The Santorini Marriage Bargain. Margaret Mayo
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leave them lying around for fear of offending the room’s intrinsic sense of order.
‘Please, sit down,’ invited Zarek. ‘I’ll ring for tea.’
Rhianne perched on the edge of a chair, and, when he had finished issuing his order, Zarek joined her. ‘So, tell me how you’re really feeling?’
‘Bruised,’ she answered on a reflective sigh. ‘But other than that I’m OK. I don’t really need to be here.’
‘You were lucky I wasn’t driving any faster. You might not have got away with such slight injury. Would you care to tell me what it was that made you walk out into the road like that?’
‘I was deep in thought, that’s all.’
‘Some thoughts,’ he said, his brows rising as though he didn’t believe her simple explanation. ‘Would it have anything to do with the fact that you didn’t want me to take you home? Were you running away?’
‘Running away?’ echoed Rhianne indignantly. He was too astute for words. ‘Why would I want to do that?’
‘It’s the impression you give.’
Rhianne dropped her head into her hands. ‘I have a raging headache. Do you have any aspirin?’
Immediately he sprang to his feet.
It had the desired effect. It stopped him asking any more questions. But her reprieve was short-lived. A glass of water and the tablets appeared as if by magic. He handed them to her and stood over her until she had taken them. ‘Would you like to lie down?’ he enquired.
Lie down? On a bed? In his private suite? A worst-case scenario raced through Rhianne’s head. ‘No, I’ll be all right,’ she answered firmly.
‘I could send for a physician.’
‘I said I’ll be all right,’ she said even more emphatically, shooting sparks of fire from her brilliant blue eyes. ‘But I would like to use your bathroom.’
‘Of course, why did I not think of it?’ He crossed the room and opened a door.
Inside Rhianne could see a bed, but nothing else. A four-poster bed! Her heart slammed against her ribcage. She was treading on dangerous territory here.
‘The bathroom is to the right.’
It was as if he had read her thoughts, but there was nothing at all on his handsome face to suggest that he had anything other than her well-being in mind. In fact he was deadly serious. Serious or not, though, Zarek Diakos was a dangerous man.
He was as sexy as sin, and she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t felt some reaction to him. Thick dark brows hovered over brown eyes that were seriously striking. Long lashes guarded them. His nose was as straight as a die, very imperial-looking, and his lips were full and wide and mobile. At this very moment they were closed, but she knew that he had beautiful even white teeth.
His hair was thick and dark and touched his collar; his square jaw was darkly shadowed as though he already needed another shave. He was all man; even his body was beautiful. He had taken off his jacket and carefully hung it on a coat hanger in the entrance hall, and through the fine cotton of his shirt Rhianne observed a tangle of dark hair.
Angus had no chest hairs. His body was smooth and clear and—angrily Rhianne dashed all thoughts of him out of her mind. He no longer deserved a place in her memories. She ran through to the bathroom.
Zarek guessed that here was a woman who had more on her mind than the few bruises she had suffered. He went cold every time he thought about what the consequences of the accident could have been. Thank goodness he’d reacted quickly. She had walked out in front of him as though she had had a death wish, and he didn’t know how he’d managed to stop without seriously injuring her.
He had a feeling that reaction hadn’t yet set in. She didn’t realise how dangerously close she had come to being killed. She was an attractive woman with rich auburn hair that curled and waved down over her shoulders, and fantastic blue eyes. It was a shame they were shadowed, and he didn’t think it was all to do with the near miss. Something was clearly disturbing her, and he wanted to find out what it was.
Perhaps she would relax shortly and begin to talk. It would do her good. Not that he’d ever been in this position before, but he felt deep down in his gut that she seriously needed to get something off her chest. She had emphatically declared that she didn’t want to go home, so it was something that had happened there that was troubling her. And who was he? Sherlock Holmes? He had no idea what was wrong. He was clutching at straws, trying to work something out that had nothing to do with him.
Except that it had. He had knocked Rhianne over and he felt responsible. He even wondered again whether he ought to take her to hospital, get her checked out. Perhaps he should.
Then the tea arrived, and Rhianne rejoined him. After she’d drunk two cups she looked a little perkier. The colour returned to her cheeks, and she even managed a faint smile. It was a lovely smile. It made her whole face lighten and brighten and she looked even more beautiful.
Zarek had had his fill of beautiful women, but Rhianne was—well, she was Rhianne. A good-looking woman with no interest in him whatsoever—which made a change—and a heap of trouble sitting heavily on her slender shoulders.
They drank even more tea, and finally he suggested that he take her home.
The shadows returned to her eyes. ‘I can’t go back there.’ And they filled with tears.
Immediately, without even thinking what he was doing, or that his actions could be misinterpreted, he knelt down and pulled her against him. Rhianne buried her head in his shoulder and stayed there for several long seconds while he inhaled the freshness of her shampoo and felt her hair’s thickness between his fingers as he cradled her head.
Whew! He didn’t like this, not one little bit. He didn’t like the feelings that were beginning to throb within him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was being a good Samaritan here; sensations like this weren’t allowed.
Gently he put her from him. ‘Feeling better?’
She nodded, and he reached out a handkerchief, handing it to her so that she could pat her tear-stained face. ‘Care to tell me what’s troubling you?’
‘It’s private.’
‘And I’m a stranger you’re hardly likely to see again. You know what they say about a trouble shared. You never know, you might feel better. I promise not to tell anyone.’
Rhianne found herself giving an involuntary smile. Actually, she didn’t feel like smiling, so why it happened she didn’t know. Except that this man seemed to understand her needs. It was true, she wouldn’t see him again after today. They were passing strangers—even though he had invited her into his house, and she had shared tea with him and buried her head into his shoulder when she had begun to cry.
But to tell him such personal things!
All of a sudden she wanted to. She was filled to bursting with unhappiness, and sharing it with a stranger wouldn’t be as difficult as telling her mother for instance. Or a friend. They would ask questions. They knew Angus. They knew she had been planning to marry him. This man would listen and console.
‘I don’t know where to begin,’ she said at length.
‘The beginning’s always a good place,’ he responded, but she remained silent for so long that he leaned forward and took her hands into his. ‘Is it a man who has done this to you?’ He asked the question quietly and patiently, not wanting to stir up too much anguish unless she was prepared to confide.
Rhianne nodded, and suddenly tears began to slide down her cheeks, gathering momentum until they were chasing each other in an incessant flow.
Zarek hated to see women cry; it made him uncomfortable; he never knew exactly how to treat them. Though, in all honesty, the women who had cried in front of him