Moon of Aphrodite (8 page)

the surface of the water, were plated on the table beside them, before he withdrew

again as quietly as he had arrived.

It was al very impressive, but then she supposed it was intended to be. Everything

which had happened was meant to underline the contrast between the modest comfort

of her past circumstances and the luxury she was to encounter in the immediate future.

She felt a thril of apprehension which deepened as she looked up and encountered the

dark, brooding gaze of her companion.

Her appetite seemed to have deserted her suddenly, and she only picked at the food in

front of her.

'Is the meal not to your liking?'

She started as Damon Leandros' voice intruded on her thoughts.

'It's al delicious,' she said hastily. 'Perhaps it's just the—the motion of the boat.'

His eyebrows rose and he sent her a look of cynical disbelief. She supposed it had been

a foolish thing to say. The sea was so calm, it was hard to believe they were on board

ship.

'You are a poor sailor?'

'I haven't done a great deal of sailing. My life has been spent in a city,' she reminded

him.

'Of course. You have missed a great deal.'

'But none of the things that matter. Al this——' she gestured around her—'is purely

incidental.'

'How very high-minded of you,' he said with a faint smile. 'You despise money and the

material comforts it can provide?'

'Of course not. My father isn't exactly a poor man, you know.'

'No,' he said after a pause, 'he seems to have done wel enough for himself. It is to his

credit that he has done so.'

'To his credit?' she echoed.

'His life was very different when he married your mother,' he said evenly.

She gasped. 'You mean—you're insinuating that Daddy was a fortune-hunter? Oh, of

course.' Her voice stung. ‘There would have to be an ulterior motive. It wouldn't suit

Greek—machismo, would it, to admit that my mother preferred an Englishman to an ar-

ranged marriage with one of her own countrymen— someone she probably didn't even

know. She actual y dared rebel—break out of the mould, so natural y al kinds of

excuses have to be made. After al , she set a dangerous precedent, didn't she? Other

women might decide to take a hand in their own destinies, and that wouldn't suit the

arrogant Greek male. You did invent the word "tyrant", didn't you?'

'Not personal y.' He was stil smiling, but there was a flicker of anger in his eyes. 'You

speak very strongly, Eleni, you who come from the permissive society, where divorces

can almost be bought across a counter like any other commodity. Yet you criticise us

because we are concerned for our women—concerned for their comfort and security.'

'So concerned,' she said tightly, 'that when a woman sins against your male-dictated,

male-orientated code, she is simply cast out, as my mother was, her letters

unanswered, her whole existence ignored. Some caring, some concern! Wel , thank God

she had my father.'

'I wil say amen to that, at least.' He would have said more, she knew, only at that

moment the saloon door re-opened and Dimitri entered. He must have sensed the

tension in the air, Helen thought, because she could sense the quick questioning glance

he gave them as he cleared the plates. The question soon gave way to reproach,

however, when he saw how little she had eaten, muttering a few remarks in his own

language for good measure.

'What does he say?' Helen asked, as Dimitri, sadly shaking his head, placed a bowl of

ripe peaches and glossy purple grapes as large as damsons on the table.

'He grieves for your lack of appetite,'

'Wil you tel him I'm sorry?'

'Can you not tel him yourself?'

'I can manage "please" and "thank you", but that's al .'

'Quite incredible,' he commented, adding more wine to his glass, as Helen declined any

more to drink, her hand over the top of her glass. 'One would think you were

determined to deny your Greek blood.'

'I've never been very conscious of it, but surely that's understandable under the

circumstances.'

'It is fortunate, then, that your circumstances have changed.'

'But I haven't,' Helen pointed out as Dimitri set down a huge silver coffee pot. 'And I

regard myself as total y English.'

'A few lessons with Madame Stavros wil soon change that, I think.'

Helen was barely conscious of Dimitri making his soft-footed way to the door. 'Who is

Madame Stavros?'

'She is the widow of a friend of your grandfather's— a former diplomat. She has

travel ed widely with her late husband and speaks several languages fluently, including

your own. Your grandfather has engaged her to be a companion for you, and to give

you u basic grounding in Greek.'

'But that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard,' Helen protested. 'I was invited for

a few weeks' holiday, not to go back to school. And I certainly don't need a female

companion. Besides, doesn't my grandfather's sister—Thia Irini—stil live with him?'

'Kyria Atrakis speaks little English.' He paused. 'You wil like Madame Stavros.'

'Is that an opinion or an order?' Helen watched his mouth tighten ominously. 'Not that it

real y matters. I expect I can convince my grandfather that a girl' brought up in the

heart of the permissive society, as you yourself mentioned, is in no need of a

chaperone, however many languages she may speak.' She smiled at him across the

table. 'Shal I pour the coffee?'

'As you wish.' He pushed back his chair and rose, walking over to the bar.

The coffee was black and very strong, but Helen welcomed it, hoping it would

counteract some of the effects of the retsina which were now making themselves felt.

Her head was light, and her legs did not even appear to exist any more. She'd been a

fool to drink so much of it, when she wasn't used to it, she berated herself mental y.

Quietly she slipped off her sandals and tucked the offending legs beneath her on the

long-cushioned seat, while she sipped her coffee.

Damon walked back across the saloon, glass in hand, and stood looking down at her.

He looked very tal , suddenly, and she remembered that evening in the London flat, and

had to dig her nails in the palms of her hands to stop herself visibly shrinking back

against the cushions.

'Shal we go up on deck?' His eyes were fixed on her face, but she could not read their

expression. 'The moon wil have risen by now.'

Helen swal owed. 'I think I'd prefer to Stay here. The—er—motion of the boat.'

'Oh, yes, I had forgotten,' he said smoothly. 'Then let us by al means remain here.' And

to Helen's consternation he sat down beside her, so near that his thigh brushed hers.

She hurriedly reached forward and picked up her coffee cup, realising too late it was

empty, and knowing that he knew it too.

'What is the matter, Eleni? Have you suddenly realised that you are a long way from

London?'

Almost casual y he put one hand on her knee, pushing her skirt up towards her thigh.

Cup and saucer went flying as she struck at his hand in outrage.

'How dare you!' she choked.

He gave a low laugh. 'Why should I not dare? You already mean to present an adverse

report on my behaviour to your grandfather, and you have a saying, have you not, that

one might as wel be hanged for a sheep us a lamb. Wel then ...'

His other arm went round her, pul ing her against him without haste. She struggled

wildly, her hands pushing against his chest, trying to fend him off.

'Let go of me!' she raged. 'Have you gone mad?'

'No,' he said harshly. 'Just curious about this much-vaunted permissive society of yours,

Eleni. Stop fluttering, little bird, and show me how a liberated woman behaves with her

man.'

Lean fingers encircled both her slender wrists, pinioning them securely, and his dark

head bent until his mouth touched the hollow of her throat. She gasped with

helplessness and fright, and another subtler emotion which she could neither explain

nor understand.

'I—I'l scream,' she threatened huskily, although she wasn't sure her dry throat would

produce any sound at al .

'Scream al you wish,' he said against her skin. 'No one wil come, not when I made it

clear we were to be left alone together after dinner. Now be stil .'

His other hand moved upwards, lifting the fal of honey-blonde hair away from her

neck, letting it slide through his fingers. Then his thumb began to stroke the soft skin of

the nape of her neck, sending strange tremors through her body which she was unable

to resist or control. His lips moved downwards with warm deliberation to linger where

the first swel of her breasts showed above the rounded neckline of her dress.

She said imploringly, 'No—Damon—please!' But her words went unheeded. His

caressing hand left her neck and slid down her back, taking, she realised with thumping

heart, the zip of her
dress with it. His fingers stroked her spine, sending her body

arching involuntarily against him, and he laughed deep in his throat.

'I liked what I saw at the hotel, kougla mou. I want to see more.' His voice roughened.

'I want to see al of you.'

She gave a little protesting moan, shaking her head, as his fingers dealt with the single

clip fastening her bra and slid it, with her dress, off her shoulders..

For a long, long moment he sat staring at her in silence, the pressure of his fingers on

her wrists increasing so intolerably that she sank her teeth into her bottom lip to stop

herself from crying out with the pain of it. Then he raised his head and looked into her

eyes. His own were as dark as night, slumbrous with desire, little devils dancing in their

depths. As their glances met and held, Helen felt her breathing quicken, and was

shamingly aware of her bared breasts rising and fal ing swiftly under the force
of the

strange and incomprehensible sensations which had her in their grip. Almost

convulsively, she closed her eyes, shutting out the sight, but not the image of him. That

seemed imprinted indelibly on the back of her eyelids.

'Tel me, Eleni,' his voice gritted, 'how many men have seen you as I see you now? How

many?'

She wanted a retort that would shock him, but she could think of nothing to say. And

perhaps if she hadn't been quite so clever with some of her earlier answers, she would

not now be suffering the most traumatic humiliation of her life.

He gritted, 'Answer me, damn you!'

'None.' A little
shudder went through her. 'No one —ever.'

'So—you are a virgin?'

'Yes.' She whispered the sound, her mouth trembling, and felt that paralysing grip on

her wrists relax, found herself released. Dazedly she opened her eyes. He was no

longer beside her or even near her. As she watched him uncomprehendingly, he picked

up his glass from the table, tossed back its contents with a practised flick of the wrist,

and set the empty glass down again.

When his eyes met hers again they were a stranger's eyes, cool and dispassionate.

'We shal be coming into Phoros in about ten minutes,' he said almost offhandedly.

'When you have tidied yourself, Dimitri wil show you where you can wash if you want,

and comb your hair. I am going on deck.'

Helen dragged her dress up to cover herself, her hands fumbling as she tried to deal

with its fastenings.

'You can go to hel , and the sooner the better,' she said raggedly, and saw that

sardonic smile twist his mouth again.

'If you must have a focus for your displeasure, better me than your grandfather,' he

said.

'You—mean—that's what al —this was about?' She couldn't believe it.

'Not entirely,' he said coolly. 'I required the answers to a few questions as wel .'

'Oh, I see.' Her voice was quivering with, irony and suppressed rage. 'I understand. I

do hope I've satisfied your, curiosity.'

'You've satisfied nothing,' he said, and there was a note in his voice which sent the

blood rushing to her face. 'But it wil do for a beginning.'

'Not the beginning,' she said. 'The end, Mr. Leandros. The very end, I promise you. I

shal never forgive you for this.'

'For what? For depriving you of the satisfaction I have also denied myself?' he

questioned mockingly. ‘Calm yourself, kougla mou. Our time wil come, and that is my

promise to you.'

He was at the door, his hand already reaching for the handle as she snatched up the

empty glass and hurled it at him. Her aim was good in spite of her . temper, but he was

too fast for her, and the tumbler struck only the closing door, shattering into a hundred

crystal fragments.

Helen sank back on to her seat. Though she hadn't hit him, the smashing of the glass

had been the catharsis she needed, and she burst into a passion of weeping.

She was outwardly calm and composed at least when she went up on deck to catch

her first glimpse of Phoros.

Al traces of her Storm of tears had been washed away in the elegant little