by Lynne Graham
Sergios had also flown Bee to Corfu for a week. The busy streets lined with elegant Italianate buildings, sophisticated shops and art studios had delighted her and one afternoon when Sergios had briefly lost her in the crowds he had anchored his hand to hers and kept it there for the rest of the day. He had bought her a beautiful silver icon she admired and they had had drinks on The Liston, an arcaded building modelled on the Rue de Rivoli in Paris. By the time they had returned to their designer hotel she was giggly and tipsy and he had made passionate love to her until dawn when she fell asleep in his arms. Opening her eyes again on his handsome features in profile as he worked at his laptop, getting some work out of the way before the day began, she had seen into her own heart and had known in the magic of that moment that she loved him. Loved him the way she had never thought she would ever love any man, with tenderness and appreciation of both his flaws and his strengths.
They had enjoyed numerous trips out and about on Orestos. He had shown her all over the island, had taken her swimming and sailing and snorkelling, letting the children join in whenever possible. He had enjoyed the fact that she was energetic enough to share the more physical pursuits with him. She also now knew that he was very competitive when it came to building sandcastles or fishing and that he was crazy about ice cream. He also loved it when she and the children were there to greet him when he came home from a trip. There was an abyss of loneliness deep inside Sergios that she longed to assuage.
With such uneasy thoughts dominating her mind about Krista’s memorial service and what those memories might mean to her husband, Bee could not settle that afternoon. She received another text from Jon Townsend, who had stayed in surprisingly regular contact with her since her arrival in Greece, and suppressed a sigh. Her ex-boyfriend had sent her reams of information about the charity he was involved with and was keen to set up a meeting with her during her approaching visit to the UK.
On such a beautiful day it had seemed a good idea to collect Milo from his playgroup in town on foot rather than drive there as she usually did. The summer heat, however, was intense and by the time she picked up Milo Bee was questioning the wisdom of having trudged all the way along the coast road, particularly when she had no alternative other than to walk back again. Milo, in comparison, hopped, jumped and skipped along by her side with the unvarnished energy that was his trademark.
She was walking through the town square with Eleni dozing below a parasol in her pushchair when Nectarios waved at them from a table outside the taverna. He wore his faded peaked cap, and only a local would have recognised him as the powerful business tycoon that he still was even in semi-retirement. She guessed by his clothing that he had been out sailing in the small yacht he kept at the harbour and she crossed to that side of the street.
‘What are you doing here on foot?’ he asked with a frown, spinning out a chair for her and snapping his fingers for the proprietor’s attention.
‘Milo was at his playgroup. It didn’t seem quite so warm when I left the house.’
‘My lift will be here in ten minutes. You can all ride back with me.’ The old man ordered drinks for Bee and the children while calmly allowing Milo to clamber onto his lap and steal his cap to try it on and then treat it like a frisbee.
While they sat there enjoying the welcome shade of the plane tree beside the terrace various passers-by came over to chat to Nectarios. Bee was daily picking up more Greek words and she understood odd snatches of the conversations about fishing trips, weddings and christenings. Tomorrow she was returning to London, where Eleni would have surgery on her ears, and when they came back to the island her mother would be travelling with her. She was helping Eleni with her feeding cup when she became aware of a flutter of whispers around her. Glancing up, Bee noticed the statuesque blonde walking through the square. She wore a simple figure-hugging white dress and she had that swaying walk and brash confidence that men almost always seemed to find irresistible. Certainly every man in the vicinity was staring in admiration.
‘Who’s that?’ she asked the man beside her, who had faltered into a sudden silence. ‘Is she a tourist?’
The woman looked directly at them with big brown eyes and a sultry smile on her red-tinted lips, her attention lingering with perceptible curiosity on Bee.
Nectarios gave the blonde a faint nod of acknowledgement. ‘That’s Melita Thiarkis.’
That familiar first name struck Bee like a slap but she would have thought nothing of it if Nectarios had not looked distinctly ill at ease.
‘And she’s…who?’ she pressed, hating herself for her persistence in the face of his discomfiture.
‘A fashion designer in Athens, but she was born on the island and maintains a property here.’
That fast Bee’s stomach threatened to heave and she struggled to control her nausea with perspiration beading her brow and her skin turning unpleasantly clammy. The blonde had to be Sergios’s mistress, Melita. There could not be such a coincidence. Indeed Nectarios’s embarrassment at her appearance had confirmed the fact. But Bee was in shock at the news that Melita was actually staying on the island. That possibility had not even occurred to her and she had naively assumed that Orestos offered Sergios no opportunity to stray. But how many evenings had he left her alone for several hours while he attended island council meetings? Or to visit his grandfather’s home? Lately there had been several such occasions and she had thought nothing of them at the time. Had she been ridiculously naive?
‘May I offer you some advice?’ Nectarios enquired as the four-wheel drive that had picked them up raised a trail of dust on the winding, little-used road back to the big white house with the tower on the headland.
Bee shot him a glance from troubled eyes. ‘Of course.’
‘Don’t put pressure on my grandson. Give him the time to recognise what you have together. His first marriage was very unhappy and it left deep scars.’
The old man was the product of another generation in which men and women were not equal and women expected and even excused male infidelity. Bee had no such guiding principle to fall back on and she could not excuse what she could not live with. And she knew that she would never be able to live in silence with the suspicion that Sergios might have laid lustful hands on another woman while he was sharing a bed with Bee.
Oh, how the mighty had fallen, Bee conceded wretchedly. Now she had to face up to the reality that she had allowed Sergios to run their marriage his way rather than hers. They had not renegotiated the terms of their original marriage plan. There had been no earnest discussions, no agreements and no promises made on either side. For almost two months they had coasted along without the rules and boundaries that she had feared might make Sergios feel trapped. Take things slowly, Bee had thought in her innocence, eager to pin her husband down, but too sensible not to foresee the probable risks of demanding too much from him upfront.
Now she was paying the price of not frankly telling him that he could not have her and a mistress. Strange how she had no doubt that he would angle for that option if he thought he could get away with it. Bee was well aware of how ruthless Sergios could be. In any confrontation he was hardwired to seek the best outcome that he could. Sometimes he manoeuvred people into doing what he wanted purely as a means of amusement. She had stood on the sidelines of his life watching him, learning how he operated and monitoring her own behaviour accordingly. Although she loved him she didn’t tell him that and she certainly didn’t cling to him or cuddle him or flatter him or do or say any of the things that would have given her true feelings away. She had decided that she was happy to give him time to come to terms with their new relationship…as long as he was faithful.
The thought that he might not have been, that he might already have betrayed her trust in another woman’s arms, threatened to tear Bee apart. In the circumstances he might even try to persuade her that he had assumed that
their original agreement that he could have other women still held good. After all, Sergios thought fast on his feet and was, she reckoned ruefully, liable to fight dirty if she pushed him hard enough.
But Melita Thiarkis was a different kettle of fish. She was an islander, a local born and bred on Orestos, so Sergios had probably known her for a very long time. A fashion designer as well—no wonder he was so hung up on even his wife being stylish. There would be ties between Melita and Sergios stronger than Bee had ever wanted to consider. Melita was strikingly attractive rather than beautiful but very much the hot, sexy type likely to appeal to Sergios’s high-voltage libido. The blonde was also confident of her place in Sergios’s life, Bee recognised worriedly, recalling the way the other woman had looked her over without a shade of discomfort or concern. Melita, Bee reflected wretchedly, did not seem the slightest bit threatened by the fact that Sergios had recently got married. And what did that highly visible confidence signify? Had Sergios slept with his mistress since he had become Bee’s husband?
As for the confirmation from Nectarios that Sergios’s first marriage had been unhappy, Bee had long since worked that out for herself. The fact that there were no photos of Krista and her name was never mentioned had always suggested that that had been anything but a happy marriage. But Sergios, even though given every opportunity to do so, had still not chosen to confide that truth in Bee.
On the other hand, Bee reminded herself doggedly, she had been really happy and contented until she laid eyes on Melita Thiarkis and realised that temptation lived less than a mile from their door. Sergios, after all, had been remarkably attentive since they had first made love, but how could Bee possibly know what he got from his relationship with Melita? That he had insisted Melita was a non-negotiable feature of his life even before their marriage suggested the blonde had very good reason to be confident.
He did have a thing for blondes even though he wouldn’t admit it, Bee thought bitterly as she peered at her dark brown locks in the bedroom mirror and tried to imagine herself transformed into a blonde. It would be sad to dye her hair just for his benefit, wouldn’t it? Just at that moment of pain and stark fear she discovered that she didn’t care if it was sad or not and she decided that she might well return from London with a mane of pretty blonde hair.
CHAPTER NINE
‘I THOUGHT you would be in bed,’ Sergio admitted when he landed in a helicopter after eleven that evening and strolled into the house. His tie was loosened and he was unshaven, his stunning eyes shadowed with tiredness. His sense of relief at being home again was intense and it startled him. ‘It’s been a long day and we have an early flight to London tomorrow morning.’
Bee glanced at him in surprise. ‘You’re coming with us?’
‘Eleni’s having surgery,’ he reminded her with a frown. ‘Of course I’m coming. Didn’t you realise that?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
Delighted by his readiness to be supportive, Bee resisted the urge to immediately dredge up Melita’s presence on the island. After all, if the blonde had a home and relatives on Orestos, she had a perfect right to visit and it might have nothing to do with Sergios. Was that simply wishful thinking? Bee asked herself as she put together a light supper in the big professional kitchen. She saw no need to disturb the staff so late when she was perfectly capable of feeding Sergios with her own fair hands.
He came out of his bathroom with a towel wrapped round his hips and sat down at the small table she had set up for his use. With his black hair flopping damply above his face and clean shaven, he looked less weary.
‘Was it a difficult day?’ Bee prompted uncertainly.
‘It’s always difficult.’ Sergios grimaced and suddenly shrugged, acknowledging that it no longer felt reasonable to continue to keep Beatriz in the dark when it came to the touchy subject of his first marriage. ‘Krista’s parents remember a young woman I never knew, or maybe the young woman they talk about is the imaginary daughter they would have liked to have had—she certainly bears no resemblance to the woman I was married to for three years.’
Bee was confused. ‘I don’t understand…’
‘Krista was a manic depressive and she loathed taking medication, didn’t like what the prescribed tablets did to her. I didn’t know about that when I married her. To be fair I hardly knew her when I asked her to marry me,’ Sergios confided with a harsh edge to his dark deep drawl. ‘I was young and stupid.’
‘Oh.’ Bee was so shattered about what his silence on the subject of his first wife had concealed that she could think of nothing else to say. A manic depressive? That was a serious condition but treatable with the right medical attention and support.
‘I fell in love and rushed Krista to the altar, barely able to believe that the girl of my dreams was mine. Unfortunately the dream turned sour for us both,’ he volunteered grittily, his face grim. ‘As she refused medication there was no treatment that made an appreciable difference to her moods. For most of our marriage she was out of control. She took drugs and threw wild parties before crashing drunk at the wheel of one of my cars. She died instantly.’
‘I am so sorry, Sergios,’ Bee whispered with rich sympathy, her heart truly hurting for him. ‘So very sorry you had to go through that and lose your child into the bargain.’
‘The baby wasn’t mine. I don’t know who fathered the baby she was carrying at the time of her death.’ His handsome mouth twisted. ‘By then we hadn’t shared a bed for a long time.’
‘I wish you’d shared this with me sooner.’ Bee was still struggling to accept his wounding admission of how much he had loved Krista, for she had convinced herself that Sergios didn’t know how to love a woman. Now she was finding out different and it hurt her pride.
‘I’ve always felt guilty that Krista died. I should’ve been able to do more to help her.’
‘How could you when she wouldn’t accept that her condition needed treatment?’ Bee prompted quietly as she got into bed and rested back against the pillows. ‘Didn’t her parents have any influence over her?’
‘She was an adored only child. They were incapable of telling her no and they refused to recognise the gravity of her problems. Ultimately they blamed me for her unhappiness.’
Striding restively about the room, his stunning eyes bleak with distressing memories and his strong jaw line clenched, he finally told her what his life had been like with Krista. When he came home to the apartment he had shared with his late wife in Athens back then he had never known what would greet him there. Violent disputes and upsetting scenes were a daily occurrence, as were his wife’s periods of deep depression. Krista had done everything from shopping to partying to excess. On various occasions he had found her in bed with other men and high as a kite on the illegal drugs that she was convinced relieved her condition better than the proper medication. Staff walked out, friends were offended, the apartment was trashed and valuable objects were stolen. For three long years as he struggled to care for his deeply troubled wife Sergios had lived a life totally out of his own control and the love he had started out with had died. Bee finally understood why he had been so determined to have a businesslike marriage, which demanded nothing from him but financial input. He had put everything he had into his first marriage and it had still failed miserably. Krista had betrayed him and hurt him and taught him to avoid getting too deeply attached to anyone.
‘Now you know why I never mention her,’ Sergios murmured ruefully, sliding into bed beside her. ‘I let her down so badly.’
‘Krista was ill. You should forgive her and yourself for everything that went wrong,’ Bee reasoned. ‘You did your best and that’s the most that anyone can do.’
Eyes level, Sergios lifted a hand and traced the full curve of her lower lip with a considering fingertip. ‘You always say the right thing to make people feel better.’
&
nbsp; Insanely conscious of his touch as she was, her heart was galloping and her mouth had run dry. ‘Do I?’ she asked gruffly.
‘When Paris asked you if his mother was in heaven you said yes even though you know she was an atheist, moli mou.’
‘She still could have made it there in the end,’ Bee reasoned without hesitation. ‘Paris was worrying about it. I wanted him to have peace of mind.’
‘I should’ve told you about Krista a long time ago but I hate talking about her—it feels wrong.’
‘I understand why now and naturally you want to be loyal to her memory.’ Melita’s name was on the tip of her tongue but she could not bring herself to destroy that moment of closeness with suspicion and potential conflict. That conversation about Krista was quite enough for one evening.
‘So sweet, so tactful…’ Sergios leant closer, his breath fanning her cheek, and pried her lips apart with the tip of his tongue. With one kiss he could make her ache unbearably for the heat and hardness of his body.
‘Someone round here has to be,’ she teased, her breath rasping in her throat.
His tongue explored her tender mouth in an erotic foray and her nipples tingled into prominence. Desire slivered through her then, sharp as a blade. He freed her of the silk nightdress, cupping her breasts with firm hands, stroking the prominent pink crests with ravishing skill. She gasped beneath his mouth as he found the heated core of her and he made a sound of deep masculine satisfaction when he discovered how ready she was.
He turned her round and rearranged her, firm hands cupping her hips as he plunged into her velvety depths with irresistible force and potency. He growled with pleasure above her head and pulled her back hard against him as he slowly rotated his hips to engulf her in an exquisite wash of sensation. While he pumped in and out of her he teased her clitoris with expert fingers. A soul-shattering climax gripped Bee as the tightening knot of heat inside her expanded and then exploded like a blazing star. Shaking and sobbing with pleasure, she fell back against him, weak as a kitten and drained of every thought and feeling.
