PAGAN ADVERSARY (4 page)

softened a little as he said, 'You cannot pretend that you wish to spend

the rest of your life in this way—looking after someone else's child.

You are young. You should be planning a life of your own—children

of your own.'

'I'm perfectly content as I am,' Harriet said woodenly.

'You do not wish to marry?' His mouth curled slightly in satirical

amusement. 'That is hard to believe. Are you afraid of men?'

Harriet gasped. 'Of course not! How dare you imply....' Her voice

tailed away rather helplessly.

He shrugged. 'What else is one to think? You must be aware that you

do not lack—attraction.'

His eyes went over her in one swift, sexual assessment which brought

the colour roaring into her face.

She didn't know whether to be angrier with him for looking at her like

that, or herself for blushing so stupidly. After all, she was reasonably

used to being looked over like that. You could hardly work in a large

office and avoid it, and Harriet supposed it was part of the 'sexual

harassment' that so many women complained of nowadays. But while

it remained tacit, and at a distance, she had never felt it was worth

complaining about.

gut then, she thought furiously, she had never been so frankly or so

completely mentally undressed by any man. He had a skin-tingling

expertise which rocked her on her heels and made her feel

tremblingly vulnerable.

The sound of the kettle's piercing whistle rescued her, and she had to

force herself to walk out of the room, not run, with at least a

semblance of composure. In the kitchen, she fought for complete

control, setting the mugs on a tray and pouring milk into a jug, and

sugar into a basin, instead of-serving them in their respective

containers, as she felt inclined.

It was his constant, unnerving scrutiny which was getting to her, she

told herself as she added boiling water to the coffee granules, and not

just the sensual element which had intervened. She disliked the

knowledge that every detail of her environment, every facet of her

life, the way she dressed, moved, spoke and looked, was being

continuously judged by a total stranger. If he was looking for faults,

he wouldn't have to look far, she thought crossly.

As she carried the tray into the room, he came and took it from her,

placing it on a small table in front of the studio couch. He declined

both sugar and milk, so her efforts had been a waste of time as she

took it black too.

He remained standing, obviously waiting for her to sit down beside

him on the studio couch, which made sense as it was the only really

comfortable form of seating in the room. She had two high-backed

wooden dining chairs tucked back against the wall with her small

drop-leaf table, and she wished she had the nerve to go and fetch one

of them to establish some kind of independence, but something

warned her that he would not interpret her action in that way, and that

she might simply be exposing herself to more mocking comments

about feminine fears. But she made a point of seating herself as far

from him as the width of the couch would permit, and ignored the

slightly derisive twist of his lips.

He said silkily, 'Let us return to the subject of Nicos. It is clear that

this present situation cannot continue. As he becomes older and more

active, these surroundings will become impossible.'

Harriet said' coolly, 'I've already been considering that.' And

panicking about it, she thought, but he didn't have to know that.

'And what conclusions have you come to?'

She hedged. 'Well, clearly I'll need a bigger flat—a ground floor one,

preferably—with a garden.' Or a castle in Spain, she added silently

and hysterically.

Alex Marcos drank some of the coffee. 'You have somewhere in

mind, perhaps?' He sounded politely interested, but Harriet was not

deceived.

She said with a sigh, 'You know I haven't.'

He nodded, 'And even if such a haven were to present itself, the rent

would be beyond your means—is it not so?'

'Yes.' Damn you, she thought. Damn you!

There was a silence. She had begun to shake again inside, and she

gulped at the transient comfort the hot coffee gave her, although in

terms of Dutch courage she might have done better to opt for the

sherry, she thought.

He said at last, 'Miss Masters—if this unhappy business between us

were to become a legal battle— what do you imagine a judge would

say about the circumstances in which you are trying to raise my

nephew?'

Harrier did not meet his gaze. 'I believe—I hope that he would say I

was doing my best,' she said wearily.

'I do not doubt that for a moment. But is that what you truly want—a

battle in the courts—to make Nicos the subject of gossip and

speculation and lurid newspaper stories?'

'I'd have thought you would be used to such things.'

'But I am not the subject under discussion,' he said too softly. 'We are

speaking of a two-year-old child, who may one day be embarrassed

and emotionally torn by our past battles.'

She gave him an incredulous glance. 'That's blackmail!'

He shrugged. 'I would prefer to describe it as a valid possibility. He is

already old enough to sense conflict and be disturbed by it.'

'And therefore I should just be prepared to hand him over,' Harriet

said bitterly. 'I think not, Mr Marcos. Doesn't it occur to you that

Nicky might one day wonder why I let him go so easily, and be hurt

by it? You're not denying that you intend to separate us permanently?'

'No,' he said. 'That has always been my intention.'

'At least we understand each other,' she said huskily. 'I refuse to let

Nicky go under such circumstances.'

'What are you hoping for?' His voice was suddenly harsh. 'A place

under my roof for yourself? A more generous financial offer than the

one already made? If so, you will be disappointed.'

'I want nothing from you,' Harriet said vehemently. 'The fact that

we've even met is your doing, not mine.'

He gave her a weary look. 'Why are you being so stubborn? You are

scarcely more than a child yourself. You cannot wish to bear such a

burden unaided for perhaps twenty years longer.'

Put like that, it sounded daunting, but Harriet had always faced up to

what her responsibilities to Nicky would entail.

'I might ask you the same thing,' she countered. 'All this time you

haven't displayed the slightest interest in Nicky. We could both have

starved or been homeless for all you knew. Yet now you want

him—why?'

'Because it is my duty to care for him,' he said. 'Kostas would have

expected it, whatever the .relations were between us. The child is of

my blood.'

'And mine.'

'Nevertheless,' he said, 'if Kostas had wished you to have charge of

the boy, he would have left a document—a will, even a letter saying

so. Yet he did not—is it not so?'

Harriet finished her coffee and put the mug down. 'No, there was

nothing,' she said after a pause. 'They were so young—too young to

be thinking about wills— anything of that kind.'Alex Marcos' mouth

twisted. 'When one has responsibilities Thespinis Masters, one is

never too young, and it is never too soon to make provision for the

future. Kostas knew, in fact, that if the worst happened, I would take

charge of Nicos. He was always happy to shelve his responsibilities.'

Harriet was uneasily aware that her own solicitor had deplored the

absence of a will, but she had been too fond of her late brother-in-law

to meekly hear him criticised.

'Kostas was too busy being happy and making my sister happy to

worry about the worst happening. He was a warm, loving man, so

what does it matter if he wasn't perhaps the greatest businessman in

the world?'

'If he had stayed with the Marcos Corporation, then it might have

mattered a great deal,' Alex Marcos said coldly. 'But we stray towards

matters that do not concern you. You will do well to reflect, Miss

Masters. At the moment, you claim that Nicky has your whole heart.

That is—commendable. But with the money I have offered you, you

could buy a new wardrobe—go perhaps for a cruise round the

world—meet someone who would make you glad that you are

young—and without encumbrances.'

'God, you're insulting!' Harriet muttered between her teeth.

The dark brows rose in exaggerated surprise. 'Why? Because I imply

that if you had more time to yourself, you would have little difficulty

in attracting a man? I am paying you a compliment.'

.'Not as far as I'm concerned. Oddly enough, I quite like my life—and

my present
wardrobe.
Marriage isn't the be-all and end-all in my life.'

He smiled. 'So I was right,' he said lazily. 'You are afrayi of men.'

'That's ridiculous!'

'What is more,' he said slowly, his eyes never leaving her face, 'you

are afraid of me.'

'Nonsense!' said Harriet with a robust conviction she was far from

feeling.

His smile widened. His eyes travelled slowly downwards, over the

soft swell of her breasts, rising and falling more quickly than she

could control under the crisp blouse, then on down to the smooth line

of her thighs outlined by the cling of the trim navy skirt, then back,

swiftly, to her face where spots of outraged colour were now burning

in each cheek.

He said very softly, 'And all this because I—look. What would you do

if I touched?'

'Nothing at all,' said Harriet very quickly. 'I'm not afraid, Mr Marcos,

just not interested. I expect in your own circle, you find that women

are pushovers. Probably a lot of very wealthy men find the same

thing. But I don't belong to your circle, I'm not bothered about your

money—and frankly, Mr Marcos, you leave me cold.' She paused,

aware that her breathing was constricted, and that there was an odd

tightening in her throat.

She saw the amusement fade from his eyes, to be replaced by

something deeper and more dangerous, saw a muscle jerk in his

cheek, and wished desperately that she'd kept quiet. But it was too

late to retract or even apologise. He was already reaching for her, his

hands not gentle as they pulled her across his hard body.

He said something quietly in his own language, and then he bent his

head, putting his mouth on hers with an almost soulless precision.

At first she fought, her lips clamped tight against any deeper invasion,

but even then she was aware of other factors subtly undermining her

instinctive resistance. Her hands were imprisoned helplessly between

their bodies, her palms flat against the wall of his chest, deepening

her consciousness of his warm muscularity. The scent of his skin was

in her nostrils, emphasised by the faint muskiness of some cologne. If

she opened her eyes he would fill her vision, and they seemed

enveloped in a cone of silence broken only by their own uneven

breathing. Harriet had been kissed before, but she had never before

known a domination overpowering her every sense. Ultimately, she

had always known she was in control.

Yet now -- Her lips parted on a little sigh of capitulation that had

nothing to do with coercion suddenly, because she was as eager as he

was, as greedy for the deeper intimacy he was already seeking, his

teeth grazing the softness of her inner lip, his tongue delicately and

erotically exploring all the soft moist contours of her mouth.

Gently his hand freed the blouse from her waistband, and his warm

fingers moved caressingly on her back, tracing the length of her spine

with a featherlight touch that had her arching against him in unspoken

delight.

For the first time in her life, Harriet knew need, knew the simple and

unequivocal ache for fulfilment. And knew how easy it would be to

release the last hold on sanity and let herself drift inevitably on this

warm tide of pleasure.

And then from the corner, behind the sheltering screen she heard a

small whimpering cry, 'Harry!'

Nicky was awake,, and suddenly so was she—jolted out of her

dangerous dream and back in reality.

Alex Marcos had heard the child too. He was no longer holding her so

tightly, and she was able to sit up and draw away from him, combing

shaking fingers through her fair hair.

Her legs were trembling, but she made herself stand up, nervously

ramming her disordered blouse back into the waist of her skirt. She

stole a sidelong glance at him, biting her lip.

He was leaning back watching her. His tie was loosened, and the

black hair was dishevelled. His dark eyes were brilliant, not with

thwarted passion, but with stinging, cynical mockery.