Pagan Lover (13 page)

Just as she had anticipated,
Leon’s temper was high and the moment they were alone he demanded to know why she had allowed herself to be monopolised by Nico. Tara’s thoughts went immediately to Elene, who had monopolised
Leon on several occasions, flirting with him, showing off her beauty, and by other subtle tricks at which she seemed adept, she had made him conscious of the difference in her appearance from that of his wife.
Tara’s blood had boiled even though she had no idea why. Certainly she as not jealous of the camaraderie existing between
Leon and his lovely model.

‘I was sociable, as you expected me to be,’ answered
Tara shortly.

‘I expected you to be sociable with the others as well!’ The black eyes smouldered as they looked into hers. ‘But you had no time for anyone but Nico!’

‘Can I ever do anything right for you?’ she demanded. ‘Let me know if I ever do! I’ll chalk it up—’

‘Careful,’ warned her husband softly. ‘I’m not in the best of moods as it is.’

‘Nico was pleasant to talk to,’ she said. ‘Certainly more pleasant than your friend Elene.’ She watched
his face intently for any change of expression, but she saw only an unreadable mask which told her nothing.

‘You didn’t care for Elene?’ he queried with an odd expression in his voice. ‘No, I didn’t. She treated me as an inferior.’

‘Because of your dress——’

‘Which you bought for me!

‘Not for an occasion like tonight,’ he snapped. ‘A gown has to suit an occasion, and this you will have to learn.’

‘Rubbish! One should wear what appeals to one.’

‘You, as my wife, have to set an example. It will be expected that you will wear clothes which are correct—and that takes in style, colour and cut.’

‘The expert talking! I was just a working girl until you brought me to this environment—which I hate!’

‘Liar,’ was his smooth and brief rejoinder. How cool and collected he appeared now!
Tara had to admire the way he could control his anger and wished she was equally adept.

‘I think I’ll go to bed,’ she decided, then flushed to the roots of her hair as
Leon said,
‘That’s the kind of eagerness I like.’

Her teeth gritted audibly.

‘I’d rather he alone—for once!’

‘Liar,’ he murmured again, and before she could step back he had her in his arms, tilting her face, claiming her lips with his own. ‘Yes,’ he said after a long while, ‘it is time we went to bed.’

In the bedroom
Tara stood by the window, staring broodingly out to the dark line of the horizon. Over there was her home—
England and David.... Her thoughts wandered and she was recalling something Elene had said when, after dinner, the two girls found themselves together on the couch.

‘No one ever expected
Leon to get married in a rush’ like he did. It’s to be hoped he won’t regret it.’

It was outspoken to say the least, but, strangely, it
left
Tara unaffected. Elene had obviously been far more than
Leon’s top model; she had been his pillow- friend. She recalled the others at the dinner party, and the way they had treated her. They had been friendly enough, but seemed to wonder what
Leon had seen in
the English girl who had become his wife so unexpectedly.

Nico, on the other hand, had taken to
Tara right from the start. And now, as her mind strayed to him, his name seemed inextricably to be linked with escape. He had a powerful motor launch, he had said, and it was at present moored in the harbour down there.

She looked at the conglomeration of boats, some with lights flickering in tile darkness, and wondered which one was his, and if it would one day carry her to freedom. There were several luxury craft down there, including her husband’s yacht. But most of the boats were the attractive little fishing caiques bobbing about on the dark mirror of the sea. The moon had been up but clouds had drifted over it, swirling drapery which allowed moonglow to escape now and then, to throw an enchanting and mysterious mosaic of light and shade over the waterfront and the steep and rocky hill rising from it. Paradise Isle, this piece of rock was called by the natives, and it was indeed a beautiful island.
Tara opened the window, and into the room filtered exotic perfumes from the garden and the extensive grounds beyond it. The scent of pines on the hillside pervaded the air one moment, the delicious perfume of roses the next.

Suddenly
Tara felt herself to be poised in the infinity of space where nothing was real or tangible. David did not exist; escape meant nothing and neither past nor future was any longer important. The feeling persisted, then she felt another presence and swung around to find her husband standing not three feet from her, his face dark and handsome, the front of his dressing-gown open to reveal the absence of a pyjama coat. She coloured when he said, breaking a silence that had been for her a sort of magic spell,

‘Not ready for me, wife?’

She sighed and shook her head, but when he drew her to him she responded immediately to his kisses.

‘Do you still maintain that you want to be alone tonight?’ he asked, regarding her dark and dreamy eyes with an air of mocking amusement. She hated his expression, hated her own weakness, born of the magnetic power which he so easily exerted over her. She was as putty in his hands and the galling thing was that he knew it. He could do what he liked with her, using a mastery against which she had no defence. ‘Answer me, Tara!’ he insisted, his hand straying with possessive arrogance to the soft curve of a breast.

A great shuddering sigh escaped her; she lifted her face to his and answered huskily,

‘No,
Leon
...
I d-don’t want to b-be alone....’

His laugh was triumphant, his manner that of the conqueror as, bringing her close, he unzipped the evening gown and let it fall to the floor. Her face flamed as he occupied himself with the scanty coverings that were left. He had done all this before, he reminded her, so what was she blushing for? He derived amusement from her embarrassment, and she knew that he was taking his time purely for the sake of prolonging that amusement. Naked, she was in his arms, her soft breasts crushed hurtfully against the iron-hardness of his chest. His hands strayed, and then she was swung right off her feet. He held her for a space without moving, his eyes dark with the smouldering passion within him, burning into hers with fierce intensity. Her body quivered in his arms; she attempted to wrench her eyes from that masterful, compelling gaze, but she failed. His arms became stronger around her soft and supple body, drawing her more closely to him, and she felt the hard muscles of his chest and shoulders against her.

‘I wonder if your struggles are now ended.’
Leon’s mouth was close to her temple, his fingers moving on her naked body. ‘I feel sure that you’ve come to the point where you know it’s useless to set your will against mine?’

She swallowed convulsively but made no answer. He laid her down on the bed, then stood over her, a towering figure whose primitive, pagan desires were written unmistakably on his arrogant face.

She turned away from those fierce dark eyes, but within seconds she felt his body beside her, was drawn into the inflexible steel hawser of his embrace. Every nerve, every fibre of her being was affected as his fiery kisses were rained on her lips, her throat, and lower to where a hand was laid upon her breast. She responded, straining her body to the virile mastery of his. She heard him laugh softly with triumph as all her control collapsed in the whirlpool of his ardour.

What was happening to her? she was asking herself several days later when, on being ordered by her husband to wear the new bikini he had bought, she meekly did as she was told. Was being a captive becoming a habit of mind? And was it a habit which would grow and strengthen to the point where it would be impossible to throw it off?
Leon’s powerful attraction for her was freely admitted, not only to herself but to
Leon too, when he forced from her lips words she would never have uttered in the cold light of day. But he knew when to coerce her, and how to bring her to the depth of being nothing more than his meek and willing slave. When in the throes of passion and desperate yearning she could be compelled without much trouble to obey every command she was given. She wondered if he knew that she was still afraid of him, of his strength and his imperious manner when he was issuing orders—as today when he had told her to wear the bikini—and of the threat in his eyes when they darkened. She thought of her struggles, which had merely given her bruises—before she suffered total defeat.
Even from the first she had known that her puny strength would never be a match for his, but yet her instinct had made her fight him. Now, though, she was coming to the point where she was resigned to her situation. Yes, undoubtedly she was becoming resigned, and she asked herself again if being her husband’s captive was becoming a habit of mind.

He made her don the bikini in front of him; it was a domineering retaliation for the frowning way she had looked at it, as there was scarcely anything of it at all!

He had obviously liked it, she thought, and in fact he had nodded with satisfaction when she stood there before him.

‘Go into the garden,’ he said, but added that she must not get too much sun at one time.

‘Are you coming?’ She hoped he would say no, as she loved to be alone in the garden because there, in the warmth of the sun and the peace of her surroundings, she could relax both in mind and in body. The sensation of tranquillity and aloneness was balm to the ache of remembrance. She seemed able to forget David and the tragedy and horror of her wedding day, when she had been ruthlessly snatched by the pagan Greek who had forced her into marriage. Very early it had hit her that he had had no need to marry her, that he could have taken her as his mistress—in which case, he would have been free to cast her off just whenever he tired of her. Why, then, had he married her?

His alien voice broke into her reflections as he said he would not be keeping her company in the garden yet awhile as he had work to do in his study. She looked at him; profoundly conscious of those black eyes, roving, taking in for their owner’s erotic pleasure every curve of her near-naked body. He had told her several times that he owned her body and therefore he could do what he liked with it, and she wondered as she tried t
o read his expression if he were thinking that now, at this moment. She quivered, looking around for the beach wrap he had bought her. She was in no mood for making love at this time of day!

‘What are you looking for?’ he wanted to know, reaching for her hand and pulling her gently towards him.

‘My wrap—please let me get it. I think it’s in the bathroom.’ She had no idea where it was; she wanted only to get away from him. But
Leon had other ideas and it was not until he had satiated his desire that he allowed her to go and get the wrap, and had told her again to go into the garden.

She lay back on the lounger listening to the droning of insects in the flower borders and watching one of the gardeners as he kept an eye on her, glancing her way now and then, just to make sure she had not got up ad run off—clad in nothing more than the bikini and the very short wrap which Leon had bought along with it!

She had been lying there for about an hour when she was awakened from her soporific state by the voice of her husband.

‘You look good enough to eat,’ he commented with the kind of smile she had never seen on his face before. ‘Shall I join you?’

‘I can’t stop you,’ she replied, flicking a hand to the other lounger a couple of feet away.

‘Don’t be bitchy,’ he snapped, the smile fading, and replaced by a frown. ‘I’m obviously not wanted,’ he added as he sat down. He was dressed in shorts, and a T-shirt which accentuated the muscles of his arms and shoulders. Undoubtedly he had an air of distinction even in these clothes,
Tara admitted grudgingly. Her eyes wandered to his face with its teak-bronzed skin, its arrogant features and strong, classical jawline. His mouth was not so thin as usual, and its sensuality was
more apparent. She found herself comparing him with David—as she had one once or twice before—and decided that there really was no comparison: you didn’t compare a tiger with a lamb.

She said, asking the question which she knew she would ask at one time or another.

‘Why did you marry me, Leon?’ He merely looked at her sharply and gave her no answer. ‘You had no need,’ she went on, watching him intently. ‘You had me in your power. If you’d—er—amused yourself without marriage, then you could have got rid of me when you found someone else.’

‘That would have been impossible under the circumstances.’ He was watching the gardener, his face inscrutable.

‘What do you mean?’