every time he moved or spoke.
Like hell, she’d had enough of him! Just as there was no way that he had ever tired of her.
Anger and hurt pride had pushed him into action, making him pull her close. And her reaction had been everything that he had anticipated. Everything he had wanted. She had turned to flames in his arms, going up like the driest of kindling laid at the base of a fire, her passion so fierce that he had almost felt his skin might have melted in the heat of it. She had responded to his kiss with all the hunger and the desire that he’d dreamed of.
And he had been lost. Swamped by heat and desire; his body hardening in a second. He had lost all awareness of where he was.
He had thought that he had taken her along with him. Her responses had been everything he could have wanted, her kisses adding fuel to the fires blazing within him. He had been so sure that she was his. That once more he would have her in his bed—and that this time he would make sure it was for much longer than one night.
One night with her had already taught him that it was nowhere near long enough to sate himself on her body. One night had only made him realise what hunger really was and how much he wanted this woman in his bed. Finding her here like this, after his vain search for her in London, had been such an unexpected thrill and he was prepared to do whatever it took to keep her here.
The fight, the tension between them had only added to the electrical current of desire that sparked his appetite for her. And her sudden rejection of him, the way she had pulled away, had left him fiercely frustrated, his aroused body ready to take the satisfaction it needed.
Now she had just backed down.
Apparently with nothing to say, she was simply staring at him as if he had suddenly grown an extra head, her big eyes wide and clouded with something that looked like shock.
‘Well?’ he repeated. ‘What do you say?’
‘I…’ she began, but her voice trailed off, dying into silence once again.
Theo’s hands clamped tight shut at his sides, struggling to resist the urge to shake her from this trance she seemed to have fallen into.
‘Skye!’
But as he spoke another voice came from the direction of the house, breaking into what he had been about to say and silencing him too.
‘Theo! There you are! Amalthea said you had arrived.’
Taken by surprise, Theo muttered a dark curse under his breath. His father’s appearance was the last thing he wanted right now.
After five years’ estrangement, not speaking, not even sending letters, this first meeting with Cyril was going to be awkward enough without anyone else there. The presence of someone else—and just who that someone was—was a complication he could do without.
‘Pateras.’
A sudden movement drew his eyes from the dark, heavyset man now approaching and back to Skye. She had snatched up the white towel from the ground and was once more knotting it hastily round her body. Such unexpected modesty on her part frankly surprised him. And so did her sudden loss of colour. Every trace of blood had ebbed from her cheeks, leaving her looking strained and almost ill, the wide grey eyes huge pools above the ashen cheeks.
‘Skye?’
It came out on an undertone of concern, keeping the lowvoiced question from his father’s hearing. Theo knew better than most that the older man could be difficult and autocratic in his business dealings and with other men. But with women—particularly young, attractive women—he was usually a practised charmer, unlikely to cause such a panicstricken reaction in any member of the opposite sex.
So was there some tension between his father and Skye Marston that he knew nothing about? It was going to make for an awkward relationship between Cyril and his about-to-be stepdaughter if that was the case.
But Skye had already turned away from him and was watching Cyril’s approach, her face hidden so that he couldn’t read any further changes in her expression.
‘So you two have met already.’
If there was something wrong, then clearly Cyril wasn’t aware of it as he directed a smile straight into Skye’s face. His greeting of his son was more restrained, his expression several degrees short of warm, but he took the hand that Theo offered him and shook it hard.
‘Good to have you back under my roof again, boy.’
That ‘boy’ grated as Theo was sure it was supposed to. His father had never accepted that he had grown up long ago. That had been one of the reasons for their estrangement.
But he had promised himself that this time he would really try to keep the peace.
‘I couldn’t miss the wedding,’ he said, unable to erase the stiffness from his tone.
‘Of course not. And you had to meet your new step-mother—which I see you’ve already done.’
Already done?
Thoughts spinning, Theo tried to force the words to make sense, but failed completely. There was no logic to them—not unless…
Hell—no! His mind revolted at the thought. He refused to accept the way he was thinking. It was impossible—had to be.
But his father’s arm had gone around Skye’s waist, and he was turning her round to face his son. ‘Still, I’ll do the formal introductions now.’
No! Theo wanted to shout it at the top of his voice to drown out what was coming. He wanted to put his hands over his father’s mouth to stop him speaking—anything—stem the flow of words that seemed to be leading inexorably to the most appalling conclusion.
It couldn’t be—Theos, let it not be possible.
But Skye’s cheeks seemed to have grown even paler. And her huge light grey eyes looked anywhere but into his face as his father continued blithely with his announcement, totally unaware of the impact it was having.
‘Theo, I want you to meet Skye Marston, soon to be Skye Antonakos. Your new stepmother-to-be and, of course, my fiancée.’
CHAPTER SIX
IF LOOKS could kill then she would have died a thousand times over tonight, Skye thought miserably as she tried once more to make a pretence of eating the meal that had been put in front of her. The cold blaze of fury in the black eyes of the man sitting opposite felt as if it had the power to shrivel her into nothing where she sat, reducing her to just a small bundle of ashes on her chair.
She wished that the earth would just open and swallow her up, anything so that she didn’t have to be here. She would much rather have escaped to her room and stayed hidden there all night.
But there was no escape. Cyril Antonakos liked a formal dinner in the evenings and he expected his family and guests to dress up for it. So she had been forced to put on the elegant peacock-blue silk dress he had told her to wear, pin her hair up into an elegant roll at the back of her head and sit down at the big wooden table to endure the worst sort of torture by food.
She
