The Holiday Escapes Collection. Sandra Marton

that she was afraid she couldn’t handle.

      ‘Why did your father write a will that forced you to get married when you didn’t want to?’ Tabby asked quietly, knowing that that was the heart of the matter and the mystery that he had so far avoided explaining.

      ‘In a nutshell? He wanted me to marry Kasma,’ Acheron told her tersely, his beautiful mouth hardening. ‘And I don’t ever want to talk about that.’

      With difficulty, Tabby swallowed an irritated comeback on that omission, knowing such a response would only reinforce his reserve and make him dig his stubborn heels in even harder. She could leave the thorny question of Kasma to one side for the moment and concentrate on other aspects. ‘But surely your father knew how you felt? How close were the two of you?’ Tabby persisted.

      A tiny muscle pulled taut at the corner of his unsmiling jaw. ‘I only met him in my late twenties,’ he reminded her drily. ‘I suppose it was more of a business relationship than most. His company was struggling. He asked me for advice. I went in to help and ended up taking over.’

      ‘Didn’t he resent that?’

      ‘Not at all. He wasn’t much of a businessman, more of a family man desperate to give his loved ones a secure future.’

      ‘That was your stepmother and her children?’

      Acheron compressed his lips. ‘My father married her when her kids were very young and raised them as his own but I didn’t meet them until about eighteen months before he died.’

      ‘Why not?’ Tabby asked in surprise.

      ‘His family weren’t relevant to me or to our relationship. They were strangers. There was no blood tie and I’ve never had a family, so I was very wary about getting involved in that side of his life. As things turned out, I was right to be wary and to have kept my distance for as long as I did,’ he pronounced with dark finality.

      A silence full of undertones enclosed them in the aftermath of that assurance, adding to Tabby’s discomfiture. She was trying desperately to work out what his past relationship with his stepsister, Kasma, had entailed. Obviously there had been an affair that left the beautiful brunette with expectations that Acheron was not prepared to fulfil. Presumably the affair had ended badly with bitterness on both sides. Had some tragedy occurred? Had Kasma fallen pregnant or some such thing? Mightn’t that explain why his late father had got such a bee in his bonnet about Acheron marrying his stepdaughter? Certainly the other woman had believed very strongly that she was the only woman who should become Acheron’s wife. Was Kasma in love with him? Or was she more fixated on his money and his status? But regardless of why Kasma wanted Acheron, what did it matter when he didn’t want her? Tabby asked herself irritably, weary of suspicions that were winding up her tension for no good reason. If it was that simple though, why couldn’t he just say so?

      ‘I wish you didn’t keep secrets. I wish you were more frank and straightforward about things,’ she admitted before she could think better of it.

      ‘You’re so honest sometimes you terrify me, glyka mou,’ Acheron confided ruefully. ‘And if this honeymoon is going to work, we will each have to compromise our most cherished ideals.’

      * * *

      Acheron peered down at the red-rose tattoo adorning Tabby’s slender arm with a frown and stroked a finger gently across it. ‘The skin underneath feels rough and the design is already blurred. The tattooist must have damaged your skin.’

      Tabby gritted her teeth, relaxation abandoned as she yanked her arm free of his light hold. ‘Don’t touch me there.’

      Lustrous dark golden eyes scrutinised her from below inky-black lashes. ‘Why not?’

      ‘Are we about to have another one of those conversations in which you suggest that I go for laser treatment to have it removed?’ Tabby condemned, her small face taut and pale as she decided it was time to tell him the truth, which would surely conclude his interest in the subject. ‘If you must know, I won’t have it removed because it’s covering up an ugly scar. In fact, the scar was there first. The tattooist did a marvellous job but he couldn’t have made the ink design perfect when my skin was far from perfect to begin with.’

      His lean dark features were frowning now. ‘What sort of a scar?’

      ‘Take it from me...you really don’t want to know,’ Tabby told him warningly, pulling away from him to scramble to her feet in the shade of the pine trees that overhung the pinkish pale sand. After checking that Amber still lay splayed out on her blanket in sleeping abandonment, her olive-skinned chubby limbs protruding starfish fashion from her white broderie anglaise playsuit, her rosebud mouth soft and relaxed, Tabby stalked on down the beach, a slight figure clad in shorts and a bikini top.

      Acheron, she thought, her hands knotting into fists, her teeth grinding together in angry frustration. There were times she wanted to throw him into the sea from a great height. She had thought she was the nosy one but he didn’t quit once he was on a trail either. Even worse, he was a domineering perfectionist. Although he wasn’t planning to spend the rest of his life with her and Amber, he still wanted to persuade her that she should have the tattoo removed and he was as relentless as a steam roller running down a hill. At breakfast he had asked her if she would be happy for Amber to get something similar done, and Tabby had been betrayed into looking in dismay at Amber’s smooth soft forearm and Acheron, being Acheron, had noticed that revealing appraisal.

      ‘So, you do regret getting it done,’ he had exclaimed with satisfaction.

      Yes, Acheron had some infuriating traits, she acknowledged, but over the past month in Sardinia he had also been a highly entertaining companion, a very sexy lover and a patient and caring father figure for Amber. At that moment, Tabby couldn’t begin to work out how an entire four weeks had flashed past faster than the speed of light. The first week had been a challenge while she was still hobbling round with a stick and pretty much sentenced to passing her time at the beach house. But once her ankle had healed, they had begun to go out and about.

      Snapshots of special moments they had shared filled her memory with more comforting images. They had climbed the massive staircase to the Bastione terrace to see the amazing panoramic view of the rooftops of Calgiari. While she was still wheezing from the climb and overheated from the sun, he had told her that there was actually a lift but that he had assumed that she would enjoy the full tourist experience more. It had taken several cocktails and the cooling effect of the lovely breeze on the terrace before she had forgiven him, and if she was truthful her resistance had only truly melted when he slid long brown fingers into hers in the lift on the way down again.

      They had made an evening visit to Castelsardo, a beautiful village dominated by a magical citadel all lit up at night, to enjoy live music in the piazza. Amber had adored all the noise and bustle going on around her and Acheron had enjoyed the baby’s bright-eyed fascination.

      The following night, however, they had sought out more adult fun, dancing until dawn at the Billionaire club where Tabby had felt distinctly overshadowed by the number of gorgeous women, sleek and deadly as sharks, cruising for a wealthy hook-up. That Ash had acted as if he only had eyes for her and had kissed her passionately on the dance floor had done much to lift her self-esteem.

      Memory after memory was now tumbling inside Tabby’s head. For forty-eight hours they had sailed a yacht round the national park of La Maddalena, a group of protected and largely uninhabited islands teeming with flora and wildlife. The last night they had skinny dipped in a deserted cove and made love until the sun went down. Exhausted, she had wakened to find Acheron barbecuing their evening meal, stunning dark golden eyes smiling lazily at her and making her heart somersault like a trapeze artist.

      Of course, they had done all the usual things as well, like strolling round the famous boutiques on the Costa Smeralda, an activity or a lack of activity that Acheron was astounded to discover bored his bride to tears.

      ‘But you must want me to buy you something,’ he had protested. ‘You must have seen something you liked. You do realise that the only thing I’ve bought you since