Pagan Lover (5 page)

‘My child,’ he said with some considerable humour, ‘how transparent you are! You’ve thought of all this only seconds ago.’

‘It’s the truth!’ she said persistently, fighting to the very last inch. ‘True, I tell you I You’ll regret it if you ignore my warning!’

‘It’s a good try,’ he said, regarding her imperturbably from his superior height. ‘But you seem to have forgotten that you were willing, just now, to promise not to give me away to the police. Such a promise would be of little use if the police were already on the scent. And that is not the only blunder you’ve made. If you’d been so sure of rescue, and of my early arrest, you would not have pleaded the way you have.’ His eyes became admiring. ‘You’re not the girl to plead in that craven way—’

‘I was
not
craven!’ She looked as if she could have murdered him for using a word like that.

‘See what I mean? You have spirit, and I know just what it cost you to beg like that. You’d never have done it if, in your secret mind, you knew you would soon be rescued by the forces of the law.’

‘I hate you,’ she quivered. ‘I’d kill you if I could!’

‘At this moment, perhaps,’ he agreed unconcernedly. ‘But later you will feel very differently. I can so easily make you.’

Her teeth clenching, she turned away and he went out, only to return a few minutes later carrying three cardboard boxes which he placed on the bed.

‘You’d better change,’ he recommended. ‘You can’t go about in a wedding-dress all the time.’ He paused, a mocking smile curving his mouth at her expression. ‘Yes, I have bought you clothes,’ he told her. ‘Top ones which I hope will meet your approval and underwear which I know will meet with mine, seeing that I chose them.’

She stared, revolted.

‘You went into a shop for—for underwear?’ He laughed and assured her that he was used to buying such things.

‘My various pillow-friends have always expected this kind of gift—among more expensive ones, of course.’

The contempt in her eyes grew, a circumstance which at last appeared to anger him. His mouth tightened, but as yet that was the only outward sign of his feelings.

‘You’ve had numerous women, evidently.’

He inclined his head.

‘A fair number,’ he agreed, his glance straying to the bed. ‘Aren’t you going to open the boxes?’

‘No, I am not!’

The compression of his mouth became more pronounced. He flicked a hand imperiously.

‘Open the boxes,’ he commanded.

‘I shan’t,’ she returned defiantly. ‘I don’t want your gifts, as you call them! Take them to some other of your friends!’

‘His eyes narrowed threateningly.

‘Obey me,’ he said harshly. ‘If you knew me better you wouldn’t need a second telling.’

‘Ordering, you mean!’

‘I’m in no mood for inane arguments,
Tara! Do as I say, at once!’

She shook her head, a little afraid now on account of his manner which was threatening to say the least.

‘I don’t want your presents,’ she began, then gave a little squeal of pain as her wrist was taken in a vicious grip.

‘Do as I tell you!’ he thundered. ‘I shall make you, so you might as well capitulate before you receive something that will both hurt and humiliate.’ There was no mistaking the significant inflection in his voice and after a mere moment’s pause Tara walked stiffly to the bed and after undoing the string, which was in a bow, she lifted the lid of one of the boxes. ‘Take it out,’ ordered her captor authoritatively. ‘You’ll be delighted with it!’

She did as she was told, extracting the diaphanous nightgown from its wrappings of tissue paper.

She flung it on the bed and turned, tears in her eyes.

‘Let me go,’ she pleaded in a small voice. ‘I haven’t done you any harm, so please let me go.’ Even before she had stopped speaking he was shaking his head, and a spasm of ‘sheer hopelessness swept through her. She put her hands to her face, but before she had time to weep into them they were removed and she was taken almost gently into
Leon’s arms.

‘Don’t take it to heart, my child,’ he said. ‘It seems much, worse than it is, I assure you. At present you can think only of the wedding you missed and the man you would have married. But it will all soon fade when we are man and wife; you’ll know that it is I who is meant to be your husband and lover.’ He tilted her chin and tapped her cheek possessively. ‘Now, cheer up. Nothing irritates me more than a weeping woman. Undo another box— No, there are other things in that one. Take them out first.’

Tara looked at him and knew it was wise to obey him. She withdrew bras and panties, another night gown and a lacy petticoat. He ordered her to open another box, and then the last one. She put everything on the bed—two dresses and two skirts, three blouses and several items of clothing for use oh a beach—or the deck of a pleasure boat. Everything bore labels of one of the most expensive fashion houses in
Paris. Raising her eyes to his face,
Tara said,

‘You’re a wealthy man, obviously.’

‘I have enough,’ he answered carelessly.

‘More than enough for your own good!’ she flashed at him, and again saw his eyes narrow threateningly.

‘Be careful,’ he warned in a very soft voice. ‘You’ve seen only the best side of me—’

‘The best!’ she exclaimed, and a laugh broke from her lips. ‘My God, if this is your best side then I hope I never see any other!’

He advanced towards her and she stepped back until her calves touched the bed.

‘You ask for it, my girl! Shall I make you smart—or shall I bring you to heel in a very different way?’ Without giving her time to answer he brought her to him with a savage jerk and, thrusting her head back, he pressed his lips to hers’. She struggled even while aware that it was hopeless. His hands roved, caressing, but by no means gently this time. His mouth was cruel in its demands, his body movements erotically persuasive.
Tara fought both physically and mentally, but all her efforts met with failure within minutes. He was too masterful for her, too arrogantly confident and determined; he would force her surrender, he whispered, his lips caressing her ear. She tried to push him away, but her hands were imprisoned behind her back for a while before, with a quiet but authoritative inflection,
Leon told her to put her arms around his neck. She obeyed, and when he told her to kiss him she obeyed again. He laughed and she hated the sound. He held her from him and she detested the triumph that lit his eyes, mingling with the humour already there.

 
Her temper surged and without considering the consequences she bit the finger that was caressing her mouth. He winced, his body caught in a spasm of pain. She saw his disbelieving stare and tried to escape. But it was too late and she felt that hell had been let loose within him as, catching hold of a handful of her hair, he dragged her head back with a ruthlessness that brought a cry of pain to her lips.

‘You ... wretch! I ought to pay you in your own medicine!’ Instead, his hands touched her throat, then encased it, closing slowly, increasing the pressure. Her eyes dilated and the fear he saw appeared to satisfy him. His hands were withdrawn from, her neck. ‘Just a warning,’ he told her softly, ‘in case you should ever be that foolish again.’

‘I hate you,’ she whispered, every vestige of colour having left her face. ‘I’ll kill you if ever I get the opportunity!

He moved away, flicking a hand negligently.

‘Try one of the dresses on for size,’ he ordered, and sat down on the stool by the dressing-table.

‘If I must,’ she said huskily, ‘then lease let me do it in private.’

‘Why the fuss? We shall be married in a few days’ time.’

‘No!’ She shook her head in violent protest. ‘You can’t make me! No priest is going to take the risk!’

 
‘We shall be married in a few days’ time,’ he repeated flicking a hand again. ‘The blue one—let me see it on you.’

She stood unmoving, bitter hatred in her eyes.

‘What satisfaction can it do you to order me about like this? You’ve taken me from my fiancé, ruined my life—’ Breaking off on a little sob, she burst into tears. ‘I wish I were dead!’ she cried. ‘Let me go—you can’t want a woman whose hatred is such that she’d like to see you lying dead at her feet!’

‘I’ve said you’ll not always feel like this.’ He stretched a long leg in front of him, making himself as comfortable as was possible, sitting on the stool as he was. ‘Stop dwelling on the past and look to the future.’

She turned her back on him, lifting her dress as she walked.

‘There is no future for me,’ she whispered hopelessly. ‘I can’t see any light in my life if you keep me prisoner.’

He got to his feet.

‘I’ll be back in five minutes,’ he said. ‘I shall expect to see you in the blue dress.’

She watched him depart, closing the door and locking it after him. Voices were heard a moment later and she supposed he was giving orders to the crew, as the boat began to move and, looking through the porthole, she saw the lights of the hotels retreating. The beat was pulling away from the harbour, so all formalities must have been gone through. Her heart seemed to stop beating for a few bleak and hopeless seconds. How could she escape? One day, perhaps, but before then much could happen. She began to cry again, then stopped, her mouth tightening. Tears would not get her very far, but resolve might—resolve to fight him in anyway that presented itself. He might in the end rue the day he had abducted her!

She took off her wedding dress and laid it down across the end of the bed. How different her feelings when, a few hours ago, she had stepped into it and Sue had zipped her up! Life had been good—roses and red wine all the way! It seemed impossible that she was here, on the foreigner’s boat, his prisoner, while her fiancé was frantic, wondering what could have happened to her. He would be pestering the police, would be blaming Jake, perhaps, for not taking more care of her. All the guests…. It did not bear thinking about and
Tara tried to fix her mind on thoughts of escape, which would be far more profitable.

She was wearing the dress when
Leon returned. His eyes wandered, taking in every curve and line of her figure. He nodded his approval.

‘Very attractive. The colour suits you; it matches your eyes. Put the wedding dress away,’ he commanded abruptly as he saw it lying there across the bed. ‘You can throw it overboard,’ he added as the idea came to him.

‘Throw it overboard?’
Tara shook her head, her eyes filling up. ‘I shall do no such thing!’

‘Then I will.’ He strode purposefully across the cabin and, picking up the lovely flowing gown, he bundled it into one of the cardboard boxes and put on the lid. With it under his arm he went to the door. ‘I expect you’re hungry,’ he observed. ‘We’ll have dinner in the saloon, but in case you have any ideas of making a fuss I’ll tell you that my crew—who are all Greeks—have instructions to ignore any pleas you might make to them. And if you think there is any way of escape, then I must disillusion you here and now.’

‘There is one way,’ returned
Tara challengingly, looking straight at him, ‘and that’s overboard!’

‘I should bring you out,’ was
Leon’s tool rejoinder, and he added that she would regret a move like that because he would soundly box her ears.

‘One of the crew will come and tell you when the meal is ready to be served—’ He glanced at his watch.

‘Should be in about ten minutes or so. His name is Carlos; he’ll show you where to come.

‘I shan’t be having anything to eat—’

‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ he interrupted imperiously, then left her, locking the door again after him.

CHAPTER FOUR

TARA looked at herself in the mirror, wanted to burst into tears again but managed to control the impulse. She and David would have been dining together, and after that....

It was a deep sigh rather than a sob that broke from her lips; she thought about her captor, and about her statement that she would like to see him dead. Would it be possible to maim him? she wondered, amazed at the cold and practical way she was considering this, if he could be put out of action then surely she would be able to escape.

A knock on the cabin door was followed by the sound of a key being turned. A stocky, swarthy-skinned Greek stood by in the opening, a grin on his face that
Tara would dearly have loved to wipe off. She noticed a gold filling ludicrously occupying a gap between two heavily-discoloured teeth. She shuddered, but went forward when he said,

‘Mr
Leon says that I haf to show you the dining saloon.’

She realised she was hungry, and realised too that she would gain nothing by staying that way—if she was allowed to.

The saloon was the last word in luxury, its walls of pine highly polished, and built-in furniture with, in one corner, a cocktail cabinet. The table was laid with gleaming silver and glass, and there was an appetising odour coming from the dishes standing on the sideboard.
Leon, looking even more distinguished than before in navy blue slacks and a white linen jacket, was standing by the cocktail cabinet, apparently absorbed in the perusal of a label on the bottle he held in his hand. He turned, flicking a hand in dismissal to his servant.

‘Sit down,’ he invited her. ‘The meal’s ready, but perhaps you would like a drink first?’

She shook her head.

‘I don’t want anything thank you.’

‘There’s wine with the meal. You can have some of that.’