The Greek's Virgin Bride

by Julia James

  When she stirred, Nikos did too. And as he moved she real­ised, with a little gasp, that as she lay spoon-like, back against him, his body was taking notice of the fact.

  He felt it too, the moment he surfaced into consciousness. The same sense of ruefulness he had felt last night filled him. Whatever his leap of appetite right now, he must not risk hurt­ing her.

  Besides, he thought encouragingly, abstinence now would bring its own rewards later.

  So he stretched backwards and away from her, languorously extending his limbs before lithely jack-knifing and getting out of bed.

  'This morning,' he announced, 'we shall have breakfast in bed. And then more sightseeing!'

  He certainly needed something, Nikos thought throwing on his bathrobe before striding to the phone to order breakfast, to divert him from what he really wanted to do right now.

  Sightseeing would do as well as anything.

  In fact, he acknowledged later, it had its own compensations. It was another glorious day, fresh and sweet in the early sum­mer. Setting off in the four-by-four, Nikos at the wheel, they merged into the general throng of holidaymakers.

  They headed for Samaria and the famous gorge. Andrea had read about it in the guidebook Nikos had bought for her before they left Rethimnon.

  ‘I know I can't walk it,' she said, 'but at least I can see it.'

  Nikos took her as close as he could, driving deep into the heart of the White Mountains of western Crete. They drank coffee on the terrace of the little cafeneion near the start of the walk, the Xiloskala, wooden stairs that led into the gorge. Above them towered the bare, bleak heights of the Gingalos peak, skirted by rock and scree.

  'Tomorrow we'll sail round to the mouth of the gorge, Agia Roumeli, and cruise along the southern coast,' said Nikos. 'In fact—' he glanced at his watch '—we have time to drive down to Sougia today, if you wish.'

  Andrea nodded, happy to go anywhere with him. 'What does agia mean?' she asked. 'There are so many places called "Agia" something or other.'

  Nikos laughed. 'Saint—a female saint. Male saints are ag­ios' He looked at her a moment. 'You must learn the language of your forefathers, Andrea mou. Now that you are to live here.'

  She was silent. Emotions racketed around inside her. Nikos was opening doors she must keep shut.

  'What about mou?’ she asked. She did not want to think about what he had said. 'You keep saying, "Andrea mou".’

  'Mine,' he said softly. The grey eyes held hers. 'My Andrea.'

  She looked away, her face troubled.

  She felt the brush of his fingers on her hand.

  4I have made you mine, have I not, Andrea mou?’ he mur­mured.

  Colour stole into her cheeks, feeding the tumult in her heart.

  I can't think about this! I can't think about anything!

  She swallowed. 'Where are we heading next?' she said brightly. ‘I’m starting to get hungry!'

  His fingers closed around hers, his thumb lazily smoothing her skin. 'So am I, agape mou, so am I...'

  But it was a hunger he was to be prevented from sating for many hours to come. Even so, he consented to be her holiday companion, her fellow-explorer, willingly enough. She was a different person, it seemed to him, here on Crete. The reserved, composed, controlled Englishwoman who was such hard work to entertain, whom he had got used to squiring around Athens, had transformed into a vibrant, open personality who was a delight to be with. Was it just because the appalling tensions of the last weeks had finally resolved themselves? Or was it because he had made her his own?

  For she was his own now; he knew that. No other man would ever touch her. She was his wife. Already he cherished her. A surge not just of possession but of protectiveness speared through him whenever he looked at her. No man would hurt her again, for she would need no other man now. Only him. The future looked bright. Brighter than ever he had dared

  hope.

  All that panic-generated talk she had spouted at him on their wedding night about leaving him in the morning was nothing. It had been her fears speaking; that was all. And those fears he had shown to be nothing more than phantasms haunting her.

  He had exorcised her ghosts, he knew, and from now on their path was clear and thornless.

  This rushed arranged marriage would work out for them-he was sure of that now. Together they would move on through the years ahead.

  Well-being filled him, and the future was bright with prom­ise.

  At his side, as they zig-zagged down the winding road through! the lovely Agia Irini gorge towards the southern coast, Andrea' could not stop herself from looking at him.

  Her breath caught every time she did so. It was everything about him—everything! From the satin sheen of his dark hair, the impossible glamour of his sunglasses, the firm, sensual line of his mouth, the vee of his open collar, the flexible strength of his hands curving around the wheel of the car, the tanne sinews of his bare forearms—all, all made her want to *i«* him in, feast her eyes on him more and more.

  And yet while her senses feasted her emotions swirled within her. His words at the cafeneion, about learning Greek, had filled her with dismay.

  How could she live here, in Greece? How could she be truly married to Nikos Vassilis?

  It was unthinkable!

  And yet, and yet...

  Too much pulled at her. Too many emotions.

  I can't think about it! I just can't!

  She knew she would have to, eventually. Knew that the fu­ture was looming over her like a dark, overpowering wall. But for now she would turn her back on it.

  She had a few days' grace, she knew. The quick staccato phone call she had made to Tony from the bedroom, before they had set off for Knossos yesterday, had simply communi­cated an unforeseen change of plan. He had been worried, she could tell, for all she had said was that she was fine, but would not be coming home quite yet; she would let him know when.

  Tm not at my grandfather's house,' she had reassured him rapidly. 'I'm...I'm...somewhere else...with someone else.'

  Tony had been alarmed, despite her use of the code word they had agreed.

  'Where else?' he demanded.

  'I'm on my grandfather's yacht,' she had admitted. 'But he's not here. I'm OK, truly. I have to go; someone's coming! Give my love to Mum. I'll be home soon—promise.'

  But would she be home soon? She stared out of the wind­screen, out over the alien landscape of Crete.

  What am I doing? What am I doing?

  She had no answer. She was adrift on a new ocean, carried by an unstoppable tide.

  At her side, Nikos slipped his left hand from the wheel and :ook her hand, sensing her troubled frame of mind.

  'All will be well, Andrea mou. Trust me.'

  For now there was nothing else for her to do.

  For now it was enough.

  They had lunch in the little town of Sougia, at a tourist taverna overlooking the shingle beach.

  'It is a pity you are not up to walking,' remarked Nikos. 'There is, so I have just been told, a very popular walk to a place called Ancient Lissos—it is a Roman site, small, but very pretty. Perhaps we can land there from the yacht, another day. You cannot get there by road, I understand.' 'Is it a long walk?' Andrea asked,

  'About an hour, the waiter told me, but it could be rough and I don't want to risk it.'

  'I'm sorry to be such a drag on you,' Andrea said quietly. He took her hand. 'You are not a drag. You have done your best against great odds. I cannot begin to think what you must have gone through.'

  His kindness nearly undid her. She felt tears misting her eyes. He saw them, and patted her hand encouragingly.

  'No, do not cry, Andrea. As you said to me yourself, there are others so much worse off!' His gentling smile took any reproof from the words. 'And think too how much worse it would have been, what you went through, had you not been cushioned by your grandfather's wealth. I know that money cannot buy health, but it can buy comfort, and freedom from financial
stress, in ways you cannot, perhaps, imagine. Your mother could afford the best treatment for you, the best doctors, the best care—it is something to be grateful for, ne?”

  Cold drenched through Andrea. Cushioned by her grandfa­ther's wealth? She saw again, vivid in her mind, the letter from his office, replying, finally, to the desperate pleadings of her mother after Kim had sent Yiorgos Coustakis all the medical reports on his granddaughter, detailing all the injuries she had suffered, recommending operations and physiotherapy that were so extensive, so expensive, that only private health cart could provide for the years it would take to complete the treatment. The reports had been returned, accompanied by a terse letter to the effect that they were obviously gross exaggerations and it was clearly nothing more than a ploy by a mercenary gold-digger to extort money from a man she had no claim on whatsoever.

  And then Andrea chilled even more at the recollection of the final letter that had come, not from her grandfather, but from his lawyers, informing Kim that any further attempt at com­municating with Yiorgos Coustakis would result in legal action.

  Nikos watched her face shadowing. He had not meant to be harsh, but it was true, what he had said. Like so many born to wealth, Andrea seemed to take it all for granted. Oh, she was polite to servants, waiters and so on, but she never seemed to appreciate just how privileged her upbringing had been. In fact, he mused, she seemed to take more pleasure in something like a simple meal at a cheap taverna than in the lavish delicacies of a five-star restaurant...

  If she'd had to work for her money, as he had done, she might appreciate the finer things of life more, he thought.

  And do you appreciate anything else any more? Or will only the finest do for you now?

  The quizzing voice sounded unwelcome in his mind, and he put it aside. He deserved his wealth—he had worked day and night to get where he was now. And Coustakis Industries was Ms rightful prize.

  And the Coustakis heiress....

  His mood lightened, and he lifted her imprisoned hand to his lips, grazing it lightly.

  'I long for tonight, my sweet, passionate Andrea. I long for it—and you.'

  Colour stained her cheekbones as she read the message in his eyes, and he sat back, well pleased.

  Right now life was good. Very good.

  And the night was even better. All the rest of the day Andrea found her awareness of Nikos mounting and mounting—during .he drive back to the north of the island, during dinner eaten by the harbour in Chania, this time, not Rethimnon, and the irive back across the isthmus of the Akritori peninsula to the leep water of Souda Bay, where the yacht was moored. That night she hardly noticed the garish decor of the staterooms, hardly noticed the polite greetings of the crew, only noticed the way Nikos's eyes looked at her, wanting her, wanting her. Desire swept through her, and the moment they gained the privacy of their bedroom she turned to him, and he to her. That night their coming together was even more incendiary—she knew now, so well, just what passion and desire, unleashed, could bring, and she revelled in it.

  She felt wild and wanton, desirable and daring. 'I do believe,' Nikos murmured to her, his eyes glinting wickedly as she climbed astride him at his urging, eager to find more and more ways of showing her desire for him and sating her own, 'that you are making up for lost time.'

  He slid his hands helpfully under her smooth, round bottom, lifting her up and positioning her exactly where he wanted her to be. Then he relaxed back.

  'Take me.' The eyes glinted even more wickedly, making her feel weak with desire. Tm yours...1

  She looked down at him, her red hair streaming like a banner down her naked back.

  And slowly, tasting every moment of the experience, she came down on him. Possessing him.

  It was the first of numberless possessions, each giving and taking as much as the other, their appetites feeding on each other, inflaming each other, sating each other, long into the following day. They did not go ashore that morning, letting Captain Petrachos take the yacht westwards, to round the island into the Libyan Sea and nose along the southern coast. Though the day was warm, and fine, Andrea and Nikos found a strang' reluctance to take the fresh air.

  'We should get up,' murmured Andrea, nestled agains Nikos's hard-muscled chest.

  'It's our honeymoon, Andrea mou. There is no hurry. W have all the time in the world.' He began to nuzzle at her tender earlobe, and she felt—extraordinary though it was, considering how short a time ago they had come together this latest time-her body beginning to respond to his caressing. 'On the other hand,' he considered, 'perhaps we should get up. Of course...' his teeth nipped gently, arousingly at her lobe '...we would need to have a bath first...'

  Making love in a Jacuzzi was, Andrea discovered, a breath­taking experience, and one that lasted a long, long time. It was after noon before they finally emerged on to the deck, to take a long, leisurely lunch under an awning as the mountainous coastline of southern Crete slipped slowly past them. After lunch the launch was lowered, and Nikos took her first, as he had promised, to the tiny cove of Ancient Lissos, to explore the remains of the asklepieion—healing centre—and then sail­ing onwards, past the pretty whitewashed village of Loutro, along the piratical Sfakiot coastline until they made landfall at a beach marked on the map as 'Sweetwater Beach'.

  'What a strange name,' said Andrea, and marvelled when she was shown the reason. Tiny freshwater springs pearled from beneath the pebbles. Andrea scooped some of the water to her lips.

  'It is fresh!' she exclaimed in wonder.

  It was such a beautiful afternoon, and the beach—unreachable by road—so relatively uncrowded, that they stayed to en­joy it. As Andrea started to relax, Nikos produced a swimsuit from amongst the towels.

  'No one will look at your legs, Andrea,' he told her. 'They will all be too busy looking at your glorious figure.' He leant and kissed her softly. 'You are so beautiful. Your legs do not matter. Not to me. You must know that by now—you must!' He smiled cajolingly. 'Do it for me, my beautiful bride.'

  How can I refuse? she thought. How can I refuse him any­thing?

  Handing her a vast towelling changing tent, he helped her slip on the plain black one-piece he had acquired for her. As she stepped free she felt overcome with self-consciousness, but after a while she realised it was true—the others on the beach, scattered as they were, were not looking at her.

  'Come,' said Nikos. 'That sea looks too tempting!'

  He was stripping off before she could reply, baring every thing down to a pair of trunks under his trousers, and then he was taking her hand and leading her into the clear water.

  This early in the year the water had a bite to it that made her gasp, but Nikos only laughed. He drew her in relentlessly, and then, letting go, dived into the turquoise water, surfacing to shake a shower of diamonds from his head. 'Come on! You'll thank me!'

  And she did. When they finally emerged, some fifteen minutes later, she felt glorious, reborn. He swathed a towel around her and sat her down, pausing only to run a towel over his back before joining her.

  He grinned at her. She grinned back. The water on his long eyelashes caught the sun, his damp, towel-dried hair made her ache to touch it, and the expression in his eyes as he looked at her made her weak.

  All that marred her pleasure was the prospect of having to go back on board her grandfather's yacht. It oppressed her more and more. Not just because of the tasteless extravagance of its opulent decor, but because it reminded her, as she did not want to be reminded, of just why she had come to Greece at all.

  And she did not want to think of that. 'Nikos?' She sat up, looking at him questioningly. 'Do we have to stay on the yacht?'

  'You don't want to?' He sounded surprised. He didn't know a woman who wouldn't have adored to luxuriate on board such a floating palace!

  But then Andrea, he was beginning to realise, was like no woman he had ever known... For so many reasons. She shook her head. 'Can't we stay here, on Crete?' He smiled indulgently
. 'Of course. I will phone the yach and book a suitable hotel. Or would you prefer a private villa?' 'Can't we just take our chances? Wander around, stay where we want? There are rooms to let everywhere, and we've passed many little hotels in the Jeep.'

  He looked at her. 'You'd like that?' 'Oh, yes! They look such fun. I've never done anything like that—'

  Her voice was full of longing. How ironic, thought Nikos, that for someone raised in luxury, the commonplace was ex­otic!

  He smiled lazily at her. 'Your wish, my most lovely bride, is my command!'

  For five, wonderful, unforgettable days Andrea toured the is­land with Nikos. For five searing, incandescent nights she flamed with passion in his arms. All cares were left behind. This was a special time, she thought—all she would have. She must make the most of it. Make the most of Nikos.