His Forbidden Bride (5 page)

She was wearing a thin, floating sundress, sleeveless and scoop-necked, in

gentian-blue, over a matching bikini, and her hair was piled up in a loose

knot on top of her head.

She rounded a steep bend in the track, and saw, beyond the shelter of the

olive grove, the more vivid green of grass and colourful splashes of flowers.

Not the desolate wilderness she'd half expected. And a little further on, set

like a jewel in the, encircling garden, was the house, all immaculate white

wal s and terracotta roof.

Zoe paused, her hand tightening unconsciously round the strap of her bag.

Immediately in front of her was the turquoise gleam of a swimming pool,

from which a flight of broad, shal ow steps led up to sliding glass doors.

Behind these was a low, pil ared room like an atrium, cool with marble and

towering green plants, and furnished with comfortable white chairs and

loungers.

Trying not to feel too much like an intruder, Zoe skirted the pool, climbed the

steps and tried the doors, but they were securely locked.

It's like looking into a showcase, she thought as she walked on. You can

admire, but not touch.

And halted abruptly, her heart jolting as she reached the foot of another

flight of steps, so immediately familiar she could have climbed them in her

sleep. Pale steps, she recognised breathlessly, dusty with the faded

blossoms of the bougainvil ea that cascaded down the side of the house.

Steps that led up to a terrace, its balustrade supporting a large stone urn,

heavy with clustering flowers. As she'd known there would be. And beyond

that the dreamy azure of the sea.

She steadied herself, then, quietly and cautiously, she climbed up to the

terrace. She found herself standing on a broad sweep of creamy marble that

ran the entire length of the house. Stone troughs massed with more flowers

marked the length of the waist-high balustrade, while below it, from a gated

opening, another curved flight of steps led down through cypress trees

standing like sentries to a perfect horseshoe of pale sand, and the vivid blue

ripple of the sea.

Behind her, shuttered glass doors masked the ground floor rooms

completely. But what had she expected? The place laid open for her

inspection, and a welcome mat waiting?

I should have gone to see a lawyer, she told herself restively, walking along

the terrace. Had the whole legal situation checked out. Approaches made.

She found the main entrance round the corner, a solid wooden door, heavily

carved, and growing beside it, in festoons of blooms that softened the dark

wood and white wal s, an exquisite climbing rose, its petals shading from

creamy yel ow to deep gold.

Zoe found herself thinking of the shower of radiance in which Zeus had

come to Danaë in the legend, then told herself she was being fanciful.

Whoever had planted the garden had simply loved roses, that was al . The

troughs and urns along the terrace had been fragrant with them, and she

could see even more in the beds that bordered the lawn. And sexual

predators in Greek mythology had nothing to do with it.

Without knowing why, she stretched out a hand and touched one of the

heavy golden heads, almost as if it were a lucky charm. Then she reached

for the heavy iron door handle and tried it.

To her amazement, it yielded, and the door opened silently on wel -oiled

hinges. The Vil a Danaë was welcoming her, after al .

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, standing for a moment,

listening intently for a footfal , a door closing, a cough. The sound of a

human presence to explain the unlocked door. But there was nothing.

She found herself in a wide hal , confronted by a sweep of staircase leading

up to a gal eried landing. On one side of it was the glass wal of the atrium.

On the other were more conventional doors leading to a long living room,

where chairs and sofas were grouped round an empty fire-place. A deep

alcove at the far end of the room contained a dining table and chairs.

Everything was in pristine condition. No one had ever lounged on those

cushions, she thought, or lit a fire in that hearth, or eaten a meal at the table.

On the atrium side, she found a tiled and fully fitted kitchen, with a walk-in

food store, and a laundry room leading off it, al of them bare as if they'd

been somehow frozen in time, and were waiting for the spel to be broken.

Taking a deep breath, Zoe went upstairs, annoyed to find she was tiptoeing.

The first room she came to was the master bedroom, dim and cool behind

its shutters. She trod across the floor, unlatched the heavy wooden slats and

pulled them open, then turned, catching her breath.

It was a vast and luxurious room, with apricot walls and an ivory tiled floor.

The silk bed covering was ivory, too, as were the voile drapes that hung at

the windows.

There was a bathroom with a screened-off shower cubicle, and a sunken

bath with taps like smiling dolphins, and a dressing room as wel . There

were toiletries on the tiled surfaces, and fluffy towels on the rails. Everything

in its place—an enchanted palace waiting for its princess. But for how long?

Zoe walked slowly back to the window, and slid it open with care, then

stepped out onto the balcony, lifting her face to the slight breeze. Before her

were the misty shapes of other islands rising put of the unruffled blue of the

Ionian sea.

More roses here, too, she saw, spil ing over the balcony rail from their

pottery tubs in a cascade of cream and gold. Their scent reached her softly,

and she breathed it in, feeling herself become part of the enchantment.

She thought, Can this real y be mine?

And in the same heartbeat, realised she was not alone after all. That there

was someone below her on the terrace.

She froze, then peered with infinite caution over the balcony rail.

A man, she registered, with his back to her, moving unhurriedly along the

terrace, removing the dead heads from the blossoms in the stone troughs.

The gardener, she thought with relief. Only the gardener. One of the support

team employed to keep Vil a Danaë in this immaculate condition.

He was tal , with a mane of curling black hair that gleamed like silk in the

sunlight, his skin like burnished bronze against the brief pair of elderly white

shorts that were al he was wearing. She saw broad shoulders, and a

muscular back, narrowing to lean hips, and long, sinewy legs.

The kind of Adonis, she thought, with a faint catch of the breath, that Adele

had warned her about.

Of course, she could only see his back view, so he might wel have a squint,

a crooked nose, and dribble. But somehow she didn't think so.

And anyway, his looks were not her concern. What she needed to do was

get out of here before he looked up and saw her.

With infinite caution, she backed away into the room. She dragged at the

windows, tugging them together. They came with a whisper, but, to Zoe's

overwrought imagination, it seemed like a rumble of thunder in the stillness

of the morning. She waited for a shout from below. The sound of an alarm

being given, but there was nothing, and, biting her lip, she closed the

shutters, too. So far, so good, she thought with a tiny sigh of relief.

His work seemed to be taking him to the far end of the terrace, away from

the main door, so if she was quick she could be out of the vil a and back into

the shelter of the olive grove before she ran any real risk of discovery.

And she would content herself with just this one visit, she promised herself

silently as she let herself out of the bedroom and closed the door quietly

behind her. After all, she had seen everything she needed to see.

From now on she would stick firmly to the town beach, and let her lawyer

investigate whether or not the Vil a Danaë was her inheritance.

Wel , she thought, smiling. I can dream, I suppose.

She had taken three steps down the stairs before she realised she was not

alone. And just who was standing at the bottom of the flight, leaning casual y

on the polished rail, watching her—waiting for her, a faint grim smile playing

round his mouth:

She checked with a gasp, turned to stone at the sight of him. Her instinct

was to turn and run back the way she'd come, but common sense prevented

her. This staircase was the only way out, and the last thing she wanted was

to find herself trapped in a bedroom with this half-naked stranger in pursuit.

She was frightened, but at the same time—incredibly— her senses were

registering other things. Tel ing her that the man confronting her with such

cool arrogance was as seriously attractive as her instinct had suggested.

Not conventional y handsome, maybe. His high-bridged nose was too thin,

and his mouth and chin too hard for that: And his eyes were darkness.

Meeting his gaze was like staring into impenetrable night, she thought,

tension tautening her throat.

But, at the same time, she knew instinctively that there wasn't a woman in

the world who would take one glance and not want to look again—and

again. Because he was totally and compel ingly male.

He said quietly, '
Kalimera
.'

Maybe, she thought breathlessly. Maybe there was a way she could bluff her

way out of this.

She spread her hands. Tried an apologetic laugh. 'I'm sorry—I don't

understand. I don't speak Greek.'

He shrugged. 'Then we will speak in English. It's not a problem,' he added

drily as her face fel . 'Tel me what you are doing here.'

She said swiftly, 'I'm not a thief.'

'No,' he agreed thoughtfully. 'Because there is nothing here that you could

conveniently steal.' The dark glance swept her, assessing the flimsy blue

dress, the canvas beach bag. 'Or hide,' he added.

He looked her over again, more searchingly. 'So, I ask again—what is your

reason for being here?'

'Someone mentioned there was a house for sale round here,' Zoe

improvised swiftly. 'I thought it might be this one, as it's obviously empty.'

'No,' he said. 'It is not this house.' He paused, his gaze steady and ironic.

'And no one would have told you that it was.' His voice was low-pitched but

crisp.

'You don't think the owner might have put it on the market and not told you?'

she parried.

'No,' he said. 'That would not happen either.'

'Wel , it's still a fabulous house.' Zoe lifted her chin. 'Maybe the owner would

be prepared to rent it out.'

His brows rose. 'You have nowhere to stay?'

'Yes,' she said. 'Of course I have. But this is such a lovely island. Perhaps I

could come back—stay longer.'

'You arrived—when?' His mouth twisted. 'Yesterday?'

'It doesn't take long,' she said 'To find something— beautiful. And decide

you want more.'

The dark eyes looked her up and down again with mockery in their

depths—and something infinitely more disturbing. 'Wel , we agree on

something at least,' he drawled, and laughed as the sudden colour drenched

her skin.

She was suddenly stingingly aware of al that tanned bare skin, so

negligently displayed, and also how little she herself was wearing. And how

this had not escaped him for a minute.

She wished with al her heart that she were sitting at her table under the vine

leaves, finishing breakfast, and contemplating nothing more risky than a day

on the town beach.

Because she was in danger. Every nerve in her body was tel ing her so.

Just let me get out of here, relatively unscathed, she prayed silently and

wildly.

'Now let me tel you how I see the situation,' he went on, almost casual y. 'I

think you are staying at the Hotel Stavros. That Stavros' wife has told you

the cove that belongs to the house is good to bathe from, and that she

comes here herself—not often but enough, and thinks that no one knows.

And that once here, because you are a woman, you could not control your

curiosity. So, you found an open door, and came in.'

She hated herself for blushing. Hated him more for having made her do it.

She said coldly, 'You're right, up to a point. But I was intrigued to hear the

house was empty, because I might actual y be interested in—acquiring it.

'And I have told you,' he said. 'It is not for sale.'

'Really?' She shrugged a shoulder. 'Wel , that's not something I choose to

discuss with the hired help.' She paused to al ow that to sink in, and was

annoyed to see his smile widen. 'Is the owner on Thania at present?'

'No,' he said. 'Athens.'

She wanted to say, That's what you think, and wave the deed of gift in his

face, yet caution prevailed.

But, there will come a time, she promised herself. And anticipation wil make

it al the sweeter. Because the first Greek phrase I shal learn is 'You're

fired'.

She al owed herself a slight frown. Regaining lost ground, she told herself.

Deliberately establishing a formal distance between them. Someone with

business to transact dealing with a minor member of staff. That was how to

handle things.

'That's a pity,' she said. 'But I suppose there's someone on the island who

can tel me how I could contact him.'