by Anne Hampson
‘You liked it?’ He shook his head and frowned. ‘You will have to be educated,’ he told her decisively.’ ‘Your taste is incredibly unimaginative. You could look like a queen, given the correct styles and colours. Your hair will have to be cut,’ he decided as his eyes lit on it. ‘I’m not partial to hair quite as long as that. Did your fiancé like to bury his face in it, or something? For myself, it’s all right, but I‘d much rather bury my face in a warmer, more seductive place.’ His black eyes went to her breasts and a satirical light entered them as he saw the swift and painful rise of colour to her face.
‘You’re nothing but a beast—’
‘Careful, Tara,’ came the’ softly spoken interruption. ‘It was only your knuckles that were rapped just now, but it will be somewhere very different next time.’
Her colour deepened. If only she dared get up and leave the table! But caution kept her where she was.
She said after a long pause,
‘The way you talk about clothes it would seem that you always dress your women to suit your tastes? Am I to be another puppet?’
The words appeared to amuse him and she was puzzled as to the reason.
‘My taste is considered perfect,’ he rejoined casually. ‘As for my models being puppets—well, I suppose that in a way they are. It is I who pull the strings and they who dance for me.’
Tara could only stare at him for several seconds, staggered by the man’s insufferable pomposity.
‘You’ll, never’ get me to dance for you,’ she retorted at last. ‘I’ve no idea what sort of women you’ve had, but they certainly lacked spirit!’ She was becoming more composed now, a circumstance for which she was glad, since at least she was not showing him a weak side of her character which was not true to form anyway. Her career as a nurse in a very large hospital had, if only to a small extent, given her a certain toughness she would never have come by otherwise.
‘They did lack spirit,’ Leon agreed, ‘which you do not, in spite of the copious tears you’ve been shedding. I believe we shall get along most successfully once you resign yourself to the fact that you’ve gained rather than lost by my action in abducting you.’ His hard Greek eyes fixed hers as he held out a silver basket containing crispy bread rolls ‘Freshly baked in the galley by Carlos,’ he told her. ‘That man can turn his hand to anything.’
‘Including taking illegal part in his master’s nefarious schemes,’ Tara just could not help retorting.
‘You, my girl, will get another rap over the knuckles if you don’t guard that venomous tongue of yours. How many more times do you need to be warned?’ His knife was in his hand, his eyes on her hand as it lay on the cloth. Hastily she moved it, an automatic reaction, and she gritted her teeth as she heard him laugh. She picked up her glass and took a drink.
‘How long does it take to get to this island you live on?’
‘Some fair time,’ was his non-committal reply, and then he paused in thought. ‘I’ve a friend on the island of Corfu who’ll marry us—a priest of the Greek Orthodox Church. I saved his life once and quite unnecessarily he lives in a State of perpetual gratitude. He has often said that he feels obligated to me and that if ever he can repay me he will go to any lengths to do so.’
‘I can’t believe his gratitude would go to the lengths you speak of.’
‘He’ll marry us and ask no questions.’
‘Another criminal, then?—living under the cloak of the church.’ With every moment that passed she was gaining a little more composure. It was as if some in-built power was functioning to help her through her ordeal, guarding her against the total collapse which at first she had believed was inevitable owing to the ghastly upheaval in her life brought about by this ruthless Greek pagan sitting opposite to her.
‘He’s a most devout Christian,’ rejoined Leon in answer to her comment.
‘But not troubled by the fate of his soul, apparently.’
Leon gave a gust of laughter.
‘She has a sense of humour, too! Yes, my dear Tara, you and I will get along fine. You’ll be more diverting than all the rest put together.’ He was still amused; she had a strong suspicion that he was playing with her. She looked into his eyes, noticing, that his thin cruel mouth was relaxed now into a sensual curve above a. ruthless, out-thrust chin of great strength. There were hollows beneath his high cheekbones which added to the distinction of his features as a whole and it suddenly crossed her mind that Sue might have been right, after all, when she described him as handsome. Certainly he possessed the kind of face that would attract certain women ... those who craved to be mastered, thought Tara. For there was not one tiny sign of weakness to be found anywhere—even the deep lines across his dark forehead gave the impression of formidable invincibility.
She had compared him with David before and she found herself doing it again. There was such a vast difference in the two men and she did not know why she was comparing them. David was so kind and gentle and not particularly self-assertive; he almost always let her have her own way, which was very obliging of him and very comfortable for her. His kisses were gentle, respectful, his embrace tenderly relaxed, so that he should not hurt her at all. But this Greek—this heathen with the saturnine features and arrogant self-confidence of the god Zeus himself! This detestable creature did hurt her—he meant to hurt, purely to let her see who was master. His kisses were meant to be cruel, his hands ruthless, and even his voice was imperiously dictatorial, as if by it he would bend her to his iron-hard will.
‘What are your thoughts at this moment, Tara?’ His voice cut into her reverie and she looked at him. His glass was between his long lean fingers and he was regarding her with a faintly sardonic smile. ‘I have an idea you were thinking about me.’
‘How clever of you,’ she returned with sarcasm. ‘Yes, I was thinking how detestable you are!’
And yet you promised to marry me,’ was the suave reminder.
She went red to the roots of her hair.
‘I never for one moment considered marrying you,’ she denied.
‘Liar. That night when you promised you were resigned to telling your fiancé, even at that late stage, that it was all a mistake and you could not marry him.’
‘I was—was under the influence of—of———’ She broke off painfully and, picking up her glass, she emptied it in one continuous swallow.
‘Under the influence of love—’
‘Rubbish!’
‘I did not mean you to take the word quite literally. You were under the influence of desire, of my lovemaking. All you wanted at that moment was to get into bed with me.’
‘Oh—! You’re the most insufferable creature— and I hate you!’
‘For voicing the truth?’ He put the glass to his lips and took a small drink, then placed it on the coaster, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘You’re a coward, Tara, you’re afraid to own that you can be as amorous, and as eager for the fulfilment of sex, as I can.’
‘Shut up—be quiet—!’ She put her hands to her ears, glowering at him. ‘I don’t want to listen—I won’t listen!’ And with that she flung herself off the chair and ran for the door. But he barred her way, seizing her round the waist and swinging her off her feet, then down and against the virile hardness of his body. ‘Oh … let me go—’ His lips crushed with brutal dominance the rest of what she was going to say. His arms brought her close, crushing her tender breasts against the coiled-spring hardness of his chest. She gasped, fighting for breath, gulping air when at last he drew his sensuous, demanding mouth from hers. She felt her ribs would collapse from the fiendish cruelty of his hold. He was determined to prove his complete mastery over her, to demonstrate the superiority of his strength. His hands spanned her waist as eventually he held her at arms’ length, his eyes burning, a betrayal of the smouldering desire within him. He wanted her—desperately! Fear rose in great waves of mental agony as she lived in imagination what must surely come to her. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to cr
y out for mercy, not to plead and whimper, revealing her weakness, while her strength lay dormant, reduced to inertness by this man’s powerful, magnetic personality.
‘Admit it!’ he commanded, his voice vibrant with passion. ‘Admit that you did want to marry me—that you would have done so if we could have gone off at that time! I ought to have taken you—brought you to surrender so that you’d have had proof of your own desires.’ His hands slid down to her thighs, infusing life into her body, stimulating her emotions in a deliberate attempt to bring her to submission. ‘Admit that you wanted me—that you want me at this moment!’ So arrogant, so dictatorial his voice. She tried to twist away, but he held her easily as he slid his hands to her waist again. The next moment she was locked to him, melded to his body, her quivering lips were parted in obedience to the sensuous demands of his, and quivers of sheer ecstasy rippled along her spine. She was ordered to put her arms around his neck and as before she obeyed. From the deep mist of her drugged mind she was recalling the night he had mentioned, and soon she was re-living it, thrilling to the hardness of his body in its erotic unrest, to the contact of his warm fingers caressing her breast, to the temptation of his other hand as it slid lower and lower down her back.
‘Admit it,’ ordered again hoarsely, and she had no resistance to defy him ... she had no desire to defy him. She was ready to surrender in any way he should command and he knew it; she was ready to become his wife and he heard her say it.
‘We shall pull in at Corfu,’ he said a moment later when, hearing Dimitri and Elias talking outside the door, he released her and told her to sit down. ‘We’ll be married very soon, Tara and all your desires will be fulfilled.’
CHAPTER FIVE
HE came to her cabin, as she expected he would. But the intervening time since the moment when she had said she wanted to marry him, and the end of the meal, had brought Tara well and truly to her senses. She admitted that the Greek with his vast experience of women and the finesse which, apparently had always proved successful, could ignite within her a flame of desire which could rise to a conflagration that would destroy her altogether. Sanity came swiftly, with its cold logic, and by the time the coffee and cognac were served to them in the main saloon—which was the sitting-room——she was ready to do battle with him again. Her composure was restored, and her dignity. She accepted the fact of her own weakness where his persuasions were concerned but resolved firmly never to be caught off balance again. She would fight him all the way, would control her impulses somehow.
She was pale but totally composed when, hearing the door handle turn, she swung around to see Leon in the doorway, a tall impressive figure with teak-brown skin, black piercing eyes and a smile on his thin lips that was a mixture of triumph and amusement.
‘Not ready for me?’ he observed with a lift of his straight black brows. ‘Shall I be lady’s maid for you, my dear ...?’ He was closing the door behind him as he spoke, and in spite of her resolve Tara was already affected by his magnetic presence. What had he done to her? How could any man have this kind of power? Did every woman he met fall beneath it?
‘I—I’ve changed my mind about marrying you,’ she managed to say, amazed that her voice was steady. ‘I don’t know why you’ve come, but——’
‘Tara,’ he chided in a very soft tone, ‘cut out the infantile innocence. You must admit it’s more than a little ridiculous after all that happened in there, an hour or so ago. If I’d carried you to bed then you’d be my possession by now.’
‘Possession! Greek women are their husbands’ possessions, aren’t they?’
‘Married women are’ he answered mildly. ‘It’s as it should be, surely?’
‘Who’s pretending now?’ demanded Tara. ‘You’ve enough knowledge of the West to know that it is not as it should be!’
‘You expect equality?’ He shook his head. ‘Not for you, Tara. I’m the master in my home—and everyone, including my wife—would forget it at their peril.’ So unemotional the tone, but the dictatorial undercurrent could not possibly be missed.
‘Please go,’ said Tara wearily. ‘I want to go to bed.’
‘You’re tired?’ Something was obviously amusing him, but his face was an impenetrable mask, fixed, unreadable.
‘Yes, I’m tired.’
‘You wouldn’t have been, though, if you were on your honeymoon?’
She gave a start. Was it only hours since this fiend had snatched her away from her waiting bridegroom? Tears started to her eyes. This night would have been...
‘Go away!’ she cried. ‘I hate your presence, your face, your rotten Greek arrogance. Go away, I said!’
Instead, he moved towards her and she retreated until the backs of her legs touched the bed.
‘You’re frustrated? Is that it? But there’s no need—’
‘Frustrated?’ she broke in, puzzled.
‘Feeling deprived—of the bedmate you’ve been looking forward for weeks to lying with. I’ve been through the experience myself once or twice. It’s a bit of a let-down when you’ve banked on a passionate interlude that doesn’t materialise.’ Another step brought him closer, but then he stopped.
‘You seem to know,’ she flashed, playing for time.
‘Of course I know. Women are so unpredictable; they often think they will and then decide they won’t. Of course, any man worth his salt will accept the refusal as a challenge, but sometimes it’s not worth the trouble.’
She looked at him; the suspicion crossed her mind that he was playing with her and she flushed, maintaining a silence she had no intention of breaking.
Leon broke it by saying,
‘As I remarked, you have no need to be frustrated. I’m very sure I shall make a most excellent substitute for your bridegroom. In fact,’ he added, slowly coming towards her, ‘in your secret heart you prefer me to him.’
‘You pompous, conceited—heathen!’
He was close enough for her to catch the odour of after-shave—a clean, healthy smell that reminded her of pine trees after rain. His hand was lifted and she flinched, expecting him to slap her cheek for what she had said, but instead he took her chin in a hard grip, bent his head and kissed her tightly-closed lips.
‘When you’re angry you are very appealing; I want to prolong your anger and yet, oddly enough, I want to bring you to heel. You’re exciting, Tara, as I knew you would be on the very first occasion I set eyes on you.’ Releasing her, he moved away; she missed the contact of his hand on her chin, of his nearness, of the touch of his lips.
She said after a moment,
‘Will you please go?’
‘You have just promised to marry me,’ he reminded her. ‘I don’t think it’s necessary to wait, do you? We can begin our honeymoon now—’
‘It was two hours ago that I said I’d marry you,’ she broke in, fear widening her eyes because of his glance, which swept its amorous way from her face to her neck and then to the firm contours of her breasts. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I shall never marry you, never!’
The black eyes kindled and the thin nostrils quivered. He reminded her of an untamed jungle beast ready to pounce on its terror-stricken prey. Oh, God, how had she got herself into a position like this! Such things only happened to other people. You read about them in the newspapers, felt sorry for the victim, then tossed the paper aside. You weren’t affected; you never even dreamed of being the victim yourself.
And now, in England, people would be reading about her—the bride who had been kidnapped on her way to her wedding. What a dramatic headline it would make for the morning papers—an interesting story to be read at the breakfast table. And poor David frantic. For the first time in her life Tara was glad that she had no parents.
‘You will marry me—and enjoy being my wife.’ The low, alien voice drifted into her thoughts; she could hake wept to hear the throaty bass note which he made no attempt to hide. ‘Come on,’ he coaxed, ‘relax and take what’s offered. I can promise you’ll enjoy this night fa
r more than if you were with that fellow you were going to marry.’
‘Go away! I can’t think properly! Can’t you see my heart is breaking?’
An exasperated little intake of his breath, an impatient flash of his eyes and then,
‘Hearts never break! For heaven’s sake try to get rid of this dogged determination to suffer! It’s an attitude of mind,’ he added derisively, ‘nothing more!’
‘You have no heart,’ she quavered, ‘that’s, why you can’t understand.’
‘I understand how I can make you forget—’ And with a swift movement he drew her shrinking body to him, his arms pinning it against him as he sought her lips, forcing their tightness apart. Tara writhed and twisted, fighting with everything in her, pitifully engaging herself in a losing battle. She could feel the wild throbbing of her heart and it frightened her; she knew the exquisite pain of a cruel, possessive embrace, the pleasure-pain of a breast being ruthlessly fondled. Leon’s passion rose to unbridled heights and his kisses were fire on her lips. She knew she must surrender even before his strength had taken all the physical fight put of her.
‘Passive at last,’ he murmured, his mouth warm and soft against her breast. ‘What strength you have, child—but it makes the victory all the more satisfying.’ He lifted his head to stare with amused triumph into eyes dark and cloudy with desire. ‘You said you’d changed your mind about marrying me, but you haven’t, have you?’ While he spoke his hand was bringing down the zip fastener of her dress and she quivered ecstatically at the contact of his fingers with her back. She was totally trapped in a net of sensual yearning, unable to think of anything save the glorious temptation of the moment. Never in her life had she been affected with emotions of such violent intensity. Her forehead was damp, with tendrils of hair clinging to it. Excitement throbbed in every vein ... and David was a million light years away... ‘Have you ... my little tiger cat?’ repeated Leon, and she lifted her lovely face and said in a voice that held not a trace of uncertainty,
