by Sara Wood
‘A little different from London,’ he replied softly.
Smiling, she sat there, her senses swimming from the incredibly powerful perfume of the roses and thought of everything he’d said, remembering every detail of his impassioned words.
Long ago the Venetians had called Zakynthos the flower of the east, the island of love. In rich and fervent tones Leon had painted pictures for her: the rich greens of the landscape, the olive, pine and cypress trees, the carpets of spring flowers and crystal-clear seas.
He’d spoken of the warm sense of community, the age-old values of courtesy, respect, and hospitality. She could see in her mind’s eye the old men sitting over a game of chess in the kafenion—the café—and dark-eyed boys herding goats in the mountains. And she looked forward to visiting Zante town and seeing the busy port he’d described with its fishing boats and island ferries chugging back and forth across the sparkling sea.
Even more fascinating, he’d told her how once the beaches in the south had been black with loggerhead turtles, which hauled themselves up to lay over a hundred eggs apiece in the sand, digging shafts with their rear flippers. In answer to her eager questioning, he said that many still came to the beaches where they’d been born and the hatchlings—as small as a child’s hand—emerged at night in a helter-skelter dash for the sea. She would like to see that.
Yes. It was different from London. Given time, her soul could recover here, as well as her body, she thought wistfully.
‘The tourists who come to this island and this villa will never want to leave,’ she mused, feeling envious.
‘Then, they will show remarkable good taste,’ he said huskily.
Idly she mused that it would be wonderful to live on the island. But that was impossible as far as she was concerned. If she wanted Lexi, she’d have to live in England, out of Leon’s clutches.
‘You have it all,’ she said, lifting her head to inhale the scented breeze.
‘No one has it all.’
‘John thinks you have,’ she said slowly.
Leon grunted. ‘He’s blind. Beware his advice—’
‘You keep denigrating him,’ she complained mildly. ‘Don’t spoil this pleasant evening.’ It was more than pleasant, she thought. For the first time in years she felt at ease. And happy. That was because she was close to her goal. ‘John’s been unbelievably kind to me. I don’t know why.’
‘Because you’re beautiful.’
Astonished, she turned her head to look him full in the face. In the soft lamplight he seemed deadly serious. Her heart bumped unevenly. And she couldn’t prevent herself from saying breathlessly, ‘Am I?’
‘Stunning.’
With an effort he looked elsewhere. He wanted to drink her up: her wide, solemn eyes with their fringe of impossibly long lashes which so often closed in ecstasy; the fine-boned face and its satin skin which he could still feel warm and vibrant beneath his fingers from where he’d dared to touch her earlier; her mass of rich gold hair heaping in scented drifts about her shoulders…
He sucked in a breath. Those silky smooth shoulders! The perfect back, naked to his startled eyes when she’d first turned around. The high mounds of her lush breasts…
There was a tremendous pressure within his chest. She was leaning forwards, her dress falling away from her long, glossy legs. Leon knew he was in trouble when he couldn’t locate his brandy glass. Things were happening too rapidly. She was far too sexy and he too hungry.
‘Oh, look, Leon,’ she whispered furtively, her hand descending on his knee. ‘Bats,’ she said in breathy excitement.
Bats! Flitting over the pool, dipping like tiny black scimitars to drink… While flames roared inside him, fires consumed him, his head was near to exploding…
And now their gazes had meshed. Electricity shot between them and every muscle and sinew in her body contracted as his did. His arms were around her though how they’d got there he didn’t know. Amazingly, her hands were curving around the nape of his neck, drawing him close.
He could manage only the shallowest of breaths, high in his throat. For a second or two they remained frozen in a tense and expectant tableau, postponing the moment their lips met—as surely they would.
But the waiting was delicious, so tormentingly exciting, and he could enjoy the perfection, the fragrance of her skin and hair, the heat of desire leaping from her sultry eyes.
Imperceptibly he inclined his head and her lips parted with a tortured moan. Knowing her as he did, remembering the madness that had descended on them both when they had made love, he closed his eyes briefly and groaned too.
With deceptive gentleness—because his animal instincts were driving him to rip her clothes off and make hot, passionate love to her without pausing for breath—he tipped up her chin.
His finger slipped erotically along the line of her jaw. They looked into one another’s eyes and did not speak but their eyes and their bodies spoke for them. Closer and closer his mouth came until it was almost on hers.
Never in the whole of his life had he felt like this. His whole world had become focussed on a woman’s lips: lush and full, pouting and trembling, the whiteness of her even teeth startling in the hushed stillness of the night.
A faint touch of her lips. Satin, he thought, and then slowly, thoroughly, he moved his mouth over hers without pressure, reminding himself of its plush curves…
He smiled affectionately. A little stickiness. The tip of his tongue darted out. Honey. He sucked gently at her lower lip, knowing with a growing triumph that she was trembling in his arms as if demons were shaking her.
Up, up to the peaked arch of her upper lip, down and then up again. Sweeping along to tantalise the corner with his tongue. Nothing sweeter.
He rose fluidly and she slithered up his body with him while his mouth wandered the contours of her slender jaw, his hands cupping her face so that soon his lips could feel the length of that smooth throat where her pulse beat so rapidly.
Still he was gentle, as if hardly daring to unleash his passion. But she was restless and impatient, her hands digging in his hair, tugging his head towards her so that his kisses deepened. She nibbled at his mouth. Began to devour him.
Her body moved lightly against his in a sinuous motion and, as the sleek voluptuousness beneath the thin dress began to make itself known, he found himself close to forgetting everything he’d planned.
She had intended seduction, he thought hazily. And then, before he could ask why, his mind fractured as the heat of her loins suddenly flared against the pounding throb of his body.
‘Emma,’ he breathed helplessly.
‘Kiss me. Hard,’ she moaned.
He cried out in anguish, his voice hoarse and thick, cracking with the choking passion that commanded his senses. With a rough moment, his hand splayed over her tight buttocks and jerked her into him while his mouth descended on hers in a ruthlessly driving kiss that obliterated everything from his mind but their two bodies and the explosive longing which would not be denied.
Yes, this was how it used to be. Her sighs, her eagerness, the drowsy flutter of her curling lashes, the instinctive lure of her wickedly enticing mouth. The feel of her hands on his chest and shoulders as if they were loving the shape of him, and which made him feel a giant among men. The rising tension between them, driven by demanding hands and lips, the desperation, oh, the sweet desperation to taste and touch and know every inch of one another’s bodies…
Her fingers tugged at his shirt buttons, then his impatient, impulsive and passionate Emma, her face beautiful in its frustrated anger, gripped both edges and ripped the shirt open to her avid greed.
He felt her soft cheek rest on his chest, looked down with dazed eyes, saw the gentle curve of her face against his bronzed skin and then watched with mounting, sweet agony as her mouth began to explore.
Shaking, he reached around to her back, letting memories return. Vaguely he registered that the strong rope of muscles on either side of her spine was less pronounced now
but her skin was still flawless to his trailing caress.
The tie at her waist came undone easily. Just up to her nape now and when that bow was undone he’d have her breasts in his trembling hands.
‘No!’
Emma wriggled in his grasp, cold reality suddenly descending. She couldn’t. Wanted to, yes. Yes! But…
‘No, Leon,’ she rasped, when he continued to tussle with the tie at her neck.
She put her hands up. Peeled off a surprised finger or two. Met his bewildered, hazy eyes and wanted to weep. Her body screamed at her, wanting, starving for his magic touch.
It had been so good, she mourned. No…more than that, it had seemed as if her heart was being healed.
‘No,’ she moaned.
His hands fell away. He stood there thrusting shaking fingers through his tousled hair, the dark curls dancing angrily on his frowning forehead. She took a step back and then another, her eyes averted from that smooth and golden torso which her hands had caressed only a few wonderful moments ago.
‘Why?’ he said gratingly.
She bit her lip and found it was trembling. Because there was an ugly dent in her breast, a savage scar. She feared his disgust and that was something she wasn’t strong enough to bear yet.
Suddenly he was walking away, back up the steps to the villa, each stride thundering his anger. You don’t do this to men, she thought miserably. They never forgive you.
‘Leon, please…’
He paused, waiting for her explanation, his body language explicit in its tense fury. Then, when she struggled for an excuse, he whirled, his eyes slashing like swords in the darkness of his face.
‘A game, was it?’ he rasped. ‘Get me excited, lure me on, push me away, get me in your power… Oh, come on, Emma,’ he yelled, beyond anger, almost out of control, ‘I’m not a kid you can play around with. This isn’t Taki, or Sefton, hanging on your every word, turning somersaults to please you—’
‘I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… It got out of…hand—’ She choked.
He erupted, cursed in Greek, the words hurtling through his teeth. And then he smashed his fist into the palm of his hand as if furious with himself. She could see the effort it was costing him to rein in his temper. The line of his mouth was hard and vicious, his jaw rock-solid.
With scant regard for his shirt, he almost punched it back into place. She saw the absence of buttons and dropped her eyes guiltily, horrified by the violence of her passion.
‘I don’t like being teased,’ he growled dangerously.
She gulped. ‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘How was it then?’ He shot the words vehemently.
For the life of her, she didn’t know. Other than frightening in its intensity, the terrible loss of conscious thought, the way she’d lurched headlong into a seething cauldron of lust and sensation.
‘I’ve no idea,’ she croaked, her eyes glistening.
For long, painful seconds, which ticked by in an agony of suspense, he glowered at her as if promising a murderous revenge. And then he turned on his heel again and ran up the steps.
He couldn’t comprehend what had happened, only that he had to get away before he said any more. She’d been close to surrender, his goal almost within his grasp, and then…
Heaven help him. He paused, standing stock still in appalled silence. He’d forgotten why he’d broken his self-imposed celibacy. And if Emma wasn’t intending to succumb and prove herself to be unsuitably loose, then he had to come up with some other way of protecting Lexi.
His brain wouldn’t function. All he could think of was the devastating sense of loss when she’d drawn back and refused him. He stared bleakly at the door, paralysed as he relived her erotic caresses, feeling the tautness in his body as every nerve sprang to life again and tortured him with what might have been.
He hated her. He hated himself.
For several seconds, Emma remained in stunned silence, horrified by the destruction she’d caused by letting go of her inhibitions. Her brain only jerked into operation again when the back door slammed in the breeze behind her.
In panic, she raced after Leon, skidding across the marble floor in her desperation to head him off before he stormed out.
‘Leon!’ Gasping for breath, she flung herself bruisingly against the front door, her arms outstretched to bar his way. ‘What about Lexi?’ she wailed wretchedly.
‘Oh, now you think of her, do you? Yourself first, her somewhere far down your order of priorities… My God, Emma,’ he said exploding, ‘you really are selfish, aren’t you? All you think about are your own needs, your own games of power play. It didn’t occur to your scheming little mind that I might take offence at being dangled on the end of a line, and refuse to let you see her.’
‘No,’ she moaned, limp with despair. Her tormented eyes begged. She caught his arm but he flung her hand off as if it had scalded him. ‘Don’t do this to me—’
‘There are several things I’d like to do to you,’ he said icily, ‘all of them unspeakable.’
He reached out, his expression menacing, and pulled her to his body, crushing her against him so firmly that she could feel his hard, taut muscles and the pulse of his arousal against her pelvis. She dragged in a strangled breath and he gave a mocking smile then lowered his mouth to take hers in a punishing display of contempt.
Then he let her go. And, insultingly, wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
They were panting hard and fast, shocked by where their passions had taken them, hating, wanting, prevented from fully releasing the dangerous emotions that had been ignited.
She knew that. He knew that. It scared them both, this uncontrollable hunger that took no account of its consequences.
She could hardly stand. Her fist was at her stinging mouth, holding back the screech within her.
‘Move aside,’ he hissed, dark and feral and more menacing than anyone or anything she’d ever known.
‘But…Lexi,’ she whispered brokenly. It stuck in her throat to beg. But beg she must. ‘Tell me I can still…’ She cringed. His eyes had blazed with fury. ‘Let me see her,’ she whimpered in a small, tinny voice.
He seemed to be thinking rapidly but it was several nerve-racking seconds before he came to some conclusion and by then her mind was in shreds.
‘Why not?’ He bit out the words, to her utter surprise. He took a stride forward and had caught her jaw in one hand before she could blink. ‘But the situation is different now,’ he said, growling softly, his breath hot and harsh on her face.
And she flinched as if it scalded her. ‘D-d-different?’ she stammered.
‘You will see her. You will see more than you would wish. You will learn how happy she is, how this island is her home and that she would die of misery anywhere else. You will see how much she loves me and you will suffer, Emma. You will suffer because you will realise that she doesn’t need you and doesn’t want you and that her life will be all the better if you never tell her who you are, if she never knows for the rest of her life that she is your daughter!’
Released, she crumpled to the floor, all the bones in her body useless. The door closed very quietly behind Leon and as she lay curled in a despairing heap, she heard his car driving away.
The pain made her double up. Holding her lurching stomach, she tried to find the strength to stand but could only manage to crawl towards the nearest chair.
Sobs racked her body. She had made a terrible mistake and her longed-for meeting with Lexi had been ruined, perhaps with fatal results.
Her mouth tightened. OK. She’d tell him why she’d refused him. Let him pick the bones out of that. Hauling herself into the carved seat, she reflected gloomily that he’d probably think she was angling for the sympathy vote. And it wouldn’t make any difference. His pride had been dented and he was raring for a fight, looking for a chance to lash out at her in revenge.
No. Wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of her that she’d been self-conscious about her
damaged breast. Let him think what he liked. She wasn’t going to discuss something so personal and life-shattering with anyone, let alone Leon.
But he’d scared her with what he’d said. If Lexi was happy, if… Oh, yes, she thought in dismay, she could see that any child would prefer to live here and not London…
Hot, stinging tears burned like scalding water in her eyes and ran down her cheeks unchecked. Miserably she sopped them up with her tongue, little sobs breaking through her parted lips.
She was horribly afraid that what she had to offer Lexi was not enough. And yet John had been so sure that Leon resented looking after Lexi.
In a gesture of despair, her arms flopped over the arms of the chair and her left hand hit something hard. She blinked. A telephone.
Perhaps if she could talk this over with someone—a second opinion… She sat up, struggling to compose herself. And after a while she picked up the receiver and dialled with shaky fingers.
‘John! It’s me, Emma,’ she mumbled when a curt voice answered. ‘I—I’d like to talk to you… I was wondering…could you come round? Please?’
Leon sat on the gnarled and twisted bole of an olive tree which had been the felled victim of an ancient storm, its branches still miraculously thick with leaf and flower. Olives were tough. They took everything the climate could throw at them and still bore fruit. He wished he could be so certain of his own strength.
He didn’t dare get in the car again. For the first hundred yards he’d driven on adrenaline and then had realised he’d swerved off the road twice, his tyres biting into the irrigated soil which had played merry hell with the gleaming bodywork.
He’d kill himself if he drove home. And she wasn’t worth that…whatever her delights, and they were many.
So he’d abandoned the car and had set about calming himself down, refusing to think about the passion that had swallowed him whole and had turned the tables so disastrously on him.
It had never been his intention to let Emma see Lexi if he could possibly avoid it. He had meant to be seduced. To declare then to the courts that this woman had not only committed fraud but that she’d slept with her brother-in-law the first night she’d arrived on the island. And he would have asked for an injunction to stop her seeing Lexi.
