The Greek's Virgin Bride

Colour stained her cheekbones as she read the message in his eyes, and he sat back, well pleased.

Right now life was good. Very good.

And the night was even better. All the rest of the day Andrea found her awareness of Nikos mounting and mounting—during .he drive back to the north of the island, during dinner eaten by the harbour in Chania, this time, not Rethimnon, and the irive back across the isthmus of the Akritori peninsula to the leep water of Souda Bay, where the yacht was moored. That night she hardly noticed the garish decor of the staterooms, hardly noticed the polite greetings of the crew, only noticed the way Nikos's eyes looked at her, wanting her, wanting her. Desire swept through her, and the moment they gained the privacy of their bedroom she turned to him, and he to her. That night their coming together was even more incendiary—she knew now, so well, just what passion and desire, unleashed, could bring, and she revelled in it.

She felt wild and wanton, desirable and daring. 'I do believe,' Nikos murmured to her, his eyes glinting wickedly as she climbed astride him at his urging, eager to find more and more ways of showing her desire for him and sating her own, 'that you are making up for lost time.'

He slid his hands helpfully under her smooth, round bottom, lifting her up and positioning her exactly where he wanted her to be. Then he relaxed back.

'Take me.' The eyes glinted even more wickedly, making her feel weak with desire. Tm yours...1

She looked down at him, her red hair streaming like a banner down her naked back.

And slowly, tasting every moment of the experience, she came down on him. Possessing him.

It was the first of numberless possessions, each giving and taking as much as the other, their appetites feeding on each other, inflaming each other, sating each other, long into the following day. They did not go ashore that morning, letting Captain Petrachos take the yacht westwards, to round the island into the Libyan Sea and nose along the southern coast. Though the day was warm, and fine, Andrea and Nikos found a strang' reluctance to take the fresh air.

'We should get up,' murmured Andrea, nestled agains Nikos's hard-muscled chest.

'It's our honeymoon, Andrea mou. There is no hurry. W have all the time in the world.' He began to nuzzle at her tender earlobe, and she felt—extraordinary though it was, considering how short a time ago they had come together this latest time-her body beginning to respond to his caressing. 'On the other hand,' he considered, 'perhaps we should get up. Of course...' his teeth nipped gently, arousingly at her lobe '...we would need to have a bath first...'

Making love in a Jacuzzi was, Andrea discovered, a breath­taking experience, and one that lasted a long, long time. It was after noon before they finally emerged on to the deck, to take a long, leisurely lunch under an awning as the mountainous coastline of southern Crete slipped slowly past them. After lunch the launch was lowered, and Nikos took her first, as he had promised, to the tiny cove of Ancient Lissos, to explore the remains of the asklepieion—healing centre—and then sail­ing onwards, past the pretty whitewashed village of Loutro, along the piratical Sfakiot coastline until they made landfall at a beach marked on the map as 'Sweetwater Beach'.

'What a strange name,' said Andrea, and marvelled when she was shown the reason. Tiny freshwater springs pearled from beneath the pebbles. Andrea scooped some of the water to her lips.

'It is fresh!' she exclaimed in wonder.

It was such a beautiful afternoon, and the beach—unreachable by road—so relatively uncrowded, that they stayed to en­joy it. As Andrea started to relax, Nikos produced a swimsuit from amongst the towels.

'No one will look at your legs, Andrea,' he told her. 'They will all be too busy looking at your glorious figure.' He leant and kissed her softly. 'You are so beautiful. Your legs do not matter. Not to me. You must know that by now—you must!' He smiled cajolingly. 'Do it for me, my beautiful bride.'

How can I refuse? she thought. How can I refuse him any­thing?

Handing her a vast towelling changing tent, he helped her slip on the plain black one-piece he had acquired for her. As she stepped free she felt overcome with self-consciousness, but after a while she realised it was true—the others on the beach, scattered as they were, were not looking at her.

'Come,' said Nikos. 'That sea looks too tempting!'

He was stripping off before she could reply, baring every thing down to a pair of trunks under his trousers, and then he was taking her hand and leading her into the clear water.

This early in the year the water had a bite to it that made her gasp, but Nikos only laughed. He drew her in relentlessly, and then, letting go, dived into the turquoise water, surfacing to shake a shower of diamonds from his head. 'Come on! You'll thank me!'

And she did. When they finally emerged, some fifteen minutes later, she felt glorious, reborn. He swathed a towel around her and sat her down, pausing only to run a towel over his back before joining her.

He grinned at her. She grinned back. The water on his long eyelashes caught the sun, his damp, towel-dried hair made her ache to touch it, and the expression in his eyes as he looked at her made her weak.

All that marred her pleasure was the prospect of having to go back on board her grandfather's yacht. It oppressed her more and more. Not just because of the tasteless extravagance of its opulent decor, but because it reminded her, as she did not want to be reminded, of just why she had come to Greece at all.

And she did not want to think of that. 'Nikos?' She sat up, looking at him questioningly. 'Do we have to stay on the yacht?'

'You don't want to?' He sounded surprised. He didn't know a woman who wouldn't have adored to luxuriate on board such a floating palace!

But then Andrea, he was beginning to realise, was like no woman he had ever known... For so many reasons. She shook her head. 'Can't we stay here, on Crete?' He smiled indulgently

. 'Of course. I will phone the yach and book a suitable hotel. Or would you prefer a private villa?' 'Can't we just take our chances? Wander around, stay where we want? There are rooms to let everywhere, and we've passed many little hotels in the Jeep.'

He looked at her. 'You'd like that?' 'Oh, yes! They look such fun. I've never done anything like that—'

Her voice was full of longing. How ironic, thought Nikos, that for someone raised in luxury, the commonplace was ex­otic!