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Saffron closed her eyes briefly as the aircraft took off, and cursed the circumstances and her own quick temper that had led her to this point. She turned her head slightly. Alex was pulling his tie from his strong throat and deftly unfastening the first couple of buttons of his white shirt. Feeling her eyes on him, he cast her a lazy glance.
'Formalities over; now for the best part.' His deep, sexy voice and easy smile sent warning signals through every nerve in her body. He leant closer, at the same time slipping off his jacket. 'Want to join the mile-high club, Mrs Statis?'
The sun's rays slanting through the window caught his profile, accentuating his rugged features and highlighting a few silver strands in his thick dark hair. He gave the impression of power and authority, and a raw male virility that held her gaze even against her will. Then he jiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Saffron couldn't prevent a smile and a soft chuckle escaping her at his antics.
'Well?' he prompted, one long finger reaching to trace gently the outline of her mouth. He placed his other arm about her shoulder, urging her towards him. 'Tempted, wife?' he prompted again teasingly.
She was. . . Saffron wanted nothing more than to sink into his arms where she belonged. 'Wife', he had said, and with that one word Alex had opened her eyes to exactly what she had done. She had married the man she loved but could not respect. What hope was there for their future in such circumstances?
"There's no need to look so stricken, darling,' Alex said, the laughter dying from his eyes. 'I was only teasing.' His finger fell from her mouth to settle in the V of her jacket lapels, while his mouth gently grazed hers.
'The flight is barely an hour and the first time I get you in a bed I intend to keep you there for a week— probably longer!' he murmured against her lips. Then, straightening, he added, 'I have a suspicion that this ferocious physical need will not be assuaged so easily,' and grimaced as though he resented his desire for
her.
Saffron knew exactly how he felt. . . his finger on her throat, the touch of his lips and she wanted him. 'I think I'll rest for a while,' she mumbled as Alex settled back in his seat although his arm remained around her shoulders.
'Do that—I don't want you tired later,' he drawled huskily.
Cowardly she closed her eyes, her thoughts too hard to face. She realised with blinding clarity that she had probably loved Alex from the first time they had been alone together on Mykonos, when she had accepted, to the lush strains of a Rossini overture, her own sensual nature while not realising that it was only Alex who had the power to make her feel that way. She had fallen into a trap of her own making, by denying him her body even after he had given her the engagement ring; he had charged ahead with the wedding simply to slake his physical lust.
She could not settle for that kind of marriage, even if she was foolish enough to try. It was doomed from the start because he was still the man who had shared ownership of Studio 96. Maybe he just owned the building and didn't know what was going on. But common sense told her she was simply searching for excuses for Alex. In her heart she knew she could never forget his past, so her love for him would have to end before it had even begun.
Looking back, she could see what a naive idiot she had been. Aira had alternately teased and beguiled her on board the yacht, until she had admitted to herself her growing fascination for the man, only to have it destroyed first by her jealousy of the sophisticated Sylvia, and completely by her recognition of where she had seen Alex before.
Her growing love had turned to instant hate, and her red-headed temper had fuelled her asinine plan of revenge. Who was it who said 'Be careful of what you wish for in case you get it'? How true! But what was she going to do now? Unconsciously a deep, quavering sigh escaped her.
'Why the sigh?'
Saffron opened her eyes to find Alex gazing at her with tender intensity and she looked at him for a long moment, a tide of colour washing slowly up her cheeks at his obvious concern. 'Ï. . .'
She was saved by the arrival of a stunning blonde stewardess.
'Congratulations, Mr Statis. I never thought I'd see the day.'
Alex's attention was immediately on the tall blonde. 'Thank you, Eve; I didn't know you were back.'
Saffron watched his easy, familiar smile and the blonde's response, her heart freezing at the coincidence. Another Eve, but this one alive and well and obviously very well acquainted with Alex. It highlighted so poignantly her worst fear. She could not go ahead with the marriage and forget about her friend, burying her head in the sand like an ostrich, because there would always be something or someone, perhaps simply a name, to remind her of Alex's involvement in her friend's destruction. She could not live her life on a lie. She sipped the champagne provided and if she was quiet Alex did not seem to notice.
The light was fading when they arrived at the small exclusive hotel in Paris. I hope you don't mind, Saffron, but I've spent so much time away from work chasing you that I can only afford three days before I have to be back in the office. But don't worry, I'll make it up to you later.' Alex gave her hand a squeeze as they were shown to their suite. 'In a few months we'll take a long honeymoon cruising the Med or the West Indies, whatever you like.'
What she would have liked was to be anywhere in the world but here, she thought sadly, her gaze flickering around the room, barely taking in the opulent surroundings but studiously avoiding looking at Alex. She had not the slightest idea what she was going to do. In the taxi she had run through a dozen scenarios from going ahead with the marriage, telling Alex the truth, to faking a serious illness.
Her eyes alighted on a table set beside the lusciously draped window. A massive arrangement of red roses was the centrepiece, and there were two place-settings, the finest crystal glasses and champagne in a free-standing bucket at one side. 'We're dining here?' she burst out. Somehow she had thought they would go out to dinner, which would have given her more time, but obviously Alex had other ideas.
'Where else on our honeymoon?' he husked, his arms closing around her from behind, holding her tight against his tall body, his lips nuzzling her neck. 'Alone at last.' His breath singed her skin.
'What a cliché.' She tried to laugh and pulled herself out of his arms. 'You order the food; I need to freshen up.'
She dashed for the door she imagined was the bathroom, and for the first time that day got something right. She closed the door and bolted it, her heart pounding, her mouth dry. In ordinary circumstances tonight could have been a dream come true: she was married to the man she loved and on her honeymoon. But she could not fool herself; it was hopeless. . .
God help her! She swallowed hard. What a mess! She should have remembered; she had heard somewhere that revenge was best taken cold, and given that she was always hot around Alex her scheme would never have worked anyway, never mind the fact that she had fallen in love wife him. . . She was only putting off the inevitable by hiding in the bathroom. She would have to go for the truth and pray that Alex would understand. That was if he didn't kill her first. . .
They did not linger over the meal. Saffron had no appetite, and quaffed the champagne as if it were going out of style, while she would have sworn, if she had not known better, that Alex was nervous. They drank a toast to their marriage and Saffron invented a few others simply to delay the hour of reckoning, and amazingly he allowed her to get away with it. Finally however, he drained his glass, placed it quite deliberately on the table and stood up.
'I think we'll forgo coffee; you may use the bathroom first.' And, catching her hand, he pulled her to her feet and led her into the large bedroom.
Her green eyes widened at the sight of the huge bed that dominated the room. Tell him. . .tell him now. . .her mind screamed, but she had trouble tearing her gaze away. A frothy white négligé—a present from Anna- lay draped across the white lace cover, beside it a pair of black silk pyjamas. The intimacy of the nightwear brought home to her as nothing else exactly what she had done, and what she was inviting. For the finît time in days fear cleared her head with remarkable alacrity.
