s hysterical pleas as he carried her out of the room.
If she had wanted proof of exactly how far Leon was prepared to go in his determination to have a son she had just received it. She knew she ought to feel triumph—now Marisa was experiencing the same pain and despair she had once known—but all she could feel towards the other girl was pity. She knew it was the established rule in Greek households for male relatives to find husbands for their female dependents, especially in the wealthier families where marriage partners had to be chosen with care, but she had never dreamed that Leon would exercise this right over Marisa!
She didn’t wait for him to return to the salon, instead retreating to her bedroom, where once again her eyes were drawn to the enormous double bed. Was Leon really intending to share that bed with her? She looked at the bedroom door, searching in vain for a lock. There had been something implacable in his words which warned her against trying to plead with him, and besides, her pride would not allow her to stoop to such depths. So what was she to do? Endure his lovemaking and hope that she would conceive quickly? Never! There must be some way she could escape from Eos. There had to be!
CHAPTER THREE
CHLOE hadn’t intended going down for dinner, but it struck her that Leon might come looking for her and take her non-appearance as mute acceptance of his wishes. Her skirt and blouse, apart from having been worn all day
, were hardly suitable wear for dinner, but they were all she had with her.
She stepped out of the shower and froze as she realised that there was someone in the bedroom beyond, but it was not Leon who appeared in the open doorway. It was the young maid who had brought her breakfast.
‘Which dress does the kyria wish me to lay out for tonight?’ she asked hesitantly.
Chloe sighed, acknowledging that her Greek did not extend to explaining that her wardrobe was restricted to one cotton skirt and blouse and a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt.
‘I have no clothes….’ she began slowly, but the girl dismissed her words with a triumphant flourish, pulling open the mirrored doors of the huge wardrobe running the entire length of one wall.
‘Many, many clothes,’ she protested enthusiastically. ‘The kyrios had them brought from Athens in readiness.’
Chloe blinked and stared disbelievingly at the overflowing cupboards. When Leon planned something he didn’t miss a single detail. She walked slowly across to the wardrobe, absently fingering a misty lilac dress in pure silk, which shrieked couture design, wondering how long Leon had been planning to force her to return to him.
‘I ordered them from René. After all, he made your trousseau.’ Leon had entered the room without her being aware of it. ‘He still has your measurements,’ he added casually.
Which had altered since the days when she had modelled for him, Chloe thought wryly, but she could see that the clothes were the right size someone, either René or Leon himself, had realised that a woman of twenty-two was a different shape from a girl of eighteen, and had different tastes. These gowns were far more sophisticated than anything she had ever worn before! And far more expensive. Each one would have cost her several months’ salary, and yet Leon dismissed them as though they were nothing.
‘Not exactly sackcloth and ashes,’ Leon mocked, watching the way she studied the clothes.
‘They might as well be.’ Chloe shut the wardrobe doors dismissively. ‘You might have brought me to your island, Leon; you might be able to force me to stay here, and even ultimately to bear your child—that is if you don’t mind descending to rape—but you can’t force me to wear those clothes.’
‘You think not?’ He advanced on her with a grim implacability. The young maid had made a discreet disappearance the moment Leon entered the room and, despite its size, Chloe was overcome by a paralysing sense of claustrophobia, engendered chiefly by the powerful bulk of Leon’s body.
Afterwards she was to curse herself for her stupidity, but acting instinctively, she moved backwards, stopping only when her flight was impeded by the bed.
The towel she had wrapped sarong-wise around her slender body offered scant protection against the sensual scrutiny of pale grey eyes as they slid dangerously over smooth, pale shoulders, resting momentarily on the soft swell of her breasts before dropping lower to examine the rest of her body in a manner which brought a furious wave of colour to Chloe’s skin.
‘Stop it, Leon,’ she demanded huskily. They both of them knew that whatever desire he felt towards her was purely a male physical response to a female body any female body, and yet for a second, with his eyes lingering purposefully on the frail barrier of her towel, Chloe had experienced an almost overwhelming surge of desire so strong that if he had opened his arms she could not have prevented herself from running into them.
That knowledge lent determination to her voice and eyes as she reiterated her refusal to wear the clothes Leon had bought for her, her head held high as she tried to ignore the almost magnetic force of Leon’s personality. She could almost feel the air pulsing with the sexual excitement his presence invoked—something she had forgotten in the time they had been apart, or was it simply that then she had been too naïve to recognise the tension between them for what it actually was? She could almost smell it in the air, taste it on her tongue, bitter-sweet and addictive—like Leon’s lovemaking!
Stop it! she warned herself, her lips curling in fastidious distaste as she reminded herself that for Leon, making love to her was an act of war; the first step towards his revenge.
‘You have two choices, Chloe,’ he told her evenly, ignoring her command to leave. ‘Either you wear those clothes willingly, or I will dress you in them myself. Be careful if you opt for the latter choice,’ he added, his own mouth curving downward in sardonic mockery. ‘I might interpret it as a desire to feel my hands on your body once more.’
‘I’d rather die!’ Chloe shot out hotly before she could stop herself, furious colour flooding her cheeks as she remembered how only seconds before she had almost been on the point of surrendering to his sexual magnetism.
‘Liar! I could take you now—make you want to have me take you, and we both know it. Deny it as much as you like, you can’t hide it from me, Chloe. You might hate me with your mind, but your body….’ The way he looked at her body, so explicitly meaningful, filled her with rage and pain. ‘Your body would betray you if you allowed it to, Chloe….’
‘Never!’
‘No? Are you asking me to prove you a liar? Is this a subtle way of indicating your desire? I’m sorry, but on this occasion I must disappoint you. My cook has prepared a special meal to celebrate our reunion. Perhaps later….’
‘You’re wrong—I don’t want you!’ Chloe flung after his departing back. ‘And there won’t be any later!’
She meant it, every word of it. So why was there this curious ache in the pit of her stomach; this restless, driving core of energy that wouldn’t let her relax? All the time she had been away from Leon she had not had the slightest desire to take a lover, and yet now, within hours of seeing him again, her mind and body were filled with aching memories of their lovemaking.
When he had gone she stared at the closed wardrobe, worrying the soft, full curve of her bottom lip with small white teeth. Almost it would be worth-while going down to dinner in her jeans and tee-shirt just to see his face, but then she remembered what interpretation he had said he would put on such defiance, and her fingers reached mechanically for the door handle.
Almost automatically her hand came to rest on a gauzy chiffon dress in soft lilacs and lavenders. It might have been made for her, she acknowledged, holding it up in front of her. Putting it on, though, proved more difficult than she had anticipated. She had no problem with the long full sleeves gathered into a tight wristband and fastening with a tiny pearl button, nor with the matching buttons at the back of her neck. It was those farther down, below the edge of the delicately pleated collar and down to the waist, which defeated all her gyrations, and in the end Chloe was forced to concede defeat.
Arguing that it was better to finish dressing and then go in search of someone to help her, she slipped on the satin sandals obviously designed to go with the dress, and carefully applied some of the make-up she had discovered in one of the drawers in the bathroom. A misty lilac eyeshadow enhanced the colour of her eyes, a brief coat of mascara darkening the sun-bleached tips of her lashes. The skirt of her dress drifted in swirling panels to just below her knees—an elegant length, Monsieur René had always maintained, and Chloe agreed with him.
When she stepped into the corridor it was deserted—a disappointment, because she had been hoping to see one of the maids. Now she would have to go in search of someone to help her. A door to the right of her own opened and Leon strode out, impressively immaculate in a soft silk shirt and narrow dark trousers.
‘You chose that one—good.’
Tempted by the satisfaction in his voice to rip the gown off her back, Chloe ignored him.
‘You’re a few minutes early,’ Leon commented, unperturbed. ‘Dinner is not usually served until eight, but if you wish we have a drink first….’
‘No, thank you. Actually I was looking for someone to help me with my dress,’ Chloe defended unwisely. ‘I couldn’t manage all the buttons.’
‘Allow me. Isn’t that, after all, what husbands are for?’ Leon asked mockingly.
There was
no way Chloe could avoid his adroit fingers. While she stiffened her muscles in angry protest and waited for him to finish she heard another door open, and then the angry tip-tap of high heels along the tiled floor.
‘Leon!’
Even to Chloe’s ears Marisa’s voice sounded shrill. One look confirmed that the Greek girl was in a furious temper—nothing new to Chloe, she had experienced too many of Marisa’s temper tantrums in the past to be surprised by them now, but she had noticed how careful Marisa always was to hide the worst of her emotional thunderstorms from Leon.
Perhaps she now felt sure enough of him not to care, Chloe reflected, as Marisa ignored her, her brown eyes glittering feverishly as she turned to Leon.
‘I won’t do it, do you hear me? I won’t marry anyone! If you try to force me I’ll tell them the truth. I’ll….’
‘You will do nothing,’ Leon corrected in a far firmer voice than Chloe had ever heard him use to the younger girl before. ‘We have discussed this at great length already, Marisa, and I shall not change my mind.’
‘You just want to get rid of me!’ Marisa accused, tearful now where she had been angry. ‘You just want me out of the way, because of her! He doesn’t care about you,’ she flung at Chloe. ‘All he wants is a son. Any son, as long as the father’s him. It just so happens that being his wife makes you the natural choice.’
‘Marisa!’
This time there was a distinct warning in the cold tones. ‘I shall only say this one more time. When my friends arrive tomorrow with Nikos you will conduct yourself properly. This applies to both of you,’ he added, turning to Chloe.
‘And if I refuse? If I tell them why you’re reunited with your wife, and how?’ Marisa demanded.
‘Then,’ Leon replied cruelly, ‘I shall tell them simply that you are a jealous child!’
‘Was that absolutely necessary?’ Chloe asked in a shaky voice five minutes later when the sound of Marisa’s slammed bedroom door still reverberated in the corridor.