The Highest Stakes of All (8 page)

He added softly, ‘And I have done so. You, Joanna
mou,
are the last. And in your case I decided, as they say, that your punishment should fit your crime. Exactly.’

She touched her tongue to her dry lips. ‘And everyone knows this—of course? Even—Hara?’

‘Especially Hara,’ he said harshly. ‘She was my nanny when I was a baby, then went to my cousin when Petros was born.’ The dark gaze was scornful. ‘It is as if you had harmed her own child.’

A perfect child who naturally could not be blamed for his youthful mistakes. And who had, anyway, found his own scapegoat.

‘Please,’ she said huskily. ‘Please—you must let me explain.’

‘No explanation is necessary,’ he denied brusquely. ‘Petros is young and still naïve about women, which must have made it pitifully easy for you to become his pillow friend—show him what he thought was Paradise—then lead him to your associates like an Easter lamb to the butcher’s knife.’

Joanna said hoarsely. ‘He said that? That I’d—That we’d …’ She was nearly choking. ‘But he can’t have done. Because it isn’t true—I swear it. Oh, God, you—you have to believe me.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I do not. Or do you think I share the naïveté of my fool of a cousin? You forget, Joanna
mou,
I watched you that night in France, and so did every other man present, wondering what it would be like to have you under him—to touch you and kiss—to possess you. Just as you intended. And as you did to that boy.’

He lit a cheroot and drew on it, watching her through the smoke. ‘Petros assures me your performance in private is an even greater thrill than the public display,’ he added almost casually. ‘That, in bed, you are inventive and inexhaustible as well as beautiful. Let us hope his judgement does not err—in this at least.’

How could he have said that? Joanna wondered dazedly, cringing from the memory of Peter Mansell’s hoarse breathing, the unavailing attempts to push his tongue into her mouth. The hands pawing clumsily at her breasts while she fought to hide her revulsion.

But the fact that he’d lied about her so hideously—gone to such appalling lengths to justify his conduct—did not make her guiltless, although she would have given anything in the world to be able to throw the entire accusation back in Vassos Gordanis’ mocking face.

To tell him passionately that she’d done nothing—
nothing.
That Peter/Petros was a coward and an idiot, totally and stupidly responsible for the troubles his own conceit had brought on him.

Except, of course, she couldn’t say that. Because she had indeed let him suppose that she might belong to him—eventually. And she could also have stopped him going to the poker game. Could have warned him off somehow, then made up some story to account for his absence, braving the wrath of Diamond Lenny.

But she had not. Leaving her, she realised wretchedly, with no real defence. And facing instead the wrath of Vassos Gordanis.

‘Your silence is revealing,
pedhi mou,’
he commented. He got to his feet and walked round the table, pulling her up from her chair and holding her against him, creating a moment when she was aware of the warmth of his bare chest penetrating the thin fabric of her shirt and felt her nipples harden suddenly against the lacy confinement of her bra.

She smothered a gasp of pure shock and lifted her hands, pushing him away and taking a swift instinctive step backwards.

His mouth twisted cynically. ‘However, it seems our time apart has not yet endeared me to you, Joanna
mou,’
he remarked. ‘But be warned. I find your attitude a challenge, not a deterrent. If you fight me you will lose, and the manner of my victory may not be to your taste. Do you understand me?’

It would be truthful to say no. To explain that nothing in her life had prepared her for this. For him. But knew that he would not believe her.

‘Yes.’ Her voice was barely a whisper. ‘I—understand …’

Vassos Gordanis nodded abruptly. ‘And now there are matters that demand my attention so I must tear myself away from you.’ He took her hand and raised it, brushing her clenched knuckles with his lips. It was the briefest caress but it seemed to shiver through her entire being, increasing this whole new dimension of physical awareness that had come so shockingly into being when she’d found herself in his arms.

Leaving her mute and trembling when he released her.

‘But only, I promise, for a little while,’ he added mockingly, and went.

I can’t stay here just—waiting, Joanna thought desperately, watching his tall figure walk back into the villa.
I can’t …

She looked down at her fingers as if expecting to see them branded by the touch of his mouth.

Because she deserved to be marked, she told herself with bitterness. She should carry a lasting scar for that instant of supreme folly—supreme weakness.

How could such fleeting contact evoke a physical response she had never dreamed could exist—or imagined she would ever be capable of? Especially with him.

She felt almost sick with self-betrayal.

But at least he doesn’t know, she thought desperately. And I must make certain that he never finds out.

So she couldn’t go on standing there in the sunlight as if she’d been turned to stone like the statue of Persephone. She had to try and hide her inner turmoil, and behave as if this was any other day. And that Vassos Gordanis’ arrival had prompted nothing but her indifference.

Act like the girl he thinks I am, she told herself. Uncaring and unprincipled.

Tension was building in her, like a knotted cord twisted round her forehead. She lifted a hand to release the clip fastening her hair, then paused as she remembered his words—
your only concealment.

And shivered at the thought of what awaited her that night.

Although there was nothing she could do. This was his house. His island. If she ran away and hid somewhere, she’d simply be found and brought back to face his displeasure.

And in some strange way the thought of his anger was almost worse than the prospect of the other kind of passion she could expect from him.

There was only one place for her to go. The room that had been almost a refuge since she arrived. That might still provide her with sanctuary if only for a few hours. Until Vassos Gordanis had completed his work and remembered her again.

Slowly, head bent, she walked into the house and went upstairs.

As she walked into the bedroom she halted, thinking she’d come to the wrong place. Because it was like a warehouse, the floor and bed strewn with flat beribboned boxes and crumpled tissue paper. And in the middle of it all Hara, directing two of the maids who were hanging things in the wardrobe and placing them in the drawers.

Dresses, Joanna saw with disbelief, and skirts in silk and lawn. Soft floating things. Filmy nightgowns and negligees. Lace underwear.

She said, ‘What is this?’

‘Clothes,
thespinis,
for you to wear.’ Hara didn’t add, For the pleasure of Kyrios Gordanis, because she didn’t have to. As the furtive exchange of glances between the maids made more than clear.

A rich man was indulging his mistress, who would be expected to show him proper gratitude for his generosity when they were alone. Or not.

Joanna lifted her chin. ‘Then you can just take them away,’ she said crisply. ‘Because I don’t want them.’

‘This is the order of the
kyrie.
Hara’s tone was firm. ‘He is not to be disobeyed.’

Joanna picked up the two nearest boxes, walked to the open window and out on to the little balcony, and threw them over its rail.

‘And unless you obey
me,
the rest will go the same way,’ she informed her gaping audience. ‘I have clothes and I require nothing from Kyrios Gordanis. So get it all out of here and then go, please. I have a headache.’

There was a horrified silence, then Hara said something curt in her own language and the two girls began removing the garments and carrying them away in armfuls, whispering together as they did so.

When it was finished, and the maids had gone, Hara said quietly, ‘This is not wise,
thespinis.’

‘Really?’ Joanna met her gaze defiantly. ‘Well, I don’t think I care any more.’

Hara went on looking at her, but an odd bewilderment had replaced her usual hostility, and something that was almost pity.

Although that was nonsense. Hara might not wholly approve of the way her master was conducting his revenge, but at the same time she was a Greek woman who probably believed in Nemesis, the goddess of retribution. She would no doubt think that Joanna had asked for all the trouble that was coming her way and then some. There was no sisterhood here.

She said, ‘You wish I get you something—for the headache?’

‘No,’ Joanna returned. ‘I just want to be alone—please.’

There was another silence, then Hara shrugged and left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Joanna sat down on the edge of the bed, running a weary hand round the nape of her neck. She felt hot and sticky, and the thought of a cool shower had a definite appeal.

Collecting her elderly white cotton dressing gown, she trailed into the bathroom and set the water running, before discarding her clothes and pinning her hair on top of her head.

The gentle cascade was like balm against her heated skin as she soaped her body, then rinsed and rinsed again.

As she patted herself dry she gave a small sigh of satisfaction, then reached for her robe, tying the sash loosely round her slender waist.

She unfastened her hair and shook it loose as she walked back into the bedroom.

And stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes dilating.

‘You have been a long time,
matia mou,’
said Vassos Gordanis. He too was wearing a robe, but in crimson silk, as he lounged on the bed. ‘I began to think I would have to fetch you.’

He smiled at her. ‘But here you are—so my waiting is over at last. Now, come to me.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

F
OR
a moment Joanna stood staring at him, unable to move or speak. Those last few precious hours of freedom she’d counted were gone, she realised dazedly. Time had finally run out.

Eventually, she said hoarsely, ‘I—I don’t understand. I thought—you—you said you had work to do.’

He shrugged, the robe slipping away from one tanned, muscular shoulder. ‘I found concentration difficult,
agapi mou.
During our separation I found that I desired you more than I had planned to do. So I decided that while work could wait, you could not. And I could not.’ He held out his hand.
‘Ela etho,
‘ he commanded softly. ‘Come here.’

She said, dry-mouthed, ‘It’s the middle of the afternoon!’

‘The time of siesta,’ he said. ‘A habit I understand you have acquired since your arrival. Today you will spend it with me instead of alone.’

‘But I have a headache.’ She despised herself for the note of pleading she could hear in her voice.

‘I also ache,’ he said with faint amusement. ‘But in a different way. Perhaps we will heal each other.’ He added more crisply, ‘And now, Joanna
mou,
please do not weary me with any further excuses. You know why you are here.’

She made herself move then. Made herself walk to the bed, knowing with certainty that there was nothing else she could do, and also that there was a part of her—a part she tried desperately to banish—that flared with sparks of excitement.

He took her hand, drawing her down beside him not un-gently. She saw that he was no longer smiling. Instead his expression was serious—even intense—as he reached for the sash of her robe and untied it slowly, almost carefully, pushing apart its concealing folds.

She knew that this was only the beginning, but all the same she turned her head away, closing her eyes so she would not have to see his dark gaze burning over her naked body.

If I don’t look at him, she thought, maybe I can pretend this isn’t really happening. But that won’t work, either, because he’s been there in my dreams every night since we first met. Which is something I need to forget.

The silence that followed was broken only by his sigh of pleasure, hardly more than a breath.

She lay still as he removed her robe completely, her hands clenched at her sides to hide the fact that her body was, against her will, responding to his touch.

He said softly, ‘You are very lovely. But worth the ruin of a man’s whole future life? I truly wonder.’

She had not, of course, realised that shutting off the sight of him would simply heighten all her other senses, making her vividly aware of the slight dip in the mattress as he moved even closer. So close that she thought she could feel the strong heavy beat of his heart echo in her own bloodstream. Could absorb the clean, soap-enhanced scent of his warm skin. Hear the sharp rustle of silk as he discarded his own robe.

He began to touch her, his hand skimming lightly from the curve of her cheek down her throat to her shoulder, then moulding the slender outline of her body in one long, sweeping movement that, in spite of her inexperience, Joanna recognised as more a declaration of intent than a caress. A gesture that promised total possession.

In her self-imposed darkness, she was conscious of other things, too. The strange sensation of a man lying next to her, his heated nakedness grazing her own skin. The powerful and potent reality of his male arousal.

She felt his fingers cup her chin, turning her face towards him, and then experienced the first brush of his lips on hers, lingering, searing, and oddly, unexpectedly gentle. He kissed her again, his mouth persuasive—insistent. Seeking, some instinct told her, the beginnings of a surrender she dared not risk. Because once she had yielded she knew with utter certainty that there would be no way back—and, more shockingly, nor did she want there to be.

His hand found her small breast, taking its rounded softness in his palm, his thumb teasing her nipple and bringing it to aching, hardening life with an ease that amazed her. And warned her, too, that her lips were beginning to soften under the subtle pressure of his kiss. Even—parting.

With a gasp, she jerked her mouth from his, at the same time seizing his wrist and dragging it away from her.

She felt him pause, and waited, her pulses pounding unevenly. Wondering.

He said quietly, ‘Look at me.’

She obeyed unwillingly, her gaze uncertain as it met his.

‘So what are you telling me,
matia mou?’
Propped on an elbow, he studied her, his expression enigmatic. ‘That any further attempt to arouse you for our mutual pleasure would be wasted?’

No, she thought. That I’m out of my depth and liable to drown in a sea of longing. Because you make me feel—make me want impossible things. And I can’t let that happen. I can’t let
you
happen.

‘Think what you please.’ She found a voice from somewhere, as she stared rigidly past him. ‘It makes no odds to me. I hate and despise you, Vassos Gordanis, and nothing you say or do to me will change that. Not now. Not ever.’

There was a tingling silence, then Vassos said softly, ‘If you imagine I shall appreciate such frankness you are wrong. My own wishes are very different.’ His hand cupped her chin as he stared down at her, his dark eyes brooding. ‘But I am not unrealistic. I expect you to give no more than you have offered in the past to any other man.’

She swallowed. ‘I offer nothing, Kyrios Gordanis. So—take what you want, then leave me alone.’

‘And if I had met you under other circumstances, is that still what you would have said to me?’ He moved, drawing her closer. ‘If I had come ashore from
Persephone
that afternoon and found you, asked you to come with me—be with me—would you have fought me then?’

‘Yes,’ she said, aware that her heart was suddenly thudding against her ribcage. ‘Because once you’d discovered who I was you’d have remembered your revenge, and everything would have been just the same.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But—I wonder. About that—and also other things.’ He bent his head, brushing her mouth once more with his, surprising her with his sudden gentleness. ‘For example,’ he went on softly, ‘how can lips that speak such hard words taste so sweet?’

The erratic behaviour of her heartbeat held her mute as, once more, his fingertips stroked her breast, luring the delicate nipple to pucker in response before taking it between his lips in an arousal as delicious as it was irresistible.

Only she had to resist it, she thought, stifling a gasp. That—and the slow, beguiling glide of his hand down her flushed and restless body to the curve of her hip. Had to, or she would never be able to live with the shame of it.

Vassos raised his head and looked down at her. He said quietly, ‘I warned you that I would not be cheated of my satisfaction, and I meant it. But it is a pleasure I find that I wish you to share, Joanna
mou.
So—I ask you to put your arms around me and give me your lovely mouth.’

She said huskily, ‘You ask for too much.’

A bronzed shoulder lifted in a shrug. ‘Then remember,
matia mou,
that the choice was yours.’

He lifted himself over her, almost negligently parting her thighs with his knee, before sliding his hands under her flanks and lifting her towards him.

Joanna felt the rigid hardness of him pressing against her, demanding entry to the secret place of her womanhood, and gave in to the sudden scald of excitement deep within her.

Hastily, she shut her eyes again, telling herself it was so that she would not have to see his smile of triumph as he achieved his ultimate revenge. Knowing that she had to hide that unwelcome, impossible stir of desire in case he recognised it. Determined to deny him any kind of response, whatever the cost.

Vassos moved with commanding purpose, penetrating her with one powerful thrust of his loins, and in that same instant her world blurred into a pain she’d never dreamed could exist as her virgin flesh impeded his invasion.

Spikes of coloured light danced behind her closed lids, her resolution to remain silent and passive forgotten with her first shocked cry.

Then, it was over. She heard him say,
‘Theos,’
his voice raw and shaken, then pull away from her. Out of her.

Vassos flung himself on his back beside her, his breathing hoarse and ragged, and she lay motionless, slow tears squeezing from beneath her lids and scalding a path down her face. The flash of pain had subsided, and his withdrawal had left her hating herself for aching for his continued touch.

He moved again, and Joanna flinched involuntarily. But he was only reaching for his robe and dragging it on, fastening the belt as he left the bed and walked to the door. He threw it wide and shouted an imperative summons.

A moment later Hara appeared, and he bent his head, talking softly and rapidly in his own language. Joanna saw the older woman’s hand go to her cheek in a kind of horror as she listened. She began to speak, but he silenced her, patting her shoulder and turning her towards the bed before he left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Which, in some strange way, seemed to make things a hundred times worse, Joanna thought numbly. Simply watching him walk away, without a word except a muttered blasphemy.

A sob rose in her throat, and then another, and she found she was crying in earnest, her body shaking as she turned to bury her wet face in the pillow.

And then she felt herself lifted with astonishing gentleness and held against Hara’s generous bosom, while her hair was stroked and words were murmured that she could not comprehend but which sounded oddly comforting just the same.

She didn’t understand this
volte face,
but somehow it didn’t seem to matter.

It was a while before she felt sufficiently in command of herself to draw back, wiping her wet face with her fingers.

She saw Hara looking down at the bed, and, following her gaze, saw with desperate embarrassment that there was blood on her thighs and on the sheet.

She said shakily, ‘Oh, God—I—I’m so sorry.’

‘No need for sorrow.’ Hara’s tone was kind but firm. ‘Sometimes, for a girl, the first time is easy. For others, like you, not good. It is how it is.’ She touched Joanna’s hot cheek. ‘And now that Kyrios Vassos knows that you are a girl of purity—of honour—he will be kind to you in bed. Make sure there is no more pain, only pleasure.’ She smiled. ‘Now I fill bath for you.’

‘No,’ Joanna said. ‘That’s the last thing I want.’

‘Not bath?’ Hara was bewildered.

‘Mr Gordanis being—kind.’ She sat up. ‘He’ll never come near me—never touch me again.’

‘Po, po, po.
Such foolishness,’ Hara chided. ‘How could he know? If he had been husband on wedding night, same pain, same blood.’ She gave Joanna a look that was almost roguish. ‘There will be more loving. You are beautiful girl, Kyria Joanna. You need beautiful man to give you joy in bed. Make.’ She stopped suddenly, an awkward expression flitting across her face. ‘Make much happiness.’

And she bustled off to the bathroom, leaving Joanna to wonder what she’d intended to say.

But, she discovered, she was glad of the bath. Thankful to sink down into warm scented water and reclaim her body.

If only, she thought, it was as easy to erase from her mind the way her body had reacted to his touch at the beginning—how her lips had bloomed under his kiss and her breast had seemed to swell under the provocative stroke of his fingers.

The way her body had seemed prepared to welcome him.

And, to her eternal shame, she felt her nipples again tauten into rosebuds at the memory.

There was more humiliation waiting for her in the bedroom. The maids who’d been there earlier were just leaving, having changed the bedlinen at Hara’s direction.

Now everyone in the house would know what had happened, she thought, and wanted to howl all over again.

Hara sat her on the dressing stool and began to brush her hair.

‘You rest now,’ she ordained. ‘Later, I bring the new dresses,’ she added guilelessly. ‘Make you look beautiful for Kyrios Vassos.’

‘No,’ Joanna said, swiftly and definitely. ‘I meant what I said. I won’t accept anything he’s bought me. And I don’t want to look beautiful for anyone—least of all him. Because if I’d been ugly I wouldn’t be here, and none of this would have happened.’

Argue with that, she thought, but Hara didn’t even try. She simply closed the shutters, drew the curtains, and put Joanna to bed as if she was a child, covering her with a sheet.

‘Now sleep,
pedhi mou,’
she said quietly, and went.

But oblivion, so much desired, was a long time coming. Joanna was too tense, too alert, every distant quiet noise of an occupied house assailing her ears in stereophonic sound, and her eyes constantly returning to the door, scared that it would open to admit him.

Because how could she ever bear to face him again—even if he didn’t want—want …?

But there was no question of that, she assured herself. He would let her go now. He had to. She’d surely paid for what she’d done, so there was no reason for him to keep her any longer. Not when she would never provide him with the kind of entertainment he required.

She burrowed deeper into the mattress, shivering. How could she have allowed herself to be used like that? She would make sure that no man ever got close enough again to treat her in the same way. She would rather remain celibate for the rest of her life.

She slept at last, deeply and dreamlessly, and woke to find vivid sunset light falling in slats across the floor.

For a moment she wanted to stay where she was. To ask for her dinner to be served up here in this room. Except he might join her, and she could not risk that.

Behave as this was any other evening, she thought, gritting her teeth as she pushed the sheet back. As if nothing had happened between you. Or nothing that mattered anyway.

She washed and cleaned her teeth, then swept back her hair and plaited it into one long braid before dressing in the daisy skirt and cotton top she’d rejected only that morning, and not the lifetime ago that it seemed.