The Greek's Runaway Bride

by Penny Jordan

  ‘Clever Chloe,’ he mocked softly. ‘But not perhaps as clever as she thought.’

  He had her at a disadvantage, Chloe reflected bitterly. He seemed to tower above her, the shape of his body and the male scent of it reaching out to her as he leaned forward and the brief towelling robe he was wearing parted to reveal the hard warmth of his chest.

  Chloe swallowed painfully, aware of a sudden constriction in her throat. She had forgotten this, either that or never been wholly aware of it, she thought weakly, aware of her own quickening pulses and the sudden uprush of desire which had caught her off guard; she had forgotten the sensual impact of bare male flesh; of its subtle arousing scent; its temptation to fingers which she had already had to clench into her palms against a wave of longing to reach out and touch, and go on touching like a blind person seeking thirstily for knowledge. How could she have forgotten so much? How could she so easily have dismissed her own vulnerability, the sheer tactile enticement of the body which Leon was knowingly using to break down her defences?

  His stance above and around her as he placed a hand either side of her head on the cream silk of the settee was designed, not to intimidate, but to arouse, the light from the lamps he had switched on as he entered the room bathing his lean torso in soft golden light.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ he mocked, one hand reaching out to gather up the silver softness of her hair and draw it slowly across her throat. The pulse which had started beating there the moment she woke up increased its tempo, a small, frantic, hammering betrayal of his effect upon her senses.

  His free hand cupped her jaw, turning her face upward.

  ‘Still my beautiful sea-witch.’

  A firm thumb probed the soft curve of her mouth, stroking it sensually.

  ‘Don’t!’

  Chloe barely recognised her own voice in the husky, despairing croak. Feelings she had not experienced for two years rushed through her as suddenly as though Leon’s touch unlocked a secret door. Her body felt curiously weak, heavy, and lethargic with sensations which she recognised as the onset of desire. Panic burst into life inside her and she struggled to sit up, her hands reaching out to push furiously at Leon’s chest.

  His laughter held mockery and something else—triumph! And as the palms of her hands made contact with the springy dark hairs beneath them, Chloe knew why. She was powerless to stop her fingers uncurling against the warmth of skin whose smell and taste were etched deeply in her senses, and when Leon’s thumb probed the curve of her mouth a second time her lips parted instinctively, her eyes darkening with the pain of her body’s betrayal as her flesh tingled beneath his touch.

  ‘Did you honestly think to escape me by coming here?’ Leon murmured against her throat as the silken softness of her hair was released and his tongue moved tormentingly against her sensitive flesh. ‘How boring your lovers must be if all they’ve taught you is that the place for making love is in the bedroom….’

  ‘Leon, stop it!’ His tongue was probing the lobe of her ear, his teeth nipping her skin into sensual awareness.

  Her feeling of lethargy increased. Her body ached with a tension that had begun somewhere deep inside her the moment Leon had walked into her room, and now, with his hands delicately sliding the silk robe from her shoulders, she was forced to face up to the truth. No matter how much she might despise Leon—and herself—oh, how much more herself!—she still wanted him.

  Heat and shame washed over her in alternating waves, her agonised protest lost, as the thumb which had been stroking her lips into pliable softness was suddenly removed and Leon’s mouth came down on her own, obliterating reason and pride. Her lips parted beneath his in mindless surrender, her small moan lost beneath the crushing weight of his body as he joined her on the settee, the hard warmth of his body against hers turning her lassitude into aching desire.

  ‘Oh no,’ Chloe heard him mutter thickly when she arched instinctively beneath him, ‘this isn’t something I’m going to hurry—not even for you! I’ve lived with this moment for two years, and I’m going to enjoy and linger over every second of it, every caress, every kiss. The conception of my son is something you’re going to remember for the rest of your life, Chloe, no matter how many men there have been before or since.’

  There was a raw quality to his voice which in another man might have been bitter pain, but in Leon it could only be an indication of how much she had hurt his pride, Chloe acknowledged, her protest dying as he feathered light, tormenting kisses across her face, his hand pushing aside her flimsy robe to find the soft, rounded curve of her breast.

  A feeling of faintness overcame her as memories came rushing back. How could she have thought her body capable of resisting Leon, when he had taught it all it knew about sexual response? His lips and tongue were still tormenting her flesh; the slender arch of her throat; the warm curve of her shoulder, her own hands trembling with the effort it cost her to prevent them from sliding against the silken male skin above her.

  Marauding male lips had reached the shadowed cleft between her breasts. Chloe stiffened defensively, trying not to look down at the dark head pillowed against her pale flesh. But it was too late; like Pandora she had looked, and her body was punishing her folly by trembling with her growing desire for Leon’s complete possession.

  She held her breath as his lips played delicately with one firmly erect nipple, heated quivers of pleasure flooding through her. Pleasure she should not be feeling, Chloe reminded herself, gritting her teeth against the small moan of pleasure his touch invoked.

  ‘I know you want me, Chloe,’ Leon muttered roughly. ‘Your body tells me how much. Like this… and this….’

  She could only answer him with a ragged sigh of submission; the sigh turning into a gasped sob as his tongue ceased its torment and his mouth closed possessively over the aching flesh it had aroused.

  Her fingers clenching automatically in the thick dark hair, Chloe abandoned herself completely to the feverish longing sweeping through her. Nothing mattered except this; this fierce, furious tide of longing sweeping through her, causing her to arch yearningly beneath the taut familiarity of Leon’s body, and revel in his unmistakable response.

  ‘Leon….’

  At first she thought the female voice was her own, but when Leon stiffened, his hands ceasing their expert arousal of her body, Chloe realised that it was Marisa’s.

  ‘Here, put this on,’ he muttered, thrusting her robe towards her and also reaching for his own. Furious with herself and bitterly regretting her folly, Chloe fumbled nervously with the sash, but her hands were brushed aside with an impatient oath, as Leon turned her towards him, completing the task just as the door opened to reveal Marisa standing in the door, her voluptuously curved body clearly revealed in the thin robe she was wearing.

  ‘Leon?’ Her voice sharpened, her expression darkening as she saw Chloe.

  ‘I was having a nightmare,’ she announced, adopting a ‘little girl’ voice. ‘I was frightened. I wanted you, but you weren’t in your room. Then I saw lights downstairs. I thought you must be working… but I didn’t realise what on,’ she added with a spiteful glance at Chloe.

  ‘Marisa!’

  Tears formed in her eyes which she made no attempt to wipe away, simply letting them roll down her cheeks, until Leon went across to her, taking her in his arms.

  ‘I was so frightened Leon,’ she sobbed, ‘and you weren’t there…. I can’t go back to my own room. Can’t I stay with you…?’

  Chloe only just made it to her bathroom in time. The last time she had been so violently sick had been when she was pregnant. Shivering with revulsion, she tore the silk robe from her body and rolled it up into a ball, thrusting it out of sight. Only when she had subjected herself to a long, stinging shower did she return to her bedroom, which was quite, quite empty, but then what had she expected? She was pretty sure that Leon hadn’t even been aware that she was there from the moment that Marisa entered the room. Had the other girl only guessed what was h
appening, or had she known that they were downstairs? Either way, what did it matter?

  By rights she ought to be grateful for Marisa’s intervention, Chloe reflected, shaken to realise just how close she had come to succumbing to Leon—and not merely succumbing! She had wanted him!

  Disgusted with herself, she turned on her side, trying to will herself asleep. Whatever else happened she didn’t want Leon to know by her pale, wan face tomorrow morning that she had spent a sleepless night while he….

  While he spent the night with his mistress, she forced herself to say, appalled by the burning corrosively bitter emotion which was her instant reaction to the words.

  Something had happened to her on Eos. Something had stripped away her normal protective outer skin, making her ridiculously vulnerable to Leon, and somehow she had to stop it from happening again. It galled her to realise just how close she had come to allowing him to make love to her. It mustn’t happen again—but then tomorrow his guests were arriving and with a bit of luck she herself would be leaving with them when their visit came to an end. All she had to do was to find her passport!

  * * *

  The Kriticos family arrived the following afternoon, not as Chloe had expected by helicopter, but in a glittering white yacht which was berthed in Eos’s small harbour.

  Chloe had spent the morning carefully avoiding both Leon and Marisa; the former because she did not want to have to face the knowledge of her weakness in his eyes and the latter because she was foolishly, searingly jealous of her. Which was ridiculous, because jealousy was as much a side product of love as butter was of cream; without one there could not be the other. But Chloe did not love Leon. She wanted him, physically, but she despised him—didn’t she? Of course she did, she reassured herself hurriedly. Her jealousy was merely a legacy of their marriage, of those early days when she had thought him still a god in human form come down to earth.

  Despite her determination not to make any special effort to make a good impression on Leon’s guests, Chloe found herself examining the couture clothes in her wardrobe with a curiosity which soon turned to professional admiration. Surely Leon had not chosen these himself?

  From admiring, it was a natural step to trying on a silk two-piece in soft pinks and lilacs, the delicately pleated skirt flattering the long, slender line of her thighs. The bodice was draped softly and seemed to hug the soft curve of her breast. It was an outfit which screamed ‘haute couture’ to another woman and yet would still draw the admiring glances of men. As it drew Leon’s when she entered the salon just in time to see him returning from the small harbour with his guests.

  Madame Kriticos was dark and slim, her hair drawn back off her face into an elegant chignon. Make-up, expertly applied, emphasised flashing dark eyes and high cheekbones. Madame Kriticos might be wearing the traditional black of Greek women, but it was Dior black, and Parisienne make-up, and Chloe was glad that she had given in to the traitorous impulse to wear one of her new outfits—doubly glad when the drawing room door was suddenly pushed open and Marisa stormed in wearing skin-tight scarlet jeans and a skimpy tee-shirt which made no secret of the fact that she was not wearing a bra.

  Chloe caught Leon’s quick, disapproving frown out of the corner of her eye as he drew her forward to introduce Nikos Kriticos. She had already been introduced to his father, a thick-set man of middle height, Greek in physique and outlook, and she turned to his son, preparing the smile that had taken her along so many catwalks and fashion parades.

  ‘Kiria Stephanides….’ He stammered a little over her name, open admiration in the shy brown eyes looking so uncertainly into hers, and Chloe caught her breath in dismay. Surely Leon could not seriously contemplate a marriage between a boy like this and Marisa, who was centuries older than him in terms of experience?

  She suspected that something of her feelings must have shown on her face, because Leon’s fingers suddenly tightened warningly on her arm, and she was led away from Nikos to where Madame Kriticos had settled herself on one of the cream silk sofas.

  ‘Yes, Leon, do leave us to talk,’ he was instructed by their guest. ‘You and Alexandros have much business to discuss, I know. Perhaps Marisa might care to join us. It is a long time since I last spoke to her.’ She turned to Chloe, the dark eyes shrewd as she said, ‘You have returned to Greece only just in time, I think, Chloe. Marisa is in need of another woman’s guiding hand.’

  As she spoke her glance drifted across to where Marisa was standing next to Nikos, making no attempt to put the young Greek at his ease, or reply to his stumbling attempts at conversation. ‘She dresses like a European girl careless of her virtue,’ Madame Kriticos told Leon frankly. ‘You do well to find her a husband before it is too late.’

  Before Leon could reply, her husband came over to join them, and it was plain from his conversation that Madame Kriticos was correct in saying that the two men had business to discuss.

  ‘Perhaps you will excuse us,’ Leon murmured politely, quite obviously to Mr Kriticos’ relief. When they had gone Madame Kriticos called over her son and suggested that he ask Marisa to show him the garden.

  ‘It is normally the girl’s family who fear to leave her alone in the company of a hot-headed and rash young man, but in this instance, I suspect that Nikos is at considerably more risk than Marisa,’ Madame Kriticos informed Chloe when the two younger people had dutifully if somewhat unenthusiastically disappeared into the gardens.

  Chloe was still trying to come to terms with her guest’s frankness and find some way of responding to her without betraying her own feelings about Marisa when Madame Kriticos, pausing only to invite Chloe to call her ‘Christina’, added firmly, ‘I myself am by no means sure that such a marriage as Leon proposes would be good for Nikos. To my way of thinking he is still too young for marriage, and far too easygoing for a young woman as spoiled and indulged as Marisa, but my husband owes Leon a great deal, and for his sake….’ She shrugged. ‘Of course there is no denying that in financial terms it would be an excellent match, but there have been rumours circulating Athens for the past six months or more concerning Marisa’s behaviour which to put it mildly are—worrying. You have not returned to Greece before time, my dear,’ she continued, her eyebrows rising a little as she saw Chloe’s expression. She shrugged again, a wholly cosmopolitan gesture. ‘Oh, come, Chloe—Leon must have warned you what to expect? Athens society is very enclosed and interbred and delights in gossip, especially when it concerns its brighter stars. Leon is an extremely wealthy man—indeed his wealth causes comment in circles where wealth per se is simply taken for granted. When he returned from Paris with a wife you were the envy of every unmarried Greek girl under twenty-five and every Greek mother over forty. Surely I don’t need to tell you of the repercussions for Leon when you left him? Of course everyone expected him to divorce you,’ she continued. Chloe daren’t react, not with those too shrewd black eyes registering every reflex action she made. ‘Especially Marisa,’ Christina Kriticos continued. ‘I hope I’m not treading on painful corns, my dear, and please don’t think I’m speaking only as a mother who resents seeing her only son pushed into marriage with a girl who all too plainly will not make him the kind of wife I have always hoped he might find—but if you intend to make a success of your marriage you must watch out for Marisa.’

  When Chloe paled Madame Kriticos smiled thinly. ‘Oh, I know Leon thinks she’s nothing but a child and is prepared to indulge her every whim, but then men can so seldom see beyond a pretty face, can they? Especially when that face belongs to their nearest relative. Perhaps I shouldn’t speak so bluntly,’ she continued, allowing Chloe to draw a tiny breath of relief. For one dreadful moment she had thought that Madame Kriticos had known of Leon’s real relationship with Marisa. And yet why should that disturb her? Chloe demanded of herself. Surely it was to her advantage for Madame Kriticos to know the truth about Leon, for that would make her own exit from the island all the simpler, and yet her instinctive reaction had been to deny and e
ven lie if necessary to protect Leon. She was still trying to come to grips with this when Madame Kriticos paused, plainly expecting a reply to some question she had posed.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Chloe started to apologise. ‘I’m afraid my mind….’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Madame Kriticos laughed, shaking her head. ‘I understand from my husband that you and Leon are here on Eos to enjoy a second honeymoon.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Indeed, from what Alexandros told me I think Leon would be grateful if we were to make our visit as short as possible.’

  Chloe’s smile was constrained. She was remembering what Leon had said about his friends’ reaction to their separation. No doubt this was his way of re-dressing matters. The next step would no doubt be his announcement that his dutiful and docile wife was to produce his son.

  ‘Of course it is a pity that you must have Marisa with you,’ Madame Kriticos continued. ‘It is a great shame that Leon does not insist on her staying with his Aunt Elena at least until you have had some time together. From what I know of Elena Theopoulos she will not tolerate Marisa’s spoiled ways, as Leon does. Those clothes…!’ Madame Kriticos shuddered and would have said more had the sliding of the patio doors not warned them that Nikos and Marisa were about to enter the room.