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Authors: Sara Craven,Chieko Hara

Tags: #Comics & Graphic Novels, #Graphic Novels, #Romance

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BOOK: PAGAN ADVERSARY
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tortuous breathing.

When he had unfastened the last button, Alex's hand moved back to

the prim neckline, pushing aside the lace-trimmed collar as his

fingers found the silky skin beneath in a caress as soft as the brush of

a butterfly's wing. He stroked her throat, lingering momentarily on

the. convulsive leap of the pulse at its base, then moved his hand

smoothly and gently along the supple line of her bare shoulder, easing

the nightgown away from her body as he did so.He said smoothly and

cynically, 'Before I am carried away by the vision of your naked

loveliness, my English rose, may I know from your own lips that this

is what you want?'

Harriet stared at him, her eyes widening in shocked incredulity as he

went on, 'It occurs to me that this is some ploy of yours to retain

control of Nicos—either by taking me to the point of no return, and

then coyly refusing, or by seeking to appeal to my generosity by the

sweetness of your surrender.' He smiled coldly down into her paling

face. 'I should warn you now, Harriet
mou,
that neither tactic will

work. Besides, a girl's first time with a man is rarely comfortable or

particularly rewarding, and I would hate to think you were making

such a sacrifice for all the wrong reasons.'

She said in a choking voice, 'You're—vile!'

'Ah!' He grinned mockingly and stepped back, away from her. 'Do I

take it that you have changed your mind about giving yourself to me?'

Harriet felt sick. 'I --1 never intended. . . .'

'No?' Alex lifted his brows disbelievingly. 'Then it was all a

coincidence that you just happened to be in the other room when I

returned—that you happened to need a toothbrush—that you

happened to want a shower? And this travesty of a garment with its

frills and little buttons—was that too part of the plan? If so, my

congratulations. Removing it would have been a great and lingering

pleasure.'

'The nightdress belongs to Yannina—as you're probably well aware.'

Harriet dragged the gaping edges at her throat together with a hand

that shook. 'And none of your rotten insinuations are true. I'm here

because you needed help with Nicky—not because I wanted to be. I

never wanted to see you again—and as for lying in wait, hoping for

an opportunity to—to seduce you—My God, that's the last thing I

wanted!' She paused for breath. 'And as for the shower,' she added

savagely, 'strange as it may seem to a— a conceited, arrogant—ape

like you, I've never had one before. I didn't know how it worked—and

I didn't want to be frozen or scalded.

'Then try it now,' he said between his teeth, his face dark with temper.

'You should find it exactly right.'

He picked her up, kicking and struggling, and dumped her, nightdress

and all, directly under the full jet of water. Drenched and gasping, she

slipped on the wet tiles and sat down heavily, trapped in the clinging

yards of material, hearing dimly above the noise of the water the slam

of the bathroom door as he left.

Somehow she managed to reduce the flow, and then switch it off

completely. Shivering with rage, she stripped off the soaking

nightdress and hurled it, a dripping bundle, into the corner, before

snatching one of the voluminous bath sheets provided by the hotel

and wrapping herself in it. She stormed back into her room and

kicked the door shut behind her. She was a sorry sight, innumerable

little rivulets from her wet hair running down her back and shoulders.

Ruefully she dabbed her face dry, and wrung as much water from the

ends of her hair as she could, before rubbing it vigorously with an end

of the towel.

She was still shaking inside, and she felt close to tears. She tried to

tell herself that Alex's cynical misinterpretation of her motives and

behaviour was all to the good. For those few moments, just his

lightest touch on her skin had had her dizzy with wanting him. Right

now, she might have been in bed with him, and that would have been

disastrous, because the last thing she wanted was to be just another in

a long line of women. And what she did want from Alex was

something she didn't even dare to contemplate.

She wanted to fetch the hair-dryer she had noticed earlier, but she

didn't dare. Alex might hear her moving about, opening cupboards,

and she couldn't face another confrontation.

In fact, if it hadn't been for Nicky waking the next morning and

perhaps calling out for her, she would have dressed and gone home,

even if she had to walk all the way.

She draped the bath sheet over the long radiator under the central

window and crept into bed. It was a warm night, but it was a long time

before she stopped shivering, and an hour after that before-her

chaotically whirling thoughts began to blur at the edges, and she

slipped gradually into a restless sleep haunted by strange and

disturbing images.

She dreamed she was alone, and that she was crying because she was

alone, and there was no comfort anywhere. And then suddenly there

were arms around her which were warm and strong, and held her

closely, and she dreamed she turned to that strength, like a flower to

the sun, whispering, 'Alex,' and smiling in her sleep.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE dream seemed so real that it was almost a shock when she

opened reluctant eyes the next morning and found she was alone. She

sat up slowly, pushing her hair back from her face, and wondering

what had woken her, and then she heard the soft knock on the door

and Yannina's voice, 'Thespinis Masters—the little one has woken

and is asking for you.'

'I'll be there right away,' Harriet called, pushing back the bedclothes.

She put on the clean undies she had brought with her and washed

swiftly, a wary eye on the door which led to Alex's room, but there

was no sound at all.

As soon as she was dressed, she went straight to Nicky's rom. A small

table and chair had been installed, and he was sitting there in his

pyjamas, watery-eyed but silent, dividing looks of acute suspicion

between Yannina and the bowl of his favourite milky cereal before

him.

'Good morning, scamp.' Harriet ruffled his hair teasing. 'Is breakfast

no longer being eaten in these circles?'

Nicky's smile wavering at first lit up his whole face enchantingly. He

picked up his spoon and began to eat with his usual gargantuan

appetite, occasionally stealing glances at Harriet to make sure she had

not gone away.

Yannina sighed. 'It is you that he needs,
thespinis
,' she said rather

sadly. 'It was a blessing you were able to come to him so swiftly. I

hope you slept in God's good health.'

'Yes.' Harriet hesitated. 'Yannina—I'm afraid I had a slight accident

last night. I was trying to find how the shower worked, and it—it

came on rather unexpectedly and your lovely nightdress got very

wet.'

'Po, po, po,'
Yannina shrugged, her rather anxious face softening

warmly. 'It is nothing,
thespinis.
You are welcome to anything I have.

A little water matters not at all. You must not concern yourself.'

She clearly thought the faint flush that had risen in Harriet's cheeks

had been put there by guilt and remorse over the fate of the

nightdress, and Harriet could only devoutly be thankful the good

woman had no idea of the truth.

She lingered as long as possible, watching Nicky eat the rest of his

breakfast, and then getting washed and dressed in his favourite

tee-shirt and shorts. Yannina was already clearly his slave and he

knew it, which wasn't altogether a good thing, thought Harriet wryly,

but there was nothing she could say or do. Soon Nicky's character

building and training would be out of her hands completely.

When Yannina had asked her for the third time with increasing

astonishment if she herself was not hungry for her own breakfast, she

realised that she could not hang round Nicky's room like a spare part

all morning.

She had to nerve herself to go back in the sitting room Alex was

sitting at a table which had been set in the window, deep in the

financial pages of one of the Sunday papers. He rose politely as

Harriet hesitated, and indicated that she should join him, his face

unsmiling and enigmatic. He was wearing a dark suit this morning,

she noticed. The jacket was tossed across a nearby chair, and he was

tieless, with both his waistcoat and several buttons on his immaculate

shirt left casually undone, so that the strong brown column of his

throat and the beginnings of the curling mat of dark hair on his chest

were visible.

She sat down, not looking at him, concentrating on shaking out the

linen napkin and spreading it across her lap.

'Orange juice?' Alex asked. 'Croissants? Or would you prefer eggs

and bacon?'

She shook her head, murmuring a faint negative, because it seemed

unlikely she would be able to force a crumb past her lips anyway. The

orange juice was easy enough, freshly squeezed, slightly tart and

totally delicious, and that, combined with the sun coming warmly and

benignly through the window, made her spirits begin to rise a little.

A waiter appeared as if by magic with a pot of fresh coffee, and a

basket crammed with rolls, still hot to the touch, and flaky croissants.

The smell of warm, fresh bread was irresistible and Harriet

succumbed, although she was still on edge, waiting for Alex to say

something—anything. Fresh bread and tension, she thought ruefully.

I shall probably die of indigestion.

He was being very civil, pouring her coffee and passing her butter and

cherry jam almost before she was aware she wanted them, but apart

from that his attention seemed wholly absorbed in his newspaper.

At last, when he folded it and put it aside, she decided she had better

break the silence.

She said rather nervously, 'I'm sure Nicky will be fine now. I really

ought to go home.'

'I wish I shared your optimism.' He gave her a long look. 'Did it take a

long time for Nicos to adjust to you after my brother and his wife

were killed?'

She hesitated. 'He was disturbed, naturally, but I— I'd always been

there. I actually lived with them, so he was used to me. He used to ask

for them both constantly, of course. He still does.'

'And what do you say?'

She shrugged. 'I'm afraid I evade the issue—distract him with

something. I'm not a psychologist and I don't know how to handle it.

He's too young to understand the truth.'

He nodded expressionlessly, and made no further comment, merely

asking if she wanted more coffee.

'No, thanks.' Harriet put her crumpled napkin on the table. 'I really

should be getting back.'

'Why?' he asked. 'You have some urgent appointment, perhaps?'

'Of course not. It's Sunday.'

'And what do you usually do on Sundays?' He drank the last of his

coffee, watching her over the rim of the cup.

She shrugged. 'Tidy the flat—make lunch—take Nicky to a park if it's

fine.'

'It sounds a reasonable plan,' he said. 'And it can be as easily carried

out here as at your dismal room.'

'No,' said Harriet. Her hands were beginning to tremble again, and she

wedged them together in her lap below the edge of the table. 'I—I do

have a life of my own to lead, and I have things to do.'

He gave her a derisive look. 'You made me believe that Nicos was

your whole life. Is it not so?'

'And you've made me believe that it's time I thought differently,' she

said flatly. 'So that's what I'm going to do, starting now.'

'I wish it could be as simple as that. It must be obvious from Nicos'

reaction last night, and to a lesser extent on the previous evening, that

he will need a substantial—period of adjustment to his new

circumstances.' He paused. 'I am going to need your help— Miss

Masters.'

Harriet ignored the unmistakable note of mockery investing the last

two words. 'My help? I thought you couldn't wait to remove Nicky

from my sphere of influence altogether.'

'But then I was not aware of the extent of his dependence on you,' he

said coldly. 'You have made yourself necessary to the child.'

'Oh, I'm so sorry,' said Harriet with immense sarcasm. 'Of course I see

now I should have neglected and ill-treated him, just to make things

easier for you. What a pity I didn't realise earlier that you were going

to come marching into our lives like—like. . ..'

'Like a tyrant,' he supplied too softly. 'Or—a conceited, arrogant ape.'

'Yes,' she said defiantly. 'Exactly like that.'

BOOK: PAGAN ADVERSARY
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