Pagan Adversary

The sound of the kettle’s piercing whistle rescued her, and she had to force herself to walk out of the room, not run, with at least a semblance of composure. In the kitchen, she fought for complete control, setting the mugs on a tray and pouring milk into a jug, and sugar into a basin, instead of serving them in their respective containers, as she felt inclined.

It was his constant, unnerving scrutiny which was getting to her, she told herself as she added boiling water to the coffee granules, and not just the sensual element which had intervened. She disliked the knowledge that every detail of her environment, every facet of her life, the way she dressed, moved, spoke and looked, was being continuously judged by a total stranger. If he was looking for faults, he wouldn’t have to look far, she thought crossly.

As she carried the tray into the room, he came and took it from her, placing it on a small table in front of the studio couch. He declined both sugar and milk, so her efforts had been a waste of time as she took it black too.

He remained standing, obviously waiting for her to sit down beside him on the studio couch, which made sense as it was the only really comfortable form of seating in the room. She had two high-backed wooden dining chairs tucked back against the wall with her small drop-leaf table, and she wished she had the nerve to go and fetch one of them to establish some kind of independence, but something warned her that he would not interpret her action in that way, and that she might simply be exposing herself to more mocking comments about feminine fears. But she made a point of seating herself as far from him as the width of the couch would permit, and ignored the slightly derisive twist of his lips.

He said silkily, ‘Let us return to the subject of Nicos. It is clear that this present situation cannot continue. As he becomes older and more active, these surroundings will become impossible.’

Harriet said coolly, ‘I’ve already been considering that.’ And panicking about it, she thought, but he didn’t have to know that.

‘And what conclusions have you come to?’

She hedged. ‘Well, clearly I’ll need a bigger flat—a ground floor one, preferably—with a garden.’ Or a castle in Spain, she added silently and hysterically.

Alex Marcos drank some of the coffee. ‘You have somewhere in mind, perhaps?’ He sounded politely interested, but Harriet was not deceived.

She said with a sigh, ‘You know I haven’t.’

He nodded. ‘And even if such a haven were to present itself, the rent would be beyond your means—is it not so?’—

‘Yes.’ Damn you, she thought. Damn you!

There was a silence. She had begun to shake again inside, and she gulped at the transient comfort the hot coffee gave her, although in terms of Dutch courage she might have done better to opt for the sherry, she thought.

He said at last, ‘Miss Masters—if this unhappy business between us were to become a legal battle—what do you imagine a judge would say about the circumstances in which you are trying to raise my nephew?’

Harriet did not meet his gaze. ‘I believe—I hope that he would say I was doing my best,’ she said wearily.

‘I do not doubt that for a moment. But is that what you truly want—a battle in the courts—to make Nicos the subject of gossip and speculation and lurid newspaper stories?’

‘I’d have thought you would be used to such things.’

‘But I am not the subject under discussion,’ he said too softly. ‘We are speaking of a two-year-old child, who may one day be embarrassed and emotionally torn by our past battles.’

She gave him an incredulous glance. ‘That’s blackmail!’

He shrugged. ‘I would prefer to describe it as a valid possibility. He is already old enough to sense conflict and be disturbed by it.’

‘And therefore I should just be prepared to hand him over,’ Harriet said bitterly. ‘I think not, Mr-Marcos. Doesn’t it occur to you that Nicky might one day wonder why I let him go so easily, and be hurt by it? You’re not denying that you intend to separate us permanently?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘That has always been my intention.’

‘At least we understand each other,’ she said huskily. ‘I refuse to let Nicky go under such circumstances.’

‘What are you hoping for?’ His voice was suddenly harsh. ‘A place under my roof for yourself? A more generous financial offer than the one already made? If so, you will be disappointed.’

‘I want nothing from you,’ Harriet said vehemently. ‘The fact that we’ve even met is your doing, not mine.’

He gave her a weary look. ‘Why are you being so stubborn? You are scarcely more than a child yourself. You cannot wish to bear such a burden unaided for perhaps twenty years longer.’

Put like that, it sounded daunting, but Harriet had always faced up to what her responsibilities to Nicky would entail.

‘I might ask you the same thing,’ she countered. ‘All this time you haven’t displayed the slightest interest in Nicky. We could both have starved or been homeless for all you knew. Yet now you want him—why?’

‘Because it is my duty to care for him,’ he said. ‘Kostas would have expected it, whatever the relations were between us. The child is of my blood.’

‘And mine.’

‘Nevertheless,’ he said, ‘if Kostas had wished you to have charge of the boy, he would have left a document—a will, even a letter saying so. Yet he did not—is it not so?’

Harriet finished her coffee and put the mug down. ‘No, there was nothing,’ she said after a pause. ‘They were so young—too young to be thinking about wills anything of that kind.’

Alex Marcos’ mouth twisted. ‘When one has responsibilities Thespinis Masters, one is never too young, and it is never too soon to make provision for the future. Kostas knew, in fact, that if the worst happened, I would take charge of Nicos. He was always happy to shelve his responsibilities.’

Harriet was uneasily aware that her own solicitor had deplored the absence of a will, but she had been too fond of her late brother-in-law to meekly hear him criticised.

‘Kostas was too busy being happy and making my sister happy to worry about the worst happening. He was a warm, loving man, so what does it matter if he wasn’t perhaps the greatest businessman in the world?’

‘If he had stayed with the Marcos Corporation, then it might have mattered a great deal,’ Alex Marcos said coldly. ‘But we stray towards matters that do not concern you. You will do well to reflect, Miss Masters. At the moment, you claim that Nicky has your whole heart. That is—commendable. But with the money I have offered you, you could buy a new wardrobe—go perhaps for a cruise round the world—meet someone who would make you glad that you are young—and without encumbrances.’

‘God, you’re insulting!’ Harriet muttered between her teeth.

The dark brows rose in exaggerated surprise. ‘Why? Because I imply that if you had more time to yourself, you would have little difficulty in attracting a man? I am paying you a compliment.’

‘Not as far as I’m concerned. Oddly enough, I quite like my life—and my present wardrobe. Marriage isn’t the be-all and end-all in my life.’

He smiled. ‘So I was right,’ he said lazily. ‘You are afraid of men.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’

‘What is more,’ he said slowly, his eyes never leaving her face, ‘you are afraid of me.’

‘Nonsense!’ said Harriet with a robust conviction she was far from feeling.

His smile widened. His eyes travelled slowly downwards, over the soft swell of her breasts, rising and falling more quickly than she could control under the crisp blouse, then on down to the smooth line of her thighs outlined by the cling of the trim navy skirt, then back, swiftly, to her face where spots of outraged colour were now burning in each cheek.

He said very softly, ‘And all this because I—look. What would you do if I touched?’

‘Nothing at all,’ said Harriet very quickly. ‘I’m not afraid, Mr Marcos, just not interested. I expect in your own circle, you find that women are pushovers. Probably a lot of very wealthy men find the same thing. But I don’t belong to your circle, I’m not bothered about your money—and frankly, Mr Marcos, you leave me cold.’ She paused, aware that her breathing was constricted, and that there was an odd tightening in her throat.

She saw the amusement fade from his eyes, to be replaced by something deeper and more dangerous, saw a muscle jerk in his cheek, and wished desperately that she’d kept quiet. But it was too late to retract or even apologise. He was already reaching for her, his hands not gentle as they pulled her across his hard body.

He said something quietly in his own language, and then he bent his head, putting his mouth on hers with an almost soulless precision.

At first she fought, her lips clamped tight against any deeper invasion, but even then she was aware of other factors subtly undermining her instinctive resistance. Her hands were imprisoned helplessly between their bodies, her palms flat against the wall of his chest, deepening her consciousness of his warm muscularity. The scent of his skin was in her nostrils, emphasised by the faint muskiness of some cologne. If she opened her eyes he would fill her vision, and they seemed enveloped in a cone of silence broken only by their own uneven breathing. Harriet had been kissed before, but she had never before known a domination overpowering her every sense. Ultimately, she had always known she was in control.

Yet now…. Her lips parted on a little sigh of capitulation that had nothing to do with coercion suddenly, because she was as eager as he was, as greedy for the deeper intimacy he was already seeking, his teeth grazing the softness of her inner lip, his tongue delicately and erotically exploring all the soft moist contours of her mouth.