A Devious Desire

A quivering awareness darted through her as he nudged aside her long hair, his mouth sucking gently on the soft curve of her neck and then tracing up to her small ear,

'Beautiful! So are you, my sweet Saffron; pity the peace and quiet does not also apply to you.' He chuckled as his fingers found the waistband of her trousers and deftly unfastened the button, slipping down the zip, splaying out over her flat stomach. 'Come to bed,' he prompted throatily, his tongue licking gently around her ear as his other hand gently palmed her breast. 'Siesta, hmm?'

Saffron closed her eyes and bit down hard on her lip, trying to fight down the rising tide of desire that his touch evoked.

'You know you want to; why deny yourself?' Alex turned her in his arms, 'And me.' She felt his need against her belly, and hated the conflicting emotions that assailed her.

He was right, as usual, and with a low moan, half need and half despair, she curved her slender arms around his neck, urging his head down to her waiting lips.

That afternoon set the pattern for the weeks to come, though if Saffron had guessed what was to follow she would have fought harder to resist. . .

* * *

Saffron walked out of the sea, brushing her hair from her eyes, and ran across the teach to the shade of a feœge overhanging rock where she had left her towel. It was September now and the temperature was still in the hundreds, unseasonably hot; the only sensible place to be was in an air-conditioned room, but she could stand the silence of the villa no longer and, donning a brief black bikini, had ventured out in the afternoon sun.

Collapsing on the towel, her breathing heavy—she had swum longer and further than she should have—she rolled over on to her stomach and laid her head on her arms. She glanced along the deserted beach to the small huddle of houses and jetty and wondered for the millionth time how she was going to get away, or if she even wanted to. . .

From the first day on the island, when, in the middle of the afternoon, she had found herself on the large raised bed with Alex, who had conducted a relentless assault on her senses with a devilish expertise that had her crying out in ecstatic fulfilment, and then sunk in the depths of despair at her own degrading surrender, she had alternated between heaven and hell.

Over the weeks that had followed, she had begun to realise that the satiation which she had thought would follow quickly, and then she would be immune to him, was not about to happen. Instead, every night in the big bed she fell deeper and deeper under Alex's speli. He led her through the paths of the perfumed garden of eroticism w

ith a hungry delight that encouraged her own surprisingly sensual nature to respond in kind. Together they found new and wondrous ways of pleasing each other until quite often the light of dawn threaded the sky before they fell into exhausted sleep.

It should have brought them closer together, but the reverse was true. In the first couple of weeks Alex had taken her shopping and to dinner in Athens a few times. She now had a wardrobe a film star would be proud of, and a diamond bracelet, and earrings to match her stunning engagement ring. Alex was lavish with money, and would not allow her to refuse whatever he offered, simply reminding her that she had married him for money, which in a way she had.

It was her own stupid fault that she had recognised that she loved him on her wedding-day and even more foolishly told him her ulterior motive for marrying him. Now she dared not tell him the truth. Instead she fought with him almost constantly. Thank God the house was isolated, otherwise everyone for miles around could hear their verbal sparring matches. As it was, Despina let her disapproval be known, even though she barely spoke English.

They had had one good day out, Saffron mused. The day he had taken her to explore the sights of Athens— the Acropolis, the Parthenon, and the ruins of the ancient theatre of Dionysus, which she had marvelled at. Then, later in the evening, when the sky was black, they had sat in the open-air theatre high above the Acropolis and watched in awe the sound and light show which illuminated the mighty Acropolis while the history of the city was told on tape by actors such as Richard Burton.

But over the past few weeks they had grown further and further apart. Saffron had not been off the island for six weeks. Alex, on the other hand, was rarely around. Every morning at eight the helicopter whisked him into his office in Athens, returning later and later at night as the weeks passed by. Last weekend he had not returned to the island at all; leaving a brief message with Despina, he had not spoken to Saffron, and had returned last night with no explanation.

Saffron had thought she was lonely before. An orphan, always on the outside looking in. But at least she had had her work her plans and ambition to comfort her. Now she was beginning to realise what true loneliness was.

She rubbed her hand idly across the moisture hazing her lovely eyes, The fact that Despina and Georgos spoke very little English did not help; she had tried walking to the jetty, but one bar, strictly for men, and a couple of houses did not make for a lively social life. A few smiles and a courteous Greek greeting and that was it. In desperation she had tried to offer Despina a make-up session and massage but had been greeted with a giggle and a no. Saffron honestly did not know how much more of this enforced idleness and brief, superficial conversations, or blazing rows with Alex, she could stand without going crazy.

Alex had arrived home after dinner last night and said curtly, 'I had a call from Mama today. She will be arriving on Friday, as will Aunt Katherina and Maria; arrange it with Despina, will you?'

Saffron, relaxing on the sofa, her legs curled under her, had looked up at Alex's entrance, and realised she had missed him. 'How?' she'd sneered mockingly. 'Sign language?' He strolled in at eleven at night without so much as an explanation and immediately began issuing orders. He was a pig. . .

'Cut out the sarcasm, Saffron; I'm not in the mood. I've had a hard few days.'

She had not seen him for three days, and he did looked tired; his tanned face had a greyish tinge, emphasising his rugged features. 'Have you had dinner? I could make you something.'

'I'm tired, not hungry.'

'Then go to bed.'

A grim smile tugged the corners of his hard mouth. 'Is that an invitation?' he demanded with a short, mocking laugh. 'My, we are getting bold.' And he bent over her to kiss her long and hard.

'No—no, it wasn't,' she spluttered, jumping to her feet.

'Sit down. I need a drink.' Alex walked to the array of bottles displayed on a long sideboard and poured a hefty shot of whisky into a crystal glass. He looked back over his shoulder, his dark eyes meeting hers. 'Join me in a nightcap?'

Saffron sank back down on the sofa. 'Yes, please— a small brandy and soda.'

Alex fixed the drink and handed it to her, the brush of his fingers against her own sending a too familiar tingle through her flesh. 'Thank you,' she said stiltedly, and took a swift swallow of her drink. Alex sat down beside her on the sofa, stretching the muscled length of his legs elegantly out in front of him, his head dropping back against the soft cushions, and drained his glass in one long swallow.

'I needed that. And now we need to talk.' His dark head turned slightly to the side so that he could study Saffron's delicate profile.