Her Greek Groom: The Tycoon's Mistress / Smokescreen Marriage / His Forbidden Bride. Sara Craven
Cressy. As the waiter moved off, she stopped him. ‘O logariasimos, parakolo?’ Adding, ‘May I have the bill, please?’ in case he didn’t understand her attempt at Greek.
But he didn’t seem to have much grasp of English either, because he shrugged, smilingly spread his hands, and kept on walking.
The dance finished and everyone sat down, laughing and talking.
When the music started again, it was slow and haunting, almost plaintive.
Cressy knew that Draco had appeared, because the chattering voices were stilled suddenly, and there was a new tension in the air. She stared down at her coffee, not wanting to look up—not wanting to watch, but eventually impelled to.
Across the distance that divided them, above the heads of the crowd, his eyes met hers—held them steadily. He inclined his head in silent acknowledgement. Then he began to dance.
Yannis and the other men knelt in a half-circle around him, clapping the rhythm. Tonight, there was none of the exuberance she’d seen that morning. The movements were as passionate, but they spoke of pain and isolation. The music seemed to wail and weep, emphasising the yearning expressed by his taut body.
Cressy, totally enthralled, saw weariness and suffering. And every so often a dangerous flicker of wildness.
She thought, with an odd certainty, This is about love—and the loss of love…
When it stopped, there was silence for a moment, and then the applause broke out, wave after wave of it, and people were standing to take photographs.
When disco music began to play over the sound system it was almost a shock. But no one else could have followed Draco, she thought.
Everyone was up on their feet, joining in, jigging around vigorously. Glad, she thought, to dispel some of the emotion of the last few minutes.
Cressy noticed the girl at once. She was red-haired and pretty, wearing a tiny Lycra skirt and a skimpy top displaying a generous amount of cleavage. Her hand was on Draco’s arm and she was smiling up at him, moving closer, her whole body an invitation.
Cressy put down her coffee cup, aware that her hand was shaking. She knew an overwhelming impulse to rush over to them—to drag the redhead away—to slap her—scratch her nails down that simpering face.
But she wasn’t a violent person, she told herself vehemently. She never had been.
Except that she’d never been jealous before. And that made all the difference.
The resentment she felt for Eloise didn’t even feature on the same scale, she thought, closing her eyes, conscious that she felt slightly sick.
She and Draco came from two different worlds. So how could she possibly feel these things for a total stranger—someone she didn’t want? That she couldn’t want…
The soundtrack had changed to something soft and dreamy, and Cressy kept her eyes shut, because she didn’t want to see the red-haired girl in Draco’s arms.
His voice, soft and amused, said, ‘It is too soon to sleep, agapi mou. You have a bargain to keep.’
She looked up at him, feeling her stomach muscles clench in unwelcome excitement and longing.
She said coolly, ‘Shouldn’t you be spending time with your adoring public?’
His grin was appreciative. ‘She was beautiful, ne?’ He whistled. ‘Such a mouth—such breasts.’ Lazily, he scanned Cressy’s indignantly parted lips, then let his gaze travel slowly downwards. That was all he did, yet for one dizzy, scared moment she knew how his mouth would feel on hers—recognised the intimate touch of his hands on her body.
He went on quietly, ‘But I am here with you, my golden one, so don’t disappoint me.’
He held out his hand, and, silently, she rose from her seat and went with him. Felt his arms close round her, drawing her against him. Cressy surrendered, sliding her own arms round his firm waist and resting her cheek against his chest as they moved quietly together to the music, one tune fading effortlessly into another.
She was not an accomplished dancer, yet in Draco’s arms she seemed to drift in perfect attunement, as if she was part of him. It might have been a dream, except that she was only too aware of the physical reality of his nearness.
She was trembling inside, her body tingling as the warmth of his skin invaded her thin layers of clothing, giving her the helpless impression that she was naked in his arms. Shocking her by the sudden scalding heat of desire.
There were no pretences anymore. He was as aroused as she was.
He whispered against her ear, his voice raw and urgent, ‘You feel it too, ne, my girl, my heaven? This need we have for each other?’
She pulled away, staring up at him, her eyes wide, the pupils dilated as she met the glint of golden fire in his.
She said hoarsely, ‘I—I can’t do this. I have to go—have to…’
And stopped, as she realised they were alone. The courtyard was deserted. Yannis and his helpers had vanished into the taverna, the glass doors discreetly closed behind them, and the crowd from Alakos had gone.
She said on a little sob, ‘The ferry—oh, God, the ferry…’
She ran out of the courtyard and down the street towards the harbour, but Draco caught her before she’d gone more than a few yards.
‘The ferry has gone,’ he said.
‘But you knew I had to catch it. You knew that.’ Her voice shook. ‘Now I’m stranded. Oh, hell. What am I going to do?’
‘You stay here,’ he said calmly. ‘It’s not a problem.’
‘Yes,’ she said bitterly. ‘Oh, yes, it is. You don’t understand…’
‘I know more than you think.’ He put his hands on her shoulders, looking down into her angry, frightened face. ‘You believe I have kept you here to share my bed tonight, but you are wrong. I shall sleep at my own house, and you will stay here with Yannis and Maria.’
Cressy gasped. ‘When was this decided?’
‘When we realised that there would be no room for you on the ferry. An overcrowded boat is not safe, particularly when many of the passengers have been drinking Metaxa. It is better to wait for tomorrow.’
She bit her lip. ‘Very well.’ She paused. ‘But the hotel. They’ll know I haven’t come back…’
‘Yannis has telephoned them, so all is well.’
She said quietly, ‘Then there’s nothing left to say.’
The music had stopped when they came back to the courtyard, and the lights were out.
Draco walked beside her, his tread as quiet as a cat’s. He did not touch her, but she felt him in every fibre of her being.
He would kiss her, she thought confusedly, and she wanted him to. In fact, she ached for him. But she’d betrayed too much already, while they were dancing. And when his mouth touched hers she would have no defences left.
No strength to say no when he walked up the moonlit stairs beside her to the quiet, cool room with the wide bed. No power to resist when he drew her down into his arms.
His for the taking, she thought. And he would know that, and would take…
They reached the foot of the stone steps and she paused uncertainly, waiting for him to reach for her.
He said softly, ‘Until tomorrow—Cressida the golden. But now—kalinichta. Goodnight.’ And she felt the brush of his lips against her hair, as swift and tantalising as a butterfly’s wing.
And then she was free, walking up the stairs alone, and bewildered. She turned at the top of the stairs and looked down at him, the still shadow waiting there. Watching