The Demetrios Virgin

As Pia started to frown Athena added maliciously, ‘He isn’t very happy with you right now, Andreas...’

‘My grandfather is never happy with anyone who takes a different view from his,’ Andreas told her dryly. ‘He has a quick temper and a short fuse and thankfully an even shorter memory—’

Andreas had insisted that Saskia was to lie beneath the protection of a sun umbrella because of her fair skin, but as she watched Athena untying the wrap she was wearing to reveal an even smaller bikini than Pia’s, Saskia felt envious of her rich golden tan.

‘How uncomfortable you must be lying in the shade,’ Athena said, adding bitchily, ‘I would hate to have such a pale skin. It always looks so...’

‘Saskia’s skin reminds me of the purest alabaster,’ Andreas interrupted Athena smoothly.

‘Alabaster—oh, but that is so cold.’ Athena smiled, giving Saskia an assessing look. ‘Oh, now you are frowning and looking grumpy,’ she told Andreas softly, ‘and I know just the cure for that. Let me put some oil on for you, Andreas, and then...’

Saskia could hardly believe it when she heard herself saying firmly, ‘I’ll do that for you, darling.’ Turning to look at Athena, she added boldly, ‘A fiancée’s privilege.’ And then, ignoring both the frowning look Andreas was giving her and her own shaking hands, she got up off her sun lounger, took the bottle of oil Pia was offering her with an approving smile and walked over to where Andreas was lying.

Very carefully Saskia poured a little of the oil into her cupped hand and then, even more carefully, leaned over Andreas’s prone body, making sure as she did so that she stood between his sun bed and the one Athena was reclining on in a pose carefully designed to flaunt to full effect her generous breasts.

Saskia’s hair swung over her face as she nervously started to smooth the oil over Andreas shoulders. His skin felt warm and sleek beneath her touch. As sleek as it had looked last night. She paused as her hands began to tremble. Last night! She must not think about that now. But somehow she found herself doing so; somehow, too, her hands were moving sensually against his skin, stroking, smoothing, even kneading instinctively when she found that his muscles were bunching beneath her touch.

He had been lying on his stomach with his eyes closed, but suddenly they opened and he told her abruptly, ‘That’s enough. I was about to go for a swim anyway.’

Even so it was still several seconds before he actually got up and walked away from her to the end of the pool, diving in cleanly and then swimming virtually a full length beneath the water before resurfacing and starting to lap the pool with a hard, fast-paced crawl.

Andreas tried to concentrate on what he was doing, to empty his head of any thoughts as he always did when he was swimming. It was his favourite way of relaxing—or at least it had been. Right now the last thing he felt was relaxed. Even without closing his eyes he could still remember exactly how it had felt to have Saskia’s hands moving over his body, soft, caressing...knowing...

He slid beneath the water, swimming under it as he tried to control his aching body. God, but he wanted her; ached for her; lusted for her. He had never felt like this about anyone before, never needed anyone with such an intensity, never been in a situation where he simply could not control himself either physically or emotionally. She must know what she was doing to him, a woman of her experience...a woman who prowled bars at night looking for a man. Of course she must; of course she did. And yet...

And yet he couldn’t stop himself from contrasting what he knew cerebrally about her with the way she had felt in his arms, the soft, hot sweetness of her kiss, the desire hazing her eyes and the shock which had later replaced it. She had caught him off guard just now, when she had refused to allow Athena to touch him—caught him off guard and filled him with a certain hot male triumph and pride that she should feel so possessive about him. But of course she didn’t—did she? She was simply acting, playing out the role he had forced her into.

Andreas frowned. His own mental use of the word ‘forced’ and the admission which it brought rasped against his conscience like sandpaper. It was wholly out of character for him, against his strongest held beliefs to force anyone to do anything, but he had begun to fear he could find no way out of the present situation without endangering his grandfather’s health. What he was offering was an explanation, not an excuse, he warned himself sternly and if he had now discovered that he had merely exchanged one hazard for another which was even more potentially dangerous then he had no one but himself to blame.