Bought ForThe Greek's Bed

She did not know how she got through the rest of the evening—had no recollection of it, no awareness. All her consciousness was focussed on one thing only.

She must escape.

Where—how—with what excuse? What reason?

It was during one of the distracted conversations she had during the course of that endless evening, when she made some remark about how hot and breathless Athens was at the end of September, that Aristides suggested the island Theo owned.

‘It will be cooler there. Fresher than here. You should have a holiday, both of you.’ He beamed at them. ‘You could go there tomorrow!’

Vicky stiffened automatically, and Theo said, ‘Impossible, unfortunately. I can’t get away until the weekend.’ He glanced at Vicky. ‘You could go, however, and then I could join you on Friday evening.’ There was a bland look in his eyes, but Vicky had seen the glint in them.

But all she murmured was, ‘Very well.’

‘Splendid!’ Aristides exclaimed. He beamed at both of them again.

Vicky forced a smile to her face. Oh, she would go to this island, all right. But she would not be there, waiting like a tethered goat, when Theo arrived at the weekend to finish off his kill. She would be gone by then. Where, she didn’t know or care—but agreeing to go to this private island of Theo’s would buy her the precious time she needed. From there she could make her own arrangements.

So she had gone. Like a fool, an idiot. Thinking she had found a haven, a refuge from what she fled.

But Theo outmanoeuvred her effortlessly. She set off after lunch, Theo safe in his offices in Athens. When she landed on the island he was already there.

The island. Fragrant with the scent of thyme, cooled by the breeze off an azure sea, a place of magic and enchantment. An enchantment that sapped her will and lulled her senses even as it awakened them.

When had the moment of yielding come? She did not know, but it came all the same—a moment so silent, so imperceptible, that she was not even conscious of it. As she walked up to the tiny white-walled villa, framed by olive trees, splashed crimson with bougainvillea, in all its bewitching simplicity, she felt her heart lift, her spirit lighten. Beyond the whiteness of the building she could see the cerulean blue of the sea, merging into the infinite sky above.

She felt a strange tranquillity steal over her, a sense of journey’s end and resolution. Her pace slowed and she looked about her more deeply, drinking it in.

Then the sound of a door opening made her turn back towards the villa.

Theo stood in the doorway.

For one brief moment she stood, transfixed.

Waiting for the fury. The dismay.

But they did not come.

He held his hand out to her. He was not wearing his perpetual business suit. His short-sleeved shirt was open, the bronze of his chest darkened, his trousers nothing more than long swimming trunks, his feet bare, his hair feathered by the breeze. She felt desire shimmer in her. More than desire. Finally, more than desire.

There was nothing more she could do. She had fought, and run, and resisted.

But it had still come to this. She walked towards him and he looked down at her, took her hand, and led her in.

It was, in the end, all she could do.

Yield to him.

Why had she given in to him? Gone to his bed? Let him do to her what she had fought so hard against? She knew the truth of it—because she had not had the strength to go on resisting him. That was all.

He had sensed his victory from the moment she had walked up to him, and from that moment on she’d been lost. It had been as if all the fight had gone out of her—and he had known it. He’d said nothing of that, however, simply greeting her as if it had all been prearranged by both of them.

Maybe it had been the remote beauty of the island, their isolation, with no one else there once the helicopter that had brought her from the mainland had whirred off into the sky, letting the peace crowd back again into the silence.

‘Come down to the beach,’ Theo had said, taking her small suitcase and carrying it into the single bedroom. A simple room—whitewashed walls, stone floor, an old-fashioned bed, wooden furniture and slatted blinds.

Not a room for Theo Theakis—head of a mighty corporation, corporate captain par excellence and one of Greece’s richest men.

And yet, as Vicky watched him curiously, he seemed at home here.