The Innocent's Surrender

She would simply, endure until it was over, and he let her go. Because, although it might seem an eternity, in reality her time with him was unlikely to last very long.

It couldn’t, she thought, as she began to unbutton her shirt, forcing her trembling fingers to obey her. Not once he discovered that she would never in a million years meet the sophistication of his demands on her. That she had no sexual enticements, as her current lacklustre performance must be demonstrating.

My God, she thought, sliding the shirt off her shoulders. I don’t even know how to be a woman, and I certainly won’t be learning with him.

And when it was finally over, and she had made him suffer as she was doing now, she would manage, somehow, to put all the shame, all the betrayal behind her, and rebuild a life for herself back in England.

It wouldn’t be the same, of course. She couldn’t imagine Neil wanting to be a part of it any more once he discovered what had happened. And if Alex Mandrakis made good his threat to parade her publicly as his mistress, and, clearly, he did not threaten lightly, then Neil was bound to find out, and be hurt.

One day, she would grieve about that. About the might-have-beens that he would always represent, which were all being systematically destroyed by the man in the bed, silently watching her undress.

And the way to deal with that, she told herself as she unzipped her skirt, was to pretend that Alex Mandrakis did not exist. That she was actually alone in her room at the London flat, getting ready for bed. Just a night like any other.

If I don’t look at him, she thought as her skirt joined her other garments on the floor, I won’t know that he’s looking at me. I can make that my first line of defence.

And there would be others.

She couldn’t fight him off physically, because she would lose. Every line of his lean, toned body told her that.

Besides, he was probably decadent enough to enjoy subjugating her, and she would do nothing that might give him any kind of pleasure.

It would be far safer to bore him, she thought. To adopt a policy of passive resistance. Obedient, but unresponsive, with never a kiss or a touch given of her own free will. And the complete opposite of the reaction he was expecting.

In spite of this resolution, it took every scrap of courage she possessed to remove her underwear, and bare herself completely to his gaze. She tried to tell herself as she unhooked her bra, and slid down her briefs, that he’d seen her naked before, even if she’d been unaware of it, and therefore, this time, it didn’t matter. It mustn’t be allowed to matter.

Except that somehow it did—quite terribly.

She had to fight, too, not to cover herself with her hands but keep them, in a show of her indifference to his scrutiny, at her sides, as she waited for him to say something. Anything.

But when he spoke, her startled senses reacted as if his hand had touched her quivering flesh.

‘The moonlight did not lie, Natasha mou,’ he said quietly. ‘Your body is indeed exquisite.’ He threw back the sheet, indicating with an imperative gesture that she should go to him.

Natasha crossed slowly to the bed, aware that he was lying on his side, propped on one elbow, waiting for her. She supposed that in some shrinking corner of her mind she’d gone on hoping against hope that he might decide he’d humiliated her enough, and call a halt.

But he was not going to relent, she thought, her heart thudding in panic at the prospect of what awaited her. Her one small consolation was that it would be on her terms, not his. And that one day his own life would lie in ruins too.

However, he’d said he was running out of patience, so it might all be over very quickly. In fact, if he was sufficiently disappointed in her lack of response, this might not be just an initial encounter, but also the last one.

But that made the immediate future no easier to contemplate as she lay beside him, staring rigidly at the ceiling. It shouldn’t be like this, she thought as tension knotted inside her. Not her first time. She should be with someone who’d treat her with tenderness and consideration.

Instead, she was about to be possessed by her family’s enemy, a man who despised her and would make no allowances for an innocence he didn’t believe existed.

She sank her teeth into the inner softness of her lower lip as she remembered the things he’d read to her from that vile letter. Was that what he’d want from her, and, if so, how could she bear it?

Then, just as her taut nerves approached snapping point, Alex Mandrakis touched her at last, his fingers hardly more than a whisper on her skin as he pushed her hair back from her forehead, before winding one silken strand round his hand, and lifting it to his face as if to inhale its fragrance.

It was the last thing she’d anticipated, and, in spite of herself, she turned, startled, to look at him, and saw his smile, crooked, almost rueful.

Then he bent, putting his mouth very precisely on hers and caressing it softly, coaxing her silently and with insidious gentleness to part her lips and allow him the deeper intimacy he sought.

This was not the brutality she’d expected to defy, but deliberate temptation.

And for an instant, as his lips moved on hers, Natasha was aware of an odd, tingling warmth deep in the pit of her stomach, and realised just how much on her guard she would need to be.

She closed her eyes, staying motionless, her mouth tightly compressed against him, forbidding any closer access. At the same time, she was unable to prevent him moving ever closer, so that the warmth of him seemed to be permeating the chill of her own flesh, while the musky scent of his skin filled her consciousness like an intoxicant.

Eventually, the insistent sensuous pressure on her mouth halted and she was aware that he’d lifted his head. He said, ‘Look at me.’

Slowly she raised reluctant lids, staring up into his dark face with cool antagonism.

‘You do not include kissing in your repertoire?’ He sounded little more than mildly curious.

‘Perhaps I merely have no wish to kiss you, Kyrios Mandrakis.’

‘The possibility had crossed my mind,’ he murmured. ‘And are you also unwilling to call me by my given name?’ His hand cupped her breast, his fingertip teasing the nipple, rousing it to a proud, aching life that she realised with horror she could not control. ‘Although such formality in the circumstances is strangely erotic,’ he added with faint amusement.

‘Circumstances that are not of my making.’ To her chagrin, her own voice sounded slightly breathless.

‘And that you are trying to ignore.’ The amusement was open now, his hand still moving on her in devastating purpose. ‘Your mind may have decided you no longer harbour your former overwhelming desire for me, Natasha mou, but your body seems to have other ideas.’ He added softly, ‘Instead of a certainty, you have become an intriguing challenge.’

Natasha turned her head away. She said bitterly, ‘Have you no shame?’

‘I could ask you the same question, my little cheat,’ Alex Mandrakis retorted. ‘After all, you were my would-be wife—the one making all the promises that were supposed to blind me to your family’s real purpose.

‘No doubt they guaranteed you would never have to keep any of them,’ he added scornfully. ‘Well, now you know you are wrong, and they will know it too.’

He altered his position slightly, significantly, making her suddenly, shockingly aware of the heated potency of male arousal against her thigh, then bent his head and put his mouth to the scented mound of her breast, his tongue stroking its taut, rosy peak with lingering appreciation.

Sensation, sudden and unwanted, lanced through her. She pushed at his shoulders. ‘Don’t…’

He raised his head and looked at her, his gaze quizzical. ‘It is not easy to please you, agapi mou.’

‘Then don’t try,’ she flung at him, stormily. ‘Just—let me go.’

‘Having taken all this trouble to acquire you?’ he mocked. ‘I don’t think so. Not yet.’

‘But for how long?’ she asked in a stifled voice. ‘You have to tell me.’

He was silent for a moment. ‘Perhaps—until you no longer wish to leave, Natasha mou. But for now….’

His hand slid down her body with slow, insolent mastery, caressing the flat plane of her stomach, and the delicate inner hollow of her hip, before moving down to the silky triangle at the junction of her thighs.

Natasha set her teeth, her skin burning with embarrassment as he parted her legs, and she felt the glide of his fingers exploring her moist inner heat, setting off another chain of unwanted response that almost verged on excitement.

She was bitterly, angrily aware that her breathing had quickened even more, in spite of herself, and that there was an unfamiliar ache somewhere deep within her.

But she wouldn’t let herself think about that, or its inevitable implications. She would focus instead on disgust. On hating her body’s scalding, slippery reaction to this new intimacy almost as much as she loathed the man who was creating it with such casual expertise.

Then, as if he recognised her mental struggles: ‘Why don’t you stop fighting me, agapi mou?’ Alex Mandrakis whispered. ‘Because the battle is already lost.’

‘Not for me,’ she managed hoarsely. ‘I’ll never forgive you for this. Not as long as I live.’ Or as long as you do…

He shrugged. ‘Then I have nothing to lose,’ he said, half to himself, as he lifted himself over her. ‘But everything to gain,’ he added in husky triumph. And entered her with one smooth, unerring thrust.

Chapter Four

UP TO that moment Natasha had only really thought about the outrage to her feelings, and the nightmare effect on her life of this unbearable, shameful indignity that was being inflicted on her. It had not occurred to her that her first experience of sex might cause her actual physical pain.

Her taut muscles shocked into resistance, she wanted to cry out to him that he was hurting her, and beg him to stop. To give her unaccustomed body at least a little time to adjust to the stark reality of his penetration of her.

Yet she did nothing, said nothing, determined not to grant him the satisfaction of knowing that anything he did could affect her in any way—pleasure or pain.

For a moment she felt him pause, heard him say her name harshly, almost questioningly, then, when she still did not offer any kind of response, push forward in the final surge of conquest, sheathing himself in her completely.

Natasha stayed totally, rigidly motionless, only her hands moving as they clenched into tight fists at her sides.

It will be over soon, she thought as tiny sparks danced behind her tightly closed eyelids, and repeated the words like a mantra—over soon—over soon…

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, deliberately emptying her mind, and shutting off all thought and emotion, as Alex Mandrakis began to move, driving into her slowly and rhythmically, furthering his possession with an exquisite sensual precision that in itself seemed a kind of insult.

Even though her eyes were shut, she knew instinctively that he was watching her, waiting presumably for some kind of reaction. But he would learn nothing, she thought, from a face that she was taking care to keep as blank and expressionless as a mask.

But it wasn’t easy. To her dismay, and in spite of the slight discomfort that still lingered, she soon discovered she was not totally immune to the alien, bewildering sensations being provoked by the compelling motion of his body inside hers.

She’d expected to fight him, she thought, alarmed, but she had not bargained for having to fight herself too. But she could not let this happen, she resolved, her throat tightening in mingled shame and panic. She could not allow herself such weakness when she needed to be strong.

Yet how could she have known, she asked herself in bewilderment, how, in spite of everything, he might make her feel? How her body might act against the strength of her will—her anger—tempting her to surrender.

Then, as she found she was actually beginning to struggle to maintain her self-control, she heard his breathing change, and was aware of his pace quickening, until suddenly he cried out, his voice harsh, almost agonised, and she felt the pulsating heat of him deep within her, before he slumped forward, his sweat-dampened face against her breasts.

Natasha waited for a few moments, but he did not stir, so slowly and carefully she began to ease herself away from him.

Immediately, his arms tightened around her. ‘So the statue comes to life at last,’ he said huskily. ‘Now, when it is over.’

Over, she thought with thankfulness. Over—exactly as she’d wanted it to be, and she’d given him nothing. So it was ludicrous to feel so…bereft. Mortifying, too, to know that, for the briefest instant, she’d actually been tempted to cradle his head between her hands, and stroke his hair.

She said in a small, wooden voice, ‘You’re heavy.’

‘Forgive me.’ His voice was softly ironic. ‘Treat it as just one more inconvenience among so many others, Natasha mou.’

He lifted himself off her and lay back against his pillows, staring in front of him as he steadied his breathing.

After a while, she spoke again. ‘Please, may I use your bathroom? I’d like to have a shower.’

‘Later,’ he said. ‘After we have talked a little.’

‘I don’t think there’s anything left to say.’ As she tried to turn away his hand snaked out and captured her chin, making her face him.

‘Then you would be wrong,’ he told her. ‘As a beginning, tell me about your English lover.’

‘He’s warm, kind and decent,’ Natasha said shortly. ‘Your exact opposite, in fact, Kyrios Mandrakis. What else do you want to know?’

‘When you are in bed with him, do you come?’

She gasped, and colour flooded her face. ‘Yes,’ she said jerkily, pushing his hand away from her. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘And before him,’ the quiet voice went on. ‘How many other men were there?’

‘Dozens,’ she said defiantly.

Alex Mandrakis sighed. ‘If I teach you one thing in our time together, Natasha,’ he remarked tersely, ‘it will be to tell me the truth. Until I took you a little while ago, you were a virgin, so do not bother to deny it. Or did you think I would not know?’

‘I—I wasn’t sure,’ she muttered, aware that her flush had deepened.

‘Yet you did not think to tell me,’ he said. ‘Why not?’

‘Because you’d already made up your mind what I was,’ she said. ‘Thanks to that revolting letter. So you wouldn’t have believed me, whatever I’d said.’ She paused. ‘Besides, even if you had known, would it have made any difference to—to what you were planning for me?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Except that I would have made sure that your body was rather more receptive to such an initiation.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘I hurt you, Natasha mou, but by the time I realised the truth, it was too late, and I regret that.’

He paused. ‘My only excuse is that I wanted you very badly.’

‘Well, please don’t let it weigh on what passes for your conscience,’ she said tautly. ‘In the broad scheme of things, it’s hardly the worst injury you’ll make me suffer, I’m sure.’

He said slowly, ‘It does not have to be like that.’

Her eyes flew to his. She said hoarsely, ‘Do you mean you’re willing to let me go after all?’

‘No,’ he said, ‘I am not, so do not even hope.’

‘But why?’ She swallowed. ‘You’ve got what you wanted, so you don’t need to keep me around any longer. There’s no point.’

‘There is the pleasure of your company,’ he corrected silkily.

‘You can say that when you know I hate you?’ Natasha shook her head. ‘When you must realise that I wouldn’t voluntarily choose to spend five minutes with you?’

‘Perhaps, Natasha mou, you will discover that I improve on acquaintance.’ His voice was solemn, but, to her fury, amusement was dancing in the dark eyes. ‘And to prove that I too can be kind on occasion, we will take that shower you mentioned.’

We…? Alarm bells sounded in her head as Alex tossed away the covers and swung himself off the bed.

She clutched at the sheet. ‘I—I can wait…’ she said, trying, even at this juncture, not to look at him.

‘Why—when there is no need?’ He was laughing openly now. ‘Believe me, my lovely one, you have nothing to fear. You will never be safer from my attentions than you are now.’ He held out a hand. ‘Come with me.’

He waited, and when she still hesitated he sighed briefly and impatiently, twitched the sheet from her grasp and scooped her up from the bed, carrying her in his arms across the room to a door standing ajar, and shouldering it open.

Natasha received a fleeting impression of creamy tiles marbled in blue and gold, and mirrors everywhere, as Alex walked with her to a shower cabinet almost as large as the entire bathroom at her flat. He set her on her feet directly under the shower head and joined her, switching on the water to full power.

As the force of it hit her, she gasped, and Alex’s arm went round her, steadying her. After a moment, he adjusted the flow, and reached for the shower gel. He tipped some into his hand, turning her so that her back was towards him, and began to apply the scented lather to her skin, beginning with her shoulders and working downwards in small circular movements, his fingertips firm and very sure.

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