Wedding Night with a Stranger (13 page)

Unless, of course, he could think of some safe way to ride them out?

No, it was clear the only way to deal with these few days would be to hold Ariadne Giorgias at arm’s length. Already she was creeping into his mind, twining herself around his emotional nerve centre like some sort of addictive drug. It wasn’t as if she were even his choice. The less he saw into her and her little issues, the better.

His last glimpse of her this morning flashed into his mind.
She’d looked so utterly desirable wrapped in the overlarge robe, her hair all in a tangle. The surprise in her eyes when he’d been a little curt with her had somehow twisted its way into his guts and stayed with him all the way into the city. But he needed to make it clear to her nothing had changed. Having sex meant nothing more than that. Sex, pure and simple.

Ms Giorgias needed to understand. She was temporary. Esther,
Esther
was the lodestar of his life.

He couldn’t help wondering, though, what Ariadne would be doing with herself all day out at Bronte. How did a princess kill time in an empty house? He’d actually considered phoning her at various stages to see if she was all right, but thank God he’d conquered that weakness. Would he have been able to trust himself not to rush home and bed her all over again?

The strange look Jenny had given him when he’d bowled in this morning earlier even than the usual time flicked into his head, and he frowned to himself. Jenny should stick to worrying about her job.

As knock-off time approached people said their goodbyes and hurried off to their homes and families. The building gradually grew quiet. Lights started flickering on all over the city, but he didn’t bother with his desk lamp. The dark made for better brooding, and he needed to get his head around things.

Esther’s life and joy had been snatched away from her. God forgive him for the selfish bastard he was, but he had to grit his teeth and acknowledge the truth about himself at last. Shameful, despicable, but he’d actually felt relief when her dreadful battle was over and she was gone.

He heard the cleaners’ cheerful clatter, then even that diminished. He stayed frozen at his desk, trying not to imagine the vivid woman at home, his soul in a vice.

Ariadne checked the oven for the umpteenth time. The potatoes looked scrumptious, and the aroma of the resting lamb reminded
her it had been a long time since lunch. The salad had been sitting there ready for some time, and a simple
avgolemono
soup simmered fragrantly on the stove. She hoped Sebastian was hungry.

She’d unearthed a cloth, and set the dining table with silver and the only glasses she could find. In the absence of flowers she’d picked a leafy spray from a shrub in the garden.

She looked anxiously at her watch. Nearly nine. She remembered him saying he didn’t always come home for dinner, but he would tonight, surely? Maybe she should call him. She gave him another twenty minutes, then headed for the study.

Sebastian’s study was surprisingly well organised and quite atmospheric, with books neatly tucked into their shelves, and, on the walls, huge, glowing maps of star constellations to vie with the evening sky visible through the wide windows. At some point he must have intended to work in here, she thought, preparing to dial his mobile number. Her eye fell on a framed photo and she stood stock-still.

It was of Sebastian, on the steps of a church with a bride. A red-hot needle jabbed Ariadne’s chest in that initial instant of shock, and her wild heart revved up for a few pounding seconds, so that she had to sit down until her brain caught up with her body.

So, he was married.
Had
been, she presumed, since he didn’t seem at all like the sort of guy to commit bigamy. Although what did she know of him, really?

When her heart had slowed down she studied the picture. He was quite a bit younger there, his handsome face split with his gorgeous white grin. The bride was quite lovely too, she supposed. Dark-haired, although clearly not Greek.
She
didn’t have the big, dark shining eyes, either. They had that look people in love had, joy and euphoria pouring from every pixel.

Ariadne’s heart suffered another jab as she noticed his arm around the woman’s waist. How silly though. How absurd to feel jealous about something she knew nothing about.

Where was his wife now? If they’d divorced, would he have kept a wedding photo on his desk as if he cherished it? Cherished
her
?

Ridiculous maybe, but she hesitated to phone him now, as if that would be presuming an intimacy she had no right to claim. She grimaced. Might as well face it. He wasn’t coming home.

Feeling deflated, she went back to the kitchen and turned off all the heating rings. All at once then the exertions of the day seemed to catch up with her and she nearly buckled to a wave of fatigue. She surveyed the kitchen in despair. Now there was the problem of what to do with all the lovely food she’d prepared. At home, she’d have simply handed the kitchen over to someone else to restore after she’d cooked a meal, but here…

Here, she was on her own.

It took longer than she’d expected, deciding on suitable storage containers, packing it all into the fridge, then clearing the utensils, scrubbing the roasting pan and wiping down the surfaces to remove all signs of her idiotic endeavour. She paused to wipe her forehead on her sleeve. How could anyone even
want
to be a wife? It was just unremitting hard labour, and what was the point? To make a man happy when he couldn’t care less?

What an absolute fool she’d made of herself, trying to act the part when she was only a temporary arrangement. A business deal.

Even so, as she hauled her exhausted self up the stairs an hour later she couldn’t help thinking he
could
have come home to be with her. After those things he’d said to her last night, after he’d made love to her so passionately, being ignored just didn’t feel right.

S
EBASTIAN
let himself quietly in his front door. It was nearly midnight, the house dark and silent. His nostrils twitched at an unusual scent in the air, like furniture polish mingled with the sort of clean household smells his mother’s place always had.

For some reason he hesitated to switch the lights on, and when he walked quietly up the stairs found himself tempted by an absurd desire to take his shoes off. But why should he, for God’s sake? It was his house.

There was no light on in his bedroom, and he blundered into a chest of drawers. He stilled, wincing, waiting for some reaction, but there was none. With a sharp lurch in his gut he realised there was no sleeping woman in the room. A sensation bordering on panic speared through him, and he hastened to switch on the lamps. Had she packed up and gone? Left him, for God’s sake, even before he could get to know her properly?

In the lamplight the bed was smooth and untroubled. Then through the half-open door of her dressing room he glimpsed a corner of what looked like a suitcase. He sprang to push the door open further and with a flood of almost overwhelming relief saw that her clothes were there, hanging in the closet.

So, still in residence. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. Not in his bed, where he’d expected, but some sort of tautness he sensed pricking in the atmosphere suggested she
was almost certainly nearby. With questions clamouring in his brain he walked quietly along the hall, opening doors, and stopped short, his triumph mingling with bemusement when he discovered her sleeping form in the room across from his. At least, in the spill of light from the hall she
looked
as if she was asleep.

He paused, his hand on the doorknob, listening for her breathing.

‘Ariadne?’

After a long, somehow nerve-racking moment, she stirred. ‘Yes?’

Something about that husky
yes
confirmed his suspicions she hadn’t really been asleep. She’d been lying there, listening for him. The question then arose as to
why
she wasn’t in his bed. A guilty possibility sprang forcibly to mind, but he rejected it utterly. No, he’d done nothing wrong. Everything was good. Let her sleep alone if that was what she preferred.

‘Er…’ He took a few steps into the room, seized by a sudden concern. ‘Did you manage to get some dinner?’ In the dim light from the hall he could see she was on her side, her pale hair flowing loose, her smooth, bare shoulder exposed by the downturned sheet.

‘I wasn’t very hungry, thanks.’

‘Right. Okay. Look, er…sorry. Sorry I’m so late. I was—held up.’

There was no reply, and he tried another tack. ‘Feel like a beer?’

‘No.’ She pulled the covers higher, and settled deeper into her sleeping position in what was clearly a dismissal.

He shrugged, backed out, then strolled downstairs. In point of fact, this cool statement of independence was a relief. It was better he didn’t sleep with her. Wasn’t that what he’d decided? Sleeping with her could only escalate his addiction, then how would he manage when she left?

The kitchen looked and smelled somehow different, the tiles seeming brighter and shinier, though it had been so long since he’d really noticed the room it could have just been his imagination. He opened the fridge door and stared in surprise. The shelves were packed with food. Genuine food. Fresh milk, oranges, leafy green things poking from the vegetable crisper. He investigated a large plastic container dominating the middle shelf and was astonished to find a roasted joint. He tore off a bit and tasted it. Despite being cold, it was as tender, succulent and delicious as anything his mother kept in her fridge.

He investigated further and found other containers: salad, potatoes sprinkled with oregano, some sort of herb sauce. And he was starving, he realised. He’d been so engrossed in contemplation at the office he hadn’t thought to order in dinner. Without wasting any more time he took down a plate and served himself hearty portions of the leftovers, then sat at the kitchen counter and wolfed it all down, along with occasional sips of beer, thinking deeply as he ate.

She could cook. Who’d have thought it? The kitchen had been pulled into sparkling order, he could see, with the sort of attention to detail that had never been poor Agnes’s strong point. He owed her his thanks, that much was certain, though why she must transfer to another bed was curious.

It wasn’t bothering him exactly, but he had to admit it had come as a shock. If she was
tired,
if she wanted to sleep, she could have done that perfectly well in his bed. He was a civilised guy. He was hardly a gorilla, unable to keep his hands off her. He’d have made no demands on her, if that was what she truly wanted.

Maybe it had simply been the steamy summer night that had made her decide it would be more comfortable to sleep alone. That bare shoulder he’d glimpsed suggested she might have been wearing next to nothing.

He frowned. Surely she realised state-of-the-art air-condi-tioning
was available at the flick of a switch. Maybe he needed to inform her of it. Encourage her back to her rightful place with a little tender persuasion.

Though ashamed of such a backsliding thought, he couldn’t deny another rueful reflection. However proud and icy Ms Ariadne Giorgias might try to be, whether she knew it or not, persuading her into his arms would be so meltingly, deliciously easy for a sinful male animal like himself. He could start with kissing her throat…

He gave his jaw a thoughtful rub. Of course, if he intended anything like that, the considerate thing for him to do would be to shave.

He finished his meal and pushed his plate away, then, unusually for him, something about the clean state of the surfaces impinged on his brain. He rose and made an unprecedented effort to rinse the plate in the sink. God, if he wasn’t careful he’d be turning into a metrosexual. Then his thoughts switched to her lying upstairs, possibly naked. No. No, he wouldn’t. No chance of that.

He shrugged off his lascivious thoughts and made an effort to recapture the mood of resistance that had sustained him at the office. He’d embrace this opportunity to sleep alone. He could use it as a test of his endurance. Though he might have to resort to taking some good scientific reading material up with him to send him off to sleep.

He started for the study, but as he passed through the dining room something caught the periphery of his vision and he checked.

Oh, God. Oh,
no.
The dining table was set. Charmingly, intimately set for two. If Esther had been able to see that. He stared at it, aghast, then something about the brave little optimistic bunch of leaves in the middle of the table hit him like a punch in the chest.

He closed his eyes. Bloody hell, how dumb could a selfish bastard get?

The enormity of his day’s behaviour swept through him in a tidal wave, and he stood for a minute, paralysed.

On the floor above, Ariadne lay thinking about the pathetic lies men told. Held up at work.
Who
needed to stay at work until midnight? Prime ministers, maybe. Presidents, just possibly, although she couldn’t see Michelle Obama allowing it to happen too often. But CEOs? She strained her ears for sounds from below. There’d been a bit of clattering, followed by silence. Then suddenly she heard Sebastian bound up the stairs. She tensed as his energetic step rang out in the hall and inexorably, for the second time, approached her bedroom door.

‘Ariadne?’ he said softly. ‘Are you awake?’

She frowned. ‘Well, I am
now
.’

He advanced into the room. ‘Look…I’m sorry I didn’t manage to make it home for dinner. I didn’t realise you’d cooked a meal.’

‘That’s all right,’ she said at once. ‘I know you didn’t know.’

‘I guess I should have thought,’ he floundered. ‘I didn’t…er…I should’ve…’

‘It really doesn’t matter. What’s a bit of food?’

‘Oh, look. Look, sweetheart…’

He advanced a little further into the room and hovered there a moment. The air throbbed with sexual vibrations. Though her lids were shut tight she could feel his eyes devouring her. She clutched the sheet to her breast, fighting her own weak desire for him to tear it away.

‘Do you mind…?’ She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Can I just turn on this lamp?’ She felt the side of the bed depress as he sat down.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she said sharply, blinking in the sudden light.

His smile flashed. He’d undone his tie and it was hanging loose. In his shirtsleeves with his five-o’clock shadow, he was so stirringly handsome her insides melted dangerously, and her treacherous body suddenly felt alive and wanton with desire.

His voice was as smooth as butter. ‘I just wanted to thank you for cooking that delicious food. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a great meal in this house.’

‘It was greater five hours ago.’

‘Oh, I know, I know. It must have been. You’re a fantastic cook.’

‘I’m just an ordinary
plain
cook, Sebastian.’ She could feel the warmth of his knee touching her through the sheet, and piled up the pillows so she could lean up on them and not be at a disadvantage.

‘Oh, no, you’re not. Not ordinary. And not plain. Certainly not plain.’ His dark eyes were smouldering in that way she recognised, drifting to the plunging bodice of her pretty satin nightie with the rosebuds on it and the thin straps.

‘Thank you, you’re very kind,’ she said coldly, sweeping down her lashes, ‘but I hope you don’t think I cooked that food on your account. I just happen to have been brought up to prefer nourishing home-cooked meals myself.’

‘Of course, of course.’ He nodded. ‘And it
was
nourishing. Thank you. Oh, well.’ He got up and casually stretched. His shirt tautened to the max and she noticed a little gap appear in the opening just above his belt buckle. ‘I’m heading for the shower.’

Paradoxically, she felt an almost overwhelming disappointment. Didn’t he want to at least try to overcome her resistance? She’d had some wonderful things lined up to say about being a chattel, a convenient sex-slave and a domestic workhorse.

He made it to the door, and before she could stop herself she said, ‘I think you might have at least mentioned you were married.’

He froze, then turned to her, a strange rigidity in the movement. ‘I
was
married,’ he said coolly, something a little scary in his voice. ‘But it has nothing to do with anything here.’

He walked away, and she was left feeling rebuked, her imagination
running riot. Anything
here
obviously referred to her.
Theos,
she regretted ever mentioning it. How could she have been so brash?

She switched off the lamp and lay there in the dark, listening to the sounds of the shower across the hall, her brain racing. All right, so his life had nothing to do with her. But she had some rights, didn’t she? Even as a temporary wife? All her good instincts about last night, and making love and feeling that fabulous current of connection with him, seemed to have been cut off. But why? What had she done wrong?

Was it something she’d said this morning?

The water stopped flowing, and eventually everything fell silent, though it was a deafening sort of silence, filled with vibrations. She wished she could go to sleep, but she had a big aching lump in her chest. Her husband had wanted her once and once only, it seemed. Even as a temporary wife she was a failure. She could never go back to Naxos. Her aunt and uncle were fed up with her, and she was a stranger in her own country.

She was lying there in the unfriendly alien dark, realising she had nowhere in the world to belong, when the silence was shattered by a ringing phone. It stopped almost at once. She guessed Sebastian must have answered it. In a little while he opened her door and put his head in.

‘It’s your uncle. He wants to talk to you.’

‘No.’ Emotion welled in her throat and she turned away and covered her head with the sheet.

‘But—I really think you should talk to him. He sounds very concerned. He says your aunt’s frantic with—’

That cut her to the quick. ‘
You
talk to him,’ she said through the sheet. ‘He’s your friend.’

‘He’s not my friend,’ he said tersely, then walked away, speaking into the phone, his voice grim. ‘Look, Giorgias, it’s late here. Ariadne can’t come…’

After a few minutes he came back to her door and said more
calmly, ‘He’s left the name of the solicitors in the city who manage your trust. You need to make an appointment to see them, and they’ll arrange the transfer of your inheritance.’

She didn’t answer, and he came up to the bed, frowning, his hands opened in query. ‘Look, whatever it is that’s happened between you and them, can’t you—?’

‘No, I can’t.’ Her voice gave away her emotional state. Or the way she was lying all hunched up in the foetal position with the sheet bunched to her chest. It must have, because he lowered his big frame to the bed, his eyes warm with concern, his voice gentle.

‘Oh, sweetheart…’

Oh, she was a weak fool, but he shouldn’t have said that. Sympathy was always her undoing, and she already had a very tenuous hold on her control. Tears rushed into her eyes and she was forced to surreptitiously dab at them with the sheet.

‘Oh-h-h, no. No.’ He reached and grabbed her, taking her into his strong arms, holding her against his bare chest, murmuring soothing things to her while he stroked her hair, planting little kisses on her face and throat and shoulders.

‘I’m sorry,’ she moaned after a while. ‘I don’t mean to cry.’

‘No, no,’ he soothed. ‘
I’m
sorry. I’m sorry I was such a selfish bastard today. Leaving you all alone like that.’

‘I knew you couldn’t help it. I knew you had to go to work.’

His hold tightened on her, and his caresses developed a different sort of energy. Soon he was kissing her, tenderly, and then passionately, and she was clinging to him and giving him her all as if there were no tomorrow. Then before she knew it, to her thrilled excitement, he was hoisting her up in his arms and carrying her into his bedroom.

She was so glad he’d shaved.