The Innocent's Surrender. Sara Craven

pillow friend—and that when I tire of you they will have you returned to them—used, and discarded.’ He paused. ‘Maybe…even pregnant.

      ‘A final blow to their family honour from which they can never recover,’ he added harshly as Natasha caught her breath.

      ‘You can’t do such a thing.’ Her voice was ragged. ‘No one could. It’s barbaric—vile. And do you imagine that I’ll let you get away with it? That I won’t have you arrested for kidnap and—and rape, no matter how powerful you may think you are?’

      ‘Kidnap?’ Alex Mandrakis repeated musingly, and shook his head. ‘When you responded willingly to my invitation, and allowed my driver to bring you here? He reported no scene at the airport. No screams or struggles.

      ‘As for rape, I doubt whether such an accusation could possibly succeed. Not when your letter is made public, as it would have to be. No court would convict me for taking advantage of the services you volunteered of your own free will.’

      She flung back her head. ‘I say you’re the one who’s lying, Kyrios Mandrakis. I don’t believe this letter even exists.’

      He sighed, then leaned across to open a drawer in the bedside table.

      The sheet slipped a fraction, and Natasha hastily looked away.

      When Alex Mandrakis straightened, she saw with a sinking heart that he was holding a file. He extracted two sheets of paper.

      ‘The first,’ he said, holding it up. ‘Your agreement to become my wife as part of this mythical deal between our families. You accept that exists?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I admit that.’

      He paused, his mouth curling sardonically. ‘And this is the second letter, which outlines your alternative proposals for our future union. The signatures on both documents are identical, as you see.’

      Yes, Natasha thought numbly as she looked at them. She did see.

      She said in a voice she hardly recognised, ‘I don’t understand.’

      ‘Shall I refresh your memory—of the third paragraph, perhaps, which seems particularly inventive?’

      He began to read it aloud, his tone almost impersonal, but before he’d uttered more than the first couple of sentences, Natasha was whispering, ‘Oh, God, stop—please stop,’ her whole body burning with shame, her hands pressed to her ears.

      ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘So you do remember.’ He replaced the papers in the file and returned it to the drawer, which he closed.

      She stared at him, hugging herself with her arms. When she could speak, she asked, ‘you think that I could think about such things, let alone write them down? Degrade myself in such a way?’

      He shrugged again. ‘Why not?’ he countered. ‘When you swim naked at night, careless of who might see you.’

      She began, ‘But I don’t…’ Then stopped, the hot colour deepening in her face as she recalled the one occasion when she’d succumbed to the temptation of cool water against the entire surface of her skin.

      She said with a gasp, ‘You mean that—even then—you were having me watched?’

      ‘No,’ he said. ‘I mean, I came to see you for myself.’

      ‘But why?’

      ‘In case, by some remote chance, your brothers were serious about a marriage between us. I wished to refresh my memory of what was on offer, so I arranged a brief visit to your room while you were asleep.’ He saw the look of horror on her face, and flung up a hand, laughing. ‘No, agapi mou, nothing more. Not then.

      ‘But even that became unnecessary,’ he added softly. ‘Because suddenly you were there, and I had only to stand in the shadows and look at you in the moonlight.’

      ‘That’s not possible,’ Natasha said sharply. ‘You couldn’t get into the garden. We have cameras—a security patrol.’

      ‘Cameras can be switched off,’ he said. ‘And poorly paid men can be bribed. When I was informed you had been sent for, I made my plans accordingly.’ He smiled reminiscently. ‘And I was…infinitely rewarded.’

      There was a silence while Natasha struggled to compose herself. To tell herself that this wasn’t happening. To pray that she was asleep and enduring the worst nightmare of her life. Was it only a couple of hours ago that she’d been sitting on that plane, debating the comparative morality of sleeping with Neil? Complacently considering her choices in their relationship as if they were all that mattered.

      And now she was faced with this—this…

      She was still aware of the snarl of the storm overhead, and found herself praying ridiculously that the house would be struck by a thunderbolt if nothing else could save her from this—horror.

      Eventually she said, not looking at him, ‘Whatever you saw on your spying mission, kyrie, I still did not write those things to you. I—I couldn’t.

      ‘And you don’t really want me,’ she went on in a low voice. ‘If you…do what you’ve threatened, it will only be another form of revenge against my family. You’ve said as much.

      ‘But I—I have a life in England. A man I could love. And you—you’re seeing someone too. You…don’t need to do this. So, I’m begging you now to unlock that door and let me go.’

      She took a deep breath. ‘I’ll tell my brothers my plane was delayed, and I won’t say a word about what’s happened here tonight. I swear it. No one will ever know except the two of us.’ She added, ‘And I’ll thank you every day of my life.’

      ‘Your brothers are expecting you to arrive tomorrow, just in time for the meeting,’ he told her softly. ‘And I want them to know about us, Natasha mou. Also to imagine what they cannot know.’

      She said, ‘I am not your Natasha.’

      ‘But you will be,’ he said. ‘And your life will belong to me—until I decide otherwise. Did I not make that clear to you?’

      He smiled at her. ‘However, you plead with passion, agapi mou. I hope you will bring the same intensity to the pleasure we shall soon share, when I prove beyond any doubt that I do indeed want you, and not just for revenge.’

      He paused. ‘My attentions may even console you for the English lover you have lost.’

      He took two of the pillows from behind him, and placed them beside him on the bed. ‘But we have talked enough. Now, my lovely one, it is time you came to me. So, take off your clothes.’

      She took a step backward. ‘No,’ she said fiercely. ‘I won’t do it.’

      His brows lifted. ‘Would you prefer my men to help you?’ he enquired pleasantly. ‘I have only to summon them.’

      ‘Oh, God.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Do you possess even a scrap of decency?’

      ‘When it is required.’ He shrugged. ‘To judge from your letter, none is needed in your case. To find yourself being stripped by strangers might even have appealed to you. But no matter. Now, do not keep me waiting any longer,’ he added. ‘A pretence of coyness is hardly appropriate.’

      Pretence? she thought. When I’ve never knowingly undressed in front of anyone in my life. When I’ve never actually seen a man naked either, apart from paintings and statuary.

      The door was locked, but the window might not be, she told herself desperately. If there was a balcony outside, she might be able to jump…

      And stopped right there, knowing that a broken arm or leg might be the least harm she could do to herself.

      She was trapped—caught between Scylla and Charybdis, the monster and the whirlpool, in the story of ‘The Odyssey’ that Thia Theodosia used to read to her.

      She