The Greek's Virgin Bride

'Our what?

'Our wedding,' he repeated. His voice was tighter now, au­tomatically responding to the visible rejection her whole body was projecting.

She was staring at him as if he had grown another head.

'Our wedding?” She could hardly get the word out. Then, as terror seized her, she found her voice.' Only a frail one. 'Oh, my God,' she breathed, as the only possible truth dawned, 'you're some kind of lunatic—'

She swirled around, catching at the narrow skirt of her dress, forcing her legs—weak, suddenly—to hurry back along the stone terrace towards the lights—the safety—of the open French windows at the other end.

He caught her wrist before she could even take a single fran­tic step.

'What did you call me?'

The circle of his strong fingers crushed her bones. She tugged to free herself, but to no avail.

'Let me go!' The fear was naked in her voice now, her eyes wide with panic.

His face darkened. 'What the hell is going on?' he de­manded. 'I simply said we ought to discuss our wedding—I am quite prepared to give you as free a hand as possible, but I have to say,' he went on, still at a loss to account for the bizarre reaction he was getting from her, 'I would prefer to be married here in Greece.'

'Married?' She echoed die word with total incredulity.

'Yes, married. Andrea, why on earth are you behaving like this?5 There was impatience in his voice, as well as bewilder­ment.

'Married to you!’

His mouth thinned. It was the way she said that, as if it was the most outrageous idea in the world. He glared down at her.

He let her hand go abruptly. She rubbed her wrist, and would have tried to bolt to the doors leading inside, but he was block­ing her back against the stone balustrade.

'We need to talk,' he said abruptly.

Andrea

shook her head violently. The only thing she needed to do was to get inside, away from this lunatic who had sud­denly gone nuts and started talking about weddings and getting married...

'Answer me,' he commanded. 'Why did you let me kiss you just now if you did not believe that I would marry you?'

Her heart was plummeting around all over the place inside her. Panic was nipping at her, ready to explode again at any moment. Now it did.

'Oh my God, you are completely nuts!' She tried to push past him, but he was an immovable block.

Nikos, not moving an iota, gave a heavy, impatient sigh and tried hard to hold on to his patience. Why she was throwing this fit of hysterics was incomprehensible. Could it really be that she did not know about their marriage? How could that possibly be? Of course she knew! She must know! So why the hysterics now?

Did she not want to marry him?

The thought enraged him suddenly! How dared she lead him on as she had this evening, letting him taste the sweetness of her lips, inflaming his desire with the allure of her body, if she did not agree to their marriage? And why should she not agree? What, if you please, was so very wrong about the idea of being his wife?

Perhaps because you are the bastard son of a barmaid and an unknown sailor?

The poisonous root took hold and would not be shaken loose. His jaw tightened. If she had objected to their marriage on those grounds she had had time enough to make her opin­ions clear to her grandfather.

And was Yiorgos Coustakis the kind of man to listen to his granddaughter's objections about the social origins of her in­tended husband?

He thrust the thought from him. It was irrelevant. Right now he simply had to stop her throwing a full-scale fit of hysterics.

'Be still. You are not going anywhere until you have calmed down—'

His words were cut off by a sharp expletive as he registered pain in his shins. Then, as he was caught off-balance, Andrea thrust him back with all her strength and hurtled as fast as her evening dress would allow towards the open doors at the end of the terrace.