Obligation To Love

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

A FAINT, cool breeze drifted in from the open French windows, bringing in its wake the heavy fragrance of summer flowers. The rich perfume hung heavily in the air, adding to the stifling atmosphere which seemed to surround Andros. He rolled on to his back, enjoying the cool crispness of the sheets that met his hot, lean body. He shut his eyes momentarily, a look of dissat-isfaction clouding his face. He knew there was something missing, something wrong, but he had grown too old to believe in fairy-tales, and the harshness of life had made him face reality with cynicism. He no longer chased the elusive dreams of happiness, or love; to him, both were empty shams. He looked up, watching the sway of the fine muslin curtains, the dark shadows that they cast across the delicately decorated ceiling mesmerising him for a moment. He watched the changing pattern with vacant eyes and sighed deeply: there seemed to be nothing in life for him. Then he frowned, his dark black brows drawing together, as he felt her body shift slightly at the side of him. He was enjoying his quiet moment of reflection and objected to the intrusion.

Andros turned to look at her, letting his ebony eyes trail over her full figure with cool detachment. His lips curled in a smile, allowing his sensuous mouth to widen and show a flash of perfect white teeth. He lifted the cotton sheet and drew it up gently to cover her bare shoulders, though not before he had planted a soft kiss on her ample breast. She gave a purr of pleasure and her heavy, sleep-laden eyes flickered open. There was a slumberous warmth in their depths, enticing and provocative, and her face held the same smug expression as that of a cat who had drunk all the cream.

‘Andros,’ she murmured sleepily, as she wrapped her arm around his muscular chest and drew him towards her. He groaned under his breath as the shrill ringing of the telephone interrupted them, his dark features narrowing with disapproval. He moved closer to her, determined to ignore the phone, but it was insistent, shattering their peace till he was forced to acknowledge it.

‘Yes?’ he snapped, annoyed that anyone should contact him here, yet instinctively knowing that it must be important. There were few people who had access to this number. Though his reputation was legendary, he attempted to carry out his private affairs with as much discretion as he could. He might still be forced to marry, he often thought ruefully, if only for business reasons, and it was essential that he retain this place as his retreat from the world.

Suddenly, the haunting anxiety of his aunt’s troubled voice echoed down the line in a hoarse whisper. Her very tone seemed to chill the room and Andros was immediately alert, his whole body suddenly alive with anticipation.

‘It’s Dimitri,’ his aunt said simply, a tremble in her voice. ‘He is going to marry the English girl.’

A cold dread surrounded Andros’s heart, enveloping his whole being and his tightening stomach with a sudden grip. He remained silent, his voice paralysed, as his mind became a vortex of mixed emotions. He frowned deeply and his gaze turned ruthless and cold. Bitter, harsh memories flooded into his mind, taunting him with sharp detail. Would he never forget? he thought grimly, as he struggled to concentrate on the present. At last, when he spoke, his voice was bereft of the riot of emotions that had tumbled around inside him; all he could feel was the stern resolution that it would not be, could never be.

‘I’ll come home,’ he stated curtly; no explanations, no sympathetic noises, but it was reassurance enough. His aunt thanked him profusely, obviously confident that Andros would be able to stop her son’s foolishness. He replaced the receiver while she still babbled, oblivious to the overwhelming relief he had given her. His actions were slow, his movements careful and deliberate, belying an eruption of ideas, as his mind had already begun making decisions. A warm female hand was still placed on his taut body, deep red long fingernails toying with the dark hairs on his hard chest and tracing an intricate pattern slowly down towards his flat stomach.

‘What’s the matter?’ the woman crooned coaxingly, her voice again purring seductively. Andros frowned, suddenly aware once more of her presence. He flung back the sheets over her with cruel disregard as he left the bed.

‘I’m going home,’ he answered curtly, avoiding the look of hurt in her eyes with customary ease.

‘Now?’ she echoed in disbelief, struggling upwards and propping herself up on the plump pillows. He glanced at her, smiling with unconcealed appreciation at her unsubtle attempt to keep him there. She flaunted her full breasts and shapely body with a skill that had taken years of practice, but he was unmoved by her invitation. He gave her another wry smile that failed to warm the black depths of his pupils, and his voice was razor-sharp and equally cutting.

‘Yes, now,’ he answered, pulling his white silk shirt across his strong broad shoulders in a hurried gesture; he longed to be away—away from her and back home.

‘I’ll come with you,’ she suggested lightly, already aware of the distance between them.

He shook his head resolutely, his hair catching the light as it fell on his forehead, shining like an ebony wing of a raven in flight. ‘No!’ Andros snapped back. It was an order—sharp and decisive; there was no room for discussion. He partly turned away his face, allowing her to see the determination in his hard jaw. He was dressed and ready to leave. ‘That’s out of the question,’ he reminded her, as he toyed with his expensive gold cuff-links.

‘But I thought...’ she protested, her voice taking on a sharper tone, watching him as if seeing him for the very first time. She pouted her full lips but he was immune to such obvious tactics. His mouth twisted slightly, a cruel look on his hard, handsome face. As he leant forward he tapped her nose playfully, but the action was far from friendly.

‘Don’t think,’ he warned her quietly. There was a gentle threat in his warning, and his gaze held a menace she had never seen before; gone was the lover, here was the master—the tyrant who demanded complete obedience from everyone: family, business partners—even his mistresses. He stopped at the door and paused for a moment while he took a small velvet box from his pocket.

‘Maybe I’ll send for you,’ he said casually, tossing her the box with a gesture of disdain. His face suddenly broke into a smile again, and, in that brief moment, his dazzling charisma overwhelmed her.

‘Any time, Andros,’ she answered obligingly, catching the box deftly and rewarding him with a huge grin of her own. Andros nodded his thanks coolly, a bitter expression on his face. He understood women, knew that trinkets and baubles were all they truly sought. They were incapable of any finer emotions, he acknowledged grimly, quietly congratulating himself on knowing this simple fact, while other men still fell for their charms. Yet it had been a hard lesson to learn, he admitted to himself, ignoring the scars that still ran deep beneath his cold exterior.

* * *

The roads were teeming with traffic and Andros’s frown deepened as he began to weave his car through the crowded streets. His strong hands gripped the wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white and clearly defined. He swallowed the gall that swelled up at the back of his throat as he thought about Dimitri. Had his cousin learned nothing from him? Andros shook his head—obviously not. No charming little female would infiltrate the family this time, he thought with grim resolution. He was too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice the red traffic-light. It was the sudden blaring of a horn that snapped him back to reality. He braked immediately and managed to avoid hitting the other car. A line of other drivers began to join in with their car horns to voice their disapproval. Andros viewed the scene as if he were a spectator, amused but unperturbed by the outrage around him. He watched the driver approach with interest; the top of his racy sports car was lowered and he could hear quite clearly the barrage of abuse the man was shouting at him, yet he remained unruffled, almost enjoying the man’s obvious distress. The man leant purposefully on the bonnet of Andros’s car, determined to vent his temper. Andros, with cool, slow deliberation, lowered his sunglasses from his face and gave the driver a frozen stare. The transformation was instant, anger quickly replaced by fear. The man jumped back from the car, his eyes wide with disbelief.

‘Good evening, Mr Christos, I had no idea...’ he began apologetically, as he shrugged his shoulders and shifted about uncomfortably. Andros allowed his eyebrows to rise slightly and he replaced his sunglasses with an air of dismissal. The driver hurried away, still mumbling his apologies and drove off swiftly. Andros’s mouth quirked with self-assurance as he made straight for the motorway, confident that there would be few road users who would not recognise him and allow him through.

The drive home was long; it was a good hour and a half before the motorway ran across the Isthmus bridge, and then at last the road began to descend. Andros sighed with contentment as he caught his first glimpse of Lake Vouliagmenik, a shimmering blue oval in the mountains clearly visible from his village. He parked the car under the shade of some cypress trees and marched into the house. The interior was cool and silent. His heels clicked against the cold grey marble floor, echoing dismally in the emptiness of the large hall. He made his way to the heavy ornate doors at the end of the hall and pushed them both apart as he entered.

‘Andros!’ A small plump woman jumped to her feet the moment he entered, her relief at seeing him evident in her every action. She clasped him tightly, her arms wrapping firmly around his waist as she hugged him, as if trying to squeeze strength from him. He allowed her to stay there for a while, a rarely seen look of pleasure on his face, before he began to disentangle himself from her.

‘Now, Aunt Sophia, what is this all about?’ he asked, as he carelessly pulled the tie from around his neck and opened his shirt collar. The initial laughter and confidence drained from Sophia’s face and she sank wearily on to the white leather couch, her eyes troubled. Despite the warm colour of her smooth skin and the absence of grey from her dark hair, she suddenly seemed old to Andros, and he watched her anxiously as he poured himself a drink.

‘I have tried talking to Dimitri, but he insists,’ she said sadly, shaking her head in defeat. Andros shrugged his powerful body from his jacket and tossed it across a chair. He moved to his aunt’s side, taking her hand with firmness as he sat down next to her.

‘No doubt he has told you he is in love?’ he asked mockingly, a grin of amusement on his face. She raised her head but did not return the smile.

‘I know we have heard it so many times from my boy, but...’ She stopped as if frightened to continue. Andros stood up, dropping her hand as he did so, his attitude changing as realisation struck him.

‘He is serious this time—is that what you are trying to tell me?’ he demanded, his tone piercingly sharp.

Sophia lifted her shoulders expressively. ‘It is true. They are so happy together—but I know it will not work,’ she added sadly, watching Andros closely.

‘Of course it will not work! How can it possibly work? This family has suffered enough,’ he said, barely raising his tone, but his voice full of angry conviction. Sophia nodded silently, her face full of grief as the past seemed ready to repeat itself.

‘What are we to do, Andros?’ she pleaded desperately, her dark eyes fixed on him as if he were a god. Andros sank back into a chair and closed his own eyes, as if trying to block out the look of admiration and expectation on his aunt’s face. He rubbed his hand over his face, suddenly feeling exhausted; the heat of summer was already building up.

‘Where are they now?’ he asked wearily.

‘Loutraki; she works there as a courier for a holiday company. Dimitri says he will bring her for dinner this evening. You will talk to them then, yes?’ she asked gratefully. Andros nodded abruptly and kept his eyes closed. His aunt silently left the room. It would bring back painful memories for Andros, she knew, but they had to prevent Dimitri from making the same mistake.

* * *

Andros sat up till late in the evening. He needed his solitude, time to think, but his thoughts were not about Dimitri. They were about himself and his own foolishness. It was so easy to imagine being in love as these two young fools were doing. He knew he had no choice but to forbid the marriage, and he was confident that Dimitri would obey him; was Andros not the head of the family? Dimitri would obey, he thought grimly, an iron determination hardening his already stiff jaw.

* * *

‘Marriage!’ Andros spat contemptuously, unable to suffer the young couple’s innocence any longer. A look of superiority and derision swept across his features. He leant back in his chair, rocking it slightly as he viewed them both with barely concealed contempt. ‘It is out of the question.’ There was a finality in his voice that normally Dimitri would have immediately obeyed, but this time the boy was equally determined, and his eyes met Andros’s in angry conflict.

‘We love each other,’ Dimitri stated proudly, wrapping a protective arm around his girl’s slim waist.

‘Love!’ echoed his stern-faced cousin scornfully, the pain of his own ideals stabbing at him too deeply to be visible. ‘Love!’ he echoed again, as if it were the only thought more ridiculous than marriage. Andros’s eyes narrowed as he viewed the pair and his mouth set as he saw the look of resolution on their youthful faces. He turned to look at the girl, Melissa, with unconcealed dislike. She was too pretty, a child, unable to love anyone but herself.

‘Your family. What have they to say about this?’ he demanded, watching her closely as she replied.

‘My parents are dead, but I’m sure Hayley will approve.’ She looked at Dimitri as she spoke, her eyes soft and full of unspoken love.

‘Really?’ Andros drawled caustically. ‘Then I should like to meet her—’

‘Yes! that’s a great idea,’ interrupted Melissa, before she became aware of Dimitri’s tightening grip, and the look of fury on Andros’s face. She coloured immediately.

‘If this lady wishes to become your bride, I suggest that you teach her some manners.’ Andros spoke coldly, directing his criticism at Dimitri while viewing Melissa with icy disdain. ‘I shall telephone your sister and make arrange-ments for her to join us.’

He watched them as they walked away, their arms entwined and their heads close together. He looked down at the slim grey card Melissa had passed him and studied it with care. The address was that of a quite fashionable gallery in the Knightsbridge area of London and, despite himself, Andros was impressed. He went to the phone and dialled the number carefully, and listened as an efficient voice answered.

‘Good afternoon, Longshaw’s Gallery. Hayley Swift speaking.’

Andros allowed himself a flicker of a smile at her officious tone and couldn’t help but compare her to Melissa, as he had automatically imagined a waif of a girl.

‘Miss Swift, my name is Andros Christos.’ He paused, allowing the impact of his name to penetrate. His wealth had made him known throughout the world and his interest in collecting art was well known. Any gallery who received a call from him would immediately respond.

Hayley remained silent for a moment, her mind snapping to attention. Melissa! she thought instinctively, an icy dread suddenly surrounding her. She recalled the frantic letter she had received yesterday from her sister. Melissa, as usual, was begging for her help, and normally Hayley would have responded without question. But this time she had her own doubts; surely Melissa was not ready for marriage? In so many ways she was still so young. Hayley’s frown deepened, clouding her clear blue eyes. It was about time Melissa took responsibility for herself. Surely this time it was a matter between her and her future husband’s family, and could not possibly involve Hayley? Yet, as always, Melissa had turned to Hayley for help and, despite all Hayley’s resolutions not to get involved, she found herself weakening. The desperate plea in her sister’s letter was suddenly etched on Hayley’s mind, and the sound of the man on the phone who was responsible for her sister’s unhappiness made her blood boil! Mr Christos disapproved and without his consent the marriage would not be allowed. Hayley wasn’t sure whether or not he disapproved of the marriage, or just of Melissa—either way, there was something in his approach that rankled with her, an assurance and authority in his tone that almost demanded that his word be law.

Hayley swallowed, determined to remain calm and feign ignorance; she would pretend she knew nothing of his disapproval and the way in which he so arrogantly dismissed her sister. Hayley had a pretty clear image of him: Melissa had described the old man in vivid and graphic detail and, even allowing for her sister’s neutral inclination to exaggerate, Hayley knew exactly the type of man she was dealing with: a proud, overbearing patriarch, who was de-termined not to allow his family to be tainted with English blood.

‘Yes, Mr Christos, how can I help you?’ She heard the sudden intake of breath and gave a small smile of satisfaction. The man obviously ruled his family with a rod of iron, caring little for their feelings. But his tactics will not work on me, she thought, enraged by his attitude to her younger sister. Unlike everyone else, she had no need to jump to attention for him; he had no power over her.

‘Your sister, Melissa, is staying with our family at the moment and I should like you to join us. There is much to discuss,’ he answered her with a cold detachment. He could sense her disapproval of him; too liberated to know her place, he acknowledged to himself, as he imagined a frumpy older sister, too absorbed in her career to think of marriage, yet determined her sister should marry well.

‘Yes, indeed there is,’ gushed Hayley, her eyes sparkling with devilment. ‘Wedding receptions take forever to organise,’ she goaded him wickedly, her voice light and full of springtime. She understood exactly how he felt but she was going to force him to pretend otherwise. He had no intention of discussing anything. Melissa had already explained at length in her letter what a despot he was. Yet surely he would have enough good manners not to raise his dissent over the telephone? But Hayley had then to admit she was wrong, she had misjudged him. The man was so full of his own importance, he obviously did not feel the need for common courtesy!

‘You misunderstand, Miss Swift,’ Andros countered firmly, a razor edge to his heavily accented English. ‘There will be no wedding,’ he said quietly, the softness in his voice underlying his authority. He gripped the telephone till his knuckles were white. Her attitude displeased him, arousing far too many memories. His anger increased still further as he suddenly realised that she was not going to be the ally he had assumed she would be.

‘Why?’ demanded Hayley. ‘Has something terrible happened?’ She asked this, deliberately, adding a note of anxiety to her voice. She was delighted when he immediately responded to allay any fears. Perhaps he was not quite the old ogre he pretended to be when he so quickly reassured her.

‘No, nothing has happened,’ he said calmly. ‘It is simply that this marriage cannot be allowed.’ His voice held a ring of finality that warned her not to disagree. ‘You must see that?’ he queried, implying she should automatically acquiesce.

Hayley stiffened angrily and bit hard into her bottom lip. His attitude was unbearable and she knew that she couldn’t possibly abandon Melissa. Poor Melissa was far too gentle to stand up to this type of male dominance. Hayley knew it was up to her. How dared he find her sister not suitable? The arrogance of the man! She tried to keep the anger from her voice. Her heart hammered with merciless force against her ribcage as she struggled with her increasing temper.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Christos,’ she began, her tone heavy with sarcasm, ‘but I fail to see why the marriage cannot go ahead.’ She stopped abruptly, her usual composure beginning to fade. Again a mental image of the arrogant old patriarch—stubborn and set in his traditional ways—flashed in front of her.

Andros glared at the telephone in disbelief—no one had ever dared to speak to him like this, and certainly not a woman! He was stunned into silence, his jaw clenched in anger, and an angry nerve throbbed at his temple.

‘The marriage will not go ahead because I have forbidden it,’ he stated simply, as if speaking to a child. And any further discussion was pointless: his reply stunned Hayley momentarily, and she was unable to answer. She thought quickly and tried to defuse the situation; she wanted to help Melissa, not hinder her, so she began to laugh. Hayley’s laughter trickled down the phone, bright, light and completely spontaneous.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she managed to splutter. ‘If two fully mature adults wish to marry, they will,’ she retorted, unable to comprehend the man’s attitude. Now Andros was silent, a building fury seeping through his being, a blazing contempt fuelling his temper at the amusement he was causing her.

‘Miss Swift!’ His voice was sharp, clear and fully in command. Hayley felt her laughter die on lips that had suddenly become dry at his austere tone. The silence that followed seemed to hang between them, vibrating down the line as if a battle of wills was being fought.

‘I fail to understand your humour,’ Andros drawled. ‘I am serious. I forbid this marriage. Come and take your sister home.’

‘Take her home?’ echoed Hayley, recovering quickly. ‘I cannot do that! She’s an adult, mature enough to make her own decisions.’

‘I do not consider your sister to be mature,’ he retorted coldly, the edge in his words alerting Hayley to his displeasure, and she felt a moment of guilt. It must be hard for such an old man to cope with the modern world. She nodded understandingly at the phone, determined to appease him but remain equally firm.

‘Oh, she is young, admittedly, but—’

Hayley wanted above everything else to disarm him, but he cut in sardonically, ‘A Greek marriage is a lifetime’s commitment. The promises taken in church are not only made by husband and wife to each other but to God. Have you any idea of what type of maturity is needed to take on such a commitment?’ Andros demanded, remembering with painful clarity his own experience.

Hayley swallowed once more. He was being deliberately aggressive, but to respond would only antagonise him further. ‘I understand your reluctance; they are both young. But they seem ideally suited and so very much in love,’ she explained with a gentle plea. The spots of tears that had fallen on the desperate letter she had received from Melissa confirmed the depth of her feeling, Hayley thought wistfully.

‘Love!’ Andros grated down the phone in disbelief. Hayley had never felt such contempt from another in her life and she shuddered at his bitterness.

Hayley paused for a moment, surprised by his venom, then she snapped back, ‘Yes, love! Isn’t that the usual reason for marriage?’