Greek Affairs: The Virgin's Seduction. Trish Morey
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force to be reckoned with.
The sunset glow was already fading from the sky, so she closed the blinds in the living room and lit a couple of lamps before making for her bathroom with a sigh of anticipation, discarding her clothing as she went.
It was almost an hour later when, dried and scented, she put on a new pair of peach satin pyjamas, and began slowly to brush her newly freed chestnut hair back from her face, enjoying the luxurious sensation of the soft fabric gliding against her skin as her arm moved slowly and rhythmically.
Relishing the perfect order of her environment, with her room tidied and the bed turned down. Looking forward to the peace of the evening ahead of her, and the chance to feel totally relaxed at last.
Except…
She paused, frowning a little, wondering if she’d acquired a new and noisy neighbour, because she was sure she’d heard a door opening and closing not too far away.
In fact, altogether too near for comfort.
For a moment Harriet stood motionless, hardly breathing, as she listened, telling herself it was pure imagination. That it couldn’t possibly be her own door, because she’d locked up securely, as always.
But for the first time Harriet regretted there was no phone extension in the bedroom. Wished she hadn’t left her mobile in her briefcase by the sofa.
Not, of course, that there was anything to worry about. One of this apartment block’s advantages was a concierge service, and no one ever got past George, an ex-Royal Marine. The events of the day had left her edgy, that was all.
Just the same …
Taking a deep breath, she put down her brush, and trod barefoot to the doorway which led into her living room.
Where she stopped abruptly, gasping as if a monstrous hand had descended on her ribcage, squeezing the breath from her lungs.
‘Kalispera, Harriet mou,’ Roan Zandros said softly, and smiled at her in the lamplight.
He was standing in the centre of the room, still dressed pretty much as he’d been at the wedding, except that his tie had gone, leaving his shirt open at the throat, and he had a small but serviceable rucksack slung across one shoulder.
‘What are you doing here?’ She was proud of her voice, cool, uncompromising and steady as a rock. Especially as every pulse in her body was going suddenly crazy—thudding out a tattoo—a call to arms. When her legs were shaking so badly she had to resist an impulse to lean against the doorframe for support.
‘Where else should I be?’ He dropped the rucksack on to the black kid sofa, following it with his jacket. The dark eyes challenged her. ‘We were married today, or had you forgotten?’
‘We went through a ceremony, certainly,’ she returned curtly. He must have got her address from the pre-nuptial agreement, which he was now flouting, of course, she thought frantically. And swallowed. ‘How did you get in here, anyway?’
‘The concierge loaned me the spare key.’ He paused. ‘I am to return it in the morning.’
The precise implications of that dried her throat to sand.
This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be here, invading her privacy, intruding on her personal space, not when he’d promised—promised …
And seeing her off-guard, she realised, as no one was allowed to. And when—dear God—her only covering was a thin layer of satin.
Something that was not lost on him either, as she felt his eyes travelling slowly over her from the top of her head down to her bare toes. Saw his smile widen.
But she couldn’t waste time worrying about her clothing, or lack of it. The important thing was to keep her head, behave with dignity and decision—and get him out of there.
She rallied her wits and her voice. ‘That’s news to me.’
‘That there is a spare key?’
‘No, that George simply hands it out to passing strangers. He may well lose his job over this.’
‘Why—for bringing together a man and his bride on their wedding night?’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
Wedding night …
Harriet’s throat tightened. ‘All the same, I’d prefer you to return the key to him—and go.’
‘Except that tonight it will not be your preferences that matter, but mine,’ he retorted with equal incisiveness. ‘And I mean to stay.’
Breathing was becoming a problem—something she dared not let him know. She said with faint huskiness, ‘If this is some crude and tasteless attempt to be funny, then it’s failed. Now, for the last time, get out.’
‘But I am not joking.’ Roan began slowly to remove the cufflinks from his shirt. ‘Nor am I leaving.’
Their eyes met. His, cool and unswerving. Hers—appalled.
‘Because I am here to claim my marital rights, agapi mou,’ he went on softly. ‘One of the few options left to me by the draconian contract you insisted I sign.’
He paused. ‘And something of which I intend to take full advantage.’
His words dropped like fragments of ice into the taut, frightened silence that seemed to enfold her.
She made herself speak, her voice strained. ‘I—I think you must have gone mad. Our agreement specifies that we—live separately. You knew that—accepted it.’
He said, quite gently, ‘I agreed not to share your roof. But if you also meant to deny me your body, then you should have stated as much. Only, you did not, Harriet mou, so I am breaking no promise.’
That was why he’d spent so much time at Isobel’s office going over the damned thing, she thought. Because he’d been looking for a loophole—some way of getting back at her.
Fool, she castigated herself silently. Bloody imbecile. How could you have allowed such a basic omission to slip past?
Because, she thought, it had never occurred to her there was any possibility that he might—that he’d ever want …
And she wouldn’t believe it now, she told herself, rallying her defences. He had some other agenda. That had to be it.
She said stonily, ‘This is nonsense. I made it perfectly clear that I had no intention of being your wife—in that way.’
‘Yet you did not bother to consider what my own intentions might be.’ He paused, allowing her to digest that. ‘However, I have no plans to move in permanently, Harriet mou,’ he added silkily, glancing round him at the plain walls, pale wood and streamlined black furniture. ‘I find the ambience a little stark for my tastes, therefore I shall just be spending the night.’
He dropped his cufflinks on to the coffee table, and started to unbutton his shirt.
He smiled at her. ‘So, let us hope that your bed offers more in the way of comfort than your living room. I look forward to finding out.’
CHAPTER SIX
HARRIET felt as if she’d turned to stone. She stared at him—casually undressing in front of her—her mind in freefall. She could, of course, step backwards and shut her bedroom door against him, but that wouldn’t keep him out permanently, and the essential key to the lock was—elsewhere. In some cupboard, probably, or some drawer. My God, she didn’t even know. Couldn’t think. And because all the furniture was fitted, there wasn’t even a chair or a tallboy she could use as a barricade.
And, as he’d demonstrated on that first encounter in his studio, and since, he was infinitely stronger than she was. If she tried to fight him off physically, she would undoubtedly lose.
Although it couldn’t