His Forbidden Bride (11 page)

And she turned and walked out of the taverna, and along the harbourside to

the questionable sanctuary of the hotel.

'A lucky escape.' That's what Zoe kept tel ing herself, over and over again,

as she lay on the bed staring up at the ceiling. And that was what she had to

think. Because anything else was impossible.

Having lunch with Andreas Stephanos had been one of the biggest

mistakes of her life, and she was ashamed to think how spinelessly she'd

succumbed to his invitation.

And also, she realised, wincing, how much she'd enjoyed herself.

But the worst thing of al , she thought broodingly, was the way she'd found

herself watching the lurking smile in his dark eyes, and the sensuous curve

of the firm mouth. Feeling, as she did so, the muscles of her throat tighten in

unfamiliar excitement.

There was no denying that Andreas Stephanos was a dangerously attractive

man, and it was only his shameless suggestion that everyone on the island

now regarded her as his personal property that had brought her to her

senses at last. Before it was too late.

What she could not understand was how he'd managed to acquire such

power over his fel ow islanders. Was it the influence he seemed to possess

with his rich boss, or sheer force of personality? Probably a combination of

both, she thought.

Whatever, he was someone she seriously needed to avoid.

She'd been hot and breathless when she got back to the hotel, her legs

shaking under her. Her first act had been to take a cool shower, but it had

not had the calming effect she'd hoped for.

The thin wrap she was wearing seemed to grate unbearably against her

sensitised skin, and there was a deep trembling ache inside her that she

found she was unable to dispel.

'Ridiculous,' she told herself forcefully. 'Ludicrous, in fact.'

She'd always regarded herself as being reasonably levelheaded. So how

could she explain this total y overheated reaction to a man she'd met twice,

and in whose company she'd spent little more than a couple of brief hours?

I just don't do things like this, Zoe thought fretfully, turning over and burying

her face in the flat, hard pil ow. And, anyway, it's not what I'm here for. I

have a serious purpose, and I won't al ow myself to forget it.

But the Vil a Danaë would have to be forbidden territory from now on, or at

least until she had the chance to talk to the unknown Steve Dragos, and find

out what possible connection he'd had with her mother. And, even then,

because of his recent ill health, she would need to tread careful y.

Or she could simply let sleeping dogs lie, she thought restively. Abandon the

whole thing, and get her holiday company to book her an earlier return flight.

Let the past keep its secrets, and concentrate on the future. In many ways

that was a much more appealing alternative.

Except that Gina Lambert's painting would stil be there waiting for her—a

constant reminder that there was a mystery stil unsolved. And that she'd let

a golden opportunity slip by. Besides, running away wasn't her style,

whatever the provocation.

No, it was better to stay here, she decided with renewed determination. Get

things sorted once and for all, whatever the outcome.

And let Andreas Stephanos see that she was one tourist who was immune

to the undoubted lure of his physicality.

But if that was the case, asked a sly voice in her brain, why didn't she simply

exclude him from the equation altogether? Relegate him to some mental

and emotional dumpbin as she'd done with Mick, and poor George?

Because it's not as simple as that, she thought forlornly. And no amount of

wishing will make it so.

And the implications of that kept her tossing restlessly until it was time to put

on her silky slip of a black dress, do her face and hair, and go down for

dinner.

'So, how was the grand tour of Livassi?' Sherry asked as she poured Zoe a

retsina.

'I thought it was delightful,' Zoe said with sincerity. 'Even down to the

backgammon players.'

Sherry's eyes twinkled. 'Did you meet Uncle Stavros?'

Zoe paused, weighing her words. 'I think he was just leaving as I got there,'

she said neutrally. No need to mention, she thought, that her arrival seemed

to have driven him to instant retreat.

'Not like him to miss out on an attractive blonde,' Sherry commented

cheerfully. 'He must be feeling his age at last.'

Zoe shrugged with a smile. 'Perhaps,' she said, and reached down a foot

from her stool in the smal tiled bar area to scratch gently an ecstatic

Archimedes who was sprawling beside her.

Other guests began to drift in and Sherry went off to serve them.

Zoe sipped her wine, enjoying its distinctive resinated flavour. Sherry's

comment about old Stavros seemed to confirm her own impression, she

thought. But she wasn't just any blonde. She was her mother's daughter,

and he'd picked up on the resemblance, and been disturbed by it. Wel ,

she'd go back to the square tomorrow, and if he tried to disappear again she

would fol ow, and ask a few pertinent questions. Find out what he knew

about Gina, and her time on Thania. Because there had to be something.

From the courtyard, she could hear the sound of musicians tuning up, and

remembered that Sherry had said there would be dancing.

Time to stop pondering, and start enjoying instead, she told herself. She had

a leisurely dinner of lamb, baked in the oven with tomatoes and herbs,

accompanied by fried potatoes, green beans, and a ful -bodied red wine,

and savoured every mouthful.

There were extra tables and chairs tonight, she noticed, and these were

rapidly being fil ed up by local people. Clearly, the Saturday dance at the

Hotel Stavros was a real social event, but attended, she saw with relief,

mainly by large family groups.

It began with a short display by two young couples in traditional local dress,

who began threading their way between the tables, encouraging the hotel

guests to join them in a long chain. When they reached Zoe, she shook her

head with a smile. She'd never been much of a dancer, she thought wryly,

and she was frankly deterred, anyway, by the intricacy of the steps.

It was pleasant to sit in her corner, drinking wine, and listening to the faintly

oriental sound of the bouzouki players. She was clapping to the rhythm, her

attention concentrated on the dancers, now moving in a wide circle, when

she felt a sudden sharp prickle of awareness, bordering almost on fright.

Realised that the music was dying, and an odd silence had fallen.

Her hands stopped, and balled into sudden fists, which she buried in her

lap. She turned her head to look at the courtyard's lamplit entrance, with a

mixture of excitement and dread, knowing all too wel as she did so exactly

who would be there.

Andreas was standing in the archway, one hand negligently on his hip, the

other holding a jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder. His eyes were

fixed on her, a faint smile playing about his mouth. He was wearing

close-fitting black trousers, and an immaculate white shirt, with the cuffs

turned back to reveal tanned forearms. He was seriously clean-shaven

tonight, and the thick, curling dark hair was brushed back from his face. Zoe

could see at his throat the gleam of a heavy gold chain.

He looked, she thought, with a swift inward shiver, quite incredible.

As her gaze met his he inclined his head briefly and gravely in silent

acknowledgement.

Zoe felt the breath catch starkly in her throat She thought, When he comes

over—what am I going to say— what am I going to do?

Then watched, astonished, as he turned away and walked to a table on the

other side of the courtyard. Its occupants rose to receive him, offering an

uproarious welcome, and, Zoe saw, several pretty girls were already

jockeying for position.

Her heart felt suddenly like a stone in her chest. She thought blankly,

Wel —that's that, then.

She didn't have to worry about what to say, because he didn't want to hear

it.

But what else could she have expected? He'd probably spent everything he

possessed on that lunch, and then watched her walk out on him. Little

wonder he was seeking more congenial company.

And that meant she was free. Which was exactly what she wanted.

Wel —wasn't it? So, she'd done exactly the right thing.

She picked up her wineglass and took a hasty gulp, angrily aware that a war

between her rational self and some dreaming, emotional creature that she'd

barely known existed had suddenly begun raging inside her, and for no good

reason.

I must have a crush on him, she thought. And at my age, too. The kind of

thing I never bothered with when I was a schoolgirl. Oh, God, sad or what?

And, of course, she couldn't simply get up and walk out, because that would

look as if his actions had the power to hurt her. As if it mattered that he

hadn't sought her. No, she would have to sit for at least another half-hour, if

not more, and tough it out.

Or even more than that, she told herself wretchedly. She would have to look

as if she was real y enjoying the music, and supremely indifferent to his

presence at the same time. Rather like crossing a tightrope above a pit full

of wolves. Especial y when al she real y wanted to do was go up to her

room, bury her face in the pil ow, and put her fingers in her ears. And

pretend that this ache inside her did not exist.

She shivered, and drank some more wine. She didn't want to look across at

him, but found her eyes straying in that direction just the same. He was

bending his head, listening to the girl triumphantly occupying the seat next to

him, a sloe-eyed creature with a sulky, sexy mouth, now al smiles and

chatter.

Her hand was on his sleeve, Zoe noted, and her head was practical y on his

shoulder. No expertise needed to read that body language. In fact, the lady

might as wel be wearing a sign round her neck, saying 'Take me—I'm

yours.' Except that he'd probably already done so on a number of occasions,

she thought, biting her lip.

She was thankful when the folk dancers returned, and provided an

alternative focus for her rapt attention.

But her small carafe of wine was almost empty, and there was a limit on

how long she could sit, looking bright and fascinated, and anywhere but at

him.

Yet she must have been doing it wel , because this time she had no inkling

of his approach until his voice said softly in her ear, 'Dance with me.'

She jumped, her hand catching the wineglass and sending the last

remaining drops cascading across the cloth.

'Look what you've made me do.' She sounded more breathless than cross.

'I think you will be forgiven. Now, come.'

She rose, but hung back. 'I don't know any of the steps.'

'Then I shal teach you.' He walked behind her, close but not touching, to the

space that had been cleared for dancing. Evasion was impossible. She

could feel the stares trained on her like searchlights from around the room,

and heat invaded her face. Glimpsed Sherry looking as if she'd been

poleaxed.

She whispered urgently, 'Andreas—I can't…'

'Yes,' he said quietly. 'Zoe
mou
, you can.' He produced a snowy