The Innocent's Surrender

by Sara Craven

And the idea of taking such a walk with Alex Mandrakis was so far beyond belief that it was out of sight.

  Especially, she thought, as it would be for all the wrong reasons.

  All right, he was feeling guilty, and rightly so. But he couldn’t seriously think she’d agree to marry him in order to salve what passed for his conscience—could he?

  Or to protect the legitimacy of a baby who almost certainly didn’t exist.

  Or that was what she had to believe, she thought, pressing a questioning hand to her abdomen. Because the alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

  If she’d wanted an arranged marriage she could have had one three years earlier, she reminded herself. And it would have been to someone who might at least have pretended he cared for her.

  Whereas, in spite of the intimacy he’d forced upon her, she and Alex Mandrakis were still virtual strangers to each other.

  And that was how they must remain, she told herself. All temptation to relax—to permit herself, even fleetingly, to enjoy his company—had to be strenuously resisted.

  Unless, of course, the loss of appetite she’d instigated last night became permanent, and he decided to cut his losses and send her back where she belonged.

  Well, she thought, aware of an odd flicker in her heartbeat, she could always hope. And, after all, no permanent damage had been done. Whereas, if she stayed…

  She stopped right there, with a little gasp. That kind of thinking was sheer madness, she told herself sternly. And she would not—not go there.

  She glanced at the unruffled pillow beside her. With hindsight, she realised that stripping like that might not have been the best idea she’d ever had. That she was lucky he hadn’t accepted her absurd challenge, otherwise she might have woken up in very different circumstances.

  But it seemed she’d read him right, which was, in itself, a surprise.

  She reached to the fitted night table for her watch and grimaced when she saw the time. It was hardly more than dawn, and far too early for someone, who wished to give the impression that she’d spent a tranquil and untroubled night, to be on the move.

  So what had woken her? she asked herself, turning over and composing herself to sleep again. And noticed as she did so that one of the drawers in the wardrobe unit where Alex’s clothing was kept was now slightly open, when last night it had been shut.

  Jolted, Natasha propped herself on an elbow and stared across the room.

  If the Selene had accommodation for fifteen people, her owner would not be short of a bed for the night, she reasoned, but clean clothes for the next day were a different matter.

  Was that what had woken her—some sixth sense of his presence, here in this room, however briefly and noiselessly?

  Unlikely, she told herself, when he had staff to run his errands for him. Except that she couldn’t imagine Josefina, or the equally meticulous

  Kostas, failing to close a drawer, or, when they departed, leaving the bedroom door ajar as it undoubtedly now was.

  And if Alex had been back to the suite, the timing of his visit seemed to indicate that he might not have spent a particularly restful night, either, she thought, biting her lip. Something that would not have improved his temper in any marked degree.

  Well, there was an airport on Mykonos, and she was sure she’d once heard Stavros mention enviously that the Mandrakis Corporation were now major shareholders in some airline, so he could easily be rid of her if he wanted, she told herself as she slid down into the bed again, pulling the covering sheet over her shoulders in a gesture that was almost defensive.

  And she could only pray that would be exactly what he wanted, she added silently, and closed her eyes.

  The next time she opened them, she found Josefina at her bedside with a breakfast tray and an expression that could only be described as disapproving. But then it was probably common knowledge by now that Kyrios Alexandros had not spent the night in his own bed, and his loyal supporters would be no doubt reeling in shock.

  And they could do so with her blessing, Natasha muttered silently as she sat up. Alex might be used to living his life under a microscope, but she was not.

  This morning, along with the fresh orange juice and coffee, a lidded dish contained a mound of perfectly scrambled eggs, served with grilled tomatoes and fingers of toast.

  The condemned woman ate a hearty breakfast, Natasha thought wryly as she picked up her fork. But at least she was doing it alone.

  At the same time, she realised that the Selene was no longer moving.

  ‘Have we reached Mykonos?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘Ne, thespinis. Since two hours.’

  I should have woken earlier, she thought regretfully. I could be on my way by now.

  Breakfast over, she showered and emerged from the bathroom in her robe just as Josefina was arranging a jade-green bikini, with a voile overshirt in jade, turquoise and gold on the bed.

  She said crisply, ‘I don’t think so. What happened, if you please, to my suit and overnight bag?’

  And when Josefina, wide-eyed, denied all knowledge of their whereabouts, Natasha walked over to the wardrobe and scanned along the rail. She’d hoped to leave as she’d arrived, without taking with her so much as a stitch that Alex had paid for, but it seemed clear she had no real choice in the matter, so she chose the plainest garment she could find, a navy linen dress in a simple shift style.

  Although ‘simple’ did not necessarily translate as ‘cheap’, she realised ruefully when she saw how beautifully it was cut.

  Josefina was almost wringing her hands, protesting that today would be too hot for such a dress.

  Here, perhaps, Natasha returned silently. But not in England, and I’m planning ahead.

  Aloud, she said, ‘Please don’t fuss, Josefina. This will be fine.’

  Josefina subsided, but continued to mutter under her breath, and Natasha detected the words ‘Kyrios Alexandros’ repeated more than once.

  Poor Josefina, she thought with reluctant amusement as she applied sunblock to her comparatively small areas of exposed skin. I bet none of Alex’s other pillow friends ever gave half this trouble. I expect they dressed and undressed to order, and greeted him every night with eager arms.

  And they certainly wouldn’t have deliberately riled him into sending them home early.

  Drawing a deep breath, she went out on deck.

  As she’d half expected, he was waiting for her, leaning against the rail, clad in nothing but a pair of shabby denim shorts, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses, his mouth unsmiling.

  He said laconically, ‘Kalimera. Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Thank you, yes.’ She lifted her chin. ‘About last night…’

  He lifted a hand, halting her. ‘I think it would be better if last night was forgotten. If we agreed that it did not happen.’

  ‘But that’s not possible,’ Natasha said quickly. ‘I—I said some pretty unpleasant things.’

  He shrugged. ‘That is not the worst thing that could have happened.’

  ‘You don’t think so?’ she said uncertainly, nervously aware that this conversation was not going to plan.

  ‘I know so,’ he drawled. ‘After all, Natasha mou, you might have accepted my offer of marriage and made us both wretched for the rest of our lives.’

  ‘If you believe that,’ she said, ‘why did you ask me?’

  ‘Moon madness,’ he said slowly. ‘A sentimental impulse, as instantly regretted as it was unexpected. Because as you so truly reminded me, agapi mou, I am the last man in the world who needs to burden himself with a wife. As it is…’ he shrugged again…‘no harm has been done.’

  ‘But—but you will want me to leave, surely?’

  ‘Now why would I wish anything so foolish?’ he said softly.

  ‘Because—you’re angry with me. You must be.’

  ‘I lost my temper a little, it is true. But now I have recovered it—along with my appetite,’ he added softly. ‘So you are going nowhere, matia
mou. And tonight you will make amends to me for all your harsh words, and learn to speak to me more sweetly.’

  She said desperately, ‘Think again about this—please. Because I’m not the only person concerned. You’ve been seeing someone—very recently. Can you deny that?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Because maybe you should give her some consideration.’ Natasha swallowed. ‘Think how she’s going to feel when she finds out that I’ve…been with you.’

  He said levelly, ‘That is hardly your concern.’

  ‘Then let’s make it so.’ She spread her hands, palms upward in the age-old gesture of pleading. ‘Is she going to understand that you only took me for revenge? Because she—your girlfriend—might actually be in love with you, and be really hurt by this. Doesn’t that matter to you?’

  He said quietly, ‘I have never encouraged any of the women who have shared my bed to fall in love with me, Natasha mou. It would be a waste of their time and mine. And Domenica is no exception. She knew from the start that it would never be serious between us.’

  ‘How simple you make it sound.’ Her voice shook. ‘I just hope and pray, kyrie, that one day a woman will hurt you really badly—make you know what it’s like to suffer.’

  ‘You are several years too late, kyria,’ he said harshly. ‘Because I have already learned all the pain that a broken heart can bring. And that, eventually, it confers immunity.’

  He indicated the vista of dazzling white houses and church towers roofed in blue and terracotta behind him. ‘That is Mykonos. We will go ashore this evening when it is cooler, and have dinner at a favourite restaurant of mine. I hope that meets with your approval.’

  She said in a low voice, ‘I don’t think I have a choice.’

  ‘At last you are learning a little wisdom.’ He paused. ‘But for now, I have some work to do, so why don’t you change into something cooler than that dress, go down to the pool and I will join you there later?’

  She said defiantly, ‘Because I prefer to stay where I am—and as I am.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Besides, won’t you be bored having to share your pool with just one girl instead of the usual crowd?’

  ‘And all of them naked,’ Alex said silkily. ‘You have forgotten to mention that, although I am sure it is on your mind. But I shall not miss them, matia mou,’ he added, his mouth twisting. ‘Since we met, you appear to have become so many women that you already seem like a crowd.’

  And he walked away, leaving Natasha staring after him, lips parted and her hands clenched into impotent fists at her sides.

  Mykonos at night was one enormous, noisy glittering party. The narrow, labyrinthine streets of the old town were so crowded that Natasha felt there was hardly room to breathe.

  She’d heard it said that Mykonos was the most expensive island in the Aegean, and she could well believe it. Everywhere she looked, she saw the glitter of jewellers’ shops, or the understated chic of designer boutiques. And all around her were the rich and beautiful, being…rich and beautiful.

  She was definitely the fish out of water here.

  But if you had to do battle with hordes like this, then Alex Mandrakis was the one you wanted on your side, she admitted reluctantly.

  Casually dressed in cream trousers and a collarless grey and cream striped shirt, he looked like just another tourist. Yet everywhere his easy, long-legged stride took him, a path seemed to open up to allow him through unchecked, and Natasha, her hand firmly clasped in his, found herself almost struggling to keep up.

  But then, her shoes were partly to blame. Josefina had insisted that the strapless black dress with its short, full skirt must be worn with high heels, whereas Natasha usually contented herself with rather more practical footwear.

  And their unhindered progress might also have been assisted by the presence, in the rear, of Iorgos the Rottweiler.

  Natasha had felt her jaw drop when she saw his burly form already ensconced in the boat waiting to take them ashore.

  Forgetting the cool, impenetrable silence she’d planned, she’d turned to Alex. ‘I thought he’d stayed behind in Athens.’

  ‘Only while I did, pedhi mou. We came on board together, which you would have seen—had you been there.’

  She ignored the implied reproach. ‘Does he follow you everywhere?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ he agreed, ‘since my father appointed him to watch my back a few years ago.’

  She gave him a scornful look. ‘To prevent you being stabbed, no doubt, by some discarded mistress.’

  ‘If that ever becomes a problem, I shall deal with it myself,’ Alex drawled. ‘But I am not in the habit of discarding women, Natasha mou. When something is over, it’s over. Isn’t it better to recognise that, and part as friends?’

  ‘Friends?’ she echoed. ‘Your Christmas-card list must read like a telephone directory.’

  ‘But fortunately,’ he said silkily, ‘I do not have to lick the stamps myself.’

  And, as she could think of no suitable response to that, she decided to keep quiet.

  Strangely, talking—even to him—made her feel slightly less nervous about the night to come.

  It was easy to be brave in daylight, she thought wryly. Especially when you’d been left, probably deliberately, to your own devices for most of the day. But, as sunset approached, a feeling of quiet dread had begun to build inside her to add to her physical discomfort.

  Because all too soon, she’d begun to regret being quite so adamant about remaining fully dressed. As the temperature soared into the nineties the baking heat had eventually driven her indoors to the saloon again, every stitch of clothing a damp rag, her wretchedness increased by the faint sounds of splashing from the deck below, where Alex was clearly, and with total selfishness, cooling off in the pool.

  Not, of course, that she was even marginally tempted to join him. And she was cross with herself for having alluded, even obliquely, to the scandal surrounding his birthday party, because it made it sound as if she’d been avidly following his erotic career through the gutter Press.

  Which was the last impression she wished to give…

  He, of course, had been totally shameless about the whole incident.

  And his astonishing revelation that he’d once been crossed in love was no excuse at all for his treatment of either of her, or the girl most recently described by the tabloids as ‘his constant companion’.

  Constancy, she thought, bitterly, had nothing to do with it. He was an unrepentant serial womaniser, and his first love, whoever she was, had been lucky to escape.

  She supposed she could have chilled out, calmed down her edgy restlessness with a cool shower, or even a whole series of them, but she’d been deterred by the realisation that there were no locks on any of the doors in the suite, and that Alex could walk in on her at any moment. A ludicrous attitude, probably, in view of the events of the recent past, but that was how it was. Or how she was, anyway.

  So she’d waited until Josefina was around, counting on her presence as a kind of safeguard.

  And, by the time Alex eventually appeared in the bedroom, she was safely zipped into the chosen dress and brushing her hair at the dressing table.

  He’d paused, and she’d forced herself to sit quietly, enduring the appraisal of his dark gaze, instinct telling her that the pallor of her skin against the stark black would have an allure and a promise all its own. Reminding him of how she would look when the dress was gone.

  And she’d tensed involuntarily until he’d said, ‘You are very lovely, Natasha,’ and continued on his way into the bathroom.

  When she’d sat very still, staring at her reflection, realising that every time he came into this room in future she would wonder if he was going to take her in his arms.

  And asking herself how she would bear it when it finally happened.

  The Restaurant Leda was at the end of yet another alleyway. They were greeted with grave pleasure by the head waiter, and led through an
intimately shadowed bar area, where Iorgos detached himself to take a seat at a corner table, into a large, brightly lit room abuzz with chatter and laughter from the crowded tables. From there, they went out into the courtyard beyond, where there were rather more secluded eating areas in vine-covered arbours.

  As Alex removed the taffeta wrap from her shoulders she noted that their places had been set side by side, which involved joining him on the long cushioned seat.

  He said, ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, adding defiantly, ‘Ouzo.’

  He grinned. ‘Oblivion and a hangover in preference to me, matia mou?’

  ‘How clever of you to guess, kyrie.’

  ‘Strangely, it did not require any particular intelligence,’ Alex said drily as he gave the order.

  When it arrived, he added water to the spirit in each glass, then handed her the drink, touching his glass to hers.

  ‘To pleasure, my beautiful girl,’ he said, and drank.

  She murmured something incoherent in return, and took a gulp of the cloudy mixture, only to be overcome by a fit of helpless coughing as the flavour of anise caught her breath.

  Alex swiftly took the ouzo from her hand, and gave her an immaculately folded linen handkerchief from his pocket to mop her streaming eyes as a concerned waiter came running with a tumbler of mineral water, which Alex took from him.

  ‘Sip this,’ he directed tersely. ‘But carefully.’

  She obeyed, mortified to realise that their table was now the cynosure for all eyes around the courtyard.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, when she could speak. ‘I’d forgotten how much I loathe ouzo.’

  His brows lifted. ‘Then why ask for it? Or did you hope to escape my attentions later tonight by choking to death? Is that not a little extreme, even for you?’

  She played with the edge of his handkerchief, not looking at him. ‘I suppose I thought if I got very drunk, very quickly, you wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘And if I lost my temper again, you might be left to sleep alone a second time?’ There was a jeering note in his voice. He shook his head slowly. ‘No, Natasha mou. The next time I walk away will be when it is finished between us. And that is still in the future.’