let's forget it, shall we?"
Charlotte stretched out a hand and touched his arm, bare to the elbow where he had rolled back his sleeves. She could feel the taut muscles, sense his instinctive stiffening without actu ally seeing it. "Alex, don't be mad at me! I know I say the wrong things - do the wrong things. But I don't like it when you - patronize me."
"Patronize you?" He raised his eyes heavenwards. " I don't patronize you, Charlotte. Oh, for God's sake - " He put his free hand over hers, holding it against his arm, and her pulses raced alarmingly at this exhibition of how easily he could take control of her emotions. His eyes held hers captive, and there was a caressing quality about them which weakened her knees and set her trembling. "Charlotte, believe me, I do not regard you as a child. God forgive me, perhaps I should, but I don't."
Charlotte found it incredibly difficult to articulate at all. "I -I - it's getting late. I - I'm tired," she managed jerkily, and to her relief, he allowed her to withdraw her fingers. "Good - goodnight, Alex."
He made no reply, merely nodded his head, and the sudden gauntness of his expression was almost her undoing. She realized with a shattering sense of horror at her own body's duplicity that had he drawn her into his arms just then, she would not have been able - or wanted - to stop him.
In the bedroom, she stared at her reflection with troubled eyes. The colour in her cheeks was hectic, her eyes were abnormally bright, and her breathing was more rapid than could be accounted for by merely walking along the length of the corridor. Her feet were still bare, and she remembered she had left her cork-soled sandals in the library. Thinking of the library reminded her once more of the legend, but with a brisk determination she refused to think of that, and went quickly into the bathroom.
But once she was in bed, between the satin sheets, her thoughts were not so easy to control, and she despised herself for the way she had behaved. Was she so impressionable that two weeks of Alex's company could make her completely forget her reasons for being there? Was his personality such that she had no control over her own feelings? Could she excuse so easily his determination to make her honour her father's debt? She refused to acknowledge such things, and with a smothered gulp buried her face in the lace-covered pillow.
She awoke in the pale light of dawn to the realization that someone was sitting on the side of the bed, gently shaking her. She opened her eyes reluctantly, and widened them in amazement when she recognized Alex's shadowy frame.
"What do you want?"
Alex was partially dressed, and as her eyes adjusted them selves to the light, she realized his trousers were dark and immaculately creased, and his unbuttoned shirt was made of white silk. They were not at all the sort of clothes he had worn about the island, and a twinge of alarm feathered along her veins.
"I have to leave," he told her quietly. "Within the next hour. I've had word from the States that there's some hang-up over the Achilles merger. It must be pretty important or they wouldn't have had George contact me. He's waiting in the salon. He came in the helicopter, and we'll take it back to Athens and fly out from there in the jet. With a bit of luck we should be in New York by this afternoon, their time."
Charlotte absorbed this with dismay. Propping herself up on her elbows, uncaring right then that the sheet had fallen back to reveal the lace bodice of her nightgown, she stared at him anxiously.
"But couldn't George handle it himself?" she protested. "I mean, this is supposed to be your honeymoon."
"I know." Alex nodded resignedly. "Like I said, it must be important or they wouldn't have contacted me."
Charlotte made an impatient sound. "If you weren't avail able, they would have had to manage without you."
"But I am available," he pointed out steadily, running a questing hand over the hair on his chest. "Honey,
Charlotte stretched out a hand and touched his arm, bare to the elbow where he had rolled back his sleeves. She could feel the taut muscles, sense his instinctive stiffening without actu ally seeing it. "Alex, don't be mad at me! I know I say the wrong things - do the wrong things. But I don't like it when you - patronize me."
"Patronize you?" He raised his eyes heavenwards. " I don't patronize you, Charlotte. Oh, for God's sake - " He put his free hand over hers, holding it against his arm, and her pulses raced alarmingly at this exhibition of how easily he could take control of her emotions. His eyes held hers captive, and there was a caressing quality about them which weakened her knees and set her trembling. "Charlotte, believe me, I do not regard you as a child. God forgive me, perhaps I should, but I don't."
Charlotte found it incredibly difficult to articulate at all. "I -I - it's getting late. I - I'm tired," she managed jerkily, and to her relief, he allowed her to withdraw her fingers. "Good - goodnight, Alex."
He made no reply, merely nodded his head, and the sudden gauntness of his expression was almost her undoing. She realized with a shattering sense of horror at her own body's duplicity that had he drawn her into his arms just then, she would not have been able - or wanted - to stop him.
In the bedroom, she stared at her reflection with troubled eyes. The colour in her cheeks was hectic, her eyes were abnormally bright, and her breathing was more rapid than could be accounted for by merely walking along the length of the corridor. Her feet were still bare, and she remembered she had left her cork-soled sandals in the library. Thinking of the library reminded her once more of the legend, but with a brisk determination she refused to think of that, and went quickly into the bathroom.
But once she was in bed, between the satin sheets, her thoughts were not so easy to control, and she despised herself for the way she had behaved. Was she so impressionable that two weeks of Alex's company could make her completely forget her reasons for being there? Was his personality such that she had no control over her own feelings? Could she excuse so easily his determination to make her honour her father's debt? She refused to acknowledge such things, and with a smothered gulp buried her face in the lace-covered pillow.
She awoke in the pale light of dawn to the realization that someone was sitting on the side of the bed, gently shaking her. She opened her eyes reluctantly, and widened them in amazement when she recognized Alex's shadowy frame.
"What do you want?"
Alex was partially dressed, and as her eyes adjusted them selves to the light, she realized his trousers were dark and immaculately creased, and his unbuttoned shirt was made of white silk. They were not at all the sort of clothes he had worn about the island, and a twinge of alarm feathered along her veins.
"I have to leave," he told her quietly. "Within the next hour. I've had word from the States that there's some hang-up over the Achilles merger. It must be pretty important or they wouldn't have had George contact me. He's waiting in the salon. He came in the helicopter, and we'll take it back to Athens and fly out from there in the jet. With a bit of luck we should be in New York by this afternoon, their time."
Charlotte absorbed this with dismay. Propping herself up on her elbows, uncaring right then that the sheet had fallen back to reveal the lace bodice of her nightgown, she stared at him anxiously.
"But couldn't George handle it himself?" she protested. "I mean, this is supposed to be your honeymoon."
"I know." Alex nodded resignedly. "Like I said, it must be important or they wouldn't have contacted me."
Charlotte made an impatient sound. "If you weren't avail able, they would have had to manage without you."
"But I am available," he pointed out steadily, running a questing hand over the hair on his chest. "Honey,
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