Beautiful-so incredibly beautiful ...

Emotion surged in him again, and his arms tightened around her. He took her to his room, pulling back the feather duvet and lowering her down. Then, with ruthless control of his own impulses, he stripped the clothes from his body, impatient, urgent.

Then he was there with her again. More words came from him-he knew not what-knew only that as she lay there, the dark swathe of her skirt twisted around her limbs, her pale, high b.r.e.a.s.t.s still peaked, aroused, the extraordinary beauty of her face still transfigured, that his arousal was so intense he must exert every strenuous effort to control his own desire for her.

But it was hard, excruciatingly hard, to do so! With punishing slowness he eased her skirt from her, and as his eyes went to her his breath caught. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s alone had inflamed him, but to see her slender, naked body, all for him, was beyond pleasure. Beyond anything he had ever known.

Slowly, sensually, his hands smoothed down her silken body.

She was mindless, hazed with arousal, her body a mesh of sensation-sensation such as she had never known before. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s strained, their peaks aching with desire. But his hands had left them, gliding down her flanks sensuously, sinuously, flaring over the line of her hips. At the vee of her thighs, his thumbs met. Slowly, watching her all the time as she gazed blindly up at him, as the world swirled slowly around her in sinuous whorls of pleasure, she felt the pressure of his thumbs indent, bear down.

Instinctively, she parted for him. A need as old as time. An ache as deep as her core. She was melting, she could feel it, liquefying as the soft, glistening folds of her flesh parted for his exploring, sensual caress. It was like being taken into another world! How could there be such sensation? How could anything feel so blissful, so beautiful, so exquisitely pleasurable? And the pleasure was increasing-building remorselessly, like fire licking through her veins, inflaming her, possessing her.

She moved against him. She could not stop herself. Again it was instinctive, insistent. Her hips lifted to him, her head moving restlessly on the pillow of her hair, her hands lifting to close over the cusps of his bare shoulders, to tighten. He was murmuring to her, but she could not hear, could only feel-her whole body was nothing but sensation, a pool of living fire, consuming itself as the exquisite caresses aroused her so that the heat fanned her skin, dissolved through her flesh, became one with it. Each touch was bliss-bliss upon bliss. Deeper, more arousing, reaching into her core, so that the muscles of her thighs strained, hips lifting, wanting more ... more ...

Then there was yet more sensation-and she rippled with the pleasure of it, gasped at her sensitivity to it. Her breathing was shallow, urgent-her lips parted, neck arching back. The fire licking in her veins was melting her, dissolving her, flushing through her like an unstoppable tide-a wave that was building, building. And she wanted more, more-it was unbearable, unbearable ...

And then it broke-broke in a wave of sensation so intense, so absolute, that she cried out. She could not stop herself-could only ride out on the wave to the uttermost ends of the universe as her body buckled and convulsed, with wave after wave, scorching and searing. She was blind, deaf-insensible to anything, everything, that was not this incredible, unstoppable tide that was going on, and on, and on ...

Angelos stilled, his whole focus on the visible expression of the o.r.g.a.s.m flashing through her body. Her head was threshing, hips straining, her eyes blind, and across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and belly the flush of desire consuming itself flared hotly. His stillness lasted a few seconds only. Then, with an urgency that was unstoppable, he reached for a silvered packet. Moments later he was ready for her. Ready to take the same pleasure he had given her-would give her now again. Arching over her, he gazed down once more. Her beauty inflamed him. The intensity of her response to him was like a light within her glowing body. She was possessed by desire.

And now to be possessed by him.

Slowly, exquisitely, he eased into her.

She was tight-tight like a sheath made for a sword-and for a moment he had to still, for his arousal was so intensified by the pressure that he had to pause. She, too, he realised dimly, had stilled as well, her hands folded over the cusps of his shoulders, fingers suddenly indenting into his skin. A noise had come from her-inarticulate, like a gasp, a cry. It seemed to trigger him, and he moved deeper within her.

Oh, but she was tight! A thought flashed in his mind-absurd, impossible. He thrust it from him as sensation overpowered him. She was sheathing him so tightly that it was an exquisite torment to be so full within her. And yet he must ensure her pleasure, too. He gazed down at her. Her eyes were shut, the intensity of the expression on her face as if the world had stopped for her. At his shoulders he could feel the pads of her fingers, her nails pressing deep into him. As if she, too, were under the same exquisite control that he was exerting on himself.

Well, he would release that control-release it in her-and then finally, finally, in him.

Every muscle in his back straining, he began to move.

He watched her expression change. Her eyes still did not open, and he knew their focus would be inward, extracting every last gram of sensation from his possession of her. Just as he was doing. His movements were minute, under his absolute control. He could feel sweat beading along his spine with the effort it took to control his own reaction, his own overwhelming urge to plunge deep within her to reap his own satiation.

But she must find hers first. Her body was still in that state of absolute arousal he had engendered, and now he must take it that final step. He moved again, feeling her tightness flex around him, hearing once again that high, unearthly sound in her throat. He was on the edge, on the blade of a knife, as he moved to intensify the pressure not of her tightening around him, but of him against that most sensitive place within her, where the mesh of nerve endings created the physical locus of consummation. The high, helpless gasp came again, and he could feel, as if in slow motion, each nail indenting into his flesh. Feel simultaneously the slight but fatal tilting of her pelvis, sending him hurtling over the edge of the knife blade.

He surged within her, and in the sheeting sensation that engulfed him he realised that it had happened to her as well. That cry was coming from her again, with unbearable intensity, and he surged again, peaking within her in hot, unstoppable satiation, feeling as he did so the threshing convulsion of her muscles enclosing him, drawing him into her more tightly yet as he swept her body against his, feeling her convulsing and trembling within his clasp.

It went on and on, the incredible, unstoppable release, with an intensity of sensation that drenched through him. Had he ever, ever felt this way before at such a moment? Ever felt this extremity of satiation?

Then, after an eternity of sensation, it was ebbing from him, draining him of all his strength. He folded down, still with her body in his arms, taking her with him. She was ebbing, too-he could feel it. Her body was still giving little tremors in his arms, and the soft little cries in her throat made him clasp her more tightly yet.

His hand was stroking her hair, soothing her. He was murmuring to her-words he hardly understood himself, hardly heard beneath the tumult of his heartbeat. She lay in his arms, so still, her satin skin dewed with moisture. He could feel the pulsing beat of her heart, so close to his ...

His voice, when he spoke, was low and resonant.

'I have the final truth about you now-no more denial. You said you could not bear me to touch you! But this ... this...' his mouth lowered to hers one last, lingering time '... this tells me the truth. At last ...'

His kiss was slow, and sealing, and then, his eyelids heavy with the aftermath of desire fulfilled, he felt his vision dim, his heart-rate slow, and with her warm and folded in his arms he gave himself to sleep.

CHAPTER NINE.

ANGELOS stirred drowsily. Something was wrong.

He was alone.

Instantly his eyes sprang open.

She had gone.

In one lithe, fluid movement he had jack-knifed up out of the bed, eyes casting around in the dawn light that was reaching the edges of the curtained windows, then was striding into the en suite bathroom.

Not there.

He frowned. Had she gone back to her room? Ripping a towel from the rail, he wrapped it cursorily around his hips, went out on to the landing, opened her bedroom door. The bed was unused, unslept in. Her en suite bathroom empty.

Where the h.e.l.l was she?

Emotion spiked in him. He didn't know what it was, and he wasn't in any kind of mood to be introspective. He was only in the mood to find her.

Without thinking, he slid back the gla.s.s doors to the balcony, but there was no sign of her there, either, in the chill early morning. Frustration bit in him-and incomprehension. He thrust back from the bal.u.s.trade to head indoors, his gaze unconsciously sweeping out across the precipitous slope beyond. But even as it did so his muscles froze. His whole body froze.

There, on the descending slope far to the left of the chalet, where the curve of the road indented, he saw a lone figure, heading down the side of the mountain. Walking rapidly, haltingly, hurriedly.

For an endless moment time stopped. Then, disbelievingly, he realised who it was.

He wheeled around, heading back into his own room, yanking open the doors further along the balcony, knowing he had to get dressed with the least possible delay. But even as he threw open the doors of his closet his eyes went to his empty bed, the quilt thrown back.

And time stopped again. His gaze froze as he stared at the exposed sheet.

Disbelief knifed through him.

And much, much more.

Within minutes he was dressed, booted, kitted up-and in pursuit.

Thea was walking. Walking as fast, as urgently as she could. Her head was throbbing, her heart was pounding, skin clammy. She felt sick and cold-so cold-despite the windproof jacket. She had to make the road-make it as fast, as speedily as she could down the unfamiliar track that was a much more direct route to the road below than the hairpin track up to the chalet. But it was a treacherous path, she discovered. Hardly there in places, narrow and precipitous. Her leg muscles were cold, resistant after the previous day's long trek, and her legs were not all that ached.

Between her thighs aching pain made each step a torment.

But it was a pain she welcomed. Punishment. Punishment for what she had done.

No! She must not think of that. Time enough to think of that-dear G.o.d, time enough! Now, all her strength must be on what she was doing now.

Escaping.

Her legs were trembling, there was dull, raw ache in her pelvis, sick muzziness in her head and clawing at her stomach, sick breathlessness in her lungs. Desperately, she hurried on. Sometimes her footing on the dew-drenched gra.s.s slipped, scaring her, but she recovered and pressed on. Always. The light was growing brighter all the time, the sun fingering over the far mountain. Day was here, and time was running out. She quickened her pace, half stumbling.

She dared not look back.

The path was getting steeper, the slope convex now, so she could not see the road below any more. But it must be there, and she must press on-press on. She was desperate for water, but had brought none with her, not daring to waste time filling a water bottle. Her mouth was parched, and the throbbing in her head had worsened. Acid was pooling in her stomach. Her gullet felt raw and sc.r.a.ped, her breath knifing through her lungs.

How long she walked she did not know-only knew that her thoughts were an agony. An agony of loathing.

For Angelos Petrakos.

For herself.

How-how had it happened? The question seared like a brand in her head. How had she let it happen? Memory stabbed like knives piercing her, twisting in her stomach.

I let him do it to me-I let him do it to me five years ago-just stood there while he touched me, kissed me, caressed me ... then called me a wh.o.r.e ... a wh.o.r.e ...

Her throat clenched with pain. With shame. How could she have forgotten what he had done to her? How could she have let herself be lulled as she had, day by day, her guard against him lowering? Not seeing his intention, not understanding the danger she was placing herself in.

Until it was far, far too late.

Like an icy shower, she felt again that moment when she had faced the realisation that, impossible though it seemed, she had known that she didn't want to leave.

Oh, G.o.d, how could I have been so stupid-so unbelievably stupid?

She stared unseeing out over the lightening valley. To have come to such a pa.s.s ...

I didn't want to leave him ...

The words hollowed out inside her, each one a blow.

My fault-my fault-my fault.

Her fault, and hers alone-her stupidity, her folly.

Couldn't you see? Couldn't you see what he was doing?

But she hadn't-that was the agonising flagellating fact of it! She hadn't seen. She had been so beguiled, so self-indulgently overwhelmed by her own responsiveness to him, her electric awareness of him, that she hadn't realized. Fool, fool, fool that she was! Hadn't realised how he was using that for his own ends! Using her to fulfil the purpose he had brought her here for!

She heard his voice-the last words he'd spoken to her-tolling like doom in her head.

'I have the final truth about you now ...'

The truth, terrifying and full of anguish, blazed in all its horror for her. That was why he had brought her here! Lulled her day after day into thinking his relentless hostility to her had ebbed, lured her into lowering her guard, making her so fatally, fatally weak ...

So he could throw that in her face-mock her in his triumph over her!

Oh, G.o.d, to give myself to him like that-to offer myself on a plate! When all along ...

She felt the sickness roil in her stomach again, the ache between her legs marking her shame-the stamp of his triumph over her, encompa.s.sing her destruction ...

For a moment so brief she knew it was not real another memory cut across her torment.

Her body clinging to his. That wonder and amazement-that ecstasy that she had never dreamt of! It had made a living flame of her body, transporting her to a world, a universe she had never known existed. His arms around her, embracing her, wrapping her to him, folding her to him, holding her, while she cried out in wonder and bliss.

No! She wiped the memory from her mind. That was an illusion-nothing more than that! An illusion he'd wanted her to believe, for how else would he have got his triumph? Proving beyond doubt, beyond all her defiant denial, that she was exactly what he had accused her of being five long bitter years ago! And now all she could do was flee. Flee as fast, as far as she could.

She had survived him before. She would survive him now. She must.

The final knife turned in her, its blade reaching deepest of all. She was going to pay a price she had never known existed. That could never be expunged.

Never.

Bleakly, blindly, she blundered on, desperation in every stumbling step.

She had nearly crested the slope that bulged from the main descent of the mountainside to the road still far below. The pathway was petering out, and she could only tread in what she hoped and prayed was the right direction. She scanned the way ahead, urgency pressing at her. The light was stronger now, sunshine blazing on the upper slopes above the chalet. She dared not look back to see how far she was, knowing how exposed she must be. She had to go on, as fast as possible ...

And then, freezing the blood in her veins, she heard a shout behind her.

Like a hunted deer she halted, turned, and terror froze her. It was Angelos, coming down the path towards her. He was still a hundred metres or so above her, but his long stride swallowed up the path, zigzagging down to where she was. Panic seized her. She plunged on, slipping as she did so, grabbing at the gra.s.s to steady herself. She heard him shout again, but she only scrambled onwards, heart pounding sickly.

Then, as she looked ahead further at the path, she gave a smothered cry of dismay. Till now the convex slope had concealed what lay ahead. Now, as she finally cleared the curving angle, she saw that the path stopped abruptly, terminating where a sheet of rock and scree dropped sharply away. A landslip had sliced through the rest of the slope, taking the path with it. For a moment she just stood there, swaying. Then, over her head, she heard Angelos's voice.

'Kat-stay where you are! Don't move!'

Her head whipped round. He was only fifty metres above her now, cutting down vertically over the gra.s.s. Closing fast. She scrambled onwards, to where the path ended and the sheer rock face started. She heard him call again. Felt panic knife again.

She couldn't stop! She couldn't!

Urgency, desperation, drove her onwards. With a ragged breath she dropped to her knees and started to inch out across the bare, steep rock, using her hands and her feet together over the sheer surface. It was wet with condensation from the night air, slippery beneath her fingers and icy cold. Close up, its smoothness was deceptive, with jagged flakes and shallow shelves of scree increasing in the direction she was trying to traverse, across and down. It was madness to attempt it-there was scarcely a foothold or a handhold that she could use properly, and grabbing at one such only resulted in the heel of her hand being cut.

She whimpered in pain. Simultaneously her foot slipped, and her crouching position slid out into an open sprawl across the treacherous surface. She froze, spread-eagled, her toes in agony trying to keep her from sliding further down. She could see blood from her hand seeping on to the rock. The pain made her hand slip, and with the loss of hold she felt her body judder down the rockface further, her feet only encountering scrabbling scree that would not hold her. Desperately she clung on, shoulder sockets in agony, trying to force herself to make her next move. But fear paralysed her. And weakness. She had no strength left-none.

'Kat!'

The voice was right above her now, and she strained her face upwards. Angelos was on the gra.s.s ridge above the rock face, lying face-down, half hanging over. His hand was extended down towards her.

'Get my hand!' He strained it further forward-the maximum he could reach without falling himself.

He was nearly touching her. She gazed, blind with panic and dread.

'Lunge for my hand-I'll catch you. It's OK, I can pull you back up. Just do it, Kat-do it!'

He sounded so angry. Furious. His face was dark.