His Forbidden Bride

Behind her, shuttered glass doors masked the ground floor rooms completely. But what had she expected? The place laid open for her inspection, and a welcome mat waiting?

I should have gone to see a lawyer, she told herself restively, walking along the terrace. Had the whole legal situation checked out. Approaches made.

She found the main entrance round the corner, a solid wooden door, heavily carved, and growing beside it, in festoons of blooms that softened the dark wood and white walls, an exquisite climbing rose, its petals shading from creamy yellow to deep gold.

Zoe found herself thinking of the shower of radiance in which Zeus had come to Danaë in the legend, then told herself she was being fanciful. Whoever had planted the garden had simply loved roses, that was all. The troughs and urns along the terrace had been fragrant with them, and she could see even more in the beds that bordered the lawn. And sexual predators in Greek mythology had nothing to do with it.

Without knowing why, she stretched out a hand and touched one of the heavy golden heads, almost as if it were a lucky charm. Then she reached for the heavy iron door handle and tried it.

To her amazement, it yielded, and the door opened silently on well-oiled hinges. The Villa Danaë was welcoming her, after all.

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, standing for a moment, listening intently for a footfall, a door closing, a cough. The sound of a human presence to explain the unlocked door. But there was nothing.

She found herself in a wide hall, confronted by a sweep of staircase leading up to a galleried landing. On one side of it was the glass wall of the atrium. On the other were more conventional doors leading to a long living room, where chairs and sofas were grouped round an empty fireplace. A deep alcove at the far end of the room contained a dining table and chairs.

Everything was in pristine condition. No one had ever lounged on those cushions, she thought, or lit a fire in that hearth, or eaten a meal at the table.

On the atrium side, she found a tiled and fully fitted kitchen, with a walk-in food store, and a laundry room leading off it, all of them bare as if they’d been somehow frozen in time, and were waiting for the spell to be broken.

Taking a deep breath, Zoe went upstairs, annoyed to find she was tiptoeing.

The first room she came to was the master bedroom, dim and cool behind its shutters. She trod across the floor, unlatched the heavy wooden slats and pulled them open, then turned, catching her breath.

It was a vast and luxurious room, with apricot walls and an ivory tiled floor. The silk bed covering was ivory, too, as were the voile drapes that hung at the windows.

There was a bathroom with a screened-off shower cubicle, and a sunken bath with taps like smiling dolphins, and a dressing room as well. There were toiletries on the tiled surfaces, and fluffy towels on the rails. Everything in its place—an enchanted palace waiting for its princess. But for how long?

Zoe walked slowly back to the window, and slid it open with care, then stepped out onto the balcony, lifting her face to the slight breeze. Before her were the misty shapes of other islands rising out of the unruffled blue of the Ionian sea.

More roses here, too, she saw, spilling over the balcony rail from their pottery tubs in a cascade of cream and gold. Their scent reached her softly, and she breathed it in, feeling herself become part of the enchantment.

She thought, Can this really be mine?

And in the same heartbeat, realised she was not alone after all. That there was someone below her on the terrace.

She froze, then peered with infinite caution over the balcony rail.

A man, she registered, with his back to her, moving unhurriedly along the terrace, removing the dead heads from the blossoms in the stone troughs.

The gardener, she thought with relief. Only the gardener. One of the support team employed to keep Villa Danaëin this immaculate condition.

He was tall, with a mane of curling black hair that gleamed like silk in the sunlight, his skin like burnished bronze against the brief pair of elderly white shorts that were all he was wearing. She saw broad shoulders, and a muscular back, narrowing to lean hips, and long, sinewy legs.

The kind of Adonis, she thought, with a faint catch of the breath, that Adele had warned her about.

Of course, she could only see his back view, so he might well have a squint, a crooked nose, and dribble. But somehow she didn’t think so.

And anyway, his looks were not her concern. What she needed to do was get out of here before he looked up and saw her.

With infinite caution, she backed away into the room. She dragged at the windows, tugging them together. They came with a whisper, but, to Zoe’s overwrought imagination, it seemed like a rumble of thunder in the stillness of the morning. She waited for a shout from below. The sound of an alarm being given, but there was nothing, and, biting her lip, she closed the shutters, too. So far, so good, she thought with a tiny sigh of relief.

His work seemed to be taking him to the far end of the terrace, away from the main door, so if she was quick she could be out of the villa and back into the shelter of the olive grove before she ran any real risk of discovery.

And she would content herself with just this one visit, she promised herself silently as she let herself out of the bedroom and closed the door quietly behind her. After all, she had seen everything she needed to see.

From now on she would stick firmly to the town beach, and let her lawyer investigate whether or not the Villa Danaë was her inheritance.

Well, she thought, smiling. I can dream, I suppose.

She had taken three steps down the stairs before she realised she was not alone. And just who was standing at the bottom of the flight, leaning casually on the polished rail, watching her—waiting for her, a faint grim smile playing round his mouth.

She checked with a gasp, turned to stone at the sight of him. Her instinct was to turn and run back the way she’d come, but common sense prevented her. This staircase was the only way out, and the last thing she wanted was to find herself trapped in a bedroom with this half-naked stranger in pursuit.

She was frightened, but at the same time—incredibly—her senses were registering other things. Telling her that the man confronting her with such cool arrogance was as seriously attractive as her instinct had suggested. Not conventionally handsome, maybe. His high-bridged nose was too thin, and his mouth and chin too hard for that. And his eyes were darkness. Meeting his gaze was like staring into impenetrable night, she thought, tension tautening her throat.

But, at the same time, she knew instinctively that there wasn’t a woman in the world who would take one glance and not want to look again—and again. Because he was totally and compellingly male.

He said quietly, ‘Kalimera.’

Maybe, she thought breathlessly. Maybe there was a way she could bluff her way out of this.

She spread her hands. Tried an apologetic laugh. ‘I’m sorry—I don’t understand. I don’t speak Greek.’

He shrugged. ‘Then we will speak in English. It’s not a problem,’ he added drily as her face fell. ‘Tell me what you are doing here.’

She said swiftly, ‘I’m not a thief.’

‘No,’ he agreed thoughtfully. ‘Because there is nothing here that you could conveniently steal.’ The dark glance swept her, assessing the flimsy blue dress, the canvas beach bag. ‘Or hide,’ he added.

He looked her over again, more searchingly. ‘So, I ask again—what is your reason for being here?’

‘Someone mentioned there was a house for sale round here,’ Zoe improvised swiftly. ‘I thought it might be this one, as it’s obviously empty.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘It is not this house.’ He paused, his gaze steady and ironic. ‘And no one would have told you that it was.’ His voice was low-pitched but crisp.

‘You don’t think the owner might have put it on the market and not told you?’ she parried.

‘No,’ he said. ‘That would not happen either.’

‘Well, it’s still a fabulous house.’ Zoe lifted her chin. ‘Maybe the owner would be prepared to rent it out.’

His brows rose. ‘You have nowhere to stay?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Of course I have. But this is such a lovely island. Perhaps I could come back—stay longer.’

‘You arrived—when?’ His mouth twisted. ‘Yesterday?’

‘It doesn’t take long,’ she said. ‘To find something—beautiful. And decide you want more.’

The dark eyes looked her up and down again with mockery in their depths—and something infinitely more disturbing. ‘Well, we agree on something at least,’ he drawled, and laughed as the sudden colour drenched her skin.

She was suddenly stingingly aware of all that tanned bare skin, so negligently displayed, and also how little she herself was wearing. And how this had not escaped him for a minute.

She wished with all her heart that she were sitting at her table under the vine leaves, finishing breakfast, and contemplating nothing more risky than a day on the town beach. Because she was in danger. Every nerve in her body was telling her so.

Just let me get out of here, relatively unscathed, she prayed silently and wildly.

‘Now let me tell you how I see the situation,’ he went on, almost casually. ‘I think you are staying at the Hotel Stavros. That Stavros’ wife has told you the cove that belongs to the house is good to bathe from, and that she comes here herself—not often but enough, and thinks that no one knows. And that once here, because you are a woman, you could not control your curiosity. So, you found an open door, and came in.’

She hated herself for blushing. Hated him more for having made her do it. She said coldly, ‘You’re right, up to a point. But I was intrigued to hear the house was empty, because I might actually be interested in—acquiring it.’

‘And I have told you,’ he said. ‘It is not for sale.’

‘Really?’ She shrugged a shoulder. ‘Well, that’s not something I choose to discuss with the hired help.’ She paused to allow that to sink in, and was annoyed to see his smile widen. ‘Is the owner on Thania at present?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Athens.’

She wanted to say, That’s what you think, and wave the deed of gift in his face, yet caution prevailed.

But, there will come a time, she promised herself. And anticipation will make it all the sweeter. Because the first Greek phrase I shall learn is ‘You’re fired’.

She allowed herself a slight frown. Regaining lost ground, she told herself. Deliberately establishing a formal distance between them. Someone with business to transact dealing with a minor member of staff. That was how to handle things.

‘That’s a pity,’ she said. ‘But I suppose there’s someone on the island who can tell me how I could contact him.’

‘Why, yes, thespinis. You could always ask me.’ His face was solemn, but his voice quivered with amusement, leaving her with the uneasy feeling that he knew exactly what she was doing.

She lifted her chin. ‘I hardly think I should approach him through his gardener,’ she said sharply.

‘But I am not merely the gardener,’ he said, softly. ‘I take care of a great many things for him. But if you wish to speak to him directly, he will soon be here on Thania. Within a week, I believe.’

‘And staying here?’

‘No,’ he said, after a pause. ‘He never stays here. He has a villa of his own quite near.’

‘That’s such a shame,’ Zoe said, and meant it. ‘It’s a wonderful house, but it’s bound to deteriorate if it isn’t lived in—and loved.’

‘You are wrong, thespinis,’ he said. ‘One thing this house has never lacked is love. It was built into every wall—every beam—every stone. Love is the reason it exists.’

She was shaken by the sudden passion in his voice—and by the odd raw note of anger, too.

She said, with a touch of uncertainty, ‘I’ll wait, then—and speak to him. When he arrives.’ She paused. ‘And now I’d better go.’

‘And where will you go?’ That strange, harsh moment had passed and he was smiling again, the dark eyes speculative as they studied her. ‘Down to the cove as you intended?’

Zoe bit her lip. ‘No—that was a bad idea, and I’m sorry.’

‘Why?’ he said. ‘The sea is warm, and the sand inviting. And you will not be disturbed.’

She was already disturbed, she thought. Stirred in every fibre of her being, and it was not a sensation she relished, or even wished to admit.

Turned on by a good-looking Greek, she derided herself. How shameful—and how pathetic.

She shrugged, attempted a smile of her own. ‘All the same…’

‘You like his house,’ he said. ‘I am sure my employer would wish you also to enjoy his beach. There is a way down from the terrace. I will show you.’

‘I really don’t think…’

‘Is that why you came to Thania—to think?’ He straightened in a leisurely manner, moving back a little. Offering her, she realised, free passage past him. ‘Then stop thinking, thespinis. Learn to relax. Begin—to feel.’

‘Perhaps, then,’ she said. Adding primly, ‘But I don’t want to take you away from your work.’

‘You will not,’ he said. ‘But my work, alas, will take me away from you. So, you see,’ he added gently, ‘there is nothing to fear.’

Zoe stiffened. ‘I’m not in the least afraid,’ she told him curtly. ‘I can’t believe your employer lists harassing tourists among your duties.’

‘Ah.’ He sent her a glance that glinted with amusement. ‘But I am not always on duty.’ There was a tingling pause, then he turned, and walked to the main door. ‘Make your decision, thespinis,’ he added briskly. ‘I am waiting to lock up.’

Biting her lip, she followed him out of the house, and round the terrace to the gate she’d noticed earlier, which he courteously unlatched for her.

‘I suggest you come back this way,’ he said. ‘The track that Stavros’ wife uses is rather too steep.’

‘Thank you,’ Zoe said coldly.

‘Parakalo.’ He grinned at her. ‘It has been my pleasure.’

As she descended the steps she was conscious of his gaze following her. Knew the exact moment he turned away, as if a wire joining them had suddenly snapped.

A few minutes later, she heard the sound of a Jeep starting up, and driving away.

Alone at last, she thought. And was shocked to discover her relief tinged by something very like regret.

CHAPTER THREE

I’M MAKING altogether too much of this, Zoe told herself determinedly. He’s gone. And it’s time I pulled myself together, and forgot about him.

She’d had a wonderful swim, and now, having applied sun lotion to every exposed portion of her skin, she was stretched out on her towel with her book. But she could not concentrate on the printed words. They seemed to dance away out of reach, leaving her to focus almost helplessly on a dark face, with eyes that smiled, looking up at her from the foot of a marble staircase.

In a way it was understandable that he should be imprinted so firmly on her mind. After all, he’d caught her in the act of having a humiliating snoop on private property. He could have handed her over to the police, or even exacted a very different form of retribution, she thought, swallowing.

But she had to put all that behind her now, and plan her next move instead.

I’m here for a purpose, she told herself strongly. And I’m certainly not a lonely heart tourist looking for a holiday romance with some Greek version of Casanova.

Or even a mild flirtation, she made the hasty addendum. Although, to someone like him, it would probably be as natural as breathing. See a woman. Chat her up. Tell her that she’s beautiful and desirable. Make her day.

Well, it hasn’t made my day, she thought, broodingly.

She sat up, rummaging in her bag for her bottle of water. There wasn’t a great deal left, she realised with a frown. She would have to ration herself.

She tossed her book aside, and turned onto her front, undoing the clasp of her bikini top. A little serious sunbathing, she decided, and then she would go back to the hotel, and sit in the shade with a cold drink.

She pillowed her head on her folded arms, and closed her eyes. The murmur of the sea seemed to fill her head, soothing away the doubts and alarms of the day.

It’s just so perfect here, she thought drowsily as everything slid away. It seemed that she was standing in front of Gina’s picture, stepping into it like Alice, and entering its world. Retracing her steps in slow motion through every room. Taking a dream-like possession.

She did not fall deeply asleep. She was aware of sand under her fingers, the texture of the towel beneath her bare breasts, and the strength of the sun on her back, like the caress of warm hands. She sighed a little, wriggling her shoulders slowly and pleasurably, then let herself drift again.

Until she found herself once more at the top of the stairs—looking down. Meeting his gaze. And, this time, watching him walk up the steps towards her…

She came back to reality with a sudden jolt, heart thudding. She propped herself up on an elbow, staring around her in sudden, inexplicable alarm, but the rest of the beach was deserted.

She sank back onto the towel with a little groan of relief, then paused, her brows snapping together. Because the bottle of sun lotion that she’d replaced in her bag after use was there in front of her on the sand, propped against an insulated cool-box, which had appeared from nowhere.

Both of them telling her quite clearly that, although she might be alone now, she’d had company quite recently. While she’d been asleep, in fact, and vulnerable.

Her throat tightened as she smelt the distinctive scent of freshly applied lotion on her skin, and remembered the vivid sensation of stroking hands on her bare back. And her drowsy, sensuous reaction…

Oh, God, she thought, he’d been here—touching her. Seeing her next door to naked. And making no secret of it either. Feverishly, she snatched up her bikini top, and fastened it round her with shaking hands. Locking the stable door, she realised, after the horse was long gone.

He’d said he was leaving, she thought numbly. She’d heard him drive off. And now he’d come sneaking back. All Adele’s warnings returned in Technicolor to haunt her. To tell her to get out while the going was good.

She grabbed her bag, and pushed her book and the sun lotion into it. He’d mentioned another way off the beach that Sherry used, and she didn’t care how steep or stony it was. It would certainly be safer than going up to the villa, and encountering him again.

Then as she reached for her dress she saw him coming down the steps, a sun umbrella under one arm, and a bottle of water in his other hand. And a towel, she noted, draped round his shoulders.

Too late to run now, she thought, cursing under her breath. She got to her feet, and watched him approach, hands on her hips.

She said glacially, ‘I thought you had other duties elsewhere.’

‘I also have a lunch break.’ He indicated the cool-box, apparently oblivious to the hostility in her tone. ‘I thought you might like to share some food with me.’

‘Then you thought wrong.’ She gave him the full glare that worked so well with stroppy teenagers, both eyes like lasers.

‘As you wish.’ His own tone was equable. ‘But at least drink some of this water I have brought for you. It is dangerous to become dehydrated, and your own supply has nearly gone.’

He pushed the tip of the umbrella he was carrying deep into the sand, and adjusted it, so the shade fell across her towel.

‘You dared to go through my things…’

He shrugged. ‘I was looking for the lotion to put on your back. You were in danger of burning. I saw then how little water you had.’

Oh, God, he made it all sound so bloody reasonable, she raged inwardly. As if his motives were of the purest.

She said stiffly, ‘I’m sure you meant to be kind…’

‘Is that what I intended?’ He grinned at her. ‘Well, maybe. A little. Or, perhaps, I was thinking how angry my employer would be if he found you were in the clinic with first-degree burns or heatstroke, and unable to talk business with him.’ He held the bottle of water out to her. ‘Now drink some of this.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ she denied swiftly. ‘I’m going back to the hotel. I can get a drink there.’

‘I see.’ He was quiet for a meditative moment. ‘Have you been to Greece many times before?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘This is actually my first visit, but…’

‘But it is wiser to rest in the heat of the day,’ he supplied decisively. ‘And not go walking when there is no necessity.’ He put the bottle down on her towel, and paused. ‘Don’t you like the beach?’

‘It’s perfect,’ Zoe said shortly.

‘Until I came to spoil it for you,’ he added drily. ‘You have a very eloquent face, thespinis.’

‘Yet you seem determined to stay, all the same.’ She observed him spreading his towel on the sand with misgiving.

‘I come every day at this time,’ he said. ‘Whereas you, thespinis, are here only at my invitation.’ He allowed that to sink in. ‘And the beach is surely big enough for us to share for a short while.’

‘I’m not sure your employer would agree,’ she said tautly. ‘Does he know this is how you spend your time?’

‘He would certainly consider it one of my duties to offer hospitality to his guest.’

‘I am not,’ she said. ‘His guest. Officially. And you have a very strange idea of hospitality.’

‘Why?’ His brows lifted. ‘I have brought you food, drink and shelter.’ He stood, hands on hips, and looked her up and down slowly, and with unconcealed appreciation, his eyes lingering on the smooth rise of her breasts above the flimsy cups of her bikini. ‘But if there is any requirement I have not supplied, you have only to tell me,’ he added silkily.

‘Thank you,’ Zoe said through gritted teeth. ‘You’ve already done more than enough.’

He laughed. ‘Then shall we declare a truce, thespinis? It is too beautiful a day to fight. And if you won’t eat with me, at least drink some water.’

Zoe gave him a mutinous look, then knelt, and carefully decanted some of the water he’d brought into her own container. ‘Thank you.’ Stonily, she placed the bottle on the outermost corner of the towel, where he had now stretched himself, very much at his ease.

‘Efharisto,’ he corrected, lazily. ‘If you are going to stay on the island for any length of time, you need to learn a little Greek.’

‘I have a phrase book,’ she said. ‘So I don’t need personal tutoring—thanks.’

His brows drew together. ‘You also have attitude,’ he told her drily. ‘Maybe you could learn, instead, a little philoxenia—the Greek warmth towards strangers. Because others may not understand.’

‘Perhaps,’ Zoe said, lifting her chin coolly, ‘this is not a situation where warmth is advisable.’

He propped himself up on one elbow and looked at her measuringly. ‘What makes you so nervous?’ he asked. ‘You think that I intend, maybe, to force myself upon you?’ He shook his head. ‘No, thespinis. In the first place, it is far too hot. In the second, rape has no appeal for me.’

He lay back, looking up at the cloudless sky, lacing his fingers behind his head, his voice meditative.

‘I prefer a cool room, with the shutters drawn, a comfortable bed, a bottle of good wine, and a girl who wishes to be with me as much as I want her.’

He turned his head, sending her a faint smile. ‘And nothing less will do. So, you see, you are quite safe.’

Her face warmed. She said huskily, ‘You paint—a vivid picture.’

‘And, I hope, a reassuring one.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Oh, yes.’ And tried to subdue the betraying quiver deep inside her.

‘Enough to tell me your name?’

She hesitated. ‘It’s—Zoe.’

‘A Greek name,’ he approved softly. ‘And I am Andreas.’ He paused. ‘So now that we are properly acquainted, will you share some lunch with me?’