Dark Apollo

As he turned away, Camilla caught his arm. ‘Just a moment—please. You called this man—Nic?’

‘Ne, thespinis. Is something wrong?’

She swallowed. ‘You mean—he’s not—Spiro?’

The doctor looked astonished. ‘Spiro is Kyrios Xandreou’s younger brother, thespinis. He was also injured in an accident, a short while ago, rather more seriously than yourself. In fact, I should be with him now. If you will call at the clinic in town tomorrow morning, I will prescribe some medication for you—as a precaution only, you understand,’ he added kindly, misunderstanding the sudden pallor of her face. ‘Infection breeds fast in our climate.’

He nodded briskly, and left the room, Arianna sliding after him.

Camilla found herself alone with Nic Xandreou.

She ran the tip of her tongue round her dry lips. ‘You thought I was Katie,’ she said. ‘I thought you were Spiro. We’ve been at cross purposes from the start.’

‘So it would seem.’ His voice was even.

‘But Katie’s only just eighteen,’ she protested. ‘You must have known I was older than that.’

He shrugged. ‘I thought Spiro had been deceived.’ His glance flicked over her. ‘There was also the initial on your shirt—a C, presumably for Catherine.’

She said quietly, ‘My name is Camilla.’ She looked down at the tiled floor. ‘I’ve said some pretty harsh things. I’m sorry, but I was just so upset for Katie.’

‘You are loyal to your family,’ he returned flatly. ‘I don’t blame you for that. It’s a quality I share.’

‘Was Spiro badly hurt in the accident?’ she asked in a low voice.

He shrugged again. ‘He has a broken leg and a bump on the head. Time and rest will cure them both.’

She tried a small smile. ‘Well, it could have been very much worse.’ She paused. ‘That’s why he never turned up at the airport. I just wish someone had let us know. Katie will be so relieved when she knows the truth.’ She waited, but he said nothing.

She tried again. ‘I’ll go straight back to the hotel, and explain.’

‘Not,’ he said, ‘like that, I think.’

She realised where his gaze was directed and dragged the torn edges of her top together again, flushing.

‘Well, perhaps not.’

He said curtly, ‘I will take you to my sister’s room. Come.’

Camilla took a step forward and faltered, her legs shaking under her.

He turned at the door, staring back at her. ‘What now?’ he demanded impatiently.

‘Just reaction, I think.’ She tried to force a smile. ‘If you could—give me a moment.’

He muttered something succinct and angry under his breath, and came striding back. Before she could guess what he intended, he had swung her off her feet into his arms, and was carrying her across the saloni and out into a large hall.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Camilla gasped furiously. She braced her hands against his chest, but it was like trying to overturn a brick wall. Except no wall had ever been so warm—so smooth—so sensuous to the touch. She could feel, she realised with an unnerving tingle of awareness, his heart beating under her fingers…

She said breathlessly, ‘Put me down at once.’

‘Be still,’ he snapped back.

He was very strong. She was slim, but no featherweight, yet he went up the wide, shallow sweep of the marble staircase without a pause.

In the gallery above, he shouldered open a door and went in. It was a large, light room, all pale wood and floating pastel drapes. Arianna was not there, and Nic Xandreou clicked his tongue in sharp annoyance before depositing Camilla without particular gentleness on the edge of the wide, soft bed.

She watched him walk to the tall wardrobes which lined one wall, and fling open a door. He took a shirt, classic in heavy white silk, from a hanger and tossed it to her.

‘You can use this,’ he ordained.

‘I think I’ll stay as I am,’ she returned quickly. The shirt was clearly very expensive, and the thought of having to struggle to remove her ripped top over her sore shoulder and arm didn’t appeal at all. There were some pins in her bag, she remembered. She could make herself decent until she had Katie to help her change.

Nic Xandreou frowned slightly. ‘You are in pain?’ he guessed.

‘Stiffening up a little,’ she admitted.

Nic extended his arms in front of him. ‘Can you still do this?’

‘I think so.’ Camilla raised her own arms slightly in imitation.

Nic leaned down, and in one swift movement whipped the torn top over her head and off, baring her to the waist.

‘Oh.’ Camilla snatched up Arianna’s shirt, and held it as a shield in front of her naked breasts, as a wave of frantic embarrassed colour engulfed her. ‘How—how dare you?’

‘There was no question of daring.’ He sounded almost bored. ‘You needed assistance, and there was no one else.’

‘But that doesn’t give you the right…’

A faint smile twisted the corners of the firm mouth. He said softly, ‘In my house, Kyria Camilla, I assume whatever rights I choose. Now, I will await you downstairs.’

At the door, he paused, looking back at her, the smile deepening with disturbing mockery.

He said, ‘I am glad to know you will not be scarred. Your body is very beautiful.’

And he walked out of the room, leaving Camilla, lips parted in shock, staring after him.

It took her a while to recover her composure. She had never been treated like that in her life before—never been made to feel so vulnerable—so frighteningly aware of her womanhood.

Nic Xandreou wasn’t just a powerful and attractive man, she decided grimly. He was dangerous in all kinds of ways she’d never envisaged.

She might have said some harsh things to him, but he’d more than redressed the balance with that parting shot of his, she thought as she struggled into Arianna’s shirt, her fingers fumbling the silk-covered buttons into their holes.

From now on she would be ultra-careful in any dealings she had with him.

There was a tiny tiled shower-room opening from the bedroom, which also contained a washbasin. Looking in the mirror, Camilla realised for the first time that her face was smeared with dirt from her fall, and her hair was tangled and dusty, and she found that she wanted very much to burst into tears.

But that was just foolish weakness, she told herself as she washed swiftly and dragged a comb through her hair. For a moment, she was half tempted to leave it loose on her shoulders. It framed her face appealingly, making her look softer—more relaxed, she thought, lifting some of the heavy chestnut strands in her fingers.