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The Innocent's Surrender
Sara Craven
His price: her awakeningNatasha Kirby has long been saddened by her family’s feud with the Mandrakis men…now she’s caught in its savage crossfire. Her family’s business has fallen into the hands of merciless tycoon Alex Mandrakis. Summoned to his bedroom, Natasha is given an impossible ultimatum: sacrifice her virginity, or he will destroy her family!Captive on Alex’s luxury yacht, Natasha finds her trembling fear turns to traitorous shivers of desire. By rights she should despise him, but slowly she finds herself wishing that her bittersweet seduction could last for ever…



Excerpt
Natasha realised that the brightly lit entrance she was being hustled through was completely unfamiliar to her.
‘What is this?’ she demanded huskily. ‘Where am I? Tell me at once.’

Silent, impassive, the men halted in front of a pair of double doors and knocked. The doors opened noiselessly.

They didn’t push her in. It wasn’t quite as crude as that. But somehow she was stepping forward, and they were moving backwards, and the doors were closing again behind her. Leaving her standing there, alone.

Except that she was not alone.

It was a very big room, but all Natasha noticed was the bed, lit on either side by tall lamps, like a stage set. Illumining, she realised dazedly, the man who was sitting in that bed, leaning back against a mound of snowy pillows, naked down to the sheet discreetly draped across his hips, and probably beyond, as he worked on the laptop computer open in front of him.

He unhurriedly completed whatever task he was engaged on, then Alex Mandrakis closed the lid, put the laptop on the adjacent table and looked at her.

‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘The beauty I was promised, here at last.’
Sara Craven was born in South Devon and grew up in a house full of books. She worked as a local journalist, covering everything from flower shows to murders, and started writing for Mills & Boon
in 1975. When not writing, she enjoys films, music, theatre, cooking, and eating in good restaurants. She now lives near her family in Warwickshire. Sara has appeared as a contestant on the former Channel Four game show Fifteen to One, and in 1997 was the UK television Mastermind champion. In 2005 she was a member of the Romantic Novelists’ team on University Challenge—the Professionals.

Recent titles by the same author:
RUTHLESS AWAKENING
THE SANTANGELI MARRIAGE
ONE NIGHT WITH HIS VIRGIN MISTRESS
THE VIRGIN’S WEDDING NIGHT

The Innocent’s Surrender
By

Sara Craven



MILLS & BOON®
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Chapter One
‘SO,’ NATASHA KIRBY said, glancing round the lamplit table, her gaze steady, her voice cool and even. ‘Is someone going to tell me what’s going on? What I’m doing here? Or do I have to guess?’
There was an awkward silence, then Andonis leaned forward, his smile cajoling. ‘Why, sister, it is only that it has been some time—too long—since you paid us a visit. Po,po,po, does there have to be a problem before we invite you here, for a little family party?’
‘No,’ Natasha agreed levelly. ‘But I usually come in the spring and early autumn in order to see your mother. Invitations at other times are rarely so last-minute—or so pressing,’ she added drily. ‘And if this is a party, I certainly don’t see many signs of celebration.’
On the contrary, she thought, the atmosphere at the house was more reminiscent of a wake. Her antennae had picked up on it as soon as she’d arrived. Although it was hardly surprising in view of recent events.
And while the meal itself had been splendid—her favourite lamb dish, she’d noted cynically, oven-baked with tomatoes, garlic and oregano until it melted off the bone—the conversation round the dinner table had been strained, almost muted.
Even Irini, the youngest of the late Basilis Papadimos’s three children, had been quieter than usual, as if she was deliberately reining back her normal overt hostility to her English foster sister. Which should, Natasha recognised, have been a relief. Yet, somehow, wasn’t…
There was another uncomfortable pause, while she watched Andonis look at his older brother, his shoulder lifting in a shrug that was almost resigned.
And Natasha sat back in her chair, sighing under her breath, as she thought, Oh God, there’s trouble. I knew it.
The problem was she did know. Because she knew them all—much too well. And had done since her childhood, she thought wryly.
Since the moment, in fact, when Basilis, that great, loud bear of a man who’d been her father’s friend, had swooped down in those bleak, traumatic days after Stephen Kirby’s sudden death and carried her off to his palatial home outside Athens, ignoring all the protests from the child-support agencies in London.
‘I am her godfather,’ he had rumbled, his eyes fierce under the heavy eyebrows, daring anyone to oppose him. ‘And, to a Greek, that bestows a lifetime of responsibility. Stephanos knew this, always. Knew I would happily accept his daughter as my own. There is no more to be said.’
And when the millionaire owner of the Arianna shipping line spoke with such finality, it was generally better to obey.
She had been welcomed gently by Madame Papadimos, who told her that she must call her Thia Theodosia, then smoothed her soft fair hair with caressing fingers, and gave her a handkerchief scented with sandalwood when the inevitable, bewildered tears began to rain down her white face.
The sons of the house, Stavros and Andonis, greeted her more exuberantly, clearly seeing in her another female victim, alongside their younger sister, Irini, for their teasing and practical jokes.
But being a joint target had not created any kind of bond between Natasha and the Greek girl, only two years older than herself. From the start, Irini had never exhibited even an atom of the philoxenia—the love of strangers—that was the heart of Greek hospitality. On the contrary…
Even though she was grieving, Natasha had soon realised that Irini had resented her from the first step she’d taken over the Papadimoses’ family threshold, and that little had happened since to change that in any way. That to the other girl she would always be the outsider—the interloper that her father had imposed upon them.
And sadly the attitude of Basilis himself had not helped the situation. Young as she was, Natasha became uncomfortably aware that Irini’s life was already one long, painful contest for her father’s attention. A contest that she seemed not to be winning.
Because where his only daughter was concerned, Basilis was kind enough but invariably remote in a way he never was with the boys. Or, Natasha had to admit, with herself, whom he treated with wholehearted affection.
And whether Irini behaved like an angel, or turned into a whining, spiteful, needy devil, as she could do at the drop of a hat, it made no noticeable difference. So, without any real incentive to be good, she usually chose the other option, with nerve-shattering results.
‘And to think her name means peace,’ Stavros had commented sourly one day, after a particularly spectacular row with screaming and door-slamming. ‘She should have been named Hecate of the Three Heads, because she whines like a dog, bites like a snake and looks like a horse.’
He’d been punished for his unkindness, but Natasha knew that he and Andonis had still used the name on the quiet to torment their sister.
And for all she knew, they might be doing so to this day, which could be why the other girl’s mouth had thinned into a line of ill-natured grievance, and her dark eyes snapped at the world with undisguised suspicion.
As she’d got older and more perceptive, Natasha had often wondered why Thia Theodosia, who must have realised the reason for Irini’s tears, tantrums and sheer bad temper, didn’t intervene—point out to her husband the damaging disparities in his treatment of his children.
But perhaps it was because Madame Papadimos had her own personal battle to fight. She had always seemed frail, a shadow to her husband’s larger-than-life vibrancy, but now, since Basilis had died suddenly of a heart attack two years ago, she seemed to be slowly but deliberately fading out of the family picture, apparently content to live quietly in her own wing of the villa with Hara, her devoted nurse-companion, in close attendance.
Nor had she joined tonight’s dinner party, which Natasha felt was a bad sign in more ways than one, as neither Stavros nor Andonis ever willingly discussed business matters in front of their mother. If this had been a purely social occasion, she would have been there.
Their wives, of course, were a different matter. Both Maria and Christina Papadimos were present—and both clearly on edge, their smiles too forced, their bursts of laughter far too shrill.
I suppose, Natasha thought, sighing inwardly, it’s up to me to get the ball rolling, or we’ll be here all night and tomorrow, too, and I need to get back to London, and my real life.
She looked round the table. ‘So, let’s drop the social niceties and have the truth—shall we? I presume that I’ve been summoned to discuss the recent well-publicised problems of the Arianna line.’
‘There is nothing to discuss.’ Irini might not have said much so far, but the familiar basilisk glare was suddenly back in full working order. ‘Decisions have already been made. You are only expected to agree. To sign where you are bidden. No more than that.’
Natasha bit her lip. This, she knew, had always been a bone of contention—that Basilis had decreed in his will that she, the foster child, should have a place on the Papadimos board, with full voting rights and the same level of salary as the rest of the family.
She had waived the salary, and rarely attended any of the board meetings, but, in view of the stories that had been appearing in the newspapers over the past months, she realised ruefully that this might have been a big mistake.
Because the Arianna line had been stalked by disaster of late. The Arianna Queen had suffered a serious outbreak of food poisoning, affecting almost two thirds of her passengers. The Princess had been detained at Malta when the crew had gone on strike in a dispute over late payment of their wages, and two of the smaller boats had experienced engine faults, resulting in their cruises being curtailed. And the Empress, their new flagship, had been deluged with complaints after the maiden voyage, about poor workmanship in the staterooms and bathrooms that didn’t work properly.
And that, she thought, was only the passenger line. The cargo vessels that comprised the Leander fleet had experienced problems, too, with an oil tanker running aground and the inevitable spillage, and a fire on board another ship.
Natasha had read all these horror stories, appalled, knowing that none of these things would have happened when Basilis was alive and in charge, because he was a man with a nose for trouble.
In fact, just before his heart attack, he had been talking about instituting a mass refit on the whole fleet of cruise ships, particularly the galleys, which were showing their age, and the engine rooms.
She could only assume that after his death, in an act of blatant unwisdom, these eminently sensible—indeed necessary—plans had gone quietly into abeyance. Certainly she’d never been consulted about any cancellation or postponement to the modernisation of the Arianna line, or she’d have fought tooth and nail for Basilis’s wishes to be adhered to.
It was the only course of action that made economic sense. How could the brothers not have seen it?
Not that Stavros and Andonis often listened to advice, especially from women. And in this, she was forced to admit, they resembled their father, who took the unenlightened view that the female of the species was of more use in the bedroom than the boardroom. And who had shocked Natasha rigid on her eighteenth birthday by summoning her to his study to outline his plans for her own forthcoming marriage.
Apparently, she’d learned with horror, her pale blonde hair, creamy skin and wide, long-lashed green eyes had found favour among a number of the susceptible young men in the wealthy social circles that the Papadimos clan moved in. The question of whether or not she had a brain had not come under consideration by any of her would-be suitors.
She was regarded solely by them all as a trophy bride.
But, Basilis had announced magnanimously, she would be permitted to make her own choice among them. Nor would she go to her husband penniless, the sum of money which her father’s will had left in trust for her having multiplied in value under his stewardship. All this, she must understand, in addition to the dowry that he would settle on her himself.
Which, in his assumption, made everything all fine and dandy.
My God, Natasha had thought, trying to suppress the appalled bubble of laughter welling up inside her, looks and money. I’ve suddenly become the catch of the season, if not the year.
It had taken, she recalled, hours of patient persuasion to convince Basilis that his plans for her were doomed. That she had her own vision of her future, that clashed fundamentally with his on a number of points, and that marriage didn’t feature—or not for some years, anyway. And any future husband would be expected to respect her intelligence and her need for independence.
Hours of standing her ground against his roared disapproval and voluble reproaches. Hours, too, of resisting the more subtle emotional blackmail he used as a last resort, when anger and pleading had clearly failed.
And hours of assuring him with perfect truth that she loved him dearly, and that she would be eternally grateful for his care of her while she was growing up. That she owed him more than she could ever repay.
But that she was now in charge of her own destiny, which she was sure rested in England rather than her country of adoption. And that it was there that she would try to carve out a life for herself.
Also she had been very careful not to hint, as she might have done, that it was Irini who could be in need of his matchmaking abilities, as no queue of hopefuls appeared to be lining up to woo her.
Now, she looked away from the other girl’s glare and said quietly, ‘I see. And may I ask what exactly is on this dotted line that’s been prepared for me?’
Stavros reached over with the wine bottle. ‘It is merely a small matter of negotiation,’ he said soothingly. ‘A delaying tactic. No more than that.’
Natasha moved her glass out of range, regarding him stonily. ‘Indeed?’ she queried drily. ‘Well, if it’s so trivial, why bring me all this way? Why not just send the papers to my solicitors in London—as we agreed last time I was here?’ She paused. ‘I do have a business to run, you know.’
Without surprise, she heard a contemptuous snort from Irini, followed by Stavros and Andonis explaining in unison that it was not quite that simple. That it was a family matter, and therefore better dealt with on a personal basis, without lawyers being troubled.
‘Oh, God,’ Natasha muttered under her breath, watching Christina chewing at her lip, and Maria tugging at the gold chains that festooned her plump neck as they exchanged frankly uneasy glances. Things must be much worse than I thought.
Eventually the full story began to emerge, her foster brothers taking the narration in turns, rather like a Greek chorus from some ancient drama. Strophe, she thought wryly, and antistrophe—as Basilis had painstakingly explained to her on their visits to the theatre to watch the plays of Aeschylus and Sophocles.
Only it was a very different tragedy she was hearing this time. A tragedy of mismanagement, greed and stupidity on a fairly grand scale, with disaster right there, waiting in the wings. Because now there were big questions being asked by their insurers, and the shareholders were running scared, which, for the first time, made Basilis’s once-powerful empire seem vulnerable. Something she had never thought could happen.
And where, she asked herself as disbelief warred inside her with something very like hysteria, where was the god in the machine, so beloved in classical drama, who would descend to save the day?
‘But we are taking steps to regulate the situation,’ Stavros announced grandly. ‘To begin with, we plan a major refit of all the passenger accommodation on the Arianna line,’ he added, as if it were suddenly all his own idea, and Natasha found she was biting her lip again—hard.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘That’s—good.’ And certainly better late than never.
‘Except that the necessary finance is proving more difficult to obtain than we thought,’ Andonis added.
But there’d been money set aside, Natasha recalled, startled. So what had happened to that? Better, she thought, not to ask, perhaps.
But if they’d asked her here hoping for a loan, then they’d be seriously disappointed. Helping Out, the small business she’d started with the inheritance from her father, was established now, and doing well enough for her to have taken on a partner, and be thinking about expansion.
Because there were always emergencies, large and small, in people’s lives. They might simply need their dogs walking, or their children collecting from school or nursery, or someone to house-sit while they were on vacation. Or there could be elderly relatives to be visited, or taken shopping.
And, in the worst-case scenario of accident, illness or bereavement, they wanted someone calm and trustworthy to step in and take over. To make sure that meals were cooked, laundry was done and life went on with an element of stability until matters settled down.
And it was infinitely satisfying to know that Helping Out had an excellent name for reliability, and that most of her clientele came on personal recommendation, even if they were a little surprised to find that both she and Molly Blake were only just past their twenty-first birthdays.
The business provided Molly and herself with a decent living, because, while their fees were not extortionate, they did not sell the services of their staff cheaply. They employed good people, and made sure they were paid accordingly, and were not afraid to pitch in themselves when required.
But at the moment, there wasn’t a lot of financial slack.
‘Of course, we are exploring every avenue,’ Stavros continued. ‘And we hope that the necessary loan will be available to us very soon.’ He paused. ‘But while the details are being finalised, we have to deal with another problem.’
A kind of shiver went round the table—as if a chill breeze had suddenly rippled across a cornfield.
‘Unfortunately, news of our difficulties has reached other people.’ Andonis took up the tale of woe. ‘And if there is blood in the water, there will always be sharks circling. It was rumoured that some of our rivals were considering a hostile takeover, which was quite bad enough.’
‘Until two weeks ago.’ Stavros spoke with gritted teeth. ‘When we received an offer to buy outright a half-share in both the Arianna line and the cargo fleet.’
There was a silence, then Natasha said carefully, ‘And you regard this as a problem, instead of a possible solution?’
Andonis banged his fist on the table. ‘It was an insult.’
‘You mean, they were offering peanuts?’ Natasha mused aloud. ‘Well, that often happens with an initial bid.’
‘No,’ Stavros said harshly. ‘The money could be considered fair.’
‘And could always improve,’ she suggested tentatively. ‘If, as you say, there’s room for negotiation, it might be the answer.’
And if I were in your situation, she added silently, I’d take the cash, while it’s there, because this might be as good as it gets. And, although the thought of an outside partner has always been anathema up to now, maybe beggars can’t be choosers.
‘That is not possible,’ Andonis said, glancing at his brother, their brooding anger almost tangible. ‘Not when it comes from such a source.’
And Natasha drew a ragged breath as suddenly realisation dawned. Oh, God, she thought. Not that again. Not another episode in this eternal family feud. Please—please—don’t let it be that.
Knowing all the time that her prayer would not be answered.
She said quietly, ‘In other words—the Mandrakis Corporation.’ And watched the general recoil, as if she’d uttered some disgusting obscenity. She made an attempt at reason. ‘But surely that’s all behind us now that Thio Basilis is dead and Petros Mandrakis has retired.’
‘Then you are a fool to think so,’ Irini said with contempt. ‘Because in his place sits his son, Alexandros.’ She spat the name.
‘Alex Mandrakis?’ Natasha questioned incredulously. ‘The playboy of the western universe, and darling of the gossip columns? Oh, give me a break here.’ She snorted. ‘Judging by his reputation, he’s far more interested in making love than war.
‘Besides,’ she added brusquely, ‘he probably thinks the Arianna line is a string of polo ponies.’
Andonis pulled a wry face. ‘Perhaps that is how he was. But he is now the head of the Mandrakis empire, and he is making everyone aware of the fact.’
‘But for how long?’ Natasha queried drily. ‘Until the après-ski beckons from the Alps, or the Floating Harem starts its summer cruise of the Med?’ She was referring to the tabloid Press’s nickname for the Mandrakis yacht, Selene, but regretted it when she saw Irini’s outraged expression.
She shook her head. ‘Leopards don’t change their spots, brother, and he’ll soon get bored with being the latest tycoon, and revert to his former way of life.’
‘I wish we could think so,’ Andonis admitted. ‘But our information says that it is not so. That he is indeed his father’s son, and has therefore become a force to take account of. So we need to be wary.’
‘His father’s son,’ Natasha repeated silently. She stifled a sigh. If only the same could be said of either of you two, she thought without pleasure.
‘Because he is as much our enemy as his father ever was, or more.’ Irini was speaking again. ‘And he will not be content, that one, until the whole Papadimos family is finished—starving in the gutter.’
Natasha’s lips tightened. ‘A little extreme surely,’ she said. ‘Stavros has just admitted that he’s offered a fair price for a share in both lines.’
‘Because he knows it will not be accepted,’ Andonis said. ‘That we would rather die first.’
Unlikely, Natasha thought drily. Not if push actually comes to shove.
‘However,’ Stavros said with faint triumph, ‘we have let his interest become known among the bankers we have approached, and have said that we are giving the matter our serious consideration.’
She frowned. ‘Why would you want to do that?’
‘Because having Alex Mandrakis as a business partner,’ Andonis said, ‘would be considered excellent security for any loan. A licence to print money, in fact.
‘Already attitudes to our request for refinancing are changing.’
Stavros nodded. ‘In fact, an offer in principle was made almost as soon as we had explained our own terms for this partnership. Terms that appear to bind our mutual interests together like hoops of steel, and which we have already submitted to Alex Mandrakis.’
There was a note in his voice that was almost gloating. ‘The delaying tactic I spoke of, little sister. Because he, of course, will eventually refuse these terms. We count on it. But not immediately, because he is clearly intrigued, and has even asked for certain…assurances from us, which we are prepared to give him, although, again, not immediately.’
‘We wish, you understand, to string him along,’ Andonis explained kindly. ‘To make him believe these negotiations might even be genuine. That we are prepared, as you say, to let bygones be—bygones.’ His eyes flashed. ‘But we are not, Natasha mou, and by the time he discovers this we will already have our loan, and he will no longer be necessary to our requirements. You understand.’
Only too well, thought Natasha. My God, is this their idea of being wary?
Aloud, she said slowly, ‘Far be it from me to rain on your parade, but it may not be as simple as that. What if your bank demands his signature as an essential part of any deal? If they want to make sure that Mandrakis is definitely on side before they reach their decision?’
‘That is unlikely,’ said Stavros. ‘Because the nature of this new agreement is a matter of extreme delicacy, and the bank will hesitate to exert pressure on either party.’
He was being altogether too smug, and on the shakiest of foundations, Natasha thought, annoyed and concerned at the same time.
She said coolly, ‘I didn’t think banks were particularly delicate—not when enormous sums of money are involved. And, while the Mandrakis Corporation may be fireproof, because of, or in spite of, their new chairman, the Papadimos track record over the past year or so is not that great,’ she added, ignoring a choking sound from Irini. ‘They’d be taking a big risk.’
‘But they will not see it in that way,’ said Stavros. ‘Not if they believe that our families will soon be joined by more than a business agreement.’
Natasha stared at him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said slowly. ‘I think you’ve lost me.’
‘We have suggested a different kind of partnership,’ said Andonis, and smiled. ‘A marriage with our family, no less. And that is what he is even now considering.’
Natasha’s gaze swung automatically to Irini.
No wonder she’s in such a foul temper again, she thought. And this time, I can actually feel sorry for her. Whether they mean it or not, it’s pretty ghastly finding yourself offered to someone like Alex Mandrakis, knowing you’ll be turned down, whether you want him or not.
Although being accepted would undoubtedly be a whole lot worse. Because who in their right mind would want to be married off, as part of a business deal, to a man who didn’t know the meaning of the word fidelity? And who changed his women as often as his elegant suits?
Most of her knowledge of him, admittedly, had been garnered from the gossip columns and glossy magazines in which he featured with such prominent regularity.
But she had seen him once in person at a reception in Athens which she’d attended with her friend Lindsay Wharton, whose father was attached to the embassy.
‘Oh, wow,’ Lin had whispered joyously. ‘Don’t look now, but one of the wonders of the world has just walked in, accompanied, of course, by the usual size-zero model. Oh, why didn’t I go on with that diet?’
‘What are you talking about?’ Natasha demanded, intrigued.
‘Alex Mandrakis,’ Lin sighed. ‘Sex on a stick, and loaded with it.’
Mandrakis, Natasha thought with a start. Now, there was a name to conjure up trouble within the Papadimos household. Basilis would never have let her come tonight if he’d known his arch-enemy’s son was going to be present.
All the same, she’d risked a glance, knowing that their paths were unlikely to cross ever again, so this might be her sole opportunity to see what all the fuss was about.
Even without Lin’s description, he was unmissable, being taller than anyone else around him, and all lean elegance in his evening clothes.
And he had a face that you wouldn’t forget in a hurry, either, she thought, her breath catching, his olive-skinned features strongly marked from his frank beak of a nose to the deep cleft in his chin, via a mouth that could best be described as sinful.
She hadn’t meant to linger on her appraisal, even though everyone else in the room seemed to be gawping at him too, but suddenly, as if alerted by some invisible antenna, he’d turned his head and those midnight-dark eyes under the straight black brows had looked right back at her, that astonishing mouth curving in a smile as his gaze swept over her in an assessment as candid as it was total.
Undressing her, some instinct had told her, with his eyes.
Natasha had felt a wave of warm blood wash from her toes to her hairline, as she prayed for the floor to split apart and swallow her into some fathomless depths forever.
But it hadn’t happened, and she’d had to be content with merely turning her back instead. Pretending he didn’t exist.
Now, as the memory stung her again, she said harshly, ‘If he has been suddenly transformed into Mr Shrewd, then he’ll know this is a set-up. After all, Irini has hardly been discreet over her views of the Mandrakis family as a whole, and Alex in particular.’
There was an odd silence. Once more the brothers exchanged glances, but this time they were both smiling broadly. Almost gleeful, in fact.
And if I were a child again, Natasha thought, I’d be searching my bed for lizards.
‘Irini?’ Stavros shook his head, enjoying the moment. ‘Even if she allowed it, we would not be so foolish. No, my little one, the bride we have offered Alex Mandrakis is yourself, Natasha mou.’
His satisfied beam widened. ‘So, what do you think of that? It is clever, ne?’

Chapter Two
‘CLEVER?’ Natasha’s voice rose. ‘Clever? It’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard in my life. The pair of you must have taken leave of your senses.’
Her condemnation was received in frosty silence, and she saw Maria and Christina exchange affronted glances at this lack of respect to their husbands.
‘But, Natasha, this is such a simple thing we ask you to do for us.’ Andonis leaned forward. ‘You have only to sign a letter which we shall send to Mandrakis, telling him you are willing to become his wife in accordance with our offer. Is that really such a difficulty?
‘Because I promise you that he will never agree to this proposal. He has no wish to marry anyone.’ He shrugged. ‘Why should he tie himself to one, when so many beautiful girls are willing to share his bed without honour?’
Ignoring the shocked squeals from Maria and Christina, he went on, ‘His age is, what? Thirty? In ten—fifteen years, perhaps—he will take a wife, in order to breed himself a son, if he can find a woman to have him.
‘Until then, Natasha mou, he will do just as he pleases.’
‘But do not worry,’ Irini broke in scathingly. ‘You are not likely to please him, with your pale hair and your white skin. A creature who looks as if no blood runs in her veins.’ She laughed scornfully. ‘How could you be wanted by any man? With Mandrakis, you will be quite safe.’
Natasha was jarred once again by the memory of amused dark eyes coolly scanning her seventeen-year-old body, and of Lin’s excited murmur, ‘They say he can make love in four languages. Isn’t he to die for?’ And to her vexation, she now found herself flushing at the thought.
There were a number of pithy retorts she could have made to Irini, she thought, including the information that she was currently dating a man in London who clearly didn’t find her in the least undesirable, but she controlled herself with an effort.
She could also understand why Madame Papadimos was absent. Thia Theodosia will know nothing about this nightmare, she thought. Nothing…
She said tautly, ‘Safe doesn’t actually enter the equation. I refuse to be even marginally involved with this crazy scheme. Please let that be clearly understood.’
There was a silence, then Stavros said heavily, ‘I will be honest. I am saddened, sister, by this lack of gratitude—this failure in your duty to the family that raised you.
‘This letter,’ he added reproachfully, ‘is a formality—no more. So, is it really so much to ask? Especially when he will be expecting to receive it from us. And when so much depends upon it.’
‘I thought you wanted to drag things out,’ Natasha returned curtly. ‘To keep him waiting.’
‘We have done so,’ said Andonis. ‘But now some gesture is needed. A little…propitiation to keep him interested.’ He chuckled. ‘And to keep him sweet.’
‘I don’t think sweet and Alex Mandrakis are words that belong in the same sentence.’ Restlessly, Natasha pushed her chair back and rose, walking over to the tall glass doors which opened into the garden. ‘You shouldn’t have brought me into this business,’ she said, staring into the warm darkness. ‘Not without asking me first. You had no right—no right at all.’
‘But where is the harm?’ Andonis demanded. ‘There will be no marriage between you and Mandrakis. We swear it. You have only to say you accept the terms we are offering. Give him something to think about.’
He looked at her appealingly. ‘The fact that a girl he has never seen is offering herself to him will appeal to his vanity and his arrogance. In the short term, it may cloud his judgement, and create a delay that is vital to us, and to the continued prosperity of the Papadimos family—in which you share, Natasha mou.’
He paused. ‘Perhaps you should remember that. Also how my father rescued you and treated you as his own,’ he added significantly. ‘Maybe it is time you repaid the memory of his kindness, with a little generosity of your own.’
She said coldly and clearly, ‘Your father wouldn’t have touched a deal like this, and you know it. He hated the Mandrakis family far too much to offer even a bogus olive branch.’
And Alex Mandrakis has seen me, even though he won’t remember it…
‘That is true,’ Stavros agreed. ‘But think what a fool this Alexandros will appear when we obtain our money, and his offer is brushed aside with our contempt. He will lose face with his shareholders, his board, and most of all, with his father. Old Petros will not easily forgive him for walking into our little trap.
‘And he has made other enemies. Once we have demonstrated that he is not fireproof, they too may move against him.’ He sighed gustily. ‘Our ultimate victory may be greater than we could hope for. And that is something our father would relish indeed. As you well know, sister.’
Yes, Natasha thought bitterly. Only too well. Where the Mandrakis family was concerned, Basilis too had seemed to abandon all logic and reason. He would never have forgone an opportunity to do them a serious mischief, if it had lain in his power.
But did it never occur to either Stavros or Andonis that what they had in mind might prove to be a double-edged sword, and that Alex Mandrakis might well have some similar plan?
Or did they believe they were the ones who were fireproof?
If so, she thought fatalistically, God help us all.
She said abruptly, ‘Very well. If there’s really no other way, give me the letter, and, for your father’s sake, I’ll sign.’
She paused. ‘But I still think it’s a truly terrible idea, and I hope it with all my heart that it won’t all end in tears.’
It wasn’t just that one letter, of course, she reflected later, as she lay in bed, listening to the soft swoosh of the ceiling fan above her. When it came down to it, there’d been a whole sheaf of documents relating to the refinancing that also required her signature, and she’d obeyed wearily, sitting at Basilis’s old desk in his former study, with Stavros and Andonis like twin sentinels fussily directing her pen.
Afterwards they’d been barely able to conceal their triumph at her capitulation, and she’d had no difficulty in refusing their offer to join them in the saloni for a celebratory drink, on the grounds that she had an early flight the next day and needed to get her rest.
Except that she couldn’t sleep, she thought, turning over and giving her inoffensive pillow a thump, as if that might improve the situation.
But her failure to relax had nothing to do with her physical surroundings. It was the nagging conviction that she’d just made a hideous mistake that was keeping her awake.
She wished with all her heart that she could go down to the study, retrieve the letter to Alex Mandrakis and destroy it. But it was locked away in the safe, along with the other documents, and she didn’t have the combination.
And telling the Papadimos brothers over breakfast that she’d changed her mind would make not an atom of difference, she thought bitterly. It was too late, and there was no way back.
What a pity, she thought wryly, that I can’t share Maria and Christina’s unswerving faith in their husbands’ perspicacity. In their belief that this ludicrous swindle has some outside chance of success.
She’d been almost tempted to confide in Thia Theodosia when she’d visited her on her way to bed. But she’d found the older woman lying on a couch, a book neglected in her lap, and gazing into space with eyes that seemed to see nothing but sadness, and she’d known at once that she could not add to her troubles.
So she’d sat with her for a while, bringing a smile to her lips with stories of some of Helping Out’s more eccentric clients, and then, as she’d always done, asking for her foster mother’s parting blessing.
But this time, she’d had an odd feeling that her request was prompted by more than mere convention. That, after the evening’s events, she needed all the protection she could get.
She felt almost as if she’d stepped through some barrier into an alternative universe, she told herself wryly, consoling herself that things would seem altogether better once she was back in England, and out of harm’s way, her debt to the Papadimos family finally paid.
London was her real world, she thought gratefully. The flat she shared with Molly while the latter’s fiancé was overseas, the company they were steadily building together, and now, of course, Neil.
Closing her eyes, she let herself reflect pleasurably and deliberately on Neil.
They’d met six weeks ago at a book-launch party for an author whose domestic life had been thrown into chaos when his pregnant wife had been taken into hospital with persistent high blood pressure, leaving him with two demanding older children, a total lack of catering skills and a fast-approaching deadline.
Natasha had moved in, restored order with a firm hand, and given the author the space he needed to finish his book, along with three meals a day. She’d also stayed on to help when the mother-to-be was eventually allowed home with strict orders to rest, and joined in the general rejoicings when seven-and-a-half-pound Nathan—‘The nearest we could get to Natasha for a boy’—had been safely born.
Neil was an executive with the PR company used by the publishers.
He was tall, distinctly attractive, effortlessly charming, and he’d made an unashamed beeline for her when she’d made a hesitant appearance in the doorway of the crowded room, looking round for James and Fiona.
He hadn’t haunted her side all evening, because he had work to do, but he’d sought her out again as she was leaving, asked for her card, and suggested they should have dinner some time.
Some time had proved to be the following night, she recalled, smiling into the darkness, and they’d been seeing each other regularly ever since.
‘So, is he the one?’ Molly had enquired teasingly only a few nights ago when Neil had brought Natasha home from the theatre, drunk the offered coffee as always, then taken his leave with the usual ruefulness. ‘Are you finally going to take that leap into the great unknown of sex?’
Natasha had flushed. ‘You think I’m mad to have kept him waiting this long, don’t you?’
‘Not altogether. “Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen” would seem to be working in this case. And when it happens, he’ll know you really mean it.’ Molly allowed herself a small reminiscent smile. ‘But you’re far more hard-hearted than I was with Craig.’
‘Blame my sheltered upbringing,’ Natasha said lightly. ‘According to my Aunt Theodosia, sex before marriage does not exist. A girl’s innocence belongs to her husband, and no one else. Because any slips on the path of righteousness would only lead to misery, shame and despair.’
‘But the bride’s tough luck if she found out too late that the husband was lousy in bed,’ said Molly cynically.
Natasha shrugged. ‘How would she know?’ Her eyes danced. ‘Besides, Greek men are all fabulous lovers. Another belief I was taught in my formative years.’
‘Well, there’s a comfort,’ Molly said affably. ‘All the same, were you never tempted to test that interesting theory?’
‘No,’ Natasha returned with unnecessary emphasis as she carried the used cups into the kitchen. ‘Not even once.’
The sheet suddenly seemed to be tangling round her, and she pushed it away, sighing irritably, and got up from the bed. Her window was already slightly open in an attempt to capture some stray current of cool air, and she slid it back to its fullest extent, pushed open the shutters, and went out onto the balcony.
There wasn’t a breath of wind, however. The warmth of the night lay like a blanket across the city, and even the ceaseless noise of the Athenian traffic seemed muted as it warred against the rasp of the crickets in the garden below.
The moon was full, hanging in the sky like a great silver globe, almost close enough to touch, its radiance catching the cool shimmer of the swimming pool.
She looked down at it with sudden longing, feeling hot, sticky and frazzled. Each of the rooms in this part of the house had its own flight of steps to the pool area, but no one else had been drawn out into the open air. In fact, the shutters on each window were closed, and there wasn’t a glimmer of light showing, indicating that all the occupants were peacefully asleep.
Stelios, the security man whose task it was to patrol the perimeter wall, had gone past some fifteen minutes before, because she’d heard his soft footsteps and the subdued whine of his dog. He’d be safely back in his room now, drinking endless coffee, and keeping half an eye on the screens showing the film from the cameras positioned at each entrance, and at intervals round the outside of the wall. The rest of his attention would be devoted to whatever international sport was being shown on satellite TV.
Anyway, there was no camera covering the pool area. Maria and Christina had protested vociferously about any such thing, claiming it would be an intrusion into their sunbathing privacy. And Basilis had reluctantly given way.
So if she wanted to relax with a swim, there was nothing to prevent her.
Her mind made up, she fetched a towel from her shower-room, and made her way quietly down the marble steps and through the thickly encircling bushes and shrubs to the pool.
She dropped her towel onto its tiled surround, sent her nightgown to join it and stood naked for a moment, dipping an experimental foot into the water. Then, with a little sigh of pleasure, she slipped down into the cool depths, and swam a couple of slow, easy lengths before turning on her back and floating for a while, letting the stress of the evening ripple away in the moonlight that surrounded her.
Heaven, she thought, sighing softly as she swam back to the side, lifting herself out of the pool in one lithe movement. She twisted her hair into a thick rope, wringing the water from it, then shook it loose again before reaching for her towel and beginning to blot the moisture from her skin.
As she did so, it occurred to her that the noise from the city had become appreciably louder, and that was because the crickets were suddenly silent.
My fault probably, she thought, smiling to herself. I must have put them off their stroke.
And at the same moment, a first, faint breeze whispered through the tall, crowding shrubs, rustling their leaves and making her shiver as she pulled on her nightgown again.
She picked up her damp towel, and went swiftly and silently back to her room. The bed received her, and within minutes Natasha was deeply and dreamlessly asleep.
‘I’m sorry,’ Neil said. ‘I thought a weekend away together might be the next step for us, but I’ve clearly got things terribly wrong.’
‘No.’ Natasha reached across the table and put a placatory hand on his. ‘It’s not you—really it’s not. It’s me.’
‘Oh, God,’ he said, wincing. ‘Not that excuse, please.’ He looked at her broodingly. ‘Tasha, you haven’t been the same since you got back from that flying visit to Greece three weeks ago. You’ve been quiet—evasive, even. I haven’t been able to get near you. I thought that maybe some time away together, completely on our own, might get us back on track.’
‘It could. It will.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But you must know that I have…family problems. Serious ones.’
‘Shipping millionaires don’t have problems,’ he said. ‘They just buy another fleet of tankers.’
‘Unfortunately,’ Natasha said quietly, ‘in this case, the fleet being bought happens to be ours.’
She saw his brows lift, and nodded jerkily. ‘I’ve been reading hints in the business news for days now, and praying they weren’t true,’ she went on. ‘But this morning there was an unconfirmed report from Athens that a refinancing bid by the Papadimos brothers had failed, and both the Arianna line and the cargo ships have been acquired by an outfit called Bucephalus Holdings for some rock-bottom price.’
She groaned. ‘Oh, God, I knew it wouldn’t work. They thought they were being so clever, yet now they’re in a total mess, free-falling to nowhere. Their father must be turning in his grave. And why on earth didn’t they tell me what was happening instead of letting me read it in the papers?’
‘Probably too busy trying to save something from the wreckage,’ Neil suggested reasonably, then paused, frowning. ‘Bucephalus? Wasn’t that a famous horse?’
‘Yes,’ she said. She reached for her glass and took a substantial sip of wine. ‘It belonged to Alexander the Great.’
‘Who’s been dead for several thousand years,’ Neil pointed out. ‘His horse too. So hardly a threat.’
‘Unless he has a present-day counterpart,’ Natasha said grimly. ‘Or someone who thinks he is.’
‘Even so.’ He looked faintly puzzled. ‘Why should that affect you? I mean, I’m sorry your family’s suffered this awful loss, but you’ve always given the impression you never really wanted to be that involved in their business affairs anyway.’
‘I didn’t,’ she said shortly. ‘And now I won’t be, except, I suppose, for another trip to Athens for more damned paperwork. Although I can’t just turn my back and walk away, even then, because the only one who really concerns me in all this is Thia Theodosia. She’s going to be absolutely devastated. I’ve been trying to call the house today, but there’s no answer.’
‘Phone unplugged?’ Neil suggested. ‘Keeping the world at bay? You can hardly blame them.’
‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Natasha bitterly, and sighed. ‘Ah, well, there’s nothing that can be done now. It’s over.’
‘Not quite—if you have to go back to Greece at some point.’ He paused, adding gently, ‘But when that’s done, maybe we’ll have some time for each other.’
She realised how considerate he was trying to be, and how aloof she must have seemed recently, and made a conscious effort to shake away the troubling thoughts which had been crowding in on her—oppressing her—for weeks. Some of which she hadn’t dared consider too closely.
‘You can count on it,’ she said softly, and smiled at him.
The e-mail summoning her arrived a week later. It came from a firm of lawyers she’d never heard of, and advised her that her presence was required in Athens in order for the transaction with Bucephalus Holdings to be completed. It added that, on receipt of her flight details, she would be met at the airport.
Well, that was short and to the point, Natasha thought wryly, and quite unlike the other e-mails she’d been receiving from Stavros and Andonis, which were barrages of recrimination, accusation and self-justification. It took every scrap of patience she possessed to read them, let alone reply to them.
Everyone else’s fault, as usual, she thought wearily as she pressed the delete button on the most recent outpouring.
It was not lost on her either that her anxious queries about their mother were being totally ignored.
But when I’m there, she thought, I’ll be able to see for myself how she is.
‘I’m sorry to leave you in the lurch like this when we’re so busy,’ she apologised to Molly as she filled her overnight bag. ‘But it won’t happen again. Any future visits will be solely to see Thia Theodosia, and I’ll be able to schedule those during my normal holidays. That’s why I’ve booked evening flights, so I’ll only be away for a day.’
‘It’s all right, so stop fussing,’ Molly ordained severely. ‘We can cope without you for twenty-four hours, no worries, so go and do what you have to.’ She paused. ‘I just hope it won’t be too awful.’
Natasha shook her head. ‘Bound to be,’ she said wearily. ‘I—I just can’t believe it’s all collapsed so quickly. And what’s going to happen to the workforce? It’s a generational thing. Whole families are involved.’ Her voice was suddenly husky. ‘Thio Basilis was always so proud of that.’
‘Surely the new owners will keep them on,’ Molly suggested. ‘After all, the ships need to go on sailing.’
‘But not necessarily with Papadimos crews.’ Natasha zipped up her case. ‘Oh, God, why couldn’t those idiots make peace not war for once with Alex bloody Mandrakis? If they’d accepted his original offer, at least they’d have been left with something. But, no. They had to try and get the better of him.’
‘There was a picture of him in the paper the other day,’ Molly said idly. ‘Attending some film premiere with his latest squeeze. Admittedly gorgeous, but not someone I’d choose to mess with.’
‘You have wisdom beyond your years,’ Natasha said bitterly. ‘But—he’s done his worst, and all we can do now is try and pick up whatever pieces remain.’ She reached for the dark grey jacket that matched her skirt, and slipped it on over her crisp white shirt. Business clothes, she thought, for a business meeting, and sighed imperceptibly.
She added, ‘I almost feel sorry for Maria and Christina. They never bargained for this at those lavish weddings a few years ago.’ A note of mischief entered her voice. ‘But I bet they’re not treating their husbands with quite such doting devotion these days. In fact, with any luck, they’re giving them hell.’
And on that upbeat note, she grabbed her bag, and left for the airport.
Neil had offered to see her off, but she’d refused on the grounds that parking would be a nightmare and that, anyway, it was no big deal.
‘I’ll be back before you know it,’ she’d promised.
‘And I’ll be counting the hours,’ he’d returned, and taken her in his arms, his parting kiss displaying an unaccustomed hunger.
Something, she realised, that she’d found disturbing, and not altogether for the right reasons.
In effect, she thought as she sipped at the orange juice she’d ordered from the drinks trolley, it had been a candid reminder that, on her return, he was confidently expecting that they would be moving their relationship on a stage and becoming lovers. That she’d pretty much promised him that would happen.
‘Oh, God,’ she groaned under her breath. Don’t chicken out. Not again. Not this time.
You really like Neil. You may even be starting to fall in love with him. But how will you ever know—be sure—until you commit yourself, even in this most basic way?
The problem was she hadn’t been joking when she’d told Molly about the strictness of her upbringing. And it was difficult to shake off that kind of conditioning, even if you believed you might have met the right man.
For Thia Theodosia, Mr Right came with a wedding ring in his pocket, and treated you with total respect, knowing that your virginity was part of the dowry you brought him, until the ring was on your finger and the priest had pronounced you man and wife.
For her, it was that simple, and that iron-clad, and she would be distressed beyond measure if she thought that Natasha would ever consider a breach of that strict moral code.
And the fact that Natasha had begun to regard herself as some kind of curious anachronism would be no valid excuse.
But was it only the tradition in which she’d been raised that had held her back since she’d left Greece to live an independent life? Or was it more that she’d never been seriously tempted to break that unwritten sexual law?
And was she deeply tempted now—with Neil?
I wonder, she thought unhappily. I really wonder.
She considered Molly and Craig, who’d met at a party, fallen into bed together within twenty-four hours, become engaged a few weeks later and were waiting impatiently for Craig’s contract in Seattle to end so they could be married.
No one or nothing could have kept them out of each other’s arms, she acknowledged, their temporary separation being marked by letters, e-mails and nightly phone calls.
But perhaps I’m a different temperament, she thought. The slow, steady type as opposed to Molly’s headlong certainty about what she wants from life, and how to get it. Maybe that’s why we’ve been friends since school, and why we work so well together now.
So far Neil had seemed content to play by her rules, but that was not going to last much longer. She’d reached the same stage before, with other boyfriends, who’d got fed up when she kept backing off and had walked away.
She could read the signs. He wanted them to be like the other couples they knew. And when Molly and Craig were married, he’d expect her to live with him.
He had no idea, of course, how totally inexperienced she was.
And that could well be a major factor here, she realised. Perhaps she was just scared of the unknown. Simply lacked the courage to discover whether or not she’d be ‘good in bed’.
After all, wasn’t that the criteria by which everyone was judged these days?
He can make love in four languages…
She sat up, gasping, as Lin’s wistful words came back into her mind. And what had prompted that, for God’s sake?
Apart from the fact that Alex Mandrakis had engineered her brothers’ downfall, of course, she reminded herself wryly, and that was why she was on this plane at this moment. So it was going to be impossible to dismiss him totally from her thinking, however hard she might try.
His name was bound to crop up at some point, she thought, her mouth twisting. Probably more than once.
But at least he wouldn’t be around in person to administer the death blow. Some minion would do that for him.
As people said—this was business, not personal, which was something to be thankful for. She had no wish to set eyes on him ever again.
And now she would just have to relegate her heart-searchings about her love life with Neil until a more appropriate moment, she told herself firmly as the seat-belt light came on for the descent into Athens.
Because the next twenty-four hours would require a very different kind of courage from her, and nothing could be allowed to deflect her from that.
Nothing—and no one.

Chapter Three
NATASHA’S arrival in Athens occurred in the middle of a thunderstorm, but was otherwise painless. She had no baggage to reclaim, and a placard with her name on it was the first thing she saw when she emerged from Customs.
It was carried by a heavily built man in a pale linen suit who greeted her with unsmiling politeness, took her bag, and led her to a waiting limousine complete with uniformed chauffeur.
The air was like a hot, wet blanket smothering her and she was glad she’d decided on the cooler option of pinning her hair up into a loose knot on top of her head, rather than wearing it down.
She found herself being ushered into the rear of the car, occupying its luxurious seating in solitary splendour while her escort sat in silence beside the driver.
She leaned back, listening to the distant growl of thunder, and watching the rain pour down the windows, as she relished the rich scent of expensive leather.
No doubt the cost of this transfer would go on the lawyers’ bill, she thought with an inward grimace. It would have been far cheaper to get a cab, although, admittedly, not nearly as comfortable. And was it really necessary to send two people to collect her? After all, she was hardly likely to come all this way just to do a runner.
It was too dark to see anything, even without the distortion of the rain on the glass turning street lights and approaching traffic into a blur, so she closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift.
She had almost dozed off when she realised that the car was slowing down, then coming to a complete halt.
Now to face the family, she thought without pleasure. She sat up hurriedly, pulling her skirt over her knees, as the passenger door opened. Another man was standing there, holding a large umbrella, and for a moment, she assumed it was Manolis, the Papadimoses’ major-domo, and was just about to greet him when she saw that he was also a stranger. Realised too, that the brightly lit entrance she was being hustled towards was also completely unfamiliar to her.
She tried to hang back. ‘No,’ she said in Greek. ‘There has been some mistake. I should be at the Villa Demeter.’
‘No mistake, thespinis. This is the right place.’ The pair of them were on either side of her now, their hands implacably under her elbows as they urged her forward into a vast hall dominated by the wide sweep of an imposing marble staircase.
Natasha hardly gave her surroundings a second look. She was too angry for that, trying desperately to remember the name of the lawyer who’d sent them, because he’d be someone to complain to—and about—when this muddle was eventually sorted.
In the meantime, in spite of her efforts to pull free, she was being taken up those curving stairs to a galleried landing.
‘What is this?’ she demanded huskily. ‘Where am I? Tell me at once.’
Silent, impassive, they halted in front of a pair of double doors, and knocked. The man from the airport reached down to the ornate handles and the doors opened noiselessly.
They didn’t push her in. It wasn’t quite as crude as that, but somehow she was stepping forward, and they were moving backwards, and the doors were closing again behind her. Leaving her standing there, alone.
Except that she was not alone.
It was a very big room, but all Natasha noticed was the bed, lit on either side by tall lamps, like a stage set. Illumining, she realised dazedly, the man who was sitting in that bed, leaning back against a mound of snowy pillows, and naked down to the sheet discreetly draped across his hips, and probably beyond, as he worked in the laptop computer open in front of him.
He unhurriedly completed whatever task he was engaged on, then Alex Mandrakis closed the lid, put the laptop on the adjacent table and looked at her.
‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘The beauty I was promised, here at last.’
His voice was cool. His English spoken with only a faint accent.
He can make love in four languages…
Her throat closed as, for the second time in her life, his dark gaze swept her from the silk of her blonde hair down to the neat black pumps on her feet. But this time, the expression of frank appreciation in his eyes was mixed with something altogether more disturbing.
Involuntarily, Natasha took a step backwards, and saw him smile.
She said hoarsely, ‘What’s happening? Why am I here?’
‘You offered yourself to me,’ he said. ‘In writing.’ He shrugged a bare, muscular shoulder. ‘I am therefore accepting your offer. It is perfectly simple.’
‘No.’ This time Natasha stood her ground, and glared at him. ‘It’s total nonsense, and you know it as well as I do. So don’t pretend you were fooled even for a moment by my agreement to marry you.’
She turned and walked to the door, with an assumption of calm she was far from feeling. ‘However, the joke’s worn thin for me now, so I’m out of here.’
She grasped the door handles, twisted them one way then the other, but the heavy panels they controlled did not move an inch.
‘You are wasting your time.’ His voice was tinged with amusement. ‘The door is locked and will remain so until morning.’
She swung round. ‘But you can’t do this,’ she said thickly. ‘You can’t shut me in—stop me leaving. I—I don’t know what game you think you’re playing here, Kyrios Mandrakis, but please believe I have no intention of becoming your wife. Now or ever.’
‘Then we are at least in agreement about that,’ he drawled. ‘Because there is indeed no question of marriage between us, Natasha mou. And you are the one playing games, not I.’
He paused. ‘You must understand that I am referring to your second letter, which was couched in very different terms from the first, and which promised me a range of intimate delights that few unmarried girls would dare admit they knew, let alone suggest to any potential husband.’ He added mockingly, ‘And least of all to a man they had never met.’
Her lips parted in shock. ‘Second letter?’ she repeated helplessly. ‘There was no second letter. I only signed the first under duress. You must be raving mad.’
‘And you are a hypocrite, which I find a disappointment,’ he told her coolly. ‘I had expected that a girl who spoke with such mesmerising frankness of her sexual desires and fantasies would at least have the courage of her convictions, when finally confronted with the focus of her…longings.’
‘You’re the focus of nothing, Kyrios Mandrakis, except my dislike and disgust,’ Natasha said curtly. ‘I thought my brothers had cornered the market in arrogance and conceit, but you beat them—hands down.’
‘And I shall continue to do so, Kyria Kirby,’ Alex Mandrakis retorted, ‘in every way that occurs to me, therefore your ludicrous assessment of my character does not concern me.
‘You may well regret your candour in writing to me, agapi mou,’ he added, the firm mouth twisting. ‘But I do not. And, while I may never have believed in you as a future wife, I look forward with eagerness to enjoying your versatility as my mistress.
‘Which is why you are here with me tonight, as you must know by now. To begin your new career in my bed.’
The breath seemed to choke in her lungs. She stared at him incredulously, her startled eyes taking fresh stock of his state of undress and its devastating implications.
The formal evening dress he’d worn at their first encounter had concealed broad shoulders, and a sculpted chest shadowed by body hair tapering down towards his flat stomach and lean hips. His tanned skin was almost shockingly dark against the white bedlinen.
She didn’t want to imagine how the rest of him might appear.
Her voice seemed to come from a great distance.
‘I’d rather die!’
His brows lifted cynically. ‘When it was your own idea?’ he challenged. ‘I hardly think so.’
‘But I keep trying to tell you,’ she protested, hating the edge of growing desperation she could hear in her own voice. ‘There was never any second letter. Oh, why won’t you believe me?’
‘Because I have the evidence which makes a liar of you.’ His tone was almost casual. ‘In which, of course, you are no different from the rest of the Papadimos clan. Liars and cheats all of you, and, like most of your persuasion, only sorry when you are found out.
‘But your foster brothers will have even more to regret,’ he went on. ‘They will have to endure the shame of knowing you belong to me as my eromeni—my pillow friend—and that when I tire of you they will have you returned to them—used, and discarded.’ He paused. ‘Maybe…even pregnant.
‘A final blow to their family honour from which they can never recover,’ he added harshly as Natasha caught her breath.
‘You can’t do such a thing.’ Her voice was ragged. ‘No one could. It’s barbaric—vile. And do you imagine that I’ll let you get away with it? That I won’t have you arrested for kidnap and—and rape, no matter how powerful you may think you are?’
‘Kidnap?’ Alex Mandrakis repeated musingly, and shook his head. ‘When you responded willingly to my invitation, and allowed my driver to bring you here? He reported no scene at the airport. No screams or struggles.
‘As for rape, I doubt whether such an accusation could possibly succeed. Not when your letter is made public, as it would have to be. No court would convict me for taking advantage of the services you volunteered of your own free will.’
She flung back her head. ‘I say you’re the one who’s lying, Kyrios Mandrakis. I don’t believe this letter even exists.’
He sighed, then leaned across to open a drawer in the bedside table.
The sheet slipped a fraction, and Natasha hastily looked away.
When Alex Mandrakis straightened, she saw with a sinking heart that he was holding a file. He extracted two sheets of paper.
‘The first,’ he said, holding it up. ‘Your agreement to become my wife as part of this mythical deal between our families. You accept that exists?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I admit that.’
He paused, his mouth curling sardonically. ‘And this is the second letter, which outlines your alternative proposals for our future union. The signatures on both documents are identical, as you see.’
Yes, Natasha thought numbly as she looked at them. She did see.
She said in a voice she hardly recognised, ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Shall I refresh your memory—of the third paragraph, perhaps, which seems particularly inventive?’
He began to read it aloud, his tone almost impersonal, but before he’d uttered more than the first couple of sentences, Natasha was whispering, ‘Oh, God, stop—please stop,’ her whole body burning with shame, her hands pressed to her ears.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘So you do remember.’ He replaced the papers in the file and returned it to the drawer, which he closed.
She stared at him, hugging herself with her arms. When she could speak, she asked, ‘you think that I could think about such things, let alone write them down? Degrade myself in such a way?’
He shrugged again. ‘Why not?’ he countered. ‘When you swim naked at night, careless of who might see you.’
She began, ‘But I don’t…’ Then stopped, the hot colour deepening in her face as she recalled the one occasion when she’d succumbed to the temptation of cool water against the entire surface of her skin.
She said with a gasp, ‘You mean that—even then—you were having me watched?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I mean, I came to see you for myself.’
‘But why?’
‘In case, by some remote chance, your brothers were serious about a marriage between us. I wished to refresh my memory of what was on offer, so I arranged a brief visit to your room while you were asleep.’ He saw the look of horror on her face, and flung up a hand, laughing. ‘No, agapi mou, nothing more. Not then.
‘But even that became unnecessary,’ he added softly. ‘Because suddenly you were there, and I had only to stand in the shadows and look at you in the moonlight.’
‘That’s not possible,’ Natasha said sharply. ‘You couldn’t get into the garden. We have cameras—a security patrol.’
‘Cameras can be switched off,’ he said. ‘And poorly paid men can be bribed. When I was informed you had been sent for, I made my plans accordingly.’ He smiled reminiscently. ‘And I was…infinitely rewarded.’
There was a silence while Natasha struggled to compose herself. To tell herself that this wasn’t happening. To pray that she was asleep and enduring the worst nightmare of her life. Was it only a couple of hours ago that she’d been sitting on that plane, debating the comparative morality of sleeping with Neil? Complacently considering her choices in their relationship as if they were all that mattered.
And now she was faced with this—this…
She was still aware of the snarl of the storm overhead, and found herself praying ridiculously that the house would be struck by a thunderbolt if nothing else could save her from this—horror.
Eventually she said, not looking at him, ‘Whatever you saw on your spying mission, kyrie, I still did not write those things to you. I—I couldn’t.
‘And you don’t really want me,’ she went on in a low voice. ‘If you…do what you’ve threatened, it will only be another form of revenge against my family. You’ve said as much.
‘But I—I have a life in England. A man I could love. And you—you’re seeing someone too. You…don’t need to do this. So, I’m begging you now to unlock that door and let me go.’
She took a deep breath. ‘I’ll tell my brothers my plane was delayed, and I won’t say a word about what’s happened here tonight. I swear it. No one will ever know except the two of us.’ She added, ‘And I’ll thank you every day of my life.’
‘Your brothers are expecting you to arrive tomorrow, just in time for the meeting,’ he told her softly. ‘And I want them to know about us, Natasha mou. Also to imagine what they cannot know.’
She said, ‘I am not your Natasha.’
‘But you will be,’ he said. ‘And your life will belong to me—until I decide otherwise. Did I not make that clear to you?’
He smiled at her. ‘However, you plead with passion, agapi mou. I hope you will bring the same intensity to the pleasure we shall soon share, when I prove beyond any doubt that I do indeed want you, and not just for revenge.’
He paused. ‘My attentions may even console you for the English lover you have lost.’
He took two of the pillows from behind him, and placed them beside him on the bed. ‘But we have talked enough. Now, my lovely one, it is time you came to me. So, take off your clothes.’
She took a step backward. ‘No,’ she said fiercely. ‘I won’t do it.’
His brows lifted. ‘Would you prefer my men to help you?’ he enquired pleasantly. ‘I have only to summon them.’
‘Oh, God.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Do you possess even a scrap of decency?’
‘When it is required.’ He shrugged. ‘To judge from your letter, none is needed in your case. To find yourself being stripped by strangers might even have appealed to you. But no matter. Now, do not keep me waiting any longer,’ he added. ‘A pretence of coyness is hardly appropriate.’
Pretence? she thought. When I’ve never knowingly undressed in front of anyone in my life. When I’ve never actually seen a man naked either, apart from paintings and statuary.
The door was locked, but the window might not be, she told herself desperately. If there was a balcony outside, she might be able to jump…
And stopped right there, knowing that a broken arm or leg might be the least harm she could do to herself.
She was trapped—caught between Scylla and Charybdis, the monster and the whirlpool, in the story of ‘The Odyssey’ that Thia Theodosia used to read to her.
She touched dry lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘Will you at least—turn off the lights?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘And I am becoming impatient.’ The dark eyes scanned her again more slowly. ‘You may begin by taking down your hair. I prefer to see it loose.’
Instinct warned her that she had nowhere else to go. That tears—the only option she had left—wouldn’t move him any more than her protests had done, her pleading.
She had abased herself for nothing, and she would not do so again, she told herself with cold determination. From now on, she would concentrate on survival alone.
She had never understood or been part of this feud between the two families, and had always found it faintly ludicrous that grown men should so implacably pursue each other’s downfall.
But all that had changed forever when she’d entered this room, and found him waiting for her. Because Alex Mandrakis was now her enemy too, and someday, somehow, he would pay for tonight.
I’ll make him sorry that he was ever born, she vowed silently as she took the clips from her hair and shook the long, silky strands free over her shoulders.
He said softly, ‘Like a cloud of gold. Now, continue.’
She took off her jacket, and let it drop. Stepped out of her shoes.
He can’t touch the real me, and he never will, she told herself. Whatever he does, however he treats me, I won’t let him reach me in any way.
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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