The Greek's Runaway Bride

by Penny Jordan

  Neither of them looked particularly happy. Nikos was flushed beneath his tan, and Marisa looked sulky and bored.

  ‘I’m going to ask Leon to take me to Athens,’ she announced, tossing her dark hair, her eyes daring Chloe to comment on her lack of manners. ‘I’m bored with Eos.’

  Nikos flushed again, and Chloe’s hand itched to slap Marisa hard on that part of the anatomy normally reserved for chastising naughty children. Madame Kriticos was quite right. Marisa was a spoiled brat, but beneath the almost typical teenage rebellion and obtuseness was a sly sensuality which jarred on Chloe. No girl of Marisa’s age should look out on the world with such cynicism—or such knowledge, and Chloe shivered a little, remembering the look in the dark eyes when Marisa talked of her love for Leon. Marisa she could in some part understand. Her love for Leon was an obsession which she had tended relentlessly, refusing to allow herself to broaden her horizons—in some ways it was to be expected of a girl of such intense emotions, but Leon! Surely he must know what risks he ran in indulging his desire for her? She was his sister! He might be a rich and powerful man, but not rich or powerful enough to place himself beyond the law, or to forfeit the respect of his fellow men.

  ‘Why don’t you go and get ready for dinner, Marisa?’ Chloe suggested, hoping to avert a further outburst, but to her dismay Marisa turned on her furiously.

  ‘Why? So that you can talk about me behind my back? Say what you like,’ she sneered. ‘It won’t make the slightest bit of difference. If Leon says that Nikos and I are to marry, then marry we will, no matter how much Nikos’s mother may object.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ Chloe apologised when Marisa had left the room. Madame Kriticos was as still as a statue; Nikos even more embarrassed than he had been before. ‘I’m afraid Marisa is going through rather an awkward phase,’ she added uncomfortably. ‘I think she feels that Leon is being a little high-handed with regard to her marriage, but that was still no reason for her to be so offensive. I shall ask her to apologise, of course….’

  ‘And she will refuse,’ Madame Kriticos said dryly. ‘I pity you, my dear. If you aren’t careful you will have the responsibility of her around your neck like an albatross for the rest of your married life. You must make haste and give Leon a child of his own to cherish.’

  And thus displace Marisa from his emotions, Madame Kriticos meant. Little chance of that, Chloe reflected bitterly, but of course she could not tell the other woman the truth.

  Voices outside the room proclaimed the return of the men. To Chloe’s amazement Leon walked over to her, perching on the arm of the sofa at her side, one arm carelessly but possessively encircling her shoulders and drawing her back against him.

  ‘Where’s Marisa?’ he asked her.

  ‘Gone to change for dinner.’

  Chloe tried to keep her voice as expressionless as possible, but something must have given her away, because Leon’s eyes sharpened, his lips hardening as he watched her.

  ‘So, it is very romantic, this reunion of yours,’ Alexandros Kriticos commented to Chloe.

  ‘And this time I shall not let her escape,’ Leon answered for her, his fingers tightening warningly on her upper arm as he drew her against his body. Chloe could feel his heart beat beneath her cheek. Her proximity didn’t affect it in the slightest, while her own pulses were sending erratic warning signals to her brain, and she could feel her flesh weakening with the desire to relax into his warmth and be enveloped by the potent masculinity of his embrace. In an attempt to stem her treacherous thoughts, Chloe forced her muscles to tense in rejection of the pressure of Leon’s grasp, and was instantly punished as Leon’s head bent, his warm breath fanning her temples, his eyes dark with warning as he added, ‘This time I shall give her something to prevent her from wanting to escape. It is amazing how a child tames even the wildest of women.’

  ‘Bravo!’ Alexandros cheered. ‘Now you are speaking like a true Greek, my friend!’

  At last Chloe was free to escape to her room—but it was not her room alone any longer. While she had been entertaining their guests someone—one of the maids, she guessed—had moved Leon’s silverbacked brushes and toilet articles into her bathroom. A dark blue silk robe lay carelessly on the bed next to her own nightgown. She tried to breathe and found her throat constricted suddenly with tears.

  Tears! What on earth was she crying for? The innocent young girl who had gone too willingly and trustingly into Leon’s arms? Hadn’t she cried enough tears for her already?

  The door opened. She didn’t move, her eyes meeting Leon’s in the dressing table mirror.

  ‘I won’t share this room with you, Leon,’ she said with a calm born of desperation. ‘And if you try to make me I’ll go straight to Madame Kriticos and tell her the truth.’

  Without seeming to move Leon was at her side, towering above her as he had done last night, but this time there was no sensuality in the lean body.

  Touching her tongue nervously to her lips, Chloe stepped backwards, tensing instinctively against the grip of powerful hands. Only it never came. Instead, Leon grimaced suddenly, lashes dropping over his eyes to conceal his expression from her, his voice grim as he announced abruptly, ‘We’re sharing this room, Chloe. I’m not in the mood for argument, especially futile ones, and right now I want to take a shower.’ His hand went to his chest to release the buttons of his shirt and Chloe turned quickly away, not wanting to see the lean, muscled lines of his body, not wanting to be reminded of how it had felt to be held close to that body; to be possessed by it, made love to by it….

  ‘Oh no, you don’t!’

  Leon’s harsh voice splintered the silence, spinning her round in shock.

  ‘Don’t ever turn away from me in disgust again, Chloe,’ he said harshly, reaching out to pinion her wrists. ‘Or I warn you I’ll give you good reason to feel disgust for me. I’m getting sick and tired of having you look at me as though I’m something that’s crawled up out of the gutter. Don’t forget, whatever you might claim you feel now, there was a time when you couldn’t wait to have me make love to you….’

  ‘No!’

  Her protest was instinctive, as much a reaction to his first accusation as his second, but Leon chose to misinterpret it, his face hardening as he dragged her against the hard warmth of his body.

  The scent of him filled her nostrils, the feel of him imprinting itself against her yielding flesh. Faintness threatened to overcome her. Chloe put up a hand to fend him off, but it was unnecessary, for Leon had already released her, his expression contemptuous as he walked towards the bathroom, discarding his shirt before pausing by the door.

  ‘You’re not just a liar, Chloe,’ he told her sardonically, ‘you’re also a coward. By denying what there was between us you’re denying one of life’s few real experiences, but it’s your life that’s made poorer by it, not mine. I’d look the other way, if I were you,’ were his parting words as he stepped into the bathroom. ‘That is unless you want to be reminded of things you would plainly rather forget—but you haven’t forgotten, have you, Chloe!’

  More shaken than she cared to admit, Chloe turned her back on him, willing her mind not to play tricks on her by relaying images of Leon as she remembered him, his body as lean and taut as an athlete’s, his skin burnished to the colour and texture of bronze. A small moan she wasn’t even aware of uttering forced its way past her lips, then her natural courage re-asserted itself.

  Leon was trying to intimidate her. Well, two could play at that game! It was true that she hadn’t envisaged having to share a room with him, but it wouldn’t be for long! Madame Kriticos plainly did not favour a marriage between Marisa and her son (and after Marisa’s behaviour Chloe could scarcely blame her!); she would be anxious to leave, and Chloe was determined to leave with her.

  She waited until the sound of the shower had ceased, and then, gathering up clean underclothes, she stalked past Leon, as he thrust open the bathroom door, forcing herself to ignore the silken gleam of wat
er on his skin, the fresh, clean smell of his body, the brief towel knotted over lean hips, crisp dark hairs arrowing downwards over a lean flat stomach. Clenching her hands, Chloe averted her gaze, only giving into the tremors of awareness shuddering through her when she was safely inside the bathroom, behind a locked door.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  DINNER that night, Chloe found, was something to be endured rather than enjoyed. She might have threatened to expose Leon to the Kriticos’, but she knew she was incapable of doing so; her threat had been an idle one, and now she was condemned to sit at the foot of the table watching Marisa flirting openly with Leon, while Madame Kriticos looked on in disapproving silence.

  Whether Leon’s attention had gone to Marisa’s head or whether she was hoping to force the Kriticos family to withdraw from the proposed match Chloe wasn’t sure, but there was only one word to describe Marisa’s behaviour—provocative!

  She was alternately rude and sulky when addressed by anyone apart from Leon. She was wearing a scarlet silk dress which was far too adult, and if Leon were not so obsessed by her Chloe felt sure he must have realised how much she was endangering herself. All her own attempts to smooth over Marisa’s open lack of manners were wasted when the girl insisted on continuing to behave badly.

  Leon seemed blind to what was going on. He spoke kindly to Nikos, asking him how he enjoyed working with his father, and while Chloe could understand why Leon favoured the match—if he had to lose Marisa to another man then who better than this gentle, self-effacing boy?—she could not help but feel indignant on Nikos’ behalf.

  After dinner they retired to the drawing room. The evening was warm, and the patio doors were open to allow the breeze to penetrate. Madame Kriticos breathed in the pure air deeply and complimented Leon on the beauty of their surroundings—and its privacy.

  ‘An ideal spot for a honeymoon,’ she commented, smiling at Chloe. Marisa’s eyes darkened immediately.

  ‘Let’s walk in the garden, Leon,’ she pleaded, sliding her arm through his and gazing up at him in a manner that made Chloe’s heart clench in terror. Surely their guests must see what was happening? It seemed so obvious to her!

  ‘We could go swimming,’ she coaxed. ‘I love swimming at night… the water against my skin, the dark….’

  Against her will Chloe’s own imagination tormented her with images of Marisa and Leon swimming together, of Leon capturing her and kissing her as he had once kissed Chloe herself, during the balmy days of their honeymoon. She shivered, unaware that Leon was watching her, or of his sudden frown.

  ‘You forget that we have guests, Marisa,’ he chided gently. ‘Perhaps Nikos would like to walk in the gardens with you.’

  He was an excellent actor, Chloe had to give him that. No one watching him could have the slightest inkling of the true relationship between Marisa and himself. Marisa on the other hand was less adroit. At the very mention of walking with Nikos she started to scowl. Chloe held her breath, dreading and yet not knowing how to avert the scene she was sure Marisa was planning.

  To her relief Madame Kriticos came to her rescue, albeit unwittingly. ‘I should like to walk in the gardens, even if Marisa would not. You shall accompany me, Nikos, since your father cannot as he is expecting a call from Athens.’

  ‘That is so,’ Alexandros Kriticos apologised to Leon. ‘A business matter which could necessitate our returning to Athens earlier than we had planned.’

  Chloe guessed shrewdly that the ‘business matter’ was merely a product of Madame Kriticos’ imagination. No matter what her husband might think she was determined that her son would not marry Marisa, and Chloe could hardly blame her. That meant that she herself would have to move quickly, though. She had to find her passport, and the obvious place to look for it was Leon’s study, which was situated in an annexe away from the main bulk of the house. If Leon had not been sharing her room she could have searched the study after everyone else had gone to bed. If she left it until the morning it could well be too late. What on earth was she going to do?

  ‘Are you coming with us, Chloe?’ Madame Kriticos asked, rising elegantly to her feet.

  ‘We shall all go—even Alexandros,’ Leon announced before she could speak. ‘If your call comes through one of the servants will find us. I sometimes think Eos is at its most beautiful at night,’ he added. ‘Veiled by the darkness, she possesses all the enticement of a woman cloaked in silk. Without the harsh glare of the sun one is not blinded to the allure of the perfumed darkness, so mysteriously enchanting. Darkness imparts its own special magic; one is forced to use other senses than sight; touch, for instance.’

  Chloe shivered, half hypnotised by his words into remembering how it had been to feel his hands touching her body under the protective cover of darkness; how her inhibitions had slipped away and she had felt free to respond to the pagan stirring of her blood. If she and Leon were really lovers, really wanted one another, how onerous the presence of other people on Eos would have been. Both of them would have been longing for them to leave so that they could wander through the darkness alone, stopping occasionally to kiss and touch, and perhaps even make love in a shadowed grove with only the stars to witness their wordless communion with each other and their universe.

  ‘Chloe, are you all right?’

  The sharp enquiry jerked her back to her surroundings. Everyone else was standing by the door, and suddenly she realised that here was her excuse to search Leon’s study undetected.

  ‘It’s just a headache,’ she lied. ‘I’ll be all right, but if you don’t mind I think I’ll go and lie down….’

  ‘Oh, but you should come,’ Madame Kriticos protested. ‘The fresh air will do you good. Tell her, Leon….’

  ‘Oh, come on, Leon, or are we going to wait all night? She’s probably making it up about the headache anyway,’ Marisa burst out scornfully. ‘Isn’t that what Englishwomen always say when they don’t want to make love?’

  There was a tiny silence and then Madame Kriticos was saying lightly, ‘Really, Leon, that child definitely needs taking in hand,’ and Chloe was free to make her escape while Leon ushered Marisa and his guests out on to the patio.

  What was Marisa trying to do? Persuade Leon to change his mind? Didn’t she already have enough, Chloe asked herself bitterly, or was it that she couldn’t bear to think of anyone bearing Leon a child if she couldn’t do so herself? Well, Marisa needn’t worry. If she could find her passport the moment the Kriticoses showed any sign of leaving, she was going with them, Chloe decided bitterly.

  She waited ten minutes before walking quickly out of the drawing room and down to the study.

  She hadn’t been inside the room before, and at first was startled by the starkness revealed to her by the bright moonlight. Unwilling to risk putting on the light, she was grateful for the full moon which shone brightly into the room. The walls were plain and white, offset by a richly polished floor ornamented by a brilliantly coloured Oriental rug. A large desk dominated the room, one entire wall covered in bookshelves and custom-built cupboards which Chloe guessed must be filing cabinets, although they looked more like expensive pieces of furniture.

  Where to start, that was the problem. Funnily enough, now that she was in the study, and even though she knew she had the right to regain her property, she felt a stupid reluctance to start going through Leon’s private documents.

  Telling herself that she was being foolish, she forced herself to overcome this aversion, slowly opening the first of the right-hand set of desk drawers. It was immaculately tidy, files and papers sorted neatly away. Chloe flicked through them, telling herself that she had no reason to feel so guilty, so grubby.

  The second drawer revealed merely a diary and an address book. How much longer did she have before everyone returned? Chloe wondered anxiously. Her heart was thumping nervously, she could feel her skin grow damp with perspiration as she closed the second drawer and moved feverishly to the other side of the desk. It was locked! She tugged the handle
disbelievingly, disappointment overcoming caution as she stamped her foot and muttered under her breath, ‘I might have known!’

  ‘Indeed you might—just as I might have known that your indisposition was merely a fabrication. Just as, in fact, I did know that it was a fabrication,’ Leon said sardonically, arms across his chest as he lounged in the doorway. ‘Is this what you were looking for?’ With one lithe stride he crossed the room, unlocking the desk drawer with a key which he produced from his pocket, withdrawing the familiar dark blue of Chloe’s passport.

  ‘Give it to me… please,’ she begged, her voice suddenly constricted. For a moment when she had looked up and seen him framed in the doorway she had been overcome by a feeling as pagan as the gods themselves.

  ‘Only when you have given me my son,’ Leon drawled softly, cutting across her thoughts. ‘A fair exchange, is it not? Your freedom for my child….’

  ‘Our child, don’t you mean?’ Chloe burst out furiously. ‘You can’t make me do this, Leon! It isn’t… it isn’t human! How can you expect me to carry your child for nine months and then calmly hand it over to you and disappear out of its life for ever? Even women who are paid to do that have second thoughts. Mother-love is such an overwhelmingly strong emotion,’ she murmured, more to herself than the man watching her. ‘I don’t think….’

  ‘What? That your freedom is payment enough?’ Leon goaded. ‘What else had you in mind? Money? Jewels?’

  ‘Why, you….’

  The marks left on the lean tanned cheek shocked Chloe more than the recipient of her instinctive reaction. The echoe of her dismayed breath seemed to reverberate around the enclosed silence of the room, making her suddenly aware of the fact that Leon must have returned alone from his walk.

  ‘Satisfied? Does that expression of your assumed outrage make you feel better?’