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Obligation To Love
Catherine O'Connor


All love is an illusion.Hayley was a woman with a mission: she was going to convince Andros Christos to agree to the marraige of her sister and his cousin. Having met Andros, Hayley realized that she had her work cut out for her.It seemed the Greek tycoon didn't believe in love - especially when it came to marriage! Andros, however, made it clear what he did believe in. But would the passionate attraction that flared between them ever be enough for Hayley?









Obligation to Love

Catherine O’Connor







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE (#uee3ce850-8791-51de-86fb-49c7ca8b0d5e)

CHAPTER TWO (#u4c98a2e3-e89d-5c7f-917b-dcd97cbd3933)

CHAPTER THREE (#ua5026dcc-7310-5721-a89f-ae26d9e7c7c0)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE


A FAINT, cool breeze drifted in from the open French windows, bringing in its wake the heavy fragrance of summer flowers. The rich perfume hung heavily in the air, adding to the stifling atmosphere which seemed to surround Andros. He rolled on to his back, enjoying the cool crispness of the sheets that met his hot, lean body. He shut his eyes momentarily, a look of dissat-isfaction clouding his face. He knew there was something missing, something wrong, but he had grown too old to believe in fairy-tales, and the harshness of life had made him face reality with cynicism. He no longer chased the elusive dreams of happiness, or love; to him, both were empty shams. He looked up, watching the sway of the fine muslin curtains, the dark shadows that they cast across the delicately decorated ceiling mesmerising him for a moment. He watched the changing pattern with vacant eyes and sighed deeply: there seemed to be nothing in life for him. Then he frowned, his dark black brows drawing together, as he felt her body shift slightly at the side of him. He was enjoying his quiet moment of reflection and objected to the intrusion.

Andros turned to look at her, letting his ebony eyes trail over her full figure with cool detachment. His lips curled in a smile, allowing his sensuous mouth to widen and show a flash of perfect white teeth. He lifted the cotton sheet and drew it up gently to cover her bare shoulders, though not before he had planted a soft kiss on her ample breast. She gave a purr of pleasure and her heavy, sleep-laden eyes flickered open. There was a slumberous warmth in their depths, enticing and provocative, and her face held the same smug expression as that of a cat who had drunk all the cream.

‘Andros,’ she murmured sleepily, as she wrapped her arm around his muscular chest and drew him towards her. He groaned under his breath as the shrill ringing of the telephone interrupted them, his dark features narrowing with disapproval. He moved closer to her, determined to ignore the phone, but it was insistent, shattering their peace till he was forced to acknowledge it.

‘Yes?’ he snapped, annoyed that anyone should contact him here, yet instinctively knowing that it must be important. There were few people who had access to this number. Though his reputation was legendary, he attempted to carry out his private affairs with as much discretion as he could. He might still be forced to marry, he often thought ruefully, if only for business reasons, and it was essential that he retain this place as his retreat from the world.

Suddenly, the haunting anxiety of his aunt’s troubled voice echoed down the line in a hoarse whisper. Her very tone seemed to chill the room and Andros was immediately alert, his whole body suddenly alive with anticipation.

‘It’s Dimitri,’ his aunt said simply, a tremble in her voice. ‘He is going to marry the English girl.’

A cold dread surrounded Andros’s heart, enveloping his whole being and his tightening stomach with a sudden grip. He remained silent, his voice paralysed, as his mind became a vortex of mixed emotions. He frowned deeply and his gaze turned ruthless and cold. Bitter, harsh memories flooded into his mind, taunting him with sharp detail. Would he never forget? he thought grimly, as he struggled to concentrate on the present. At last, when he spoke, his voice was bereft of the riot of emotions that had tumbled around inside him; all he could feel was the stern resolution that it would not be, could never be.

‘I’ll come home,’ he stated curtly; no explanations, no sympathetic noises, but it was reassurance enough. His aunt thanked him profusely, obviously confident that Andros would be able to stop her son’s foolishness. He replaced the receiver while she still babbled, oblivious to the overwhelming relief he had given her. His actions were slow, his movements careful and deliberate, belying an eruption of ideas, as his mind had already begun making decisions. A warm female hand was still placed on his taut body, deep red long fingernails toying with the dark hairs on his hard chest and tracing an intricate pattern slowly down towards his flat stomach.

‘What’s the matter?’ the woman crooned coaxingly, her voice again purring seductively. Andros frowned, suddenly aware once more of her presence. He flung back the sheets over her with cruel disregard as he left the bed.

‘I’m going home,’ he answered curtly, avoiding the look of hurt in her eyes with customary ease.

‘Now?’ she echoed in disbelief, struggling upwards and propping herself up on the plump pillows. He glanced at her, smiling with unconcealed appreciation at her unsubtle attempt to keep him there. She flaunted her full breasts and shapely body with a skill that had taken years of practice, but he was unmoved by her invitation. He gave her another wry smile that failed to warm the black depths of his pupils, and his voice was razor-sharp and equally cutting.

‘Yes, now,’ he answered, pulling his white silk shirt across his strong broad shoulders in a hurried gesture; he longed to be away—away from her and back home.

‘I’ll come with you,’ she suggested lightly, already aware of the distance between them.

He shook his head resolutely, his hair catching the light as it fell on his forehead, shining like an ebony wing of a raven in flight. ‘No!’ Andros snapped back. It was an order—sharp and decisive; there was no room for discussion. He partly turned away his face, allowing her to see the determination in his hard jaw. He was dressed and ready to leave. ‘That’s out of the question,’ he reminded her, as he toyed with his expensive gold cuff-links.

‘But I thought...’ she protested, her voice taking on a sharper tone, watching him as if seeing him for the very first time. She pouted her full lips but he was immune to such obvious tactics. His mouth twisted slightly, a cruel look on his hard, handsome face. As he leant forward he tapped her nose playfully, but the action was far from friendly.

‘Don’t think,’ he warned her quietly. There was a gentle threat in his warning, and his gaze held a menace she had never seen before; gone was the lover, here was the master—the tyrant who demanded complete obedience from everyone: family, business partners—even his mistresses. He stopped at the door and paused for a moment while he took a small velvet box from his pocket.

‘Maybe I’ll send for you,’ he said casually, tossing her the box with a gesture of disdain. His face suddenly broke into a smile again, and, in that brief moment, his dazzling charisma overwhelmed her.

‘Any time, Andros,’ she answered obligingly, catching the box deftly and rewarding him with a huge grin of her own. Andros nodded his thanks coolly, a bitter expression on his face. He understood women, knew that trinkets and baubles were all they truly sought. They were incapable of any finer emotions, he acknowledged grimly, quietly congratulating himself on knowing this simple fact, while other men still fell for their charms. Yet it had been a hard lesson to learn, he admitted to himself, ignoring the scars that still ran deep beneath his cold exterior.

* * *

The roads were teeming with traffic and Andros’s frown deepened as he began to weave his car through the crowded streets. His strong hands gripped the wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white and clearly defined. He swallowed the gall that swelled up at the back of his throat as he thought about Dimitri. Had his cousin learned nothing from him? Andros shook his head—obviously not. No charming little female would infiltrate the family this time, he thought with grim resolution. He was too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice the red traffic-light. It was the sudden blaring of a horn that snapped him back to reality. He braked immediately and managed to avoid hitting the other car. A line of other drivers began to join in with their car horns to voice their disapproval. Andros viewed the scene as if he were a spectator, amused but unperturbed by the outrage around him. He watched the driver approach with interest; the top of his racy sports car was lowered and he could hear quite clearly the barrage of abuse the man was shouting at him, yet he remained unruffled, almost enjoying the man’s obvious distress. The man leant purposefully on the bonnet of Andros’s car, determined to vent his temper. Andros, with cool, slow deliberation, lowered his sunglasses from his face and gave the driver a frozen stare. The transformation was instant, anger quickly replaced by fear. The man jumped back from the car, his eyes wide with disbelief.

‘Good evening, Mr Christos, I had no idea...’ he began apologetically, as he shrugged his shoulders and shifted about uncomfortably. Andros allowed his eyebrows to rise slightly and he replaced his sunglasses with an air of dismissal. The driver hurried away, still mumbling his apologies and drove off swiftly. Andros’s mouth quirked with self-assurance as he made straight for the motorway, confident that there would be few road users who would not recognise him and allow him through.

The drive home was long; it was a good hour and a half before the motorway ran across the Isthmus bridge, and then at last the road began to descend. Andros sighed with contentment as he caught his first glimpse of Lake Vouliagmenik, a shimmering blue oval in the mountains clearly visible from his village. He parked the car under the shade of some cypress trees and marched into the house. The interior was cool and silent. His heels clicked against the cold grey marble floor, echoing dismally in the emptiness of the large hall. He made his way to the heavy ornate doors at the end of the hall and pushed them both apart as he entered.

‘Andros!’ A small plump woman jumped to her feet the moment he entered, her relief at seeing him evident in her every action. She clasped him tightly, her arms wrapping firmly around his waist as she hugged him, as if trying to squeeze strength from him. He allowed her to stay there for a while, a rarely seen look of pleasure on his face, before he began to disentangle himself from her.

‘Now, Aunt Sophia, what is this all about?’ he asked, as he carelessly pulled the tie from around his neck and opened his shirt collar. The initial laughter and confidence drained from Sophia’s face and she sank wearily on to the white leather couch, her eyes troubled. Despite the warm colour of her smooth skin and the absence of grey from her dark hair, she suddenly seemed old to Andros, and he watched her anxiously as he poured himself a drink.

‘I have tried talking to Dimitri, but he insists,’ she said sadly, shaking her head in defeat. Andros shrugged his powerful body from his jacket and tossed it across a chair. He moved to his aunt’s side, taking her hand with firmness as he sat down next to her.

‘No doubt he has told you he is in love?’ he asked mockingly, a grin of amusement on his face. She raised her head but did not return the smile.

‘I know we have heard it so many times from my boy, but...’ She stopped as if frightened to continue. Andros stood up, dropping her hand as he did so, his attitude changing as realisation struck him.

‘He is serious this time—is that what you are trying to tell me?’ he demanded, his tone piercingly sharp.

Sophia lifted her shoulders expressively. ‘It is true. They are so happy together—but I know it will not work,’ she added sadly, watching Andros closely.

‘Of course it will not work! How can it possibly work? This family has suffered enough,’ he said, barely raising his tone, but his voice full of angry conviction. Sophia nodded silently, her face full of grief as the past seemed ready to repeat itself.

‘What are we to do, Andros?’ she pleaded desperately, her dark eyes fixed on him as if he were a god. Andros sank back into a chair and closed his own eyes, as if trying to block out the look of admiration and expectation on his aunt’s face. He rubbed his hand over his face, suddenly feeling exhausted; the heat of summer was already building up.

‘Where are they now?’ he asked wearily.

‘Loutraki; she works there as a courier for a holiday company. Dimitri says he will bring her for dinner this evening. You will talk to them then, yes?’ she asked gratefully. Andros nodded abruptly and kept his eyes closed. His aunt silently left the room. It would bring back painful memories for Andros, she knew, but they had to prevent Dimitri from making the same mistake.

* * *

Andros sat up till late in the evening. He needed his solitude, time to think, but his thoughts were not about Dimitri. They were about himself and his own foolishness. It was so easy to imagine being in love as these two young fools were doing. He knew he had no choice but to forbid the marriage, and he was confident that Dimitri would obey him; was Andros not the head of the family? Dimitri would obey, he thought grimly, an iron determination hardening his already stiff jaw.

* * *

‘Marriage!’ Andros spat contemptuously, unable to suffer the young couple’s innocence any longer. A look of superiority and derision swept across his features. He leant back in his chair, rocking it slightly as he viewed them both with barely concealed contempt. ‘It is out of the question.’ There was a finality in his voice that normally Dimitri would have immediately obeyed, but this time the boy was equally determined, and his eyes met Andros’s in angry conflict.

‘We love each other,’ Dimitri stated proudly, wrapping a protective arm around his girl’s slim waist.

‘Love!’ echoed his stern-faced cousin scornfully, the pain of his own ideals stabbing at him too deeply to be visible. ‘Love!’ he echoed again, as if it were the only thought more ridiculous than marriage. Andros’s eyes narrowed as he viewed the pair and his mouth set as he saw the look of resolution on their youthful faces. He turned to look at the girl, Melissa, with unconcealed dislike. She was too pretty, a child, unable to love anyone but herself.

‘Your family. What have they to say about this?’ he demanded, watching her closely as she replied.

‘My parents are dead, but I’m sure Hayley will approve.’ She looked at Dimitri as she spoke, her eyes soft and full of unspoken love.

‘Really?’ Andros drawled caustically. ‘Then I should like to meet her—’

‘Yes! that’s a great idea,’ interrupted Melissa, before she became aware of Dimitri’s tightening grip, and the look of fury on Andros’s face. She coloured immediately.

‘If this lady wishes to become your bride, I suggest that you teach her some manners.’ Andros spoke coldly, directing his criticism at Dimitri while viewing Melissa with icy disdain. ‘I shall telephone your sister and make arrange-ments for her to join us.’

He watched them as they walked away, their arms entwined and their heads close together. He looked down at the slim grey card Melissa had passed him and studied it with care. The address was that of a quite fashionable gallery in the Knightsbridge area of London and, despite himself, Andros was impressed. He went to the phone and dialled the number carefully, and listened as an efficient voice answered.

‘Good afternoon, Longshaw’s Gallery. Hayley Swift speaking.’

Andros allowed himself a flicker of a smile at her officious tone and couldn’t help but compare her to Melissa, as he had automatically imagined a waif of a girl.

‘Miss Swift, my name is Andros Christos.’ He paused, allowing the impact of his name to penetrate. His wealth had made him known throughout the world and his interest in collecting art was well known. Any gallery who received a call from him would immediately respond.

Hayley remained silent for a moment, her mind snapping to attention. Melissa! she thought instinctively, an icy dread suddenly surrounding her. She recalled the frantic letter she had received yesterday from her sister. Melissa, as usual, was begging for her help, and normally Hayley would have responded without question. But this time she had her own doubts; surely Melissa was not ready for marriage? In so many ways she was still so young. Hayley’s frown deepened, clouding her clear blue eyes. It was about time Melissa took responsibility for herself. Surely this time it was a matter between her and her future husband’s family, and could not possibly involve Hayley? Yet, as always, Melissa had turned to Hayley for help and, despite all Hayley’s resolutions not to get involved, she found herself weakening. The desperate plea in her sister’s letter was suddenly etched on Hayley’s mind, and the sound of the man on the phone who was responsible for her sister’s unhappiness made her blood boil! Mr Christos disapproved and without his consent the marriage would not be allowed. Hayley wasn’t sure whether or not he disapproved of the marriage, or just of Melissa—either way, there was something in his approach that rankled with her, an assurance and authority in his tone that almost demanded that his word be law.

Hayley swallowed, determined to remain calm and feign ignorance; she would pretend she knew nothing of his disapproval and the way in which he so arrogantly dismissed her sister. Hayley had a pretty clear image of him: Melissa had described the old man in vivid and graphic detail and, even allowing for her sister’s neutral inclination to exaggerate, Hayley knew exactly the type of man she was dealing with: a proud, overbearing patriarch, who was de-termined not to allow his family to be tainted with English blood.

‘Yes, Mr Christos, how can I help you?’ She heard the sudden intake of breath and gave a small smile of satisfaction. The man obviously ruled his family with a rod of iron, caring little for their feelings. But his tactics will not work on me, she thought, enraged by his attitude to her younger sister. Unlike everyone else, she had no need to jump to attention for him; he had no power over her.

‘Your sister, Melissa, is staying with our family at the moment and I should like you to join us. There is much to discuss,’ he answered her with a cold detachment. He could sense her disapproval of him; too liberated to know her place, he acknowledged to himself, as he imagined a frumpy older sister, too absorbed in her career to think of marriage, yet determined her sister should marry well.

‘Yes, indeed there is,’ gushed Hayley, her eyes sparkling with devilment. ‘Wedding receptions take forever to organise,’ she goaded him wickedly, her voice light and full of springtime. She understood exactly how he felt but she was going to force him to pretend otherwise. He had no intention of discussing anything. Melissa had already explained at length in her letter what a despot he was. Yet surely he would have enough good manners not to raise his dissent over the telephone? But Hayley had then to admit she was wrong, she had misjudged him. The man was so full of his own importance, he obviously did not feel the need for common courtesy!

‘You misunderstand, Miss Swift,’ Andros countered firmly, a razor edge to his heavily accented English. ‘There will be no wedding,’ he said quietly, the softness in his voice underlying his authority. He gripped the telephone till his knuckles were white. Her attitude displeased him, arousing far too many memories. His anger increased still further as he suddenly realised that she was not going to be the ally he had assumed she would be.

‘Why?’ demanded Hayley. ‘Has something terrible happened?’ She asked this, deliberately, adding a note of anxiety to her voice. She was delighted when he immediately responded to allay any fears. Perhaps he was not quite the old ogre he pretended to be when he so quickly reassured her.

‘No, nothing has happened,’ he said calmly. ‘It is simply that this marriage cannot be allowed.’ His voice held a ring of finality that warned her not to disagree. ‘You must see that?’ he queried, implying she should automatically acquiesce.

Hayley stiffened angrily and bit hard into her bottom lip. His attitude was unbearable and she knew that she couldn’t possibly abandon Melissa. Poor Melissa was far too gentle to stand up to this type of male dominance. Hayley knew it was up to her. How dared he find her sister not suitable? The arrogance of the man! She tried to keep the anger from her voice. Her heart hammered with merciless force against her ribcage as she struggled with her increasing temper.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Christos,’ she began, her tone heavy with sarcasm, ‘but I fail to see why the marriage cannot go ahead.’ She stopped abruptly, her usual composure beginning to fade. Again a mental image of the arrogant old patriarch—stubborn and set in his traditional ways—flashed in front of her.

Andros glared at the telephone in disbelief—no one had ever dared to speak to him like this, and certainly not a woman! He was stunned into silence, his jaw clenched in anger, and an angry nerve throbbed at his temple.

‘The marriage will not go ahead because I have forbidden it,’ he stated simply, as if speaking to a child. And any further discussion was pointless: his reply stunned Hayley momentarily, and she was unable to answer. She thought quickly and tried to defuse the situation; she wanted to help Melissa, not hinder her, so she began to laugh. Hayley’s laughter trickled down the phone, bright, light and completely spontaneous.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she managed to splutter. ‘If two fully mature adults wish to marry, they will,’ she retorted, unable to comprehend the man’s attitude. Now Andros was silent, a building fury seeping through his being, a blazing contempt fuelling his temper at the amusement he was causing her.

‘Miss Swift!’ His voice was sharp, clear and fully in command. Hayley felt her laughter die on lips that had suddenly become dry at his austere tone. The silence that followed seemed to hang between them, vibrating down the line as if a battle of wills was being fought.

‘I fail to understand your humour,’ Andros drawled. ‘I am serious. I forbid this marriage. Come and take your sister home.’

‘Take her home?’ echoed Hayley, recovering quickly. ‘I cannot do that! She’s an adult, mature enough to make her own decisions.’

‘I do not consider your sister to be mature,’ he retorted coldly, the edge in his words alerting Hayley to his displeasure, and she felt a moment of guilt. It must be hard for such an old man to cope with the modern world. She nodded understandingly at the phone, determined to appease him but remain equally firm.

‘Oh, she is young, admittedly, but—’

Hayley wanted above everything else to disarm him, but he cut in sardonically, ‘A Greek marriage is a lifetime’s commitment. The promises taken in church are not only made by husband and wife to each other but to God. Have you any idea of what type of maturity is needed to take on such a commitment?’ Andros demanded, remembering with painful clarity his own experience.

Hayley swallowed once more. He was being deliberately aggressive, but to respond would only antagonise him further. ‘I understand your reluctance; they are both young. But they seem ideally suited and so very much in love,’ she explained with a gentle plea. The spots of tears that had fallen on the desperate letter she had received from Melissa confirmed the depth of her feeling, Hayley thought wistfully.

‘Love!’ Andros grated down the phone in disbelief. Hayley had never felt such contempt from another in her life and she shuddered at his bitterness.

Hayley paused for a moment, surprised by his venom, then she snapped back, ‘Yes, love! Isn’t that the usual reason for marriage?’

‘Your naïveté surprises me,’ his dark voice mocked. ‘Surely you do not believe your sister loves Dimitri?’

Hayley was about to protest, but Andros continued forcibly, ‘I do not doubt she is fond of him—but love!’ His cruel laughter seemed to crackle down the line, and Hayley felt herself struggling to control her growing annoyance at his attitude. She had never experienced love herself—except perhaps a silly dalliance of puppy love when she was a young teenager; she had never regretted her actions since, but had known even then that there had to be more. She pushed her own thoughts quickly to the back of her mind.

‘Mr Christos, I think you are doing both Dimitri and Melissa a great disservice. I can appreciate that perhaps, at your age, the extreme passions they feel for each other may appear transistory, but I...’

‘At my age?’ he roared, and Hayley winced as she held the receiver away from her now-burning ear. She couldn’t understand the words he was cursing in his native tongue, but she knew it was not complimentary. She had definitely touched a nerve there, she thought.

‘Please accept my apologies; I didn’t mean to offend you. I fully understand the respect your culture gives to age and the wisdom that has been acquired by living a long life.’ Hayley knew she was babbling but she felt she had to make amends. So many people seem to like to pretend they were younger than they were. A harmless little lie would obviously make him feel better.

‘You respect my age?’ Andros asked, his voice quieter but still full of infinite mockery.

‘I—I think allowances should be made,’ Hayley said carefully, not wanting to fall into any trap. She could almost sense the smile that had crept across his face at the tentativeness of her answer.

‘I see, but the allowances you make do not mean you agree with my decision?’ Andros’s voice had grown even lower and a deep, almost forbidding quality echoed through the receiver.

Hayley braced herself and replied, ‘No, I cannot agree with your view, but I am more than willing to discuss the marriage. Perhaps—’

‘You could persuade me?’ he cut in briskly. Hayley’s nerves quivered as he flung the words at her like a challenge. She faltered momentarily before answering.

‘I think that once your mind is made up it would be difficult to change,’ she admitted, her pale cheeks darkening as she thought of Melissa.

‘You’re right,’ he responded finally.

‘However, I should love to come to visit you and discuss any problems. I feel sure we can all come to a suitable agreement,’ she said sweetly, her heart already racing at the thought of meeting such a man, images of an old Godfather figure fleeting through her mind.

‘I shall send for you,’ was his abrupt reply.

‘Thank you, but I’m more than capable of making my own arrangements,’ Hayley replied in her most officious tone. The last thing she wanted was to be in his debt. It might force the balance in his favour.

‘As you will be my guest, I will make the arrangements,’ he said curtly.

‘I’ll have to arrange my leave with work—’ began Hayley, but again he cut in immediately, as if frustrated by her lack of understanding.

‘I have told you,’ he informed her crisply, ‘I shall make all the necessary arrangements.’

Hayley wanted to protest, but she could say no more because the phone line went completely dead. She glared at the receiver, her eyes bright with annoyance. No wonder Melissa seemed so distraught; he hardly seemed an approach-able man. She sighed: she wished her parents were still alive and she then would not have this responsibility.




CHAPTER TWO


HAYLEY was dreading the flight. She walked almost reluctantly to the first-class departure lounge with leaden feet. Her holdall was flung carelessly across her shoulder and she paused hesitantly at the doorway. She stared in at the plush surroundings, feeling like a small child who had interrupted an adult dinner party, effectively blocking the entrance.

‘Excuse me,’ a deep, velvety, warm voice said, as a slight pressure was applied to her back to encourage her to move. Hayley jumped at the touch; she could feel the heat from the man’s hand penetrating through the thinness of her new suit and sinking deep into the very core of her being. She spun round in alarm at the electric charge, her pale blue eyes wide with surprise. She felt a rush of blood to her face, staining her high cheekbones with a taint of red. Her blush deepened further when she was confronted with the most handsome man she had ever seen. His thick hair shone like polished jet and his ebony eyes glistened as he smiled at her. His sensual mouth widened to reveal the whitest of teeth. Hayley swallowed nervously, stepping back to allow the man to pass. She was aware of his gaze as his dark eyes rested on her for what seemed an eternity. Her eyelashes fluttered downwards as she attempted to hide the turmoil she felt. A shiver of unexpected delight trickled down her spine.

‘After you,’ he offered, an odd inflexion in his voice, which carried the hint of a foreign accent. He extended his arm towards the inside of the lounge. Hayley was wildly perplexed by her inability to move. But then she managed to mumble her thanks and stepped inside. Her shoulder-bag slipped, catching on the door, and fell to the ground; she had forgotten to zip the top and an array of items spilled out noisily across the floor. She dropped down immediately in a mad scramble to retrieve her belongings. The gentleman lowered himself down too on his haunches in one single fluid movement; his rhythm was smooth and controlled. Hayley cast a covert glance as his hands—large, strong hands, with long tapering fingers that were perfectly manicured, and with a mat of dark hairs crisscrossing their backs on tanned skin. He passed Hayley back her travel pills with a charming smile and yet Hayley, with some primitive awareness, sensed danger. She felt confused—alert but disturbed—and she coloured again with embarrassment as he continued to look at her. She took her sickness pills from his firm hand and shoved them quickly back into the depths of her bag. His eyebrows rose in amusement at her actions.

‘You do not travel well?’ he commented graciously, his deep voice matching his tough physique perfectly. Hayley took a deep breath before replying.

‘They’re a precaution.’ Her voice faltered. ‘Just in case,’ she explained self-consciously. His face looked knowing and he inclined his head before moving away, the smoothness of his movements strangely at odds with his size.

After a pause, Hayley looked around, wondering where the attractive stranger had gone—though she was relieved that he had gone. She saw him at last; he was leaning casually against the bar, surveying the rest of the passengers with disinterest. It was obviously no novelty to him being in the VIP lounge awaiting first-class travel to foreign parts, thought Hayley with a sudden stab of resentment. She stared at him—it was hard not to: his sheer presence demanded attention. The whole man’s demeanour was overpowering. Something about him seemed to frighten her; he was different from any other man she had known. He stood over six feet tall, with the hallmark of wealth stamped heavily upon him. It was not just the tell-tale flashes of light from his gold cuff-links, or the wafer-thin strap of his expensive watch. Everything about him screamed riches and power and, above all, authority. However, there was also a sinister air about him—perhaps he’s a drug smuggler or a terrorist, thought Hayley in sudden alarm. He certainly looked capable of doing anything to achieve his own ends. His whole posture was arrogant and self-sufficient, and it made Hayley acutely aware of her own limitations. She looked down at the simple linen suit she had bought for the flight, and compared to him she felt like a pauper!

Her eyes flickered back to the stranger at the bar. There was something that seemed to compel her to look at him. He was dress

ed in an impeccably tailored dark grey suit that revealed the sharp leanness of his trim body while at the same time drawing attention to the width of his broad shoulders. His pristine white shirt had been pulled open at the neck re-vealing the strong tanned column of his throat, and a few dark, telltale curls protruded slightly. His tie hung loosely down and he looked completely at ease, nonchalant—despite the expensive cut of his suit—and totally relaxed in the grand surroundings of the lounge.

Hayley started in alarm, dismissing all thoughts of the attractive stranger as she shot to her feet; at last her flight had been called. She made her way on to the aircraft, trying to stifle her nerves and the whirl of butterflies that seemed to have taken up residence in her stomach. She was greeted by the reassuring smile of their air stewardess, who seemed to have sensed her misgivings. She scanned the seats for her number and then froze. She gaped in amazement as she realised whom she would be sitting next to, and her stomach clenched suddenly into a tight ball. He seemed to be engrossed in his paper, oblivious to her presence, yet Hayley wasn’t convinced; somehow his pose seemed con-trived, but she could think of no reason for any subterfuge. She faltered for a moment, aware of the clamminess breaking out on the palms of her hands. She felt even more vulnerable and her heart seemed to thud painfully against her ribcage. She swallowed the rising lump of panic in her throat; of all people, she would have to be next to him! she thought indignantly. She knew she couldn’t possibly relax next to such a formidable character.

‘Excuse me, may I get past?’ she said, her voice surprisingly calm and not betraying in the least the turmoil she felt inside. The man lowered his paper slowly, as if each movement was calculated for the fullest impact, and fixed his dark eyes on her. For a moment he did not speak but continued to look at her, his gaze travelling slowly over the subtle contours of her body, till he had made a complete inventory of her. Hayley felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny, and a frisson of excitement spiralled down her back as she stood waiting for him to move. He then nodded briefly and moved slightly, his muscular body lithe and deceptively languorous.

‘Thank you,’ she managed to stammer, as she squeezed past him. She was all too aware of the hard firmness of his muscular legs as they moved obliquely to let her pass. A soft sweep of heat caressed her as her own legs inadvertently brushed against his. She was about to apologise, but the words died on her lips as she caught the mocking amusement in his eyes at her embarrassment. Once seated, she dived behind a glossy magazine and hid behind the printed matter as if erecting a wall between them, though she doubted there would be any fortress that could keep such a man out; his power and strength were evident in every line of his firm frame. It seemed odd to be seated next to him; there were vacant seats in the aircraft and lone travellers liked to stay alone. She wasn’t really interested in the magazine but concentrated hard on the articles in an attempt to pacify her rapid pulse. The close proximity of the man sent her senses reeling and she was unused to such strong reactions. She had caught the lemony tang of his aftershave and its deep scent seemed to fill her nostrils, teasing her to respond to him.

Hayley dived back into her magazine, mentally trying to shut out his presence—and the thought of take-off. She was so completely immersed in an article on homeopathic medicine that she failed to notice the flashing light above her head informing her to fasten her seat-belt. The announcement that followed alerted her immediately and she became uncharacteristically flustered and— suddenly—frightened. In her haste, she was unable to fasten the clasp; it seemed to take on a mind of its own. Her fingers fumbled hopelessly with the belt, her agitation increasing as she realised he was watching her again. Hayley felt him cast a scornful look at her incompetence.

A stab of hostility stole into her heart when he offered, ‘Can I be of assistance?’ His voice held an unmistakable taunt in its rich tones, a taunt that made her determined to succeed alone, without his help. She continued to struggle, silently cursing the perversity of inanimate objects as the belt seemed to refuse to fasten.

‘I shall do it.’ His voice was very quiet, low yet commanding. Hayley was about to protest; her head shot up and there was a defiant, angry gleam sparkling like icy chips in her pale blue eyes. Then her eyes met his and an involuntary shiver made her slender body tremble slightly. The depths of his dark eyes held an unmistakable harshness as they glinted with unconcealed enjoyment at her confusion. Hayley’s hands froze on her lap and her angry words of self-reliance died on her lips, as his strong, tapering fingers reached over and deftly clicked the buckle shut. He gave her a smile of supreme superiority which infuriated her but, all the same, she was so uneasy that she felt unable to speak. He leant back casually as Hayley nodded her thanks, hating herself for this lapse of weakness that had suddenly manifested itself in his presence. She watched him warily: his cool composure was like a façde, as if he was hiding something. He settled back, closing his eyes, his sooty lashes curled upwards, casting a soft shadow on his olive-tanned skin. He breathed deeply and seemed to relax, his face changing. He looked far less formidable now, his sensuous mouth curling gently with a serene grace and his angular features softening with tranquillity. His dark hair fell effortlessly in a sleek, smart style.

‘Relax, lean back, and breathe slowly and deeply,’ he instructed Hayley, without even opening his eyes. She pushed herself into her seat, her back rigid, and took a sideways glance towards him, but his eyes remained closed. He must have been aware of her studying him and Hayley found the thought mortifying. She was determined not to give him a second glance for the rest of the journey. It was obvious he was the type of man who thought all women found him irresistibly attractive. Well, he would be disappointed this time, thought Hayley, shutting her eyes tightly as well, to block out his forceful image.

‘Breathe deeply,’ he commanded again tersely.

He was obviously used to being obeyed instantly; his speech lacked the usual social pleasantries and, for a moment, Hayley thought she would hold her breath in defiance. But he spoke again. ‘Don’t be childish,’ he said. ‘You’ll feel better.’

His eyes had remained closed the whole time, which was unnerving, but at least he could not see the flood of colour that yet again covered Hayley’s face. The plane began taxiing down the runway, and instinctively Hayley gripped the arm-rests as it soared upwards. She fought the sickening feeling of nausea as her tummy flipped over with the ascent, the engines’ roar filling her ears. She sang nursery rhymes over and over in her head to prevent her from thinking about what was happening. Then there was a sudden uplift, then peace, as the roar lessened and clear blue sky surrounded them.

‘It’s all over now. Take-offs and descents are always the worst.’ His reassuring voice fell like a warm caress on her troubled nerves. Hayley opened her eyes and let out a huge sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging. She stiffened momentarily, unable to think how to react; he’d opened his eyes now and she certainly didn’t want to give him the impression that she was interested in him in any way. She decided to be polite but distant.

‘I haven’t flown very often,’ she confessed quietly, still not daring to look at him. She couldn’t face those eyes: they were too dark, almost black, and they held a sinister gleam that alerted her instincts. His gaze seemed to pierce her soul with a sharpness that belied the new sultry warmth in them.

‘So I gathered.’ Now his voice contained the warm laughter of friendship and Hayley found herself smiling at him, despite herself. ‘But you like to travel, no?’ he asked, his accent suddenly pronounced. Hayley nodded in agree-ment; up until now it had been Melissa who had been allowed the money to travel. Hayley wanted her to have everything she could, and willingly sacrificed her own pleasures for Melissa.

‘Yes, there are so many countries in the world I should like to see,’ she said wistfully, thinking about all the wonderful places she had seen depicted by artists over the years in the gallery.

‘What has prevented you? I see you are not married,’ he stated briefly, casting a glance at her bare left hand.

‘No, but I had other commitments,’ she admitted. Somehow she was secretly pleased he had noticed she was single, though she tried hard to dismiss the thought. She had never been very interested in men—not yet; not till Melissa was settled.

‘Which were?’ he enquired, a questioning frown on his brow. He leant closer and Hayley was even more aware of the attraction she felt for this stranger.

She laughed. ‘Nothing really; I have a younger sister. She has never kept good health, and I felt a holiday abroad once a year was of more value to her than me.’

‘Just a younger sister?’

‘Yes, there are just the two of us. Naturally, as the eldest, I have had to take responsibility,’ she admitted, disliking the dark shadow that crossed his face.

‘How noble of you,’ he said coolly.

‘There’s nothing noble about helping those you love,’ she snapped back at him, suddenly irritated by his aloofness and his taunting voice.

‘Are you sure you were helping?’ he retorted, his words stabbing, and his look deeply probing. Hayley felt herself flush once more; he was far too perceptive. Had she not asked herself the same question so many times, yet been unable to find a satisfactory answer? Melissa, younger by six years, had always been the family’s priority. As a child she’d suffered from severe asthma and her parents had tended to be overprotective. Even now, Hayley constantly worried about Melissa.

‘You don’t understand,’ she protested with her usual protective zeal. ‘Her need was greater than mine. She really was ill,’ Hayley explained quickly, distrusting the look on his hard face. She felt herself grow more irritated by his attitude. Even though he was a total stranger, Hayley did not want him thinking badly of Melissa. Too many other people had done that in the past and it always upset Hayley.

‘I think I understand very well,’ he answered, his voice betraying nothing of what he was truly thinking, though Hayley sensed his disapproval. His manner was that of someone who assumed he was rarely wrong and his expression one of distant supremacy. Hayley felt such vexation that she turned her head from him to look out of the window. There was something about him that bothered her; he seemed to be as sharp as a needle, and there was a darkness about him too.

‘Do you always resent criticism of your sister so much?’ he teased, his warm breath stroking the side of Hayley’s face. She flung round, her eyes angry, as much with her own body’s reaction to him as with his haunting words.

‘You simply don’t understand. I took care of my sister with very little help when I was still no more than a child myself. It was hard work, and yes, no doubt I did make errors—even the most experienced parents do—but at least we stayed together!’ she snapped, proud of her achievement, even if it was so little in his view.

‘There was no other family who would have taken you in?’ he asked, his expression sceptical.

‘None—well, none who could have coped. There was only one grandparent alive and she was too frail. She couldn’t possibly have coped with nebulisers and spin inhalers, no.’ Hayley shook her head. It would have been too much to ask.

‘But you managed?’

‘I had no alternative. The social services offered foster care, explaining that once you reach teenage years you’re less attractive to potential adopters.’ She saw his eyebrows rise in surprise and continued, ‘Not that I ever even considered care as an option. I wanted us to stay together, as a family.’ Hayley became lost in her own thoughts, her expression softening at the thought of her sister. Melissa had been but a child of twelve when her parents had tragically died, and Hayley had loved her deeply. She shook her head as she thought of all the sacrifices she herself had made over the years, even abandoning her desire to go to art college in order to look after Melissa. She had tried so hard to give Melissa all she wanted, but she had begun herself to wonder about the wisdom of her decisions. Though Melissa had a heart of gold and was generous and loving, she was a little spoilt, though Hayley was con-vinced she would grow out of it.

‘A penny for them?’ he asked, breaking into her thoughts.

‘I won’t rob you of your penny; they’re not worth that much.’ She tried to smile.

‘I think I can afford to chance one penny.’ He gave a low, deep rumble of a laugh, and Hayley felt her smile broaden.

‘I was just thinking that, when I was eighteen, I wanted to go to art college. Sally, a good friend then, was also going—we had it all planned. The first year we would live on campus, and the following year get a flat or bedsit together. Somewhere cheap and nasty that we would miraculously transform with our natural artistic skills.’ Hayley giggled at the memory; it seemed so long ago, as if she were talking about another person, not herself.

‘Instead, you now work in a gallery.’ He sounded kind, but Hayley immediately bristled—she hated pity.

‘I love my work in the gallery. I have a good eye for talent and now, thank goodness, realise I don’t have what it takes to become a household name.’

‘And Sally?’ he asked, a glacier light forming in his eyes, as he realised he had touched a nerve.

‘I grew up when my parents died. Sally was still a schoolgirl. It was inevitable that we drift apart.’ Hayley tried to sound matter-of-fact, but her hurt feelings did not go unchallenged.

‘True friends remain together, no matter what,’ he insisted.

‘Then perhaps she wasn’t as close a friend as I had imagined,’ Hayley snapped. She turned away from him so he could not see her pain—but he already had.

‘Here, take this.’ The man’s voice seemed to vibrate through her thoughts, shattering them to pieces.

Hayley turned round to face a cup of steaming hot coffee, brought by the stewardess. The rich aroma made her suddenly aware how thirsty she was. She thanked the girl gratefully. The man studied her reaction with unconcealed interest, and Hayley could feel his intensity. She kept her head lowered, unable to face him.

‘Aren’t you going to drink it?’ he asked.

‘It’s too hot,’ she answered briefly.

‘Too hot?’ he queried, noticing that the drink hadn’t even touched her lips.

‘Afraid so. I’m having trouble with a tooth at the moment; a hot drink will really hurt,’ she admitted with a grimace. His brow furrowed at her explanation.

‘You do not have a dentist?’ he said abruptly.

Hayley half turned to look out of the window. She hated to admit it, but dentists terrified her. She thought desperately for a few moments, then said, ‘I didn’t have time to go. It’s been a bit of a rush the last few days.’

He nodded with a fleeting look of concern. ‘You have been busy the last few days?’ he then asked casually, stretching out his long legs in front of him. Hayley nodded simply and gave a half-smile.

‘It was quite sudden, this arrangement,’ she told him, aware of the careful way in which he seemed to question her, yet she knew nothing of him and was almost afraid to ask him anything.

‘I see,’ he said, and Hayley thought to herself that no one could possibly imagine the reason for her journey. The whole concept of a marriage being disapproved of was archaic! She picked up her coffee-cup with care, sipping the hot fluid with trepidation. She knew he was still watching her, his vision fixed on her like a cat watching a trapped bird, enjoying the teasing torment. She felt foolish, so she replaced the cup.

‘It’s still too hot,’ she explained, keeping her head lowered. She didn’t want to look at him, to have him pierce through to her soul, making her feel raw and oddly vulnerable. The safe wall she had so carefully erected all those years ago was obviously wearing thin. She gave a shiver; she had had only one experience with a man. It had not been pleasant and had come shortly after her parents’ death. After that, she had had no time to embark on a romantic life of her own. She knew she could not afford the luxury of falling in love; no young man would have welcomed a growing teenager into his marital home.

‘Then I shall get you more cream; the stewardess will only be too delighted.’ He was right of course; the air hostess probably would jump from the aircraft if he asked, Hayley thought bitterly, as the girl fawned over him, flirting outrageously.

‘There now, is that to madame‘s satisfaction?’ he asked, as he added more cream till the coffee was the palest of colours.

‘Thank you,’ she muttered, half under her breath.

Hayley knew she sounded rude—her curt reply was meant to. She had the distinct impression he was toying with her as a game on the long flight and she had no desire to be part of it.

‘There is a choice of menu at lunchtime—perhaps you should like to see?’ He proffered her the smart, neat card and Hayley felt obliged to take it. She read and re-read the menu, as every dish sounded so delicious it was hard to choose. This was a far cry from the synthetic packaged meals one was usually served by airlines.

‘The choice is difficult, no?’ he asked, giving her an enigmatic grin, which was full of humour yet sexy and provocative. Hayley, despite the warnings of her own instincts, found herself returning it. How she wished she were more attractive and more experienced with men. Then she, too, could flirt away the journey, instead of blushing uncomfortably like a naïve schoolgirl when confronted with an undeniably attractive man.

‘Yes, it certainly is difficult, they all sound so lovely: smoked salmon cornets, burgundy pâté, quails’ eggs in aspic.’ She read out the menu with obvious delight. She was unaccustomed to such luxuries but suddenly became keenly aware that he was not. She clamped her mouth shut, too embarrassed to say any more and she caught the look of amusement on his face. ‘I don’t usually travel first-class,’ she confessed, her eyes darting around as she hoped no one else heard her. He said nothing, he just focused on her again for what seemed an age, his expression unfathomable. Hayley flicked back to the menu, studying it with intense interest to cover her embarrassment.

‘And those are only the appetisers; the main course is even harder, no?’ he interjected suddenly, the tension of the moment shattered by the warmth of his enquiry. He leant over to look at her card, too close for Hayley’s comfort. She stiffened as she felt his shoulder against her, exerting a slight pressure that warned her of his strength. The proximity of him was once more sending shock-waves through her slender frame, and she suddenly felt very exposed.

‘I think I’ll choose later,’ she said hurriedly, passing him back the card with a sudden thrust; she didn’t want him becoming too friendly. He was far too dangerous, she knew that. It was for that reason he unnerved her. The sheer sexual power of the man frightened her. He, for his part, seemed to be aware of the effect he was having on her and was for some reason enjoying it.

‘Come now, did your mother warn you never to talk to strangers?’ He was laughing at her again. He was a smooth operator, calculating yet still charming, Hayley reluctantly admitted. He was totally aware of the effect he must have been having on women since he’d left the cradle. He definitely had magic powers, but Hayley refused to be charmed. She bridled at his attitude.

‘As a matter of fact, she did—and about wolves in sheep’s clothing,’ she retorted, hoping the put-down would bruise his ego and he would leave her alone. There was a flash of anger, she thought, but it happened so quickly that Hayley was unable to be sure. Then his smile widened still further, his teeth appearing brilliant white against his tanned face. He looked younger when he smiled, the cynicism seemed to leave his face and, for an instant, he looked like a schoolboy.

‘In that case, my name is Alex; see, we are no longer strangers, and as for being a wolf...’ He paused, his expression a picture of innocence and his hands spread open, his palms lifted to heaven. ‘Perhaps.’ He laughed again, teasing her gently, and, regardless of her warning bells, Hayley laughed too.

‘Hayley. Hayley Swift.’ She extended her hand in a gesture of friendship. A look of confusion flickered for a moment in the dark depths of his eyes. Then he took her hand in his grasp, a thrilling sensation searing through it at his touch. The authority in his handshake was undeniable, but Hayley’s too was firm. In business, one judged and was often judged by the type of handshake given, and she certainly wanted him to know they were equal.

‘Now, Hayley, you drink your coffee, and I shall choose lunch, if that is agreeable?’ It was a polite request, not an order, and Hayley felt coaxed to concur. To do otherwise would seem churlish. She liked the sound of her name on his lips; his accent made it sound delightfully different, and for some reason she suddenly felt a different person with him. She felt she’d come alive, and she was vibrant and young. She sipped her coffee while she thought of that: young! She had never been young, had the freedom of youth. It had been taken from her. Was it too late to find her freedom from responsibility? she mused. It would be nice to see Melissa settled, then perhaps she would become more carefree. This time she was determined that Melissa would stand on her own two feet; she would merely be there as support.

She was too absorbed in her own thoughts to notice that Alex had finished ordering and was watching her intently again, but this time as if making comparisons with someone else.

‘You are deep in thought,’ he said, resting his hand on her arm. It was more a statement, not a question, and Hayley tensed at his observant inspection.

‘Hmm, I suppose I was miles away,’ she agreed, sighing gently. ‘I was thinking how excited I am, like a silly teenager.’

‘You must learn to be young again, to capture the liberty you gave up so willingly,’ he said seriously. But somehow he sounded as if he was speaking of himself, not her. Hayley was puzzled.

‘Liberty?’ she echoed. ‘From what?’ she asked, her eyes narrowing on him, not knowing quite why she felt sure he was talking about himself, since he was not wearing a marriage ring.

‘We should never want freedom from someone or something,’ he explained quickly, as if covering his tracks. ‘Freedom to do, is what I mean. To do all the things we couldn’t do before. Surely there is plenty you wish to do?’ His words went deep, but Hayley was still convinced that he was hiding something from her. Why should such an attractive and wealthy man still be single; and why such bitterness when he spoke of freedom? Hayley was intrigued.

‘Do you know Greece?’ she asked, determined to steer the conversation on to a more neutral topic. He understood immediately, and again she caught his silent laughter as he cast her a wry look.

‘It is my home,’ he said, the pride in his voice evident. ‘I do not spend as much time there as I should like, but business commitments force me away.’ Hayley found herself drowning in mysterious depths, trapped by his hypnotic physical beauty.

‘I hope to see as much of the country as possible during my short stay,’ responded Hayley, too aware of the influence he was having on her. It must be the altitude, she thought, trying desperately to rationalise the depth of sexual awareness he was arousing in her. ‘Greece is a totally new experience for me,’ she continued. She longed to hear from a true native about Greece and all the best sights to see.

‘You are on holiday, then?’ he asked, in honeyed tones that seemed to caress her already sensitive soul.

‘Sort of,’ Hayley answered, her doubt apparent. She could hardly call it a holiday. Mr Christos’s invitation was far too formal to set firm.

‘Yet you still hope to see the country, yes?’

Hayley nodded zealously, her heavy fringe bouncing on her forehead. ‘As much as I’m able to. I’ve no idea how much free time I’ll have,’ she confessed, her voice fading to a whisper.

‘You will have to make time,’ he commanded, sounding surprisingly harsh. ‘The contrasts in Greece, from the ancient ruins to the bustling holiday resorts, all have to be sampled.’

‘Maybe the ruins, but not the resorts,’ replied Hayley, her nose wrinkling with distaste. He made his approval at her words clear, and shrugged his broad shoulders.

‘It is the way of things,’ he said philosophically. ‘Where are you staying?’

Hayley was about to answer when the lights above them began to flash. The captain’s voice was brisk but calm, as he instructed everyone to fasten their seatbelts. Hayley froze, unable to move. For the very first moment in her life she understood real fear. The captain was still talking, reassuring everyone that there was nothing to worry about, but Hayley was oblivious to his words, or the instruction to belt up. She felt utterly sick, stunned. Her face drained of all colour, making her eyes appear large and frightened. Her pulse began to race. She sat stiff, transfixed, unable to do anything, her breathing was increasing in speed; she felt she was choking. She took huge gulps of air, but was unable to breathe properly. History was with cruel accuracy repeating itself. Her parents too had died on an air flight and now all her worst fears were confirmed. They were going to crash! The thought swirled around in her head, blotting out everything else. It screamed through her brain, preventing her from doing anything. Her mind was a mixture of fear and memories that were stretching her to breaking point.

‘Get your belt on,’ Alex ordered her, glowering at her with unspoken anger. Hayley remained still, staring straight ahead, her nerves preventing her from even registering his hard voice.

‘Hayley, your seatbelt!’ he snapped. He caught Hayley tightly by the wrist, and dragged her back to her senses. He sounded so aggressive that her eyes shot to his. She saw his dark brows meeting above his hard-boned nose, and the lines that were deeply ingrained beside his mouth. She pulled the belt across her waist and fumbled as she had done on take-off with the buckle. He snatched it from her, his big hands casting away her small ones with a determined gesture of impatience.

‘There,’ he said simply, snapping the belt closed with firm finality. Hayley winced at his tone; it was bereft of the smoky warmth she had heard earlier. He had already tossed aside the coffee-cup and re-sited her folding table out of the way.

‘You’ll be all right,’ he reassured her.

Suddenly Hayley looked very much like a child. Her hand shot to her mouth to stifle a scream as the aircraft dived. She wasn’t alone in her fear; a collective scream sounded around the plane as it began to plummet to the ground. Hayley sank her teeth into her hand, unaware of her actions, but determined not to scream. She heard Alex mumble a curse in his own tongue, as he pulled her hand away and clasped it tightly in his.

‘Look at me!’ he commanded, pulling her closer to him, his grip tightening around her wrist and biting into her soft flesh. Hayley’s head shot up, fear etched on every feature.

‘I’m frightened,’ she confessed in a whisper, unable to stand it any longer. Her voice was choked, full of all her unspoken fears and memories. Alex drew her even closer.

‘I know.’ His voice seemed to crackle with intensity. ‘But we will be all right,’ he reassured her, satisfying her. Hayley tried to respond, but her mouth was dry and her head hot and dizzy. She could sense anger in him, and it bewildered her. He had every right to be angry, she thought, though still slightly puzzled. Who wanted to be stuck next to an hysterical woman? She forgot the immediate danger as she was mesmerised by the fiery and unyielding determination stamped on his face. She swallowed the dry, painful lump in her throat. Suddenly she wasn’t sure what was more frightening: Alex’s latent anger, or the impending plane crash. The craft unexpectedly dipped dra-matically again and Hayley shut her eyes tightly, blocking out the horror of the situation. She grasped tightly at Alex’s capable hands, unaware that her nails were digging deeply into his flesh.

We’re going to crash! was her only thought.




CHAPTER THREE


FEAR strangled so tightly at Hayley’s throat that she was unable to cry out aloud, but every nerve in her body was shrieking. She felt sick with terror as the thought of impending disaster loomed in her mind. The aircraft seemed to fall for an eternity, then the bumps began. Hayley’s eyes shot open and she was confronted with Alex’s dark midnight gaze. She stared numbly.

‘What’s happening?’ she breathed through thin lips.

‘Absolutely nothing,’ he replied, shaking his head dismissively. ‘I think we hit a storm, so we descended, and now we’re going through a series of air pockets,’ he explained patiently. Suddenly aware that she had kept hold of his hand, Hayley began to release her grip. Then the plane took another dive and she immediately panicked. She tensed immediately, squeezing Alex’s hand again for support, but not before she had registered his laughter. A few more minutes passed, each one seeming like an eternity. Hayley had never experienced anything like this before. At last the serene voice of the captain reassured everyone that everything was fine. Hayley listened attentively, and the captain gave the same explanation as Alex had already given her. The flight resumed its normal height and she gave a huge sigh of relief, her heart-rate decreasing. She sank back in her chair.

‘Thank God,’ she breathed to herself, a wave of relief flooding over her.

‘Does this mean I can have my hand back?’ enquired Alex drily. Hayley dropped his hand, noting with some embarrassment the deep imprints left by her nails.

‘I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t realise...’ she began, totally flustered.

‘I was only too glad to be of assistance,’ he interrupted her, with a velvet teasing quality, and his eyes dancing with unconcealed delight. Hayley tried to shrug off the incident with the same amount of nonchalance, but she knew how frightened she’d been, and how reassured when she’d had hold of his hand. She had depended on his strength and the steady grip of his hand around hers, warm and hard.

Somehow she had felt safe and secure. Instinctively she knew that, while he was there, all would be well. Hayley felt a trickle of bad memories in her mind, causing her to shudder. Then a vivid picture suddenly flashed before her eyes: she was stuck in a tree, it seemed so high off the ground, and yet, when her father had stretched up his arms, she had leapt into them, confident she would be caught. She remembered the thrill of his arms wrapped around her tiny waist, and she knew for the second time in her life she had experienced that emotion again. The thought made her head spin. She had been loved in that moment, safe and secure in her father’s arms; yet it had been a fleeting one: she was soon placed firmly on the floor while Melissa demanded attention.

‘I hope the rest of the flight passes without incident,’ she said lightly, trying to dismiss such thoughts from her mind. She had never been dependent on anyone and the idea worried her.

‘I should imagine so,’ Alex said, ‘and, if not, I am always here for you,’ he reassured her playfully. Hayley tried to smile, but it died on her lips at his remark. She was not used to this coquettish game and was quite sure he was a master at it.

‘I have embarrassed you, yes?’ he asked, a trace of concern apparent in his accent. Hayley shook her head and flicked her hair over her shoulders, a habit of hers when she was agitated.

‘No, not at all,’ she answered too quickly, the speed of her reply revealing her true feelings. He nodded sagely at her, holding her in his hypnotic gaze.

‘Tell me, what exactly is your job?’ he asked conversationally, and Hayley was grateful for his neutral line. She responded, unaware of the rapt attention he was giving her...

‘My job in the gallery is selling art works,’ she said modestly, never admitting to the important role she played; her lack of confidence made her unaware of her true skills and talents.

‘You like this work—it is interesting?’ His voice was warmly persuasive, and Hayley, who loved her work and enjoyed talking about it, failed to see the flicker of curiosity on his usually guarded features.

‘Oh, yes indeed. The gallery specialises in antique works but we also hold several exhibitions each year for new talent,’ she told him, sparkling as she recalled her past achievements.

‘And your preferred artists?’ Alex asked almost cautiously, as if not wanting to be disappointed by her choice.

‘I have a very general taste. At the moment, there is a growing interest in religious art. Many churches are closing and they contain some marvellous artistic pieces. Many undiscovered sculptures by famous men are appearing at auction, so at the moment I’m spending time researching into all aspects of religious art.’

‘This gallery—you own it?’ he asked gently, feigning casual interest as he brushed imaginary fluff from his trousers. Hayley gave a hoot of delight.

‘No, I couldn’t possibly afford to own a gallery!’ she replied, shaking her head till her thick fringe swayed, drawing attention to the natural beauty of her face.

‘That’s very honest of you,’ he remarked.

‘Why should I lie to you?’ Hayley was puzzled by his cynical observation.

He pushed his fingers roughly through his hair, an action that made him look slightly boyish before he replied. ‘Why indeed?’ he said heavily, and she knew that he was laughing at her, a joke which she was part of but didn’t under-stand. A shadow of disappointment crossed her face.

‘You clearly love your work, but you feel you are no expert?’ Alex asked, as if trying to draw her back to easy conversation.

‘I’m no expert,’ agreed Hayley, omitting to tell him how qualified she was, as it might appear boastful and crude.

‘You told me your visit to Greece is not a holiday. Do I presume business, then? Art works to view?’ he queried.

‘No, not really, but if I saw anything very good I could not ignore such an opportunity to ask the owner to perhaps consider an exhibition. This is my card,’ she said in her most professional manner, passing Alex the gallery’s small buff-coloured card. He scanned over it with interest before fixing back on her.

‘So, if it is not business,’ he continued, as he tucked her card neatly in his chest pocket, ‘then what brings you to Greece?’

Hayley gave a low groan; how could one possibly describe the situation she was in? ‘My sister is hoping to get married and I’m going to meet the family.’

‘Indeed? How fascinating.’ She detected the hidden edge in his voice and was worried by it. ‘And will you be able to cope?’

Hayley paused before she answered, as a mental image of her parents flashed before her. She had always coped, always had to cope alone, while Melissa had demanded attention.

‘I’ve always coped,’ she replied, trying to keep the sorrow from her voice which she knew was ever-present when she thought about her childhood. He nodded briefly, catching the hidden pain in her eyes.

‘So it is you who must make all the arrangements?’ he pursued, his voice warming and gentle, yet there was a teasing, almost mocking ring to his enquiries, making her nervous.

‘I’m afraid so, and, though for my sister’s sake I must do my best, it’s not going to be easy.’

‘Why do you say that about people you haven’t even met?’ he queried keenly.

‘I’m not sure, but the family don’t appear at all keen on the idea, to be honest,’ Hayley confessed with lightness, as if it was of no real consequence. She was trying hard not to feel intimidated, but the thought of meeting Dimitri’s family played on the back of her mind. She noted the concern that suddenly creased Alex’s brow, and when he spoke his voice was jagged.

‘Why not?’ he snapped, looking stormy. Hayley felt pleased that he seemed as perturbed as she about their objections. It reassured her that perhaps not all Greeks were as old-fashioned as Mr Christos.

‘It’s the old man—’ she began, but she was interrupted immediately by Alex.

‘The old man?’ he echoed incredulously, and the sudden glint in his eyes unnerved her.

‘Yes—Dimitri’s cousin,’ she explained. ‘I’ve only spoken to him on the phone, but he was far from friendly,’ she said, a little embarrassed by the admission. She remembered Mr Christos’s tone and felt angry again.

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure, but I think it’s because it would be a mixed marriage; he sounds awfully traditional and set in his ways.’

‘You can tell all this by the sound of his voice?’ Alex’s voice was measured and even, but Hayley caught the underlying anger and reacted to it, defending her opinion vehemently.




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