Alien Vengeance by Sara Craven Page A

‘What a full life you lead, kyrie , or should I say—Andreas.’
    There was a brief electric pause. His mouth twisted. ‘So—you have had a visitor. Once more, it seems, Maria’s curiosity has outrun her discretion.’
    ‘Oh, you mustn’t blame her for telling me. She must have thought that, as your mistress, I would at least know your Christian name if nothing else about you.’
    ‘It is not her place to think about such matters at all,’ he said icily. ‘What else did you discuss?’ She shrugged. ‘Very little. Religion—briefly—and the fact that she’s no longer in love with Mike.’
    ‘Did you think she ever was? You are a romantic, Gemma mou . Love does not describe the kind of brief, sordid association she and your brother shared. If they had—loved, he would have courted her with honour—asked her to be his wife.’
    It was odd how those contemptuous words hurt her, more even than the pain in her bruised knee.
    She said stonily, ‘Then it’s fortunate for them both that you’ve avenged the family honour and saved them the necessity of being miserable together. And now perhaps you’d let me have some privacy, because I’d like to get dressed.’ She took a breath. ‘I assume you’ve brought me some clothes.’
    ‘I have warned you before about making assumptions, Gemma.’ His tone was sardonic. ‘By day, you are already adequately covered by what you can filch from my wardrobe. If you feel you need an alternative for the rest of the time—I have brought you one.’
    He reached into his pocket, and produced a square packet which he tossed to her. She caught it awkwardly, one-handed, still clinging to the shirt with the other. A bikini, she wondered, or underwear. But, no. The parcel was too small, surely, and too heavy as well. She eased the outer wrapping with her thumbnail, and took off the paper. The decorated box inside was familiar. She looked down at the lettering almost stupidly. ‘ Shalimar ? But that’s ...’
    ‘The perfume you brought from England,’ he completed the thought for her.’ It is a favourite of mine too. How nice, matia mou , that our tastes are the same.’
    ‘Nice?’ Gemma repeated dazedly. ‘Nice? My God.’ She jumped to her feet, regardless of her throbbing knee. ‘How dare you do this? Haven’t you degraded me enough already?’
    ‘You find French perfume degrading?’ His brows lifted. ‘You must be unique.’
    ‘It isn’t the bloody scent.’ Her voice throbbed with temper. ‘It’s the—the implication, and you know it. As an alternative to your loathsome shirts, I’m to wear this—and nothing else, I suppose. Your own private strip show. Well, I’ll see you in hell first. If you like it so much, wear it yourself.’ She threw the bottle at him, but he caught it adroitly before it smashed, to her chagrin. ‘Or better still, keep it for your next lady. She may share your—your perverted appetites. I don’t.’
    ‘As you wish.’ He put the box back in his pocket. His face and voice were expressionless, but she knew that he was angry just the same. He said, too gently, ‘My appetites are quite normal, I believe. As for your own, my lovely one, I suspect that in spite of your protestations, they are still unawakened.’ He paused. ‘A situation,’ he added with cool deliberation, ‘that I intend to remedy later.’
    He went out, closing the door behind him.

Chapter Six
    THE light faded out of the sky, and she watched it go with a kind of quiet desperation. The arrival of darkness seemed an omen of all her worst nightmares, and she was scared.
    As soon as she was alone, she’d dressed hurriedly, fastening all the buttons on the shirt from throat to hem with finicking and ridiculous care, and winding the sash tightly round her slim waist. As if it would really make the slightest difference in the end, she thought despairingly.
    Then she’d sat on the edge of the bed, one palm cupped round her sore knee and waited.
    She could hear the