The Good Greek Wife? (10 page)

She was a temptation strong enough to distract him from the way he really needed to be thinking, the things he had wanted to find out before he took up his old way of life again. His marriage was going to be so very different this time, or it was not going to exist at all.

But even as he told himself that the all-too-familiar heavy tightening in his groin warned him of what just thinking about Penny could do to him. The sort of reaction that stopped him thinking, drove the blood away from his brain and down to other, much more basic parts of his body. He'd already almost been caught that way once tonight. And thinking, not responding, was what he needed to do.

With a heavy sigh he reached up and turned the control on the shower to
cold
and forced himself to stand under it for far, far longer than he needed to get clean.

‘T
HAT
was wonderful, thank you.'

Zarek pushed his plate away from him, reached for his wine glass, and leaned back in his chair to sip at the golden-toned liquid with a sigh of contentment.

‘It's so long since I tasted baked feta with peppers that I had almost forgotten how much I enjoyed it. And baklava…I didn't know that you knew how to make it.'

‘Marta taught me,' Penny said, referring to the cook who usually ran the villa's kitchen with a rule of iron. ‘I've been having cooking lessons with her—for something to do.'

She didn't add that she had specially learned how to make the simple dish and others like it because her instructor had told her that they were Zarek's favourites. She'd already given far too much away by revealing that she had kept all his clothes in the wardrobes since the time of his disappearance.

‘So that's how you spent your time.'

‘Part of it anyway.'

Once again Penny couldn't look at him but fixed her eyes on the dark line of the horizon. Even after ten o'clock at night it was still warm enough to sit out on the terrace beside the swimming pool and that was where she had served the quick
and simple meal she had put together for them after she had emerged from the shower.

She hadn't stayed under the water for long. Once safely in the sanctuary of a bathroom belonging to another bedroom, at the far end of the landing from the master suite she and Zarek had once shared, she had been quick to strip off the blue silk robe, tossing it onto the bed and then freezing in horror at the sight that confronted her in another full-length mirror.

‘Oh, my… No!'

Had she really looked such a shocking mess? With her dress dragged down and pushed up, actually torn in one place, she looked more like the victim of an assault than a passionate lover happy to give herself to the man she adored. Her underwear had disappeared, lost who knew where, and her hair was a complete bird's nest falling in wild and knotted disarray around a shock-pale face. Even the untypical light traces of make-up that the thought of today's dreadful board meeting had driven her to put on were smudged and smeared around her eyes, the soft tinted lipstick totally kissed off.

‘No!'

Penny put her hands to her face, covering her eyes to block out the sight, then almost immediately snatched them away again. She couldn't bear to stay like this a moment longer. A long, hot shower would make her feel better, restore some sense of balance, repair her damaged self-esteem.

At least that was what she hoped for. What actually happened was that as she removed and discarded what little was left of her clothing all she could think of was the way that it had felt to have Zarek's urgent hands on her dress, snatching aside the straps, dragging her skirt up high to expose her legs… She could almost still feel his touch everywhere on her skin, on her face, her breasts…her thighs. Somehow those
hungry fingers had seared a path over her flesh, one that would not vanish even when she was many metres away from him, separated from his presence by the thickness of several walls.

Even diving under the shower and turning it on full force hadn't helped. The heat of the water had followed the path of the heated touch, trickling between her breasts, sliding down to the dark curls between her legs, along her thighs… Making her freeze under the rush of the water as she felt it pound down on her head, seeming to thump out the syllables of Zarek's name against her skull. Over and over again without a pause.

Za—rek. Za—rek… Until she could bear it no longer but lurched out of the shower, water stinging her eyes. She had no way of knowing if it was the flow from the shower or the tears that threatened, only that she was half blinded by it, groping roughly for her towel before snatching from the rail at it and rubbing her face hard.

How was it possible that she had gone into the shower to feel clean, to wash away the scent of Zarek's body on hers, the feel of his touch, and yet now she felt worse than before, tainted, marked for ever? It was as if his caresses had been a brand, his kisses scarring her for life. She would never be free of the darkly sensual hold he had over her, the fetters of sexuality that had bound her to him from the very first.

And was that all that it was? she couldn't help wondering now. She had fallen head over heels for Zarek when she had first met him, and she had truly believed herself in love at first sight. But had it been anything more than a hugely powerful crush, the first stirrings of her female sexuality? She hadn't known what sexual desire really meant and so she had only thought of the way she had felt for Zarek in terms of love and giving her heart.

But her time married to this man had taught her that he, at
least, was capable of claiming her as his in purely sexual terms. Of wanting her only for the wild and white hot passion that flared between them every time they touched. Every time they kissed. He had wooed her, won her, seduced her, married her, made her his, without a single trace of love for her. He had wanted her in his bed, to warm and satisfy his body and to create an heir for the company that was really the only thing that touched his heart, or what part of a heart he actually possessed.

‘I married you for a child!' The last angry words he had flung at her before leaving for the
Troy
came back to haunt her once more. ‘If you want this marriage to continue then that is non-negotiable.'

A sensation like the trickle of something slow and icy slipped down her spine at the thought. And that sense of creeping cold was made all the worse by staring out at the moonlit sea and remembering all those other nights she had sat out here on the terrace, doing exactly that. Then she had had to fight so hard against the nightmarish thoughts of Zarek's lifeless body tossed overboard from the pirates' boat and left abandoned in the water. Just the memory she had of those thoughts made Penny shiver convulsively in spite of the warmth.

‘Cold?' Zarek shocked her by the speed and focus with which he reacted, turning his attention—the attention she had believed was fixed on the view before them—onto her in the space of a heartbeat.

‘No—not really,' she managed on an awkward laugh. ‘Someone just walked over my grave.'

Then, when his dark brows drew together in a frown of confusion and incomprehension, she had to force herself to continue and explain the superstition.

‘When you get a shiver like that it's said to mean that someone somewhere is walking over the spot where you're
going to be buried. It's just an old wives' tale. I think the scientific explanation is that the shiver is a response to the release of stress hormones.'

She was rambling and betraying her nervousness by doing so. She could see it in the darkness of Zarek's eyes, shadowed in the flickering light of the candles she had set on the table around them. He was back to watching her too closely for comfort and the steady, intent observation he subjected her to made her shift uncomfortably in her seat.

‘And are you?' he asked at last, lifting his wine glass to his lips again but not swallowing as he studied her over the top of it. ‘Stressed, I mean.'

‘Of course I am!'

This at least she could answer with total honesty, for a moment or two anyway. She still found it almost impossible to believe that he had come back from the dead. That he was here, sitting with her in the warmth of the evening with the sound of his breathing in her ear, the scent of his skin in her nostrils.

‘Why wouldn't I be stressed? I started this morning as I have done for the past two years, thinking that I was alone—a widow—that my husband was dead. And then suddenly the door opens and there you are—large as life and twice as ugly. And—and…'

‘And?' Zarek prompted when she stumbled over the words, unable to go on. Setting his glass down on the wooden table top, he leaned towards her, elbows resting on his thighs, chin supported on his hands. ‘And?'

He was too close. Too dangerously close in every way. She could see the way that his chest rose and fell with each breath, the shadow at his jaw line of the growth of that black beard even though he must have shaved only that morning. This close, and looking into his eyes, she could see how they were
not totally dark but the deep brown was flecked with gold, like sparks flying up from a fire. And the scent of his body was like some spice in her nostrils, making her blood heat, her heart pound.

‘And now my life is upside down and inside out and I don't know where I'm going or who I am.'

‘My wife.'

He inserted the words with smooth precision, like sliding the point of a stiletto into her ribs, so smoothly and easily that at first, at the start, she didn't actually feel any of the pain it was inflicting on her.

‘You are my wife.'

It was so calm, so controlled, so totally sure that that was all that mattered. And the absolute certainty, the note of dark possessiveness, made her skin chill once more, the tiny hairs at the back of her neck lifting in tension as she managed to control another of those shivers this time.

‘Nothing has changed.'

‘Oh, but it has!'

Talking with Zarek now was rather like skating over a deep, murky pond that was just covered with thin ice. She was sliding every which way, unable to quite get her grip on what was really happening, while all the time being aware that under the ice were the coldest, blackest, most dangerous depths, just waiting for the moment that her foot went through the surface and she tumbled in. Then she had the desperate feeling that the waters would close right over her and the icy cold would steal all her breath away and leave her to drown.

‘Things have to have changed. It's been two years since I saw you—a lot has to have happened in that time. Two years in which I don't know where you've been, who you've been with, what has happened to you.'

‘I could say the same for you.'

Was that darker note that threaded his voice the result of the same sort of careful control she was imposing on herself, the fight not to let the discussion tumble over into the anger that had destroyed them the last time? Or was it one of warning, telling her she was treading on treacherous ground?

‘Oh, I've just been here, all the time. But you…'

‘All you have to do is ask.'

Could it really be that simple? But life with Zarek had never been simple anyway. So why should it start being so now, with the weight of the complications of his disappearance added to the way things had been before?

Ask. OK, then…

‘You said you had amnesia. You didn't remember anything?'

‘Not a thing.'

Was she imagining things or had he actually leaned just a little closer? She was drowning in his eyes, her senses seduced by the warm, clean scent of him. But she couldn't allow herself to be enticed that way. That was how she had fallen into love—her juvenile childish love—with him at the beginning. She had to hold onto her heart until she knew if it was safe to give it ever again.

‘So what was it that started to bring your memory back to you?'

He took just a moment too long before answering her. The space of perhaps two heartbeats instead of one in a way that set her even more on edge. But his answer when it came was calm, and apparently open enough.

‘Believe it or not, it was those damn pirates who helped to break down the walls my mind had built around it. I couldn't believe that I was having images of an attack, hearing the word
pirates
in the twenty-first century. And so I started to look
things up, track down stories about pirates in the press, on the Internet. At first it was like looking for a needle in a haystack.'

Needing to break the almost mesmeric hold his closeness had on her, Penny forced herself to sit back, reach for her glass.

‘But then one name kept going round and round in my head—the
Troy
… Careful.'

The last word was a warning as Penny swallowed too quickly, too awkwardly, and almost choked on her wine. She had been hoping for another name—her own name. The name of his wife. But no, the first things that had come back to him were connected with his company.

‘You never could handle retsina,' Zarek said in mild amusement. ‘In fact I always thought you hated it.'

‘It wasn't to my taste at first,' Penny acknowledged. ‘But I have to admit that I've grown to like it better.'

‘Another of those things that have changed while I've been away.'

‘Well, you wouldn't expect everything to just come to a halt—stay there, frozen in ice because you weren't here.'

Pure nerves had pushed the wild words from her tongue. And she knew what was twisting those nerves into painful knots so that she couldn't think straight.

‘Of course not.'

‘Of course not!' Penny snapped. ‘We couldn't just give up on things. Life had to go on. For everyone. I mean, even…'

‘Even…?' Zarek prompted when her throat closed up and she couldn't finish the name.

Penny reached for her glass again, took another fortifying sip of wine. Nerves had made her slip on the words, but suddenly she was determined to have this out. Time it was out in the open and faced.

‘Even for bloody Odysseus Shipping.'

Oh, she had his attention now. If she thought that nearly black gaze had been focused before, now it had the burn of a laser so that she expected her skin to actually scorch where it rested.

It was too much to see the sudden change from stillness to attention. To watch his face change, the sudden light of interest in his eyes.

But, “Bloody Odysseus Shipping?” was all he said and his tone was quite mild, enquiring. ‘You were desperate to get rid of it,' he added in the same sort of tone.

‘Is that so impossible to believe?'

Pushing her chair back with an ugly scraping sound on the stone-tiled terrace, she got hastily to her feet and reached for his empty plate. Stacking it on top of her own, she winced inwardly at the crashing sound it made. She wasn't deliberately clattering them together, it just sounded that way. Her hands weren't as steady as she wanted and she cursed how much they gave away of her inner turmoil.