horror she could not control. ‘Although such formality in the circumstances is strangely erotic,’ he added with faint amusement.
‘Circumstances that are not of my making.’ To her chagrin, her own voice sounded slightly breathless.
‘And that you are trying to ignore.’ The amusement was open now, his hand still moving on her in devastating purpose. ‘Your mind may have decided you no longer harbour your former overwhelming desire for me, Natasha mou, but your body seems to have other ideas.’ He added softly, ‘Instead of a certainty, you have become an intriguing challenge.’
Natasha turned her head away. She said bitterly, ‘Have you no shame?’
‘I could ask you the same question, my little cheat,’ Alex Mandrakis retorted. ‘After all, you were my would-be wife—the one making all the promises that were supposed to blind me to your family’s real purpose.
‘No doubt they guaranteed you would never have to keep any of them,’ he added scornfully. ‘Well, now you know you are wrong, and they will know it too.’
He altered his position slightly, significantly, making her suddenly, shockingly aware of the heated potency of male arousal against her thigh, then bent his head and put his mouth to the scented mound of her breast, his tongue stroking its taut, rosy peak with lingering appreciation.
Sensation, sudden and unwanted, lanced through her. She pushed at his shoulders. ‘Don’t…’
He raised his head and looked at her, his gaze quizzical. ‘It is not easy to please you, agapi mou.’
‘Then don’t try,’ she flung at him, stormily. ‘Just—let me go.’
‘Having taken all this trouble to acquire you?’ he mocked. ‘I don’t think so. Not yet.’
‘But for how long?’ she asked in a stifled voice. ‘You have to tell me.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘Perhaps—until you no longer wish to leave, Natasha mou. But for now….’
His hand slid down her body with slow, insolent mastery, caressing the flat plane of her stomach, and the delicate inner hollow of her hip, before moving down to the silky triangle at the junction of her thighs.
Natasha set her teeth, her skin burning with embarrassment as he parted her legs, and she felt the glide of his fingers exploring her moist inner heat, setting off another chain of unwanted response that almost verged on excitement.
She was bitterly, angrily aware that her breathing had quickened even more, in spite of herself, and that there was an unfamiliar ache somewhere deep within her.
But she wouldn’t let herself think about that, or its inevitable implications. She would focus instead on disgust. On hating her body’s scalding, slippery reaction to this new intimacy almost as much as she loathed the man who was creating it with such casual expertise.
Then, as if he recognised her mental struggles: ‘Why don’t you stop fighting me, agapi mou?’ Alex Mandrakis whispered. ‘Because the battle is already lost.’
‘Not for me,’ she managed hoarsely. ‘I’ll never forgive you for this. Not as long as I live.’ Or as long as you do…
He shrugged. ‘Then I have nothing to lose,’ he said, half to himself, as he lifted himself over her. ‘But everything to gain,’ he added in husky triumph. And entered her with one smooth, unerring thrust.
Chapter Four
UP TO that moment Natasha had only really thought about the outrage to her feelings, and the nightmare effect on her life of this unbearable, shameful indignity that was being inflicted on her. It had not occurred to her that her first experience of sex might cause her actual physical pain.
Her taut muscles shocked into resistance, she wanted to cry out to him that he was hurting her, and beg him to stop. To give her unaccustomed body at least a little time to adjust to the stark reality of his penetration of her.
Yet she did nothing, said nothing, determined not to grant him the satisfaction of knowing that anything he did could affect her in any way—pleasure or pain.
For a moment she felt him pause, heard him say her name harshly, almost questioningly, then, when she still did not offer any kind of response, push forward in the final surge of conquest, sheathing himself in her completely.
Natasha stayed totally, rigidly motionless, only her hands moving as they clenched into tight fists at her sides.
It will be over soon, she thought as tiny sparks danced behind her tightly closed eyelids, and repeated the words like a mantra—over soon—over soon…
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, deliberately emptying her mind, and shutting off all thought and emotion, as Alex Mandrakis began to move, driving into her slowly and rhythmically, furthering his possession with an exquisite sensual precision that in itself seemed a kind of insult.
Even though her eyes were shut, she knew instinctively that he was watching her, waiting presumably for some kind of reaction. But he would learn nothing, she thought, from a face that she was taking care to keep as blank and expressionless as a mask.
But it wasn’t easy. To her dismay, and in spite of the slight discomfort that still lingered, she soon discovered she was not totally immune to the alien, bewildering sensations being provoked by the compelling motion of his body inside hers.
She’d expected to fight him, she thought, alarmed, but she had not bargained for having to fight herself too. But she could not let this happen, she resolved, her throat tightening in mingled shame and panic. She could not allow herself such weakness when she needed to be strong.
Yet how could she have known, she asked herself in bewilderment, how, in spite of everything, he might make her feel? How her body might act against the strength of her will—her anger—tempting her to surrender.
Then, as she found she was actually beginning to struggle to maintain her self-control, she heard his breathing change, and was aware of his pace quickening, until suddenly he cried out, his voice harsh, almost agonised, and she felt the pulsating heat of him deep within her, before he slumped forward, his sweat-dampened face against her breasts.
Natasha waited for a few moments, but he did not stir, so slowly and carefully she began to ease herself away from him.
Immediately, his arms tightened around her. ‘So the statue comes to life at last,’ he said huskily. ‘Now, when it is over.’
Over, she thought with thankfulness. Over—exactly as she’d wanted it to be, and she’d given him nothing. So it was ludicrous to feel so…bereft. Mortifying, too, to know that, for the briefest instant, she’d actually been tempted to cradle his head between her hands, and stroke his hair.
She said in a small, wooden voice, ‘You’re heavy.’
‘Forgive me.’ His voice was softly ironic. ‘Treat it as just one more inconvenience among so many others, Natasha mou.’
He lifted himself off her and lay back against his pillows, staring in front of him as he steadied his breathing.
After
