Сара Крейвен – Greek Affairs: The Virgin's Seduction: The Virgin's Wedding Night / Kyriakis's Innocent Mistress / The Ruthless Greek's Virgin Princess (страница 16)
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.
‘
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—
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.’
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,
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
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 be allowed to get to that point. After all, she’d been the prime mover in this situation, and somehow she had to reassert her dominance. Mentally, emotionally—and fast.
She swallowed. ‘I think you must be—genuinely crazy,’ she said. ‘But please understand that I have absolutely no intention of sleeping with you.’
‘So there is no problem,’ he returned pleasantly. ‘Because sleep does not feature on my list of priorities either.’
There was another terrible silence as she watched him shrug off his shirt, and toss it after his jacket. As she saw his hands move to the buckle of his belt …
She drew a deep, unsteady breath. ‘That’s quite enough. You—you can stop right there.’
Roan paused. ‘Was there some clause in the agreement dictating what I wear in bed?’ he wondered aloud, then shook his head. ‘I don’t remember it.’
‘No clause,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Just—common decency, which you seem to lack. And if this is a ploy to get more money out of me, it won’t work, even if you strip a dozen times. It was obviously stupid of me to imagine I could trust you,’ she added bitingly. ‘But I’m wiser now, and the marriage ends here and now.’
‘Not yet, my unwilling wife,’ he said softly. ‘It is about to begin. I thought I had made that clear.’
Her stomach was churning wildly. ‘Then let me also make something clear,’ she rasped. ‘I’ll see you in court, Mr Zandros, before I give in to this kind of blackmail.’
‘It should make a fascinating case.’ He stood watching her, hands on hips. ‘I can see the tabloid headlines now.’ He paused. ‘And imagine your grandfather’s reaction to them, and the way you have tried to deceive him. I think you could say goodbye to your hopes of Gracemead, don’t you?’
With every moment, her wonderful spacious room—her sanctuary—seemed to be shrinking, while increasing her acute awareness of him at the same time.
Somehow she had to redress the balance, she told herself desperately. Stop this whole impossible situation right now before it went too far—if it hadn’t done so already.
It wasn’t easy to keep him at a safe distance without making it too obvious that she was skirting round him, because the last thing she wanted was to seem nervous, but she managed it somehow. Difficult, as well, to try to appear dignified in spite of her flimsy pyjamas and bare feet as she crossed the living room, although she was heart-thuddingly conscious that she was still marginally more covered than he was.
She reached the door and stood beside it, her head held high, grasping the handle tightly in an attempt to disguise that her fingers were shaking.
‘If you leave now,’ she said, lifting her chin, ‘and don’t come back, then we—we’ll forget this ever happened. If you don’t, I shall call the police.’
‘And say what?’ he enquired mockingly. ‘That you are a bride reluctant to lose your virginity to the husband you married this morning?’