The Greek's Virgin Bride

Andrea heard it, heard the note of raw desire in it. Her breath caught, and a shot of pure adrenaline surged through her. Then the words he had uttered penetrated, and the rush died, draining away like dirty oil from the sump of a wrecked car.

You're so beautiful... .

Her mouth made a tight twist, and her eyes took on a strange brightness.

'Am I? Am I beautiful?'

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; Her voice was as strange as the twist to her mouth, the brightness of her eyes. She spoke to him, spoke to the man who stood waiting for her, stripped and ready for action.

A man who made her feel weak all over, inside and out, who made her heart clench and her breath catch just with looking at him.

But now it was him looking at her. She let him look. Wanted to look.

That was the only way she could play this now—nothing Ise had worked. This must. It could not fail.

She went on speaking in that low, strange voice.

"This is what you want, isn't it, Nikos? A beautiful woman in your bed. Am I beautiful enough, Nikos? Am I?'

Her hands slid around the nape of her neck, lifting up her hair. She moved her head so that the glorious tumble flamed like fire. Then her hands slid down to the bodice of her neg­ligee, fingers sliding beneath the delicate expensive material. She slipped it back, baring her shoulders, her hands grazing her breasts.

And all the time her eyes held his, never letting them go for a second.

'Am I beautiful, Nikos? Your beautiful bride?'

He couldn't answer her. His breath was frozen in his throat, though in his veins the blood roared.

She smiled. A fey, taunting smile.

Inside her head, behind the mask of her face, she was filled with flat, cold desolation. She was being cruel, she knew, but it was the only way. The only way.

She moved towards the bed, gliding softly, and lay down upon it, one hand loosely gathering the half-discarded material of her negligee to her breasts, the other smoothing the silk along the line of her legs.

'Am I your beautiful bride, Nikos? Beautiful enough for your bed?'

He came towards her. Purpose, desire, arousal—all hi his eyes, his face—his ready, hungry body.

He could not resist her! Not for a second longer! Tumult consumed him. Who was this woman? One moment a cold, sulking ice-maiden, denouncing him for his sexual appetites, icily demanding a divorce before the ink was dry on the mar­riage certificate, sneering at him for his lowly origins. And now—now she was lying here, eternal Eve, displaying her body for him, lush and beautiful, oh, so beautiful, tempting him, arousing him—inviting him.

He looked down at her, caught in a pool of light, her body on show for him, veiled only by the sheerest of fabrics.

'Show me your body, Andrea—'

It was a rasp, a husk—a command, a plea.

There was a brightness in her eyes, a strangeness to her lips. He did not see it, saw only the soft outline of her limbs, her breasts, her belly...

'Show me...'

Her hand moved on her thigh, sliding the silk away, letting it slither from her thighs to the bedclothes on either side.

She looked at him. There was no expression in her eyes. None at all.

There was silence. A silence so profound Nikos knew he could hear his own heart beating.

Oh, dear God, dear God...