Innocent Obsession

by Anne Mather

  Dazzled as she was by the sun and her imagination, Sylvie was in the water and some distance out from the shore before she realised she was not alone. A few yards farther out, a dark head bobbed lazily on the waves, a lean, muscular body supported by the most indolent of strokes. It was Andreas, of course. It had to be. And Sylvie’s frustration was complete as she turned back towards the beach. Not only had he come here disturbing her peace and her sleep, but now he was spoiling the one part of the day she considered completely her own, and angry tears sprang foolishly to her eyes.

  ‘Hey!’

  His attractive voice hailed her as she swam frantically for the shore, but Sylvie refused to acknowledge him. Let him have the water to himself, so long as he chose to stay here. She would enjoy it after he was gone, which surely couldn’t be more than a few days from now.

  ‘Sylvie!’

  Impatience etched his tones, which were alarmingly nearer now, and she could hear the sound of his movement through the water. He was evidently a much stronger swimmer than she was, and his unhurried strokes were rapidly gaining on her.

  ‘Sylvie—wait!’

  His words were uttered right behind her, and his hand reaching for her arm threw her into a ridiculous state of panic. She threshed about wildly, struggling to free herself, and his only course was to pull her against him, imprisoning her arms against her sides.

  ‘Theé mou, stop fighting me!’ he exclaimed, faint amusement in his eyes as they met the stormy amber of hers. ‘What are you afraid of? I am not going to hurt you. But if you continue as you are doing, you may drown us both.’

  ‘Then let me go!’ she cried unsteadily, as the closeness of his body was rapidly banishing all other thoughts from her head. She could hardly believe it, but she could feel the muscled strength of his limbs against hers, and although her senses revoked the unwilling awareness, she was becoming convinced he was wearing nothing at all.

  This realisation momentarily robbed her of all aggression, and her weakness made her yield completely against him. Immediately she knew she had not been mistaken, but before she could react he thrust her determinedly away from him.

  Sylvie’s cheeks were pink now, as much from embarrassment as indignation, and with an impatient movement of his head, Andreas put several feet between them. ‘Entaxi, so you are shocked,’ he declared flatly. ‘You were not meant to behave like a frightened colt, just because I wanted to talk to you.’

  Sylvie swallowed hard, but she didn’t do as her brain was frantically dictating and swim away from him. Somehow it was too late for that, and besides, she had his assurance now that all he wanted to do was talk to her.

  ‘I—I don’t see what we have to say to one another,’ she said, keeping herself afloat without too much effort, and Andreas’s dark eyes narrowed.

  ‘No?’ He paused. ‘Not even when I tell you that Thia Ariadne spoke to me last evening, after she had been speaking to you?’

  Sylvie held up her head, the wet coils of her hair floating about her. ‘I can’t imagine what your aunt could have told you that might make you think I would know what in the world you are talking about,’ she retorted, rather obscurely. ‘Thia Ariadne merely came to my room to enquire if I was feeling all right, that’s all.’

  ‘Is it?’ Andreas’s mouth twisted. ‘And you deny telling her that I have been what is it you say?—bullying you, no?’

  Sylvie guessed as much, but that didn’t make it any easier to handle. ‘If your aunt thinks you’ve been bullying me, then it’s an impression she’s gained, not me.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘I wouldn’t dream of discussing you with her. I’m perfectly capable of handling my own affairs.’

  ‘Oh, are you?’ Andreas inclined his head sardonically. ‘You mean by dodging the issue, I suppose.’

  Sylvie’s brows drew together. ‘Dodging the issue?’ she said confusedly.

  ‘That is not how you would describe it?’ he enquired, with mocking perception. ‘What else would you call your determination to avoid me?’

  Sylvie sniffed. She had guessed he would not be deceived by her paltry excuses, but she had hoped he would be too polite to confront her with them. She should have known better.

  ‘You flatter yourself,’ she said now, refusing to admit anything to him. ‘It was true. I wasn’t hungry at lunchtime, and in the evening I had some letters to write.’

  ‘Obviously very important letters,’ he mocked, glancing up at the sun as he slicked back his hair with long wet fingers.

  ‘Obviously,’ she agreed, stiffening as he swam round her in a wide circle, before returning to the attack.

  ‘You were afraid to show your face,’ he charged her coolly. ‘You were afraid I might be shown to be right.’ He hesitated. ‘It may interest you to know that your absence did not improve my brother’s appetite either.’

  Sylvie heaved a sigh. ‘Is that all you have to say to me, Mr Petronides?’ she exclaimed. ‘Because if you don’t mind, I’d like to go and get dressed before breakfast.’

  ‘What about your swim?’ asked Andreas annoyingly. ‘I understood from Leon that you swim every morning.’

  ‘And no doubt you set out to waylay me!’ she retorted:

  Andreas’s thin lips curved. ‘You might say that.’

  Sylvie’s indignation rose. ‘You mean you did!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You know why not!’ She was incensed.

  ‘Oh—–’ He grimaced. ‘Because I am not wearing any shorts.’ His expression became mocking. ‘I regret, I did not bring any with me.’

  ‘Then—then you should have—have worn something else. A pair of—of Leon’s, perhaps.’

  ‘I do not wear my brother’s clothes,’ replied Andreas mildly. ‘And I did not know you were so prudish, Sylvie. You, who declares herself so capable of taking care of herself.’

  ‘You—you wouldn’t have done this if—if I’d been a Greek girl!’ exclaimed Sylvie resentfully. ‘Oh, you—you’re detestable!’ and with a sudden turn she swam strongly back to the shore.

  She was several yards up the beach when he caught her, grasping her arms from behind and pulling her back against him. ‘I do not intend that you shall walk away from me again,’ he declared, his breath warm against her ear, and without giving her time to protest, he twisted her round in his arms and imprisoned her mouth beneath his.

  His kiss was hard and hungry, demanding a response and gaining it from her unprepared lips, and the sensuality of their embrace was heightened every minute she was pressed against him. But her outrage at his insistence was weakened by her discovery that he had taken the time to wrap a towel around his waist, and the unmistakable effect she was having on him was muted by the double layer of terry-cloth.

  She wanted to tell him to let her go, but her lips parted involuntarily, and his tongue against her sensitized skin ignited her emotions. Almost convulsively, her arms arched upward, around his neck, gripping the hair on his nape and pulling him closer. The thin cotton of her bikini was hardly a barrier to the thrusting fullness of her breasts, and the hair on his stomach was disturbingly rough and male against her midriff.

  ‘This was not my intention,’ he muttered huskily, when he released her lips long enough to gather drops of moisture from the curve of her cheek with his tongue. ‘But you are so—so desirable, you make me do things I know I will regret!’

  Sylvie’s senses were spinning, the dazzling brilliance of the sun making her close her eyes so that all she could think about and feel was Andreas’s closeness, his lovemaking, his devastating assault on her emotions. Her lashes fanned like a dark shadow on her cheeks, her lips were parted, inviting his invasion, and her sun-kissed limbs curved into his, seeking that ultimate intimacy. All sense of time and place had left her, and it was Andreas who had to push her away at last, holding her from him with hands that bit into her flesh.

  ‘Sylvie!’ he muttered, as she swayed dizzily before him. ‘Sylvie, what are you trying to do to me?’ And as her eyes jerked open:
‘For God’s sake, you cannot be that naïve!’

  Sylvie gazed at him half uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then, realising the ignominy of her position, freed herself. Pushing back the dripping length of her hair, she endeavoured to recover a sense of proportion, desperately anxious that Andreas should not become aware of how shaken she was.

  Andreas, for his part, was turning away, and now she saw the denim shorts lying on the sand. Their existence suddenly infuriated her, reminding her as they did of his deliberate attempt to humiliate her, and the words rushed out of her as he bent to pick them up.

  ‘I wonder what Leon or your aunt would say if they knew what you had done!’ she exclaimed contemptuously. ‘I wonder how Thia Ariadne would react if I told her you had gone swimming in the nude. Particularly, when you knew—you expected—me to join you!’

  Andreas paused, regarding her between narrowed lids. ‘Do you really think I care what Leon or Ariadne think?’ he demanded harshly. ‘I am not a child, Sylvie. I live my own life. And if I choose to punish provocative little girls like you in any way I think fit, no one—and I mean no one—has the right to stop me.’

  Sylvie caught her breath. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  He bowed his head. ‘That is your prerogative, of course.’ His lips curled. ‘But I should tell you, if you think your threats will trap me into marriage, as your sister trapped my brother, then you are wasting your time.’

  Sylvie gasped. ‘Marriage? Do you think I would marry you?’ She shook her head disbelievingly.

  Andreas shrugged. ‘You mean I can have you without marriage?’

  ‘No!’ Sylvie’s face was crimson. ‘How—how dare you—–’

  Andreas’s dark eyes were mocking. ‘My dear child, I could have taken you just now, a few moments ago, had I had a mind to provide the seabirds with such a spectacle—–’

  ‘No—–’

  ‘—and if you say you do not want marriage,’ he continued inexorably, ‘then I can only assume you will settle for something else.’

  ‘You—bastard!’

  Andreas’s mouth hardened. ‘That is not the language of a young lady. And I am beginning to think you are more like Margot than I suspected.’

  ‘Why?’ Sylvie felt suddenly hot and miserable. In any argument with him, she came out the loser, and quite unexpectedly she felt near to tears.

  ‘Why?’ Andreas seemed taken aback by her question, and for a moment he regarded her with steady appraisal. Then, as if aware of her inner turmoil, he turned away. ‘Go and get dressed, Sylvie,’ he advised her tautly. ‘I suggest we try and forget this—this conversation ever took place. Perhaps I have been rather—cruel. Perhaps you make me that way. In any event, this situation must not be repeated, and it is as well that Eleni is joining us tomorrow. Perhaps she will help you to keep things in perspective.’

  Leon was at the breakfast table when Sylvie emerged from the villa after taking a shower. As on the previous day, he was wearing shorts and leather sandals, and his thin face broke into a warm smile when she seated herself beside him.

  ‘Where were you yesterday?’ he exclaimed, after she had asked after his health, and been assured that he felt stronger every day. ‘I missed you. Do not let Andreas frighten you away. I know you feel the outsider here, but believe me when I say I would rather talk to you than practically anyone else.’

  Sylvie forced a smile, but his words were unpleasantly familiar after that his brother had said, and she hated Andreas anew for making her so absurdly sensitive. In consequence, her response was warmer than it might have been otherwise, and Leon was holding one of her hands between both of his when Andreas came out of the villa.

  He, too, had bathed and changed, drops of moisture still sparkling on the smooth darkness of his hair. He was wearing the jeans he had worn to come in, and a navy cotton vest, and his dominant vitality was in direct contrast to his brother’s paler image. His eyes flicked carelessly over Sylvie, assessing her simple poplin suit and dismissing it. If he observed their closeness he made no mention of the fact, but merely flung himself in the chair opposite and greeted his brother with genuine enthusiasm.

  Immediately Sylvie felt discomfited, whether he intended it or otherwise. The poplin shorts and halter top, which in her bedroom had looked bright and attractive, now felt skimpy and childish, and she wished she had not plaited her hair, which made her look more like a schoolgirl.

  ‘I thought I might drive into the village this morning, and take the ferry over to Piso,’ Andreas remarked, after Irene had brought him some fresh rolls and coffee. ‘It is some time since I have seen Riva, and I promised him I would call the next time I came to Monastiros.’ He paused, then said, deliberately, Sylvie felt: ‘I thought I might take Nikos with me.’ His eyes met hers for an instant and then moved on. ‘To give—Sylvie—a break, hmm?’ His lips twisted with faint maliciousness. ‘What do you think, Leon?’

  Leon hesitated, looking first at his brother, then at Sylvie, and finally back to his brother again. ‘I think perhaps you should take Sylvie,’ he said at last, and as she started to protest, he added: ‘It is true. She has not had a rest from the boy since our arrival, and I think—–’

  ‘I don’t need a rest!’ Sylvie interrupted him determinedly. ‘Honestly, Leon, Nikos and I—–’

  ‘But you have seen nothing of the islands yet, have you, little one?’ Leon persisted gently. ‘Listen to me—–’ This, as her lips parted in denial. ‘You will enjoy yourself with Andreas. He is not a poor creature like me—–’

  ‘Leon!’ Sylvie gazed helplessly at him. ‘Leon, Andreas didn’t ask me!’ She was flushed and embarrassed again, as well as angry. ‘Please—–’

  ‘Naturally, if Sylvie would like to accompany me, I should be delighted to escort her,’ inserted Andreas at this point, his tone cool and infuriatingly controlled. ‘I could take them both—–’

  Like children together, thought Sylvie frustratedly, but Leon did not see it that way.

  ‘Nikos will stay here,’ he averred firmly. ‘We will enjoy having a day together. Surely you would not deprive me of both my companions at one time?’ he added lightly.

  Sylvie sighed. ‘Leon—–’

  ‘Go, little one. Go and enjoy yourself. This is your holiday—remember that.’

  Sylvie’s eyes were stormy when she looked at Andreas, and his almost imperceptible shrug did not help. It was as if he was denying all responsibility for what had taken place, and although she did not want to accept it, she had to concede he was not to blame.

  Oh, Leon, she thought helplessly, turning her eyes on the man watching her with such tender compassion. Why had he to interfere? If only he had just let Andreas go. She didn’t want to spend a whole day in his company. She didn’t even like him. And it was certain sure that he did not want to spend the day with her!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE little caique that served as a ferryboat between the islands was not crowded, but there was much noise and laughter and goodnatured argument between its passengers, and the clucking of hens from a crate stowed on the engine housing added their own peculiar protest to the mêlée. The caique was an ungainly-looking vessel, that rocked rather alarmingly when Sylvie stepped aboard, but once under weigh it rode the gentle waves smoothly, with only the occasional swell to disturb a nervous stomach.

  Sylvie seated herself at the far end of the wooden planking that ran along the side of the vessel, deliberately turning her back on Andreas as she draped one honey-brown arm over the rail. If she had to accompany him, then so be it, but she was not going to allow herself to be accused of engineering this particular outing. It was obvious he did not want to take her, and certainly she had no desire to go. But Leon would have become suspicious of her motives if she had continued to argue against it, and Andreas’s sardonic expression had revealed what he thought of her protests.

  She had taken the time to change, however, discarding the halter top and shorts in favour of a bikini and a matching wrap-aroun
d skirt. The outfit had been Margot’s, many moons ago, but styles had changed and her sister had offered it to her, and the twelve-year-old Sylvie, as she then was, had jumped at the chance of an expensive beach suit. Now she suspected the skirt was a little short for fashionable wear, and its beaded piping was definitely dated, but the colour, a kind of dusty pink edged with white, suited her, and she felt more at ease with her thighs safely covered.

  The caique had a canvas canopy rigged haphazardly across the central area, and the shadow it cast meant Sylvie’s shoulders would be protected from the increasing glare of the sun. She had chosen the sheltered side deliberately, so that she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable, but she sighed in exasperation when the caique pulled away from the harbour, swinging round so that she was on the unprotected side after all.

  ‘I could have told you, if you had asked,’ remarked Andreas behind her, and she swung round mutinously, fixing him with an angry glare.

  ‘But of course you had to be asked, didn’t you?’ she snapped, infuriated by his cool indifference to the heat, and he inclined his head politely as she fumed over her mistake.

  ‘Why do you not go and sit over there?’ he enquired, gesturing lazily across the boat to where two elderly Greek women were gossiping together, oblivious to the heat. There was room for one, wedged between them and some crates, and after a moment’s hesitation Sylvie nodded.

  ‘Why not?’ she declared, getting up. ‘Their company can’t be any more objectionable than yours!’ and picking her way across a pile of ropes, she did as he suggested.

  As she got nearer the women, however, the smell of fish became unmistakable, and she realised suddenly what was in the crates. If she seated herself beside them, she would soon smell as strongly as they did, and her lips twitched in frustration as she stumbled ignominiously back to her previous position.