Alien Vengeance (18 page)

Her smile as she looked at him was forced, and she saw that he knew it, his eyes narrowing as she went past him.

It was a beautiful room, full of sunshine and colour, and light years away from the simplicity of the Villa lone. There were huge windows on two sides giving panoramic views of the bay and the hotel gardens, including the environs of the pool. So that was how he knew Helga was with me, she thought.

She said in a wooden voice, ‘Your hotel is fantastic. What a fool you must have thought me, chattering on about textiles.’

‘I have never thought you a fool, Gemma.’ His voice was quiet. ‘Would you like some coffee? Or there could be tea if you preferred.’

‘Or even champagne cocktails.’ She went on staring out of the window as if the view fascinated her.

‘Those too,’ he agreed, sounding faintly amused. ‘Is that what you would like?’

She shook her head. ‘Coffee would be fine,’ she said huskily. She paused. ‘I can see why you were so sure the authorities would believe you, and not me. Kidnapping isn’t the kind of thing you associate with respectable hotel owners.’ She bit her lip. ‘From what Dimitris says I gather you have a few of them.’

‘There is another at Rethymnon,’ he said. ‘As well as those on Rhodes and Corfu.’

‘The Nikolaides chain,’ she said faintly. ‘I should have realised when Fraulein Gretz mentioned your name. But even then I didn’t make the connection.’

‘You have heard of the hotels?’ He sounded surprised.

‘Heard, yes,’ she said. ‘But I never expected to set foot in one.’ She smiled brightly. ‘Another experience to treasure when I go home next week.’ There was an enormous sofa, like a divan, piled with cushions. He sat down and began to pour the coffee which was waiting on a low table.

He said, ‘I think your return home is something we need to discuss.’

Her mouth was dry. ‘You—you mean to keep me here?’

He shook his head. ‘On the contrary, Gemma
mou
. I think it would be best if you went home almost at once. Tomorrow, if a suitable flight can be arranged.’

She took the cup he handed her. Her fingers didn’t shake, which was amazing when she considered that her life had just fallen in ruins about her.

She said, ‘Tomorrow would be perfectly convenient, I’m sure—for everyone.’ She drank some coffee, and nearly scalded herself, but she kept smiling. ‘You’ll be able to attend Herr Gretz’s birthday party. Your—Helga asked me to tell you the invitation was still open.’

‘That is hospitable of her,’ he said.

‘I thought so too,’ she said. In spite of the air conditioning, it was hot in the room, and yet she was so cold that any moment her teeth could start chattering. ‘Do you think there’s any chance of a reservation tomorrow?’

‘I’ll call down to our travel desk,’ he said. ‘Ask them to make some preliminary enquiries. It may be possible to transfer the unused portion of your return ticket.’

It all sounded very efficient, and she supposed she should thank him, but it was difficult to find the words when she was dying inside. She knew a terrible destructive impulse to throw herself at him—into his arms—down at his feet and plead with him not to send her away. And perhaps he sensed the loneliness in her, and the despair, because he said, quite gently, ‘Gemma, believe me, it is necessary that I do this. I wish it was possible to explain fully.’

To explain what? That between her and the glamorous daughter of a wealthy German industrialist there was no contest?

And then, unbidden, from somewhere at the back of her mind, she saw the shepherd’s hut, and an icy fear gripped her.

She said sharply, ‘It’s Mike isn’t it—something to do with him—and you don’t want me to be here when it happens?’ She ran her tongue round her dry lips. ‘Or has it happened already? Your friend Stavros—has he found Mike? Harmed him?’

‘No.’ Andreas got to his feet and came to her. His arms went round her, but she stayed rigid in his embrace. ‘It is not that, I swear. They would have to harm me first. But I have done you a great wrong, Gemma, and somehow I need to make amends. You must understand that.’

She shook her head wearily. ‘I don’t understand anything, and I haven’t—not from day one.’ She moved away from him, because even though there was only comfort in his embrace, her body was crying out for him just the same. ‘Perhaps you’d phone about my ticket now.’

‘Yes.’ There was a phone on the table next to the tray, and she watched him lift it and dial a number. She didn’t understand a word of the brief conversation which followed, but she felt that the sound of it would be imprinted on her brain forever.

He said, ‘Kostas will phone us back as soon as he has news.’

‘That’s good.’ She took a breath. ‘It’s a pity you didn’t put my case in the jeep this morning. Then there would have been no need to go back to the villa.’

He shrugged. ‘No problem.’ He sounded casual to the point of indifference, she thought dazedly. The passionate lover who had caressed every inch of her body with his mouth and hands might never have existed.

But perhaps he never had, at that. Perhaps there had only been the cold-blooded avenger of Maria’s honour, a role which he had not enjoyed, and now wished to forget with as little trouble as possible.

He talked of amends, but wasn’t it more likely that, having exacted his vengeance, he was bored with her, and wanted to get his life back to its normal tenor?

She had known it would happen, expected it, but dear God, not so soon, she thought wildly.

She hurried into speech, trying to find a safe subject. ‘This is a fascinating apartment. I’m surprised you can ever bear to leave it.’

‘It’s useful, but it does not afford a great deal of privacy,’ he said drily. ‘Would you like some more coffee?’

‘No, thank you,’ she said politely. She had hardly touched what she’d had, the taste of it as bitter as gall in her mouth.

She hurried into speech again. ‘Could I see the other rooms?’

 His brows lifted. He said coolly, ‘It will be my pleasure.’ He paused. ‘Shall we start with the bathroom?’

She wouldn’t have cared if he’d offered to show her the garden shed. She didn’t want to see any of the apartment, but she had to say something, do something to fill this terrible aching void while she waited to hear whether she was being flown out the next day.

The bathroom was fantastic, tiled in black and gold with a huge sunken bath, and she couldn’t think of a thing to say about it, so she made approving noises. The bedroom was vast too, the bed which dominated it covered by a spread of Cretan design in shades of blue and crimson.

Gemma stood in the doorway of the room and stared at it. Andreas was standing behind her, so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his body penetrating the fabric of her dress. She remembered the night she had stood on the terrace at Loussenas listening to the music from the village and the way his lips had caressed her neck and his hands touched her breasts. She was on fire for him, longing for him to draw him to her again with a depth of yearning which was physically painful. She wanted to turn into his arms, to feel his mouth on hers, parting her lips with passion. She wanted him to carry her to that bed.

But no amount of wanting could make it so, she discovered.

Instead, she heard him say, ‘That completes the tour,’ and her senses told her he had moved away back into the living room. After a moment, she did the same, avoiding his gaze, aware that her cheeks were unnaturally flushed.

It was almost a relief when the phone rang. Andreas lifted the receiver and listened, his face expressionless.

Then he nodded, uttered a swift word of thanks and put the phone down. He said, ‘It is settled then. There is a plane just after four in the afternoon. You are booked on to it.’

Her mouth felt so dry suddenly, she was afraid her lips might crack. She said, ‘Thank you. How— how will I get to the airport?’

There was an edge of impatience in his voice. ‘I will take you there.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said politely. ‘But I don’t want to put you to any trouble, or inconvenience.’

His mouth tightened and he did not reply. Gemma walked over to the other window, and stood rigidly staring out, fighting back tears with all her strength. He couldn’t wait to be rid of her, it was evident, and all she had to ensure now was that she took her departure with some dignity. And bursting into tears, or revealing any other emotional weakness would be about as undignified as it was possible to get, she told herself.

At last he asked, ‘Would you like to have dinner here, or return to the villa?’

Not looking at him, she said, ‘Do you mean— actually here, or ...?’

He said curtly, ‘I meant in the restaurant. However, if you have no particular preference, it might be better if we returned to Loussenas.’

She said colourlessly, ‘I would prefer that, too.’ ‘Then we had better be leaving.’ He picked up the paperback she had brought up from the pool. ‘Is this yours?’

She said, ‘Dimitris gave it to me. I’d like to keep it to read on the plane, but naturally I’ll pay you for it, when I get my money back.’

He said icily, ‘You are all consideration. But perhaps you will accept it from me as a gift, as I understand you would take nothing else.’

She looked away. ‘Just as you wish,’ she said dully.

‘We will not, I think, discuss my wishes.’ His tone was grim. ‘Now let us go.’

The sun had set by the time they reached Loussenas, and the Villa Ione was full of shadows. Andreas moved about fighting the lamps, but the shadows were still there, inside her, and she stood watching him, her arms wrapped across her body, hugging herself as if she was cold.

He said, ‘Are you hungry?’

She thought, ‘Only for you’ but naturally she did not give the thought utterance. She shook her head. ‘Not—really.’

‘Then I suggest you get some rest,’ he said. ‘You have done a lot of travelling today, and you have another long journey to face tomorrow.’

She swallowed, lifting her chin. ‘And—you?’

He turned away, making some adjustment to the shutters. ‘I have to go down to the village,’ he said at last. ‘I will try not to disturb you when I return.’

If he had struck her across the face, the rejection could not have been more painful, or more final.

She licked her dry lips. ‘To use your own words—you’re all consideration,’ she said tone-lessly, then turned away and went upstairs.

From her window, she watched him walk slowly towards the village, his head bent, never glancing back even once. She shivered almost convulsively. Bitterness, anger, passion—she could have met all those, but not this chilly remoteness, telling her more plainly than any words that she had nothing to hope for from him.

As if I ever had, she thought wretchedly. That incredible sensual sweetness he had brought her the previous night had meant nothing to him. He’d made her respond, because his pride demanded it, that was all, but she was not and never had been ‘his woman’. And now, she was an inconvenience, and an embarrassment on the edge of his life.

She took the clothes she had unpacked only a few hours before and thrust them into her case anyhow, humiliated tears burning behind her lids.

Then she showered and put on her nightdress, and got into bed, and lay staring into the gathering darkness. She felt weary to her bones, but her mind and senses were awake and crying out.

In a few short days her life had totally changed. She had totally changed. The self-contained girl, in charge of her emotions, in charge of her future, no longer existed, and she couldn’t even be sorry.

Her hand slid wonderingly to the flatness of her abdomen. Perhaps the changes in her life would be more far-reaching than she could ever guess. She hoped there would be a child, in spite of the grief this would inevitably cause her family. And although the baby would have been conceived in an act of vengeance, it would be brought up in love no matter what the difficulties. She would manage somehow, and she would manage alone. She wouldn’t use the baby as an excuse to contact Andreas again, as a fragile chain to keep him bound to her at any level of obligation. About that, she was adamant. When her plane left tomorrow, that would be the end—a break as clean as an amputation.

She sighed, her body twisting restlessly on the bed. But that was for the following day, and she had a long lonely night to get through somehow.

She had no idea how many hours had passed, but she was still wide awake, her mind treading the same painful tracks, when she heard him come back.

She listened to him moving about, then, her whole being tensing hopefully, expectantly, heard his footsteps on the stairs. She waited, staring at the door, willing him to come to her, her body one wild cry of yearning.

But without pause, without even hesitation, he went past her door and into his own room.

With a smothered groan, Gemma rolled over on to her stomach and lay still.

She lay for a long, dragging time, her pride, her self-respect fighting a bitter losing battle against the unending clamour of her senses.

At last, she slipped from the bed, and went out of the room, crossing the narrow passage to his door. It was closed, and she opened it quietly and went in.

He was awake too, and he turned his head slowly and looked at her, standing in the brilliance of the moonlight.

He said quietly, ‘Go back to your room, Gemma. Go back now.’

She shook her head. ‘No, Andreas
mou
. You’re sending me away tomorrow, and I accept that, but let me have tonight.’

There was a taut silence, then he said harshly, ‘You do not know what you are asking.’

‘Oh, but I do.’ She smiled, her mouth tremulous. ‘You—you taught me too well, perhaps. Don’t make me spend the rest of the night alone.’ She paused. ‘I’ll never ask you for anything else—I swear it. No—demands on any grounds. But let me stay with you now.’