For Pleasure...Or Marriage?

t of the window. ‘Probably. God knows what possessed Leo to buy that white elephant! It’s as well he didn’t do so under corporate finances, or I’d have lambasted him for it! It can be his own personal money pit if he wants.’

‘It is very big,’ Vanessa allowed.

The glint in Markos’s eyes came again, its message very clear. He leant towards her, lips brushing hers.

‘Even better, the beds are very big too, hmm?’

There was a softness in his voice, a husk of anticipation. Once again, colour flared out across her cheeks.

And in her body another sensation flared.

Suddenly she was as impatient as Markos for the journey to end.

Vanessa stirred, luxuriating in the softness of the deep feather mattress and the heavy warmth of the billowing duvet smothering her. In front of her, Markos was getting dressed. She sat herself up, propping up the thick pillows, pushing back her tumbled hair. As she moved, the duvet slipped a little, exposing one breast. Automatically, she covered it again.

‘Just as well,’ Markos told her, the grey eyes glinting briefly in appreciation as he slipped gold cufflinks through his cuffs. ‘Much as I want to, there’s no time for playing today.’

‘Are we going back to London?’ Vanessa asked sleepily. The house party at the schloss was over, the guests had dispersed, and their host, Leo, was off as well. Apparently his charms had won over the reluctant Anna after all, for he was leaving, so Markos said, with her in tow. Vanessa wished her well. She wished the whole world well. That was what loving Markos did to her—filled her with a joy and generosity of spirit that spilled out to everyone.

How could I have imagined living without Markos?

The very idea seemed unbelievable, unbearable. To think that she had gone to Paris with no more expectation than to see the most magical city in Europe—and had had her life transformed! Her original intention had been to spend a week in Paris and then return home to put the last of her affairs in order so that she could fulfil her even more ambitious dream of travelling around Europe—even beyond, perhaps—lashing out with a proportion of the money from the sale of her grandparents’ large house, the balance safely invested, together with the money her grandparents had left her, her nest egg for the future.

Now all that seemed a universe away. All that existed to her now was Markos. Markos, Markos, Markos. His name ran like a litany in her head.

Where he would go, she would follow. To the ends of the earth if he would let her.

She felt her heart turn over. She did not know what the future would bring—could not even bring herself to think of it. She lived only in the ever-present present, the wonderful, magical now of being with Markos. He wanted her—and that was enough.

More, more than enough! Heaven, bliss and wonderland all combined. She gazed at him, lovelight blinding in her eyes.

He was just so incredible to look at! Even now—getting dressed, standing there in the lamplight and glowing firelight of the still-dark winter morning, lean and tall, buttoning the shirt that hid his smooth, powerful torso from her sight, reaching for the tie that was draped over the back of a chair, knotting it with skilled, casual fingers—he made her breath catch, her heart beat faster.

‘London for you, yes,’ he answered her. ‘But I—’he made a face ‘—have to go to Athens. I’m sorry, but I can’t get out of it.’

Her face fell. She couldn’t help it.

She wanted to ask him—beg him—to let her come with him, but she knew she mustn’t. If Markos had to go to Athens on business he would have no time for her, and she would not importune him. She would wait, patiently, in his vast, opulent London apartment—one of the half-dozen or so he owned in the major cities of Europe and North America—counting the hours until he returned.

‘Of course,’ she said bravely. ‘How—how long will you be in Athens, do you think?’

She hoped she didn’t sound nagging. No man liked being nagged. Especially not a man like Markos Makarios.

He gave a shrug, tightening the knot on his tie and reaching for his jacket.

‘A few days—maybe a week. I don’t know.’

She nodded.

‘Well, I hope it all goes well—whatever the business is.’

It was Markos’s turn to nod, but briefly. It wasn’t business calling him to Athens; he wished it was. Anything would be preferable to the real reason. It was his father, summoning him again. He had missed out on Christmas and the New Year, spending the holiday season in Mauritius with Vanessa, a far more enjoyable experience than seeing his carping father. Of course his father had found out—nothing he did was secret from the old man, he knew that—but the berating would come in person, not over the phone. Hence the summons now.

He knew exactly how it would go. His father was old. His only son, Markos, was feckless, unfilial, self-indulgent, thinking nothing of his obligations to the Makarios name, the future of the Makarios fortunes. Had his father not suffered enough grief through Markos’s mother? Did his father not deserve to have his worries and anxieties for his closing years allayed? Did his father not deserve to have his grandchildren finally around him, after so long and stubborn a prevarication by his son? And did his stubborn, disloyal son not know that he must, must take himself a wife to provide those essential grandchildren? A good wife, a loyal wife, a Greek wife, who would be faithful and true, not faithless and false. A wife who knew her duty—to give her husband sons, her father-in-law the grandchildren he deserved.

But, no, Markos was selfish and self-indulgent. He wasted his loins on harlots and whores, like the one he had spent Christmas with, fornicating in the tropics instead of coming home to take a wife for himself, a good Greek girl, any one of the dozen his father had picked out for him as worthy to bear his grandchildren…

Markos slammed down a steel door on the endlessly complaining voice echoing in his brain. Thee mou, but he did not want to go to Athens! Did not want to stand, teeth gritted, while his father wailed and lamented over him, accusing him of fornication and harlotry. But it had to be done—like penance. And when it was done he could escape again, get back to the life he had built for himself—a life where beautiful women like the one there in his bed now gave him everything he wanted. Everything he needed.