The Greek's Runaway Bride

by Penny Jordan

  Chloe was mortified. She drew a shuddering breath, trying to avert her eyes from her reflection and yet completely unable to do so, mesmerised by the sight of her aroused body, the taut thrust of her breasts, the swollen outline of her mouth, her tangled hair, the silken sheen to her body, all familiar and yet so unfamiliar in this, an openly wanton pose.

  ‘Please….’

  The word was a shaky whisper, but it seemed that even now, having witnessed her humiliation, Leon had not drunk his cup of revenge to the full.

  ‘Please what?’ he goaded. ‘Please leave you alone? Please don’t force you to accept the truth? Please take tonight to its ultimate conclusion and make love to you; possess you completely, even though, according to you, I never once, in the boring months of our marriage, managed to arouse the slightest desire in you?’

  His voice so husky, shivering across her nerves, hardened over the last words, and Chloe closed her eyes, trying to blot out his features and the sick knowledge of what Marisa had done. And yet hadn’t he injured her far more than she was supposed to have injured him? He complained that she had married him for money—and yet hadn’t he married her for even less worthy reasons, and not expected her to protest?

  But of course one had to take into account his male pride; that fiery Greek pride which made him demand love from her even while he was not prepared to give the same to her. And he called her a hypocrite!

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Leon continued in that same hateful cold voice, ‘I fully intend to possess you, Chloe—that is the whole purpose of the exercise—but first I wanted to remind you past all forgetting that no matter what you may feel about me mentally, physically you want me. Don’t you?’ he demanded, reinforcing his argument by winding the silky length of her hair through his fingers and tightening them into it until she cried out in mingled pain and shame as she saw again the pale, glimmering outline of her body.

  ‘Just as you want me,’ she retaliated, driven to make some response.

  ‘Just as I want you,’ Leon agreed sombrely. ‘And how I want you right at this minute!’ His warm breath touched her skin, her pulses racing in sudden urgent desire, her body responding instantly to the smoky desire lacing the bitter words.

  ‘Cristos, Chloe!’

  Perspiration broke out on her skin, her body shaking feverishly as he bent his head, tracing its slender outlines with hands and lips which drove her from anger to an ever-growing need, her own lips rediscovering the pleasures of his flesh. The buckle of his trousers impeded the downward caress of her fingers, her impatient fumblings brushed aside with a muttered oath as Leon disposed of the unwanted barrier himself, and at last there was nothing to come between the heated warmth of their flesh. Leon’s hands rested lightly on the tenderness of her stomach before moving upwards to cup and linger over her breasts, his own stomach muscles clenching involuntarily as Chloe followed the downward arrowing path of dark hairs, from the breadth of his chest to the taut flatness of his belly, before they were removed and desire exploded between them with the fierce intensity of a funeral pyre, burning away bitterness and anger and leaving only the pure brilliant flame of their mutual need.

  The past, the future, both ceased to exist. There was only now, and the fierce, tumultuous clamouring of feelings kept too long in check. It was like a symphony played with instruments perfectly in tune and perfectly attuned to one another until it seemed to Chloe, hazily suspended somewhere between heaven and earth in the aftermath of their lovemaking, that life could hold no more perfect pleasure.

  * * *

  Reflections of water dancing on the ceiling, translucent and unfamiliar, woke Chloe from the depths of a dreamless sleep. She turned her head and saw the cup of tea at the side of the bed. Realisation dawned. She turned her head to the left, to where Leon lay beside her, still asleep, lying on his stomach, his face pillowed on his arm. Pain filled her, so intense that for several minutes it blotted out everything else. How could she have allowed Leon to make love to her! Allowed. She almost groaned out loud. Allowed was just not the word. Encouraged, uninhibitedly enticed; these were better descriptions, she acknowledged in heartsick admission of her own part in what had taken place. She slid out of bed, careful not to wake Leon, and grimaced in distaste as the ruins of her evening dress. What on earth was she going to put on?

  ‘You’ll find your clothes in the wardrobe!’

  She whirled round, her eyes widening and shadowing with shame and dismay as she faced Leon. He was lying, propped up on one elbow, unashamedly studying the naked length of her body. Just for a second his eyes rested on the faint beginnings of bruises where passion had overridden tenderness.

  ‘I had them brought aboard when I guessed what you were trying to do.’

  He frowned suddenly, throwing back the bed-clothes and shrugging on the robe lying on the chair beside the bed, coming towards her. Chloe badly wanted to turn her back and walk away, but somehow she simply couldn’t, and to her shame tears filmed her eyes, trembling on the lashes she lowered to hide them.

  ‘Tears?’ The word was almost a caress. ‘Why, I wonder? Regret for what might have been, or shame for what was?’

  Chloe shook her head without speaking, gasping as Leon placed his hands very gently against her stomach, the gesture wholly sensual and yet at the same time protective.

  ‘Has it occurred to you that even now my seed might be growing inside you?’ he demanded huskily, his eyes darkening. ‘Chloe, Chloe, we could have so much together… our child… children….’

  ‘Everything in fact but love,’ Chloe responded lightly, trying not to let her voice shake. ‘I….’

  ‘No, don’t say anything, unless it is that you agree that we should spend these next few days as though we were indeed making a fresh start. We can do it, Chloe… we must do it, for the sake of the child you will bear me.’

  Chloe swayed, more tempted than she wanted to admit. She loved him more if anything, not less, and what he was offering her was more, so much more than so many women had, but did she have the courage, the endurance to close her mind to his affair with Marisa and instead concentrate on being the wife he used to shield his half-sister; the woman who stood at his side in public, if not in private; the mother of his children.

  ‘Chloe?’

  ‘Leon, I….’

  ‘Cristos! Did I do this?’ he demanded suddenly, his thumb gently brushing the swollen curve of her mouth. ‘Did I hurt you? Come, let me see….’

  She could no more resist him in this absurdly tender mood than she could fly, Chloe admitted, allowing him to part the soft flesh of her mouth to examine the raw flesh within, still stinging and uncomfortable.

  ‘Shall I kiss it better?’

  Beneath the light question Chloe sensed a deeper meaning, and knew without words that it encompassed not just the obvious meaning and that her assent would be taken as an assent to his proposal that they give their marriage a second chance. But dared she? Leon talked about their mutual desire being enough, but if he should discover that she felt more than desire for him; or if she herself found she could not cope with her jealousy of Marisa.

  ‘Surely what we have between us is worth some effort?’ Leon asked her.

  She opened her mouth, intending to tell him that much as she wished she could, she could not agree; could not commit herself to a future which she knew already held untold pain and despair, but instead to her dismay she heard her own voice, shaky and unfamiliar, saying;

  ‘Yes.’

  For a second Leon said nothing, and then he smiled, gently touching his lips to Chloe’s before saying softly:

  ‘I am glad that our son is to have both his parents—and now, let us forget everything but the mutual pleasure of rediscovering one another.’ He glanced towards the bathroom, and then back at Chloe, picking her up in his arms and striding towards the rumpled bed. ‘And the best place to do that is right here.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IT was late morning before Chloe woke up again, and thi
s time she was alone in the huge bed. She moved luxuriously beneath the silk sheets, her body relaxed and lethargic with the aftermath of love. As she slipped out of bed and pulled on a robe her own reflection caught her eye. How great a difference twenty-four hours could make! Yesterday she had been a pale, unhappy shadow of the woman who stared back at her from the mirror today. Love had effected an almost miraculous transformation. But not mutual love, a small inner voice warned her. She was the one who loved. Leon merely allowed her to give him her love, while he….

  She clenched her hands into tiny, desperate fists. No, she mustn’t think about Marisa; mustn’t spoil what Leon had whispered to her this morning would be their second honeymoon, she must think positive. Who knew, perhaps in time she might be able to win him away from Marisa; perhaps might even already have done so, if she hadn’t run away from him—and the unacceptable facts of his relationship with Marisa. She mustn’t think of that. She must hold fast to the fact that he wanted her, desired her; that together they would build a stable family unit; the two of them and their children. He would surely see then that he could not continue his relationship with Marisa?

  Deep down inside her Chloe knew that Marisa would not be so easily dislodged from Leon’s life. The younger girl was fanatically obsessed with her half-brother, and Chloe shivered, despite the warmth of the stateroom. Fanatics were dangerous people, capable of doing anything to further their cause. Her hands went to her stomach, pain tightening her mouth. Somehow she would have to make Leon believe that Marisa and not she had been responsible for her miscarriage. What was past was past, but she wasn’t prepared to run the risk of the same thing happening again.

  She stood still, staring into space. The last twenty-four hours had indeed worked a transformation! Here she was not only accepting the fact of resuming her marriage, but actively planning ahead to protect the very life she had sworn to Leon she would never willingly conceive, but then Leon, when he was as attentive and charming as he had been this morning—as it had been when she first met him, was a force to be reckoned with, and one she could not withstand. The love she had thought dead had merely been in hibernation, and the warm heat of the Aegean sun had brought it into full, sensuous life.

  ‘Hey, sleepyhead, are you going to join me for lunch?’

  She scurried into the bathroom as Leon strolled into the stateroom, firmly closing and locking the door. Despite her love for him, despite the fact that they had been married and lived together as man and wife, she was still affected by sudden attacks of shyness, and safely behind the locked door, she blushed a little to recall the manner in which Leon had removed her from this very sanctuary only a matter of hours before.

  ‘I’m just getting dressed,’ she called out to him. ‘I won’t be long.’

  ‘Good, Santos is ready to serve lunch. Lobster salad, followed by chocolate soufflé—I remembered your sweet tooth.’

  Even with the door between them, Chloe could hear the indulgent amusement in his voice. Really, she thought, exasperated by the way her fingers refused to obey her commands to hurry, anyone would think she was a schoolgirl being ‘treated’ by a favourite uncle—or an older brother! She froze, paling suddenly, and as though the changed quality of her silence reached him Leon asked her if she was all right.

  ‘Fine….’

  Her fingers shook as she slipped on clean underclothes—Leon had overlooked nothing in his preparations, and she had found casual clothes, underwear, and even a couple of formal evening dresses hanging in the stateroom’s generous wardrobes.

  She must stop thinking about Marisa. She must put the other girl right out of her mind.

  Shelving the problem instead of solving it, a small voice warned her. What she ought to do was tackle Leon and demand to know what he intended to do about Marisa, but she acknowledged that she simply did not have the courage, because she was afraid to hear the truth; afraid to hear that Leon had no intention of giving up his relationship with his half-sister. Was she so weak, she asked herself bitterly, did she honestly have the endurance to simply bury her head in the sand and pretend that Marisa didn’t exist?

  But Leon had tried to arrange a marriage for Marisa, a more hopeful voice reminded her; surely that proved something?

  Any number of things, Chloe acknowledged grimly. It could simply mean that he realised that he could not keep the affair a secret for ever. His marriage to her had been the first-step in trying to deflect attention from Marisa—the other girl was so emotional, so possessive that he must surely live in fear of her blurting out the truth during a temper tantrum—perhaps his attempt to find a marriage partner for Marisa had just been a second step in the same direction. However, Marisa had defeated him, and would continue to defeat him, Chloe reflected. It was true that the younger girl did not know yet that the Kriticos family had had second thoughts and withdrawn from the match, but Chloe could see a procession of possible bridegrooms being treated to a similar display of unpleasant behaviour, until Leon gave up; after all, he could surely not want to see her married to someone else. Leon had a possessive streak which she herself had witnessed only this morning, when for all his tenderness there had been a hint of finely controlled violence beneath the hands which had coaxed her body into urgent, delighted life.

  When she stepped on to the sun-deck fifteen minutes later, Chloe found Leon waiting beneath a gaily striped awning, while a steward set covered dishes down on an attractively decorated table.

  ‘Ah, there you are.’ Leon stood up lazily, sunlight glinting on the dark hairs sprinkling muscled tanned legs, brief white shorts and a thin cotton knitted top his only covering. In comparison Chloe felt overdressed in her pretty pink and white cotton skirt with its matching camisole top and toning short-sleeved jacket. Leon appraised her for so long that she started to fidget, wondering what he was looking at, her fingers going anxiously to the hair she had just combed.

  ‘Is… is there something wrong?’ she demanded breathlessly at last.

  Leon’s lazy smile curled the corners of his mouth in open appreciation.

  ‘On the contrary,’ he told her huskily, coming towards her and escorting her to the table. ‘Everything is most definitely right, apart from the fact that you’re a little overdressed.’

  He laughed to see her flush and glance indignantly at the steward, and shook his head.

  ‘Santos does not speak English. Did you enjoy your rest?’ He was laughing again, and Chloe tried hard to appear coolly confident. ‘Oh, very well,’ he drawled when she refused to speak. ‘I shall stop teasing you, although it is delightful to see the pretty colour rising so betrayingly in your cheeks. Come, we shall eat lunch, then after we have rested, we shall stop the yacht and swim. There is nothing quite like swimming in the open sea. You will love it.’ He leaned over nibbling her throat sensuously while his hand rested warm and vibrant against her rib-cage. ‘Are you sure you want lunch, my Chloe?’ he demanded huskily against her neck. When she quivered betrayingly in his arms, Leon smiled into her eyes. ‘Tonight we shall dine by starlight, alone together, drifting through seas only several shades darker than your eyes after I have made love to you.’

  ‘It sounds almost too romantic to be true,’ Chloe interrupted, striving for a light, careless note, and failing dismally as her voice betrayed her, shaking a little, her lips parting in mute pleading as she looked at Leon.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ Leon warned softly, leaning forward to part her lips with a tanned thumb. ‘You’ll make me forget all about lunch, and Santos won’t like that.’

  ‘Well, we had better sit down, then,’ Chloe replied demurely, joining in the game. ‘I don’t want to upset Santos.’

  ‘I knew you’d say that!’ Leon groaned, pulling out an attractive wrought iron chair with a cushion patterned in fresh greens and white. ‘Spoilsport!’

  Subsiding into the chair, Chloe felt herself beginning to relax; Leon in this mood was irresistible, and she couldn’t remember ever seeing him like this before, not even on their
honeymoon.

  The lobster salad was delicious, and although she hadn’t been aware of much breeze coming off the sea, Chloe reflected that it must be the fresh air which was responsible for her suddenly hearty appetite; that and her sudden determination to put yesterday and tomorrow out of her mind and concentrate simply on today.

  She glanced towards Leon. The sun glinted on the gold of his wedding ring. He refilled her glass, and when Chloe reached for it, his fingers interlinked with hers on the table, cupping and lifting the glass to her lips.

  ‘To us,’ he toasted softly. ‘To us and a fresh start, a fresh life together.’

  ‘Without Marisa?’ The question trembled on her lips, but was swallowed with the cool dry white wine to lodge uncomfortably against her heart, and so she contented herself with a twisted little smile, as she echoed Leon’s toast, the glass cool against her sun-warmed lips. This was definitely the life, she reflected half an hour later, stretched out at Leon’s side on a sunlounger, her head pillowed on her shoulders as she relaxed with the easy motion of the yacht. Leon had already explaining that the yacht was an oceangoing vessel, capable of swift speed and complete with all the latest radar and technological devices. Chloe had shivered a little when he had described to her the fate suffered by some friends of his off Bermuda the previous summer. Their vessel had been hijacked and they had been cast adrift in an inflatable dinghy, from which they had been lucky to be rescued twelve hours later.

  The authorities had been laconic in the face of their fear and anger. Such incidents were commonplace, and the stolen vessels were used for drug smuggling, and Leon’s friends had been told that they were lucky to be alive; many other people had been killed, or left to die slowly of thirst and starvation. Seeing Chloe shiver, Leon assured her that nothing similar was likely to happen to them. He pulled her to her feet, to show her over the yacht, and Chloe marvelled at its luxurious appointments. There were two staterooms, and four cabins; a room which Leon used as a study-cum-library, a dining room furnished as elegantly as any possessed by a stately home, and a drawing room, so palatial that Chloe caught her breath in awe.