flush of colour drained from his skin and the pale flesh stretched tautly across his cheeks like alabaster. He stood unmoving, like the marble statue at the Acropolis Museum she’d thought he’d resembled, staring at her with those disturbingly empty eyes.
She held up an index finger and noticed absently that it trembled. “One lover. That’s all I’ve had before last night. One lover.”
And it had been a stupid mistake.
She’d been innocent, a silly little fool. But how could she explain that to Zac? He would never understand. She’d been so young and so darn gullible. Seventeen—nearly eighteen—and madly in love for the first time in her life. Pandora felt a stir of guilt. She hadn’t given a thought to what her crazy infatuation might one day cost her.
It was going to cost her Zac. What was the point of skirting around the issue? That was what was at stake here. Zac had expected to marry a virgin. And she bitterly resented that he couldn’t see past her lack of virginity to the woman who loved him with her whole flawed heart.
So when he took a step toward her, she backed to the door. In case her resolve melted and she dissolved into his arms, yearning for his love.
Her hands warding him off, she warned, “Stay away from me. You’re not touching me tonight. I don’t want to be in the same room as you.”
And then she spun away from Zac and hurried out of the room.
* * *
The gurgle of the last of the single-malt scotch running into his glass led Zac to the realisation that he’d drunk the whole bottle he’d unsealed several hours earlier. Lurching to his feet, he stumbled to the deck, where he hurled the contents of the glass far into the night, revolted by his excess.
His wife was driving him to drink.
But tonight there was no need for Dutch courage. Pandora would not be waiting for him in his bedroom. Hell, he didn’t want to remember the look on Pandora’s face when she’d rounded on him, making it more than clear he wasn’t to go near her tonight. So he’d arranged for Maria to prepare her a smaller bedroom down the other side of the corridor.
But not even his wife’s biting anger could stop him growing hard and hungry at the memory of their wedding night. Last night his beautiful bride had wanted, revelled in the passion he’d shown her.
Yet now she hated him. While he craved her.
He sank down onto the couch and shook his head to clear it of the alcoholic fog that hung over him.
His wife. He’d been so desperate to get his hands on Pandora in the lead-up to the wedding day, but he’d waited. Restrained himself because he’d wanted it to be perfect for his bride.
The wedding had been perfect. And his wedding night had been even more perfect. He dropped his hands into his head. Pandora had been so responsive to his touch but so obviously lacking experience. So tight when he’d penetrated her. There’d been no reason to doubt that she was a virgin. Hell, he hadn’t expected an intact hymen, not with the active, sporty lifestyle a modern girl led.
But he’d been floored by her announcement that he wasn’t her first lover. The whole dream had blown up in his face, scattering pieces of chaos everywhere. Zac gave a groan. And he didn’t know how to put his orderly world back together again. No wave of a magic wand would turn Pandora back into a virgin.
There had never been a divorce in his family in a thousand years. Not even his failure of a father had committed that sin. Zac rubbed a hand over his face, mentally recoiling at the idea of all that ugliness.
His head ached thinking about the choice. A sullied bride? Never! The scandal of a divorce? He could not let Pandora go.
If he flew her to the airport tomorrow, he’d never see her again. Never hold her, never touch her. He closed his eyes at the wave of nausea that swept him at that thought. Pandora was not going anywhere. Not until …
Until … what? He shook his head and another wave of nausea swirled around him. Hell, he couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t think what to do next. The sheer lack of clarity shocked him. With a wretched sigh, Zac reached for his glass—then remembered he’d tossed the contents over the edge of the deck and groaned. Collapsing sideways, he slid full length onto the couch and closed his eyes.
And wished that the room would stop spinning around him.
Five
The following day, a tentative knock roused Pandora from the doze she’d floated in for ages since dawn. Instantly awake, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, intensely aware of the slither of the pale gold satin nightgown against her legs.
Could it be Zac? Her pulse picked up. Could he be coming to apologise for not loving her, for misleading her, for all the grief he’d caused her?
“Who is it?”
Her query was overridden by another—louder—knock.
Annoyed, she called, “Go away, Zac.”
But the knocking continued to staccato against the door. Pandora leaped across the room, her heartbeat racing in anticipation of the battle to come. She turned the key in the lock and yanked the door open.
But it wasn’t Zac who stood there. Instead, Pandora found herself facing an elderly woman balancing a breakfast tray on one hand, the other poised to knock again. Pandora recognised the bag and scarf slung over the woman’s shoulder as her own.
This must be Maria, Georgios’s wife. Pandora hid her exasperation and the twinge of disappointment that it wasn’t Zac. “Oh, thank you. I must have left them downstairs last night.”
Maria said nothing. Pandora tried not to let the woman’s lack of welcome get to her. Instead, she scanned the teapot and cup, the bunch of dark purple grapes, the toast and conserve prettily arranged on the tray and said, “That looks delicious,” before reaching for the tray.
Maria held on to it. For a moment Pandora thought the old woman intended to keep possession of it, then unexpectedly she relinquished it. Backing into the room clasping the tray, Pandora smiled her thanks.
Setting the tray on the chest of drawers beside the window, Pandora turned to find Maria in the room. The handbag had been set down on the bed. Pandora’s silk scarf lay across Maria’s hands, and the old woman’s crooked fingers moved in little circles against the brightly hand-dyed silk.
Pandora warmed to her. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? My favourite scarf.”
Maria ignored her, her fingertips continuing to caress the fabric.
“Did Zac instruct you to give me the silent treatment? Is this another part of his kidnap plan? Isolate me? So that I fall into his arms?”
Nothing. Not even a glance from the other woman.
Pandora gave a sigh of impatience. “You know, a little politeness goes a long way.”
At last Maria looked at her.
Pandora shook her head in disgust. “You’re very rude,” she said clearly. Shrugging when she didn’t
