Innocent Obsession Page 8

  Sylvie was staring at her aghast, when Andreas, growing impatient at the delay, came to join them. ‘You are ready?’ he enquired, with cool interrogation, and Sylvie looked up at him indignantly before turning and walking away.

  He caught up with her in the hall outside, his dark face contorted with anger. ‘Is this how you repay my mother’s hospitality?’ he demanded. ‘Do you not even acknowledge the food you have eaten at her table?’

  ‘Right now, I would willingly throw up the food I’ve eaten at her table!’ retorted Sylvie without refinement, and heard the muffled obscenity he tried to stifle. ‘My God! Don’t talk to me about hospitality! Your mother doesn’t know the meaning of the word!’

  Andreas’s hard fingers caught her arm, bare below the sleeve of the thin cotton shirt she was wearing, and brought her to an abrupt halt. ‘You will take that back!’ he snapped savagely, but she just gazed up at him mutely, her lips pressed tightly together.

  Andreas glared down at her for several charged seconds, and then, with another oath, he let her go, pacing beside her as she marched out of the house. His car, the sleek Ferrari she had travelled in the previous morning, was waiting outside, and without looking at him Sylvie opened the door and subsided into the bucket seat in silent defiance.

  Even though the car had been parked in the shade with all the windows open, it was incredibly hot inside. However, as soon as Andreas had levered himself behind the wheel, he closed the windows and turned on the conditioning system, and in no time at all cool air was fanning Sylvie’s hot cheeks. He had shed his jacket, tossing it into the back of the car as he got in beside her, and she could see the fine silk of his shirt sticking to him in places. In the confined intimacy of the car, she was intensely conscious of him, and of his anger, and although she told herself her outburst had been justified, she doubted he would ever forgive her for defying him in this way.

  The hot tyres spun on the gravel of the drive as Andreas turned the car with suppressed violence and drove towards the gates. They swung open automatically for him, then they were out in the quiet, tree-shaded avenue, accelerating down the sweating road.

  They drove in silence for some distance, a silence Sylvie would have willingly broken now if she could have thought of something relevant to say. But short of offering an apology, which she had no intention of doing, she doubted he would answer her, and she felt too strung up to suffer any further humiliation.

  At last Andreas slowed the car to a more civilised pace, and turning to glance at her said coldly: ‘Suppose you tell me what provoked that exhibition of juvenile insolence just now. I have come to the conclusion that there must have been a reason for your childish display.’

  ‘Oh, have you?’ His patronising words rekindled Sylvie’s sense of injustice. ‘Well, don’t let me be the one to shake your faith in your mother. Forget it. Come tomorrow, I’ll be out of your hair.’

  Then she remembered what Leon had said about Monastiros being Andreas’s home, and hunched her shoulders. What did it mean? That they would be living in Andreas’s house? After this little interlude she hoped not.

  ‘I want to know what my mother said to you,’ Andreas was insisting harshly, and Sylvie cupped her chin on one hand and turned to stare out of the window. ‘I mean to know, Sylvana. One way or the other, you are going to tell me.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Sylvie was suddenly very near to tears, and she sniffed with unknowing emphasis. ‘What does it matter what she said? She doesn’t like Margot, and she doesn’t like me. That’s all there is to it!’

  Andreas swore softly, and stood on his brakes, bringing the Ferrari to a smooth halt on a knoll, overlooking a stretch of wooded parkland The greenery was a soothing contrast to the dazzling whiteness of the buildings in the distance, and nearer at hand a fountain played coolly into a stone basin. At this hour of the afternoon it was very quiet, very peaceful, but Sylvie did not feel at peace when Andreas turned in his seat to face her.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘your explanation please. As quickly as possible.’

  ‘I’m not a child, you know,’ Sylvie retorted mutinously, lifting her shoulders against him.

  ‘Then stop behaving like one,’ he advised her shortly, running two fingers inside his collar. ‘Why were you so rude? What did Mama say?’

  Sylvie pursed her lips. ‘Mama—–’ and she gave his mother’s name unnecessary emphasis, ‘Mama said—–’

  ‘Go on!’

  ‘—well,’ Sylvie’s defiance was rapidly deserting her, ‘she said I shouldn’t imagine my position was a permanent one.’

  ‘Your position?’

  ‘Yes.’ Sylvie sighed. ‘You know—looking after Nikos. She said that as soon as more satisfactory arrangements could be made, my services would not be required.’

  Andreas’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘And this angered you?’ he asked disbelievingly. ‘I thought it was what you wanted—the opportunity to leave as soon as possible.’

  Sylvie’s mouth worked silently. ‘Well—yes. Yes, it was. It is! But not like that.’

  ‘Not like what?’ he asked, his impatience with her answers growing evident, and Sylvie sniffed again.

  ‘All right,’ she said defensively. ‘All right, I’ll tell you what she said. She said I shouldn’t get ideas. Is that what you want to hear?’

  ‘Ideas?’ Andreas looked suspicious now. ‘What kind of ideas.’

  Sylvie sighed. ‘Ideas—about Leon.’

  ‘Leon!’ Andreas made an impatient gesture. ‘Sylvana, either I am not understanding what you are saying, or you are not explaining yourself very well. Which is it?’

  She hesitated. ‘She—she thinks I might get ideas about how pleasant it would be to be married to Leon myself.’

  ‘You cannot be serious!’ Andreas’s face was dark with anger now as he stared at her.

  ‘Why not?’ Sylvie shrugged. ‘That’s what your mother said. She suspects I might become addicted to the idea of having a rich husband.’

  Andreas’s mouth compressed. ‘And what did you tell her?’

  Sylvie’s eyes widened. ‘I denied it, of course.’ Then, deliberately, watching his reaction, she added: ‘I thought she meant you at first.’

  ‘Me?’ Andreas’s hand went up to his tie, and with a jerk, he pulled the knot down below his collar. ‘Why should you think that?’ he asked, his eyes narrowed and hostile, and Sylvie hastily withdrew her offensive.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, do I? I suppose, with Leon already being married—–’

  ‘Yes. Yes, he is, is he not?’ Andreas looked strangely remote suddenly. ‘Perhaps you would do well to remember that.’

  Sylvie gasped. ‘You mean you agree with her?’

  Andreas swore softly, ‘I did not say that.’

  ‘You didn’t have to.’ Sylvie forgot her fears in the face of his condoning of his mother’s behaviour. ‘How can you even suggest such a thing? Leon is your brother! He’s been very ill. Just because I show him some—some concern, some—affection, must you spoil it all by suggesting I have some ulterior motive?’

  ‘I did not say that,’ declared Andreas harshly. ‘Do not be so damned sensitive, Sylvana! Try to remember, it is over a year since Leon and Margot lived together. He is only human, and you are here. Margot is not.’

  Sylvie drew an unsteady breath. ‘I think that’s a foul thing to suggest!’

  ‘Why?’ Lines bracketed Andreas’s mouth as he looked at her. ‘I can tell the way he looks at you, the way he speaks to you, that he finds your company—sympathetic.’

  Sylvie found she was trembling. She didn’t know why. She only knew that being with Andreas disturbed her in a way that was essentially dangerous—dangerous, because his presence stimulated her imagination in a way that was at once thrilling and shocking. With him, her body responded instinctively to his physical attraction, but although she might fantasise about his kisses, she had few doubts that she would find the reality terrifying. Andreas was not Brian, he was nothin
g like Brian, and what was more, he was a man, whereas Brian was only a boy.

  ‘What is the matter?’

  He had become aware of her sudden agitation, and Sylvie shook her head in mute denial, as his dark brows drew closer together. ‘N-nothing,’ she stammered, looking away from him, out of the open window of the car, but he was not satisfied with her answer, and his long fingers curved round her jawline, turning her face back to him.

  ‘Sylvana?’ he said, frowning, and her troubled expression must have given him an answer, because his lips parted in angry comprehension. ‘Theé mou, there is no need to look at me like that! You can trust Leon. He will not hurt you. He is in need of—consolation, that is all. If you wish, I will speak to him—–’

  ‘No!’ Frustratedly, Sylvie dashed his hand away from her chin, stung by his lack of perception, even though half of her breathed more freely for his misunderstanding. ‘Leave me alone, can’t you? And leave Leon alone, too. He doesn’t need you, and nor do I!’

  ‘You go too far!’ Andreas’s face was contorted with anger, and Sylvie had to steel herself not to shrink back against the door. For an awful moment she thought he intended to strike her, and her palsied limbs suffered a slight paralysis. But then, with a gesture of contempt, whether at her or at himself she could not be sure, he controlled the impulse, raking his scalp with agitated fingers, ruffling the normally smooth swathe of dark hair. Resting his elbows on the steering wheel, he sat like that for a few moments before reaching automatically for the ignition, and Sylvie’s galloping heartbeat slowed to a fast tattoo.

  ‘Andreas …’ She heard herself say his name as he reached for his keys, a tremulous indication of her own trepidation. ‘Andreas—please, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did.’

  He turned to look at her then, the dark eyes raking her face, as his nails had raked his scalp only minutes before. ‘You are sorry,’ he echoed harshly. ‘And what am I supposed to say?’

  Sylvie drew an unsteady breath. ‘You’re—you’re not supposed to say anything. I—I just wanted to—apologise. For speaking too impulsively.’

  ‘Impulsively?’ His dark eyes were full of scorn. ‘Do you not mean indiscreetly?—recklessly?—foolishly, even?’

  ‘If you like.’ Sylvie moved her shoulders helplessly.

  ‘If I like!’ Andreas expelled his breath derisively. ‘You expect me to believe this nonsense!’

  ‘It’s not nonsense.’ Sylvie sighed. ‘I don’t want to quarrel with you, Andreas. I don’t want to quarrel with anyone.’ She paused. ‘I didn’t start this, you know.’

  Andreas surveyed her anxious expression without sympathy, and Sylvie felt the hopelessness of knowing she had transgressed beyond the bounds of common civility. If only she hadn’t let his mother’s words upset her, she thought, none of this need have happened.

  The silence stretched between them, and again, acting on impulse, Sylvie said: ‘Couldn’t we walk for a while? I mean, I suppose you have to get back to the office soon, and all that, but couldn’t we just try and be pleasant with one another?’

  Andreas’s dark brows descended. ‘Are you not tired? Do you not wish to rest? The heat—–’

  ‘Oh, I’m all right.’ Sylvie gave him a pleasing smile. ‘I don’t need to rest. Do you?’

  Andreas’s expression softened slightly. ‘You mean because of my great age, I suppose,’ he mocked, and she shook her head indignantly, the heavy strands of her hair folding on her shoulders.

  ‘No,’ she denied vehemently. ‘You’re not old.’ Her lips parted. ‘Are you trying to start another argument?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ remarked Andreas dryly. ‘Perhaps it is safer.’ And with this cryptic comment he closed the car windows and thrust open his door.

  It was very hot when Sylvie stepped out into the sunshine, but the heat had never troubled her. The thickness of her hair was sufficient covering for her head, and its length successfully protected the more vulnerable skin at her nape. She waited while Andreas locked the car, but when he would have tightened the knot of his tie, her hand on his sleeve stopped him.

  ‘Don’t you ever relax?’ she asked, as he resisted her efforts to stay him, and with a shrug of his shoulders he let his hand fall, leaving the knot where it was.

  They walked across the grass, Sylvie very conscious of his tall frame beside her. His leanness, too, made her overly aware of the rounder contours of her body, and she wondered if he had any objections to the tight-fitting jeans. Still, at least there were few people about to observe their progress, and she relaxed after a while and spread her arms wide.

  ‘Hmm, isn’t the sun wonderful!’ she exclaimed, feeling its heat already burning her creamy flesh. ‘I like winters, you know. I like sledging and skiing, and toasting chestnuts over an open fire, but summer has so much more to offer. Don’t you think?’

  Andreas moved his shoulders in a casual gesture, neither acknowledging nor denying her statement, and as she pondered the proposition that he might still be angry with her Sylvie’s exuberance faltered. She had hoped that once they were out of the car his anger would be forgotten, but judging by the serious expression he was wearing, he had not forgiven her earlier indiscretions.

  She halted in the shade of a clump of orange trees, the scent of their blossom mingling with that of the flowering shrubs, which grew in such profusion. It was very pleasant in the shade, with only the distant hum of the traffic and the buzzing of the insects to disturb the stillness. She stopped beside one of the trees and leant her shoulders back against the bark, and Andreas, forced to halt also, stopped just in front of her.

  Sylvie schooled herself to meet his gaze steadily, and then, with determined candour, she asked: ‘Are you still angry with me?’

  Andreas did not immediately reply, but when he did, his tone was clipped: ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Good.’ Sylvie decided to accept him at his word, however reluctant he had been to voice it. ‘I’m glad. I don’t like being out of friends with people.’ She paused, then added sturdily: ‘Particularly people I like.’

  Andreas’s response to this was a wry twisting of his lips, before placing one hand on either side of her on the bole of the tree. ‘You do not know me, Sylvana,’ he declared dryly. ‘How can you know if you like me?’

  Sylvie’s skin prickled at his nearness, but she managed to hide her consternation as she replied: ‘I do know you.

  I’ve known you for seven years. We met at Margot’s wedding. And—and I wish you wouldn’t keep calling me Sylvana!’

  ‘Very well—Sylvie! You knew me so well, you did not even recognise me at the airport.’

  Sylvie flushed. This was going on longer than she had expected, and while she was glad his antagonism had been averted, she was increasingly troubled by the knowledge that his nearness was causing a distinct constriction in her breathing, and the unwelcome awareness of moisture breaking out all over her body.

  ‘That—that was different,’ she managed to say now. ‘I was expecting to see Leon. You know I was. And you—well, you looked so aggressive!’

  Andreas’s lips twisted. ‘I was aggressive,’ he confirmed, taking his hand from the bark to lift one of the thick strands of hair that lay over her shoulder. Smoothing it between his finger and thumb, he went on softly: ‘I had had my suspicions that Margot might not fufil her obligations. When I saw you, I knew I had been right.’

  Sylvie’s breasts were beginning to feel painful, and looking down, she saw their fullness outlined against the thin material of her shirt. Their arousal was evident, and she glanced up anxiously, half afraid that Andreas might notice, and found his attention focussed in the same place. Their eyes met, then moved swiftly away, and Andreas stepped back, releasing her hair and removing his other hand from the bole of the tree.

  ‘We should go back to the car,’ he said, his jaw clenched tautly, and Sylvie nodded. ‘You are all right?’ he added huskily, as she swayed as she straightened away from the tree.

  ‘I think s
o,’ she breathed, unknowingly provocative with that slightly bemused look in her eyes, and Andreas was suddenly very close. In the space of a second his hand had slid behind her nape, his thumb tilting her face up to his, and before she could utter any words of protest, he had covered her mouth with his.

  A wave of panic swept over her at the touch of his lips, but his kiss was so persuasive, she was instantly disarmed. His mouth was not heavy or frightening, as she had expected, but gentle and beguiling, winning her confidence, and causing her to respond to him with tentative ardour. When his tongue rubbed against her lips, warm and moist and intimate, she gave an involuntary shiver, for its sensuous exploration was infinitely more disturbing than Brian’s usually forceful approach had been. It made her aware of herself, aware of him, and aware of the muscled pressure of his body, compelling her back against the tree.

  Sylvie had never experienced anything like the feelings he was arousing in her. She wanted to arch herself against him, to mould her body to his, to feel his weight crushing her against the tree behind her. Her lips parted helplessly, powerless to resist him, and as his mouth opened to accommodate hers, the tenor of the embrace significantly deepened.

  What had begun as a salutary caress became a suffocating assault on her emotions, and the mindless rapacity of her senses responded instinctively to the urgency of his. In a fleeting moment of coherency she thought perhaps he had not intended it to go so far, but she could not fight against the wild hunger he had inspired, and her hands clung to the hair at the nape of his neck. He was all thinking, breathing male at that moment, demanding and taking the sweetness of her mouth, with a mastery that both excited and devastated her.

  The embrace ended when the blast of a car horn in the distance brought Andreas to an awareness of where he was and what he was doing. The realisation seemed to galvanise him. With a groan of anguish he put his hands against the bole of the tree and pushed himself away from her, regarding her quivering recovery with frustrated eyes. Then, with a gesture of contempt directed solely at himself, he shook his head.