Greek's Pride. Helen Bianchin
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There were outlines of densely covered hills reaching into the distance as Aleksi veered inland from the coastal highway.
‘Sovereign Islands comprises a number of bridge-linked residentially developed islands situated to the east of Paradise Point, less than an hour’s drive from the airport,’ he told her. ‘It’s a prestigious security-guarded estate, and accessible by road from the mainland via a private bridge. Every home site has deep-water anchorage.’
‘A gilded prison for the fabulously wealthy, with a luxury vessel moored at the bottom of every garden?’
‘The residents prefer to call it civilised protection, and are prepared to pay for the privilege.’
‘Suitably cushioned from the harsh realities of life.’ Alyse couldn’t believe she was resorting to sarcasm. It simply wasn’t her style. Yet for some unknown reason the man behind the wheel generated the most adverse feelings in her, making her want to lash out against him in every possible way.
He didn’t bother to reply, and she sat in silence, aware of an increasing anxiety as the car sped steadily north. Her home in Perth seemed a million kilometres away; the relative ease of life as she’d known it equally distant.
Her marriage was one of necessity, and merely mutually convenient. So why was she as wound up as a tightly coiled spring?
‘We’re almost there,’ Aleksi declared drily, and Alyse spared her surroundings a swift encompassing glance, noting the numerous brightly lit architect-designed homes and established well-kept grounds.
Aleksi had said his home was a showcase, and she silently agreed as he turned the car on to a tiled driveway fronting a magnificent double-storeyed residence that seemed far too large for one man alone.
Pale granite walls were reflected by the car’s powerful headlights, their lines imposing and classically defined. At a touch of the remote control module the wide garage doors tilted upwards, and Aleksi brought the BMW to a smooth halt alongside a Patrol four-wheel-drive vehicle.
Minutes later Alyse followed him into a large entrance foyer featuring a vaulted ceiling of tinted glass. A magnificent chandelier hung suspended from its centre, lending spaciousness and an abundance of light reflected by off-white walls and deep-piled cream-textured carpet. The central focus was a wide double staircase leading to the upper floor.
Wide glass-panelled doors stood open revealing an enormous lounge furnished with delicately carved antique furniture, and there were several carefully placed oil paintings gracing the walls, providing essential colour.
‘I suggest you settle Georg,’ said Aleksi as he brought in the luggage. His expression was a inscrutable mask as he chose a passageway to his left, and Alyse had little option but to follow in his wake.
‘The master suite has an adjoining sitting-room overlooking the canal—’ with a wide sweep of his arm he indicated a door immediately opposite ‘—an en suite bathroom, and, to the left, a changing-room with two separate walk-in wardrobes.’
The décor had an elegance that was restful and visually pleasant, utilising a skilful mix of pale green and a soft shade of peach as a complement to the overall cream.
‘There’s the requisite nursery furniture in the sitting-room,’ he continued, moving forward. ‘And a spare bed which you can use until—’
‘Until—what?’ Alyse’s eyes blazed blue fire in an unspoken challenge.
‘You’re ready to share mine,’ he drawled with imperturbable calm.
She was so incredibly furious that she almost shook with anger, and she failed to feel Georg stir in her arms, nor did she register his slight whimper in sleepy protest. ‘That will be never!’
Dark eyebrows slanted above eyes that held hers in deliberate mocking appraisal. ‘My dear Alyse,’ chided Aleksi with chilling softness, ‘surely you expect the marriage to be consummated?’
Her eyes widened with angry incredulity. ‘In a house this large, there have to be other adequate bedrooms from which I can choose.’
‘Several,’ Aleksi agreed. ‘However, this is where you’ll stay.’
Her chin tilted in a gesture of indignant mutiny. ‘The hell I will!’
‘Eventually you must fall asleep.’ He gave a careless shrug as he indicated the large bed. ‘When you do, I’ll simply transfer you here.’
‘You unspeakable fiend!’ she lashed out. ‘I won’t let you do that.’
‘How do you propose to stop me?’
His expression was resolute, and only an innocent would fail to detect tensile steel beneath the silky smoothness of his voice.
Alyse’s heart lurched painfully, then skipped a beat. Only a wide aperture separated the sitting-room from the bedroom, with no door whatsoever to afford her any privacy.
‘You’re an unfeeling, insensitive—’ She faltered to a furious halt, momentarily lost for adequate words in verbal description. ‘Brute!’
Something flickered in the depths of his eyes, then it was successfully masked. ‘I suggest you settle Georg before he becomes confused and bewildered by the degree of anger you’re projecting.’ He turned towards the bedroom door. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen, making coffee.’
Alyse wanted to throw something at his departing back, and the only thing that stopped her was the fact that she held Georg in her arms.
Experiencing momentary defeat, she turned towards the sitting-room, seeing at a glance that it was sufficiently large to hold a pair of single chairs and a sofa, as well as a bed and nursery furniture.
Placing the baby down into the cot, she gently covered him, lingering long enough to see that he was asleep before moving back into the bedroom.
Defiance emanated from every pore in her body as she retrieved her nightwear from her bag. A shower would surely ease some of her tension, she decided as she made her way into the luxuriously fitted bathroom. Afterwards she’d beard Aleksi in the kitchen and reaffirm her determination for entirely separate sleeping quarters for herself and Georg.
It was heaven to stand beneath the jet of pulsating hot water, and she took her time before using one of several large fluffy bathtowels to dry the excess moisture from her body. Her toilette completed, she slipped on a nightgown and added a matching robe.
There were bottles to sterilise and formula to make up in case Georg should wake through the night, and, collecting the necessary carry-bag, she went in search of the kitchen.
She found it off a passageway on the opposite side of the lounge, and she studiously ignored the tall dark-haired man in the process of pouring black aromatic coffee from a percolator into one of two cups set out on the servery.
Luxuriously spacious, the kitchen was a delight featuring the latest in electronic equipment, and in normal circumstances she would have expressed pleasure in its design.
‘I’m sure you’ll find whatever you need in the cupboards,’ Aleksi drawled as he added sugar and a splash of whisky.
‘Thank you.’ Her words were stilted and barely polite as she set about her task.
‘A married couple come in daily to maintain the house and grounds,’ he informed her matter-of-factly. ‘And a catering firm is hired whenever I entertain.’
‘With such splendid organisation, you hardly need a wife,’ she retorted, impossibly angry with him—and herself, for imagining he might permit a celibate cohabitation.
‘Don’t sulk, Alyse,’ he derided drily, and she rounded on him with ill-concealed fury.
‘I am not sulking! I’m simply too damned angry to be bothered conducting any sort of civilised conversation with you!’ With tense movements she put the newly made formula in the refrigerator.
‘The