Greek's Pride: The Stephanos Marriage / A Passionate Surrender / The Greek Bridegroom. HELEN BIANCHIN

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СКАЧАТЬ SEVEN

      THE SETTING WAS superb, the food a gourmet’s delight, presented with flair and artistry. Except that Alyse’s appetite seemed to be non-existent as she selected cream of mushroom soup, then followed it with crumbed prawn cutlets.

      After sipping half a flute of champagne she felt more at ease, but she was supremely conscious of Aleksi’s solicitous attention, the accidental brush of his fingers against her own, and the acute sensation that he was instigating a deliberate seduction.

      Consequently it was a relief when Alexandros asked if she’d care to join him on the dance floor.

      Alyse spared Rachel an enquiring smile. ‘Do you mind?’

      ‘Of course not, my dear.’ Rachel’s features assumed a faintly mischievous expression. ‘Aleksi and I will join you.’

      Alexandros, as Aleksi’s father insisted she call him, was every bit as commanding as his indomitable son, Alyse decided as she rose graciously from the table and allowed him to lead her on to the restaurant’s small dance floor. There was the same vital, almost electric energy apparent, an awareness of male sensuality that had little to do with chronological age. Alexandros Stefanos was charming: polite, deferential, and genuine. The sort of man a woman could entrust with her life.

      ‘You’re light on your feet, like a feather,’ he complimented her. ‘So graceful.’

      ‘You’re an accomplished partner,’ she returned with a faint smile.

      ‘And you’re very kind.’

      Am I? she thought silently. I’m not at all kindly disposed towards your son. Out loud, she said, ‘I hope you and Rachel are enjoying your holiday.’

      ‘My dear, how can I explain the joy among the grief in discovering that Georgiou had fathered a son? He’s very much loved, that child, his existence so precious to us all.’

      Alyse couldn’t think of a single thing to say, and she circled the floor in silence, hardly aware of the music or their fellow dancers on the floor.

      ‘Shall we change partners?’ a deep voice drawled from close by, and she missed her step, distinctly ill at ease that she was about to be relinquished into the waiting arms of her husband.

      Aleksi’s hold was far from conventional, and she wanted to scream with vexation.

      ‘Must you?’ she hissed, totally enraged at the proprietorial possessiveness of his grasp. She was all too aware of a subjugation so infinite, it was impossible not to feel afraid.

      ‘Dance with my wife?’

      His resort to mockery was deliberate, and momentarily defeated in the knowledge that self-assertion would only cause a scene, Alyse tilted her head and gave him a brilliant smile.

      ‘This is dancing, Aleksi? You can’t begin to know how much I’d like to slap your face!’

      One eyebrow slanted in cynical amusement. ‘Good heavens, whatever will you do when we make love? Kill me?’

      ‘I’ll have a darned good try!’

      His eyes darkened with ill-concealed humour. ‘Yes, I do believe you will.’

      There was no doubt he’d enjoy the fight, and its aftermath, while instinctive self-preservation warned that if she dared submit she would never be the same again.

      The music playing was one of those incredibly poignant songs that stirred at the heartstrings, with lyrics of such depth that just hearing them almost brought tears to her eyes.

      You’re mad, she told herself shakily. You hate him, remember? The strain of the past few days; meeting Georg’s grandparents. It was all too much.

      A slight shiver feathered its way across the surface of her skin. Any kind of emotional involvement was a luxury she couldn’t afford if she were to instigate a divorce and return to Perth with Georg.

      ‘I’d like to go back to our table.’ The words came out as a slightly desperate plea, and she strained away from him in her anxiety to escape the intimacy of his hold.

      ‘The band will take a break soon. Besides, my parents are still dancing. We should return together, don’t you think?’ His voice sounded mild close to her ear, and she felt his breath stir at her temple, teasing a few tendrils of hair.

      ‘I have the beginnings of a headache,’ she improvised, and felt immeasurably relieved as he led her to the edge of the dance floor, his gaze sharp and far too discerning for her peace of mind.

      ‘Fact, or fiction?’

      Her eyes blazed a brilliant blue. ‘Does it really matter?’ Angry beyond belief, she turned and moved quickly away from him.

      On reaching the brightly lit powder-room she crossed to an empty space in front of the long mirror and pretended interest in her features.

      She was far too pale, she decided in analytical appraisal, and her eyes bore a vaguely haunted look, reflecting an inner tension that was akin to a vulnerable animal confronted by a hunting predator.

      A tiny bubble of derisive laughter rose and died in her throat at her illogical parallel. Dear lord, she’d have to get a hold on herself. Imaginative flights of fancy were of no help whatsoever in her resolve against Aleksi Stefanos.

      The invention of a headache wasn’t entirely an untruth, for a persistent niggle began to manifest itself behind one eye, and she attributed its cause directly to her husband.

      Aware that her escape could only be a temporary respite, she resolutely withdrew a lipstick from her evening purse and tidied her hair to its smooth bell-like style before returning to their table.

      ‘My dear, are you all right?’ Rachel asked the moment Alyse was seated, and she countered the force of three pairs of apparently concerned eyes with a reassuring smile.

      ‘Yes, thank you.’

      ‘You’re very pale. Are you sure?’

      Obviously she wasn’t succeeding very well in the acting stakes! ‘Georg still wakes through the night,’ she explained lightly, ‘and is often difficult to settle.’

      ‘Georgiou was the same at a similar age—an angel by day, yet restless at night.’ Rachel offered a conciliatory smile. ‘It will soon pass.’

      ‘Meanwhile it’s proving quite disruptive to our sleep,’ drawled Aleksi, shooting Alyse a particularly intimate glance.

      Damn him, had he no shame? she fumed, forced into silence out of deference to his parents’ presence.

      ‘Tell me about the party you’ve both planned,’ Rachel began, in what Alyse decided was a sympathetic attempt to change the subject.

      ‘A delayed wedding reception,’ Aleksi elaborated with bland disregard for her barely contained surprise. ‘Providing an opportunity for family and friends to share the celebration of our marriage.’

      Alyse felt her stomach execute a few painful somersaults. How dared he propose something so ludicrous? СКАЧАТЬ