Her Greek Groom: The Tycoon's Mistress / Smokescreen Marriage / His Forbidden Bride

At last he stirred, lifting himself away from her. He reached for his watch from the night table, grimaced at the time, and fastened the thin gold bracelet back on his wrist. Then he turned and looked down at Cressy, his dark eyes almost dispassionate.

‘Thank you.’ His voice was cool, even faintly amused. ‘I had not expected such—enchanting cooperation. You learn quickly.’

‘Is—is that all you have to say?’ Her voice shook. She felt as if she’d been slapped.

‘No, but the rest must wait. I have a meeting in the City. But you don’t have to leave,’ he added swiftly as Cressy half sat up. ‘No one will disturb you if you wish to sleep.’

‘I don’t,’ she said curtly. ‘I haven’t visited my father today. I need to get back there.’

He nodded, unfazed. ‘Paul will contact you with your instructions.’

‘Instructions?’

‘I shall soon be returning to Greece. I require you to accompany me.’

‘But my job—my father,’ Cressy protested. ‘I can’t just—go.’

‘You will find that you can. Your employer has been most understanding. Your—services are on temporary loan to me. I did not explain the exact nature of the services,’ he added with a shrug. ‘So you can tell him as much or as little as you wish.’

She swallowed. ‘My God,’ she said. ‘You don’t allow much to stand in your way, do you? Suppose I’d turned you down.’

‘I was certain you wouldn’t.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Apart from other considerations, your sexual curiosity had been aroused, agapi mou, and needed to be satisfied.’ His hand touched her shoulder, then travelled swiftly and sensuously down her body. It was the lightest of caresses but it brought her skin stinglingly alive.

Draco’s laugh was soft. ‘You see, Cressida mou, even now you are eager for your next lesson. How sad that I have not more time to devote to you.’

Cressy reached down and dragged the discarded sheet up over her body. She recognised that it was basically a meaningless gesture, but it made her feel marginally better.

She forced herself to meet his gaze. She said, ‘You mentioned I was on loan to you. For how long, exactly?’

Draco swung his long legs to the floor. ‘I said three months initially.’

She said, ‘I—see.’

The blissful euphoria which had followed their lovemaking had gone. In its place, pain and shame were dragging her apart.

‘I suggest you see a doctor as a matter of urgency,’ he tossed over his shoulder as he walked to the bathroom. ‘Today I used protection, but even so we must ensure there’s no chance of you becoming pregnant.’

Cressy was suddenly very still, her eyes enormous as she stared after him.

With a few casual words, she thought, he’d relegated her to the status of a non-person.

Yet this was the reality of the situation. She was no longer his golden love. She was a temporary sexual partner. And the skill and artistry he’d brought to her initiation had simply been a means to an end. Draco had ensured her pleasure merely to increase his own.

And if she’d hoped in some secret corner of her mind that the glory of their coming together would soften his attitude towards her, she knew better now, and disappointment twisted inside her like a claw.

There were tears crowding in her throat, stinging the backs of her eyes, but she would not shed them in front of him.

She said quietly. ‘No—of course not.’

The bathroom door closed behind him, and presently she heard the sound of the shower running.

She released a trembling breath. Somehow she had to come to terms with the relationship that he’d offered her, and all its limitations, when the most she could hope for was that it would soon be over.

‘Oh, God,’ she whispered brokenly. ‘How can I bear it?’

And she turned her face into the pillow and lay like a stone.

CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_0d1552b0-41dc-53c6-a67d-903826d3cdd8)

SHE pretended to be asleep when Draco came back into the bedroom, lying motionless, her eyes tightly shut, as she listened with nerves jangling to his quiet movements, the rustle of clothing as he dressed.

When, at last, he came across to the bed, she forced her tense body into deep relaxation, keeping her breathing soft and even.

She thought she heard him sigh as he turned away, but she couldn’t be sure.

It was some time after she heard the bedroom door click shut behind him that she ventured to sit up, and make sure she was really alone.

She thought, I have to get out of here. I don’t want anyone to see me—to know…

She knew she was being ridiculous. That there wasn’t a member of Draco’s staff who wouldn’t be perfectly aware of the situation. She just didn’t want to find herself face to face with any of them.

She was scared, too, that if she gave way to sleep she might still be here when Draco returned.

She showered swiftly, but if she hoped to wash away the touch and taste of him it was in vain. His possession had been total. He was irrevocably part of her now, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She shivered as she towelled her damp hair.

What had happened to all her high-flown plans about fighting him—about remaining indifferent? she wondered bitterly.

One kiss—his hand on her breast—and all her resolution had crumbled. Indeed, she could hardly have made it easier for him. She wanted to hate him for the way he had made her feel, but she hated herself more.

There were mirrors all round the bathroom, throwing back images of a girl whose eyes were heavy with newly learned secrets. The cool lady she’d been so proud of had vanished for ever, swept away on a frantic tide of passion.

Yet the encounter had left no visible marks on her skin, she thought, with detached surprise. Her mouth was reddened and slightly swollen, and she ached a little, but that was all.

I got off lightly, she told herself. But she knew in her heart that it wasn’t true.

When she was dressed, she looked at herself and winced. All those carefully chosen garments—the business suit and prim shirt—had been worn as armour, yet they’d proved no protection at all.

She went back to her flat and changed into a plain black shift, sleeveless and severe, stuffing the discarded clothing into a refuse sack. She never wanted to see any of it again. She thrust her bare feet into sandals and grabbed a simple cream linen jacket before going down to her car.

It was a nightmare journey, a battle between her need to concentrate on the road and the storm of bewildered emotion within her. But at last she reached the hospital.

In one piece, but only just, she thought grimly.

As she waited for the lift to take her up to the ICU, she was waylaid by a nurse.

‘Your father’s been moved, Miss Fielding. He’s made such good progress over the last twenty-four hours that he’s in a private room on “A” wing now.’