Passion Becomes You

‘This one is worth—enough,’ he answered with a smile.

‘Enough for what?’ she enquired provocatively.

He laughed, the sound warm and huskily alive. He lifted his hand so that he could take hold of her chin, giving it a playful shake. ‘Enough to keep you in luxury for the rest of your beautiful life,’ he said, and kissed her.

It was a surprise—enough of a surprise to keep her own mouth still beneath his, her eyes wide and startled when he drew away to look into them. ‘You are happier now?’ he asked. ‘The feelings of homesickness have faded?’

‘Yes,’ she assured him, smiling apologetically. ‘It was a few moments’ silliness, that’s all, gone before I woke up from my rest.’

His eyes glinted darkly in the sunlight while he explored her face for a few moments longer, then he said quietly, ‘You must trust me, Jemma, to do what is right for us. I am both your home and your family now. I do not intend to desert you or play you false.’

‘I do trust you,’ she said, and surprised herself because she meant it. ‘And I’m sorry if my mood upset you.’

‘Not upset exactly, but concerned me rather.’ He lifted a hand to her hair, gently touching the silky roots at her temple. ‘We may have embarked on this marriage because of the coming child, but I never stopped caring for you, Jemma; you must also remember that.’

His words warmed a special place inside her, and she smiled up at him. ‘I remember,’ she confirmed.

And he had cared, cared enough to ask her to go live with him in New York. Cared enough to marry her when he came back to find her pregnant with his child. And he had cared enough to spend the last few weeks personally supervising her recovery to good health in the most luxurious and pleasurable way he could think of. But—

But what? she asked herself impatiently as she turned her attention back to the view slipping lazily by them.

But caring wasn’t enough, she answered herself bleakly. Not any more—not ever, probably. But perhaps more so now because she had become so wholly dependent on him for everything.

CHAPTER NINE

FISKÁRDHO sat at the end of a narrow inlet, its rich blue waters protected by mountains on either side. Because of the size of the yacht, they had to anchor just outside the tiny harbour itself, and within minutes the crew had launched the small speed-boat, Leon had helped her climb down into it and they were speeding across the water towards a pretty hamlet of whitewashed buildings with red-tiled roofs.

It was a busy little place; sailing yachts of all shapes and sizes floated side by side along the two-sided harbour wall. Leon nudged them in between a tall-masted sailing yacht and an expensive-looking motor cruiser, then called out to a small white-haired man who came ambling across to catch the rope Leon threw to him. The two men chatted amiably in Greek while they made the boat safe, then, with an ease that surprised her, Leon picked her up and placed her neatly on the quay before making the two-foot leap to the quayside himself.

Jemma pushed her sunhat off her head so that it hung down her back on its strings and she could look interestedly around her. The little Greek man looked at her hair and said something to Leon who grinned and answered and the man gave a nod of approval and shook Leon’s hand.

‘What did he say?’ she asked curiously.

‘He was complimenting me on my taste,’ Leon replied.

‘And what did you say to him?’

‘I told him I was Kefallinían,’ he shrugged. ‘Of course I had good taste.’

‘Conceited devil,’ she said.

He just grinned carelessly. ‘What would you like to do first?’ he asked.

‘Stop my body from floating,’ she said ruefully. ‘I feel as if I’m still on water!’

‘It will take a while to get your balance,’ he warned. ‘Would you rather we sit down and have a drink or something, while you get your land legs back?’

‘No.’ Jemma’s eyes were already darting eagerly around her. ‘I haven’t seen a shop in weeks, and I want to browse.’

‘I thought you might say that,’ he sighed. ‘Come on, we will begin at one end and work our way to the other. Oh,’ he added belatedly, ‘this is for you.’ He pulled a thick roll of banknotes from his pocket and handed them to her. ‘Drachmas,’ he explained. ‘You will need them if you want to buy anything.’

Jemma bit pensively down on her bottom lip, her reluctance to take the money showing in the expression she could not keep off her face.

‘Good grief!’ Leon sighed, reading the expression for exactly what it was. ‘I have never known a woman like you who will not even accept the simplest offering from her own husband! Take it—take it!’ he insisted impatiently, thrusting it into her hands.

‘But how much is here?’ she demanded suspiciously. It looked an awful lot of money to her.

‘The equivalent of a few English pounds only,’ he dismissed, watching her grudgingly push the roll into the pocket of her baggy white trousers. ‘Now can we go?’ he mocked.