by Sara Craven
But there is no ordinary way, she thought bleakly. Not any more. Not for me. However bravely I may have spoken to Thia Theodosia, I know that nothing in my life will ever be the same again. And that I’ll never be truly free, either.
But what really frightens me is—why I am suddenly so sure of that.
And felt a shiver run through her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
NATASHA studied herself in the full-length mirror, then turned away, biting her lip. The cream silk slip of a dress, with its swirl of knee-length skirt and narrow shoulder straps, was certainly attractive and beautifully styled, but its design ruled out the wearing of a bra and the soft cling of the fabric over her breasts made her feel hideously self-conscious.
She hadn’t actually intended to change for dinner, or make any kind of effort, but Josefina had other ideas.
Or, more accurately, she was under orders. And the charcoal suit had been their first target.
‘Kyrios Alexandros wishes not to see it again,’ she’d announced, spreading her hands in apology. ‘So, I take, if you please, thespinis.’ She gestured towards the rail of dresses and casual wear in the wardrobe. ‘So much loveliness from which to choose,’ she added temptingly.
Natasha’s lips parted to deliver a stormy dismissal of all Alex Mandrakis’s wishes, past, present and still to come, but bit them back, unuttered.
Picking a fight over a coat and skirt was hardly in line with her plan for coldly indifferent obedience, she reminded herself wearily. Especially when she would be glad to rid herself of them, and their memories.
‘Fine.’ She’d forced a smile, managed a shrug. ‘You can collect the suit while I have a shower.’
Josefina rummaged in a different part of the wardrobe, and with almost a flourish produced the silver robe, which, to Natasha’s astonishment, seemed to have been washed and ironed by some anonymous and hard-working soul since she’d taken it off that morning.
‘Some career choice,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Personal laundress to Alex Mandrakis’s women.’
On the other hand, she supposed it was steady work, and unlikely to slacken off in the long term.
Left to herself, she discovered the wardrobe drawers were a treasure chest of exquisite lingerie, all handmade in silk and lace, and, to her surprise, pretty rather than overtly erotic.
While in the bathroom, she was unnerved to find an array of toiletries—perfume sprays, creams and lotions—all in her favourite scent.
The helpful maid again, no doubt, she thought bitterly. And I can’t bear that he’s been able to find out so much about me when, until last night, he was a total stranger, as far as I was concerned. Someone I’d seen at a distance just once before.
But never really forgotten….
The words lanced into her consciousness, and remained there in spite of her efforts to dismiss them. As Alex himself had done three years before.
Yet that was hardly surprising, she told herself, considering his playboy notoriety.
The last time he’d hit the headlines had been following his thirtieth birthday party, where he’d been joined in Selene’s swimming pool by six beautiful girls, all naked, for what the tabloids described as ‘a celebration sex romp’.
And one of them, Sharmayne Eliot, a luscious redhead who described herself as an actress and model, had later confided breathlessly to the world, ‘He’s sensational. Now I know why they call him Alexander the Great.’
‘I wonder how many languages he needed that night,’ Natasha had muttered to herself at the time, ramming the offending newspaper into the waste basket with quite unnecessary vigour.
But if I ever felt even remotely superior to Sharmayne and her companions then I’m certainly paying for it now, she thought as she stepped into the shower.
When she emerged from the bathroom, refreshed and scented, with her hair dried into a shining curve on her shoulders, she found Josefina, fresh from her victory over the suit and ignoring all protests, waiting to give her a manicure.
Presumably Kyrios Alexandros preferred to be touched by women with soft hands, Natasha thought furiously, then was forced to endure, with gritted teeth, the additional coating of soft rose enamel that Josefina insisted on applying to her toenails.
It was mortifying to find herself being turned into some kind of clone of the smooth, pampered girls who were his usual companions.
But it was only a surface change. Some rough edges might have been removed in an attempt to make her fit the template, but it went no further than that. And it never would.
He had said she was beautiful, but Natasha knew that reasonably attractive would be a more accurate description, and that what looks she possessed would hardly compensate for her total lack of experience.
She must be the last woman in the world that any man would want as his mistress. But what did that matter when it was only Alex’s desire for revenge that needed to be satisfied? she thought bitterly.
She was his trophy—that was all—a symbol of his victory in a war that had lasted far too long, and of which she’d become a civilian casualty.
But whatever he wanted from her, she would bet that it would certainly not be the resentful passivity that awaited him. When he embarked on his journey into pleasure, he’d be travelling alone, she told herself resolutely. She would make quite sure of that.
It was sunset before Alex eventually arrived on board Selene.
Natasha had spent the intervening hours in the saloon, restless and edgy as she listened to the bumps, bangs and shouted orders which were the prelude to the Selene’s departure. She couldn’t really decipher what was going on, but she was aware of launches coming and going all the time, and presumed they were delivering more passengers. Perhaps other girls, in line with the yacht’s reputation, she thought, flinching. But if they provided a diversion, she could hardly complain.
Kostas appeared from time to time, mainly to ask with increasing anxiety if there was anything he could get for her, but also, at one point, to convey a message from Captain Whitaker that the boat bringing Kyrios Alexandros was on its way from the marina. News, no doubt, that was supposed to prompt her to rush out on deck to welcome him.
She thought, Not a damn chance.
Aloud, she said, ‘Efharisto.’ And returned to the magazine she was reading, staring at the printed words until they blurred.
She heard approaching footsteps, the sound of male voices laughing and talking just outside, and got quickly and clumsily to her feet, smoothing suddenly damp palms down the skirt of her dress, aware that she was trembling inside.
Then the door opened and Alex walked in.
Her immediate thought, which seemed to come from nowhere, was that he looked tired. He was carrying his discarded jacket and tie over his arm, his shirt was half-unbuttoned and he needed a shave.
His gaze sharpened when he saw her. He took a step towards her, and she froze into taut stillness, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. He halted instantly, his mouth twisting in sardonic acknowledgement.
When he spoke, his tone was coolly polite. ‘Kalispera, Natasha mou. I apologise for keeping you waiting, but a simple meeting suddenly became complicated.’
She kept her own voice steady. ‘If you’re in the mood for explanations, Kyrios Mandrakis, perhaps you’d tell me what I’m doing on this boat?’
‘I thought you were looking pale, pedhi mou, even a little stressed,’ he drawled. ‘I decided some sun and sea air might restore your colour, and your spirits. And that you might find a cruise among the islands less pressured than staying in Athens.’
‘You made a decision, snapped your fingers, and—this happened?’
‘Pretty much,’ he agreed, shrugging. ‘But I spend much of my life on board the Selene. In many ways she has become my real home, so she is usually ready to sail when I require.’
He paused. ‘I hope my people have made you comfortable.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘As prisons go, this must be the lap
of luxury.’
His brows lifted. ‘Is that how you intend to regard me—as your jailer?’
‘Even that,’ she said, the words like chips of ice, ‘would be too flattering.’
There was a silence, then he said quietly, ‘Natasha mou, this has been a long and difficult day. I do not need another fight, believe me, so have a care.’
He added, ‘We sail in fifteen minutes. Once I have had a shower, I will take you round the Selene, so you can see for yourself the opportunities for relaxation that she offers.’
‘No,’ she said, stonily. ‘Thank you. I’ve already been shown the bedroom, which I imagine is the only area on this boat that directly concerns me. And I don’t expect to find it particularly relaxing.
‘But please don’t let me keep you from your other guests,’ she added. ‘I’m sure they’ll be dying to inspect the facilities. After all, they’re world famous.’
His mouth softened into a faint grin. ‘Are you referring to the guests, or the facilities, matia mou? If it’s the guests, you are mistaken. Apart from the crew and staff, we shall be alone.’
It wasn’t what she’d expected to hear at all. She said, ‘But I—I thought that you always invited crowds of people.’
‘The boat sleeps fifteen.’ He tossed his jacket and tie across the arm of a sofa, and began to release the remaining buttons on his shirt. ‘Hardly a multitude. Are you disappointed?’
She shrugged. ‘What possible difference can it make to me? The Selene’s your yacht. You’re entitled to do as you please.’
‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘Which is why I intend to give you my entire and undivided attention, agapi mou.’ He paused to allow her to assimilate his words. ‘Although that will not be as simple as I’d hoped,’ he went on, grimacing. ‘Thanks to your brothers, the affairs of my new companies are tangled beyond belief; therefore I may be forced to leave you briefly from time to time.’
He added with faint mockery, ‘I trust that will not be a problem for you, agapi mou? Or do you wish me to issue invitations—provide company for you when I am absent, so that you can practise your skills as a hostess?’
She looked at him in horror. ‘Oh, no—please. That’s the last thing I want.’
‘And I thought that was myself,’ he murmured. ‘I am encouraged.’
He paused. ‘I have been considering our itinerary. You have a favourite destination among the Cyclades? Paros, perhaps, or Santorini?’ He smiled at her. ‘If there is somewhere you would like to revisit, you have only to say so.’
For a moment she was silent, then she said reluctantly, ‘I’ve never been to any of the islands. Thio Basilis did not care to leave Athens, but in the real heat he used to send us down to stay near Nauplia.’
She paused again, then said slowly, ‘However, I think Thia Theodosia once had a house on a place called Alyssos. Do you know it?’
‘Yes,’ Alex said quietly. ‘I know it.’
‘I remember Stavros and Andonis used to talk about holidays there when they were young boys, even before Irini was born,’ Natasha continued. ‘But Thio Basilis obviously preferred the Peleponnese, and she would never argue with him.’
‘A jewel among women.’ There was an odd harshness in his voice.
‘Yes, she is,’ Natasha said defiantly. ‘And if you’re about to be unpleasant about her for some reason, then think again, because I love her dearly.’
Also because she has a better opinion of you than you’ll ever deserve…
He said drily, ‘I do not have to be reminded of your affection for her, matia mou. It is, after all, the only reason you are here with me now. So I should be grateful to her, even if you are not.’
His smile this time was brief and almost remote. ‘Now I am going to take my shower. I have asked Mac to join us for dinner,’ he added. ‘I hope you do not object.’
‘Oh, no,’ Natasha denied hurriedly. ‘That’s—fine.’
‘Or at least more agreeable than my company alone,’ Alex said smoothly. ‘Until later, then, Natasha mou.’ And he sauntered into the bedroom.
She realised she had been holding her breath, terrified that he might insist she join him. But it seemed she was temporarily off the hook.
And told herself she should be grateful for any small mercies he might be prepared to show her.
He rejoined her in the saloon some half an hour later. He was wearing narrow-legged khaki trousers and a black shirt, open at the throat, with its sleeves turned back to the elbow, and he brought with him the faint but delicious scent of the cologne she’d noticed before. And he was very obviously clean-shaven once again.
‘So we are moving,’ he said. ‘On our way to Mykonos, to begin with. After that, who knows?’
‘I see.’ She sent him a swift, nervous glance. ‘Are—are we going to have dinner on deck?’
‘It is a beautiful evening,’ he said. ‘Do you have some objection to eating out of doors?’
‘No, none at all.’
‘I wondered,’ he went on. ‘Because Mac told me you had not ventured out of the suite since you came on board.’
‘Perhaps I’m embarrassed,’ she said tautly. ‘After all, every single person on the boat must know exactly why you’ve brought me here. Do you realise what it’s like for me to be…paraded like this?’
‘If we had remained in Athens, you would have been under the scrutiny of a much larger audience,’ he said, shrugging. ‘You will get used to it in time, as I have been obliged to do.’
He paused. ‘Would you like a drink? I am going to have ouzo,’ he added, walking over to a side table with an array of bottles and glasses. ‘Will you join me, or would you prefer something else?’
‘Water, please,’ she said. ‘Non-sparkling.’
‘A symbol, perhaps, of the evening ahead of us?’ he enquired sardonically, uncapping one of the bottles of Loutraki water and filling a tumbler.
‘Perhaps,’ she returned coolly. ‘However, alcohol tends to send me to sleep, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want that.’
He gave her a dry look. ‘You are all consideration, agapi mou. Yet somehow the thought of you warm and drowsy with your head on my shoulder has an appeal all its own.’
‘For you, Kyrios Mandrakis,’ she said. ‘But not for me.’
‘Let us rather say—not now, perhaps, but on some future night. At least, that is what I shall hope for.’ Alex poured his own drink, and raised his glass. ‘To you, matia mou,’ he said softly. ‘You are—so very beautiful.’
‘You must think so,’ she said. ‘Or I wouldn’t be here.’
The dark brows lifted. ‘Am I not allowed to pay you a compliment?’ he asked. ‘Is that another taboo?’
She shrugged. ‘You’ve already had me,’ she said. ‘So you don’t need to waste time on meaningless flattery.’
She drank some of her water, aware that he was watching her, his mouth curling in faint amusement.
‘Is it permitted to tell you that the dress is very becoming,’ he said, ‘and ask if you like it?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Of course. It—it’s absolutely lovely. And all the other things too.’ She added stiffly, ‘You’re—very generous.’ Which was no more than the truth, she thought unwillingly. And this was probably the most glamorous and expensive garment she’d ever possessed. ‘But I’m not really used to clothes like this.’
‘I would be surprised to learn that the Papadimos family dressed you in rags, pedhi mou.’
‘No, oh, no,’ she said quickly. ‘But Thia Theodosia was very strict, so I hardly ever went out in the evenings. Therefore, I didn’t need dresses like this.’
‘But you appeared at one social event, at least.’ He drank some ouzo. ‘We were once at the same embassy reception.’
Her head turned sharply. ‘You remember that?’
‘Why not?’ It was his turn to shrug. ‘Don’t you?’
‘You were…pointed out to me,’ Natasha admitted tautly. ‘Because of your companion,’ she added hurriedly
. ‘You were with a model called Gabriella. She was incredibly famous just then. And amazingly beautiful.’
‘Also very thin,’ Alex said, deadpan. ‘I hope you have a better appetite, agapi mou. It is wearying to eat with a woman who regards even a lettuce leaf with suspicion.’
Natasha took another hurried gulp of water, aware that only a couple of hours before she’d had a wild notion of going on hunger strike in order to force him into releasing her, and had abandoned the idea only because she was already so ravenous, having given up on breakfast and only picked at her lunch, that she could have eaten her own shoe.
She said, ‘I think someone must have told Thio Basilis that you were there, because next day there was a row, and I wasn’t allowed to accept any more invitations from Lindsay.’
‘My poor Natasha,’ he said softly. ‘How much I have to answer for.’ He paused. ‘But perhaps the dress needs something more. A necklace, maybe,’ he added, his dark gaze lingering on the bare hollow of her throat, then moving down with undisguised appreciation to the untrammelled thrust of her breasts against the covering silk.
‘I never wear necklaces,’ she said swiftly and untruthfully. ‘I—I don’t like them.’
‘Ah,’ he said, totally undeceived. ‘So clothes you accept because you have no alternative, but other gifts are forbidden. Is that it?’
She said, stumbling a little, ‘Not always. Because you did make me another gift this morning, when you gave me that letter. And I’m—grateful.’
‘What did you do with it?’ He stared into his glass, frowning a little.
‘I—I tore it up.’
‘And threw it away?’
She shook her head. ‘Not yet. It’s still in my bag. When I get the chance, I’ll burn it.’
‘Then fetch it,’ Alex directed quietly. ‘And we will dispose of it now.’
When she returned with the envelope, he was taking a metal dish and a box of matches from a cupboard. She tipped the fragments onto the dish, and watched as he set fire to them. Saw them flare up then curl into soft grey ash.
