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Zac had kept her cell phone.
Seething, Pandora pushed open the curtains and blinked against the bright September sunlight. The absence of shadows made her glance at her watch. It was already midday, so she hastened to the en suite to wash and afterward pulled a floaty white sundress from the wardrobe where someone—Maria perhaps?—had hung her clothes.
Once dressed, she dragged an armchair from the corner of the room and placed it squarely in front of the window and settled down to tackle the fruit Maria had brought. She had just finished the grapes when a new volley of knocking thundered against the door. A moment later the doorknob rattled, but the lock held.
“Unlock the door.” Zac’s voice held a dangerous edge.
“Go away, Zac.”
“Open it now,” he demanded.
She stared mutinously at the door. A heavy thud rocked the door. But the wood held. His shoulder? Probably. She hoped it hurt like blazes. “Stop it, Zac.”
“Open the damned door or I’ll break it down.”
At the thought of Zac’s breaking the door down a forbidden flare of excitement stirred. God, what was she becoming? “If you use any force on that door, I’ll lose the last tiny shred of respect I have for you.”
There was silence. Then she heard him heave a heavy sigh. “You’ve hurt Maria’s feelings.”
The totally unexpected attack took her aback. “I’ve hurt Maria’s feelings?” What about her feelings? Slowly she rose from the chair and went to unlock the door.
Her eyes widened as she took in Zac’s appearance. He looked haggard. His normally tanned skin held an unhealthy yellow tinge, and his eyes were red-rimmed.
“Are you ill?” The words burst from her.
“Why?” he asked guardedly.
“You look terrible.”
His gaze slid away from hers and he muttered something that sounded like, “I feel terrible.”
“What?” she asked, frowning at him.
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Maria is offended.”
“I’m offended! That woman is rude.”
“Don’t talk so loudly.” He flinched and half closed his eyes.
“You’re hungover!” she accused.
He blinked but didn’t deny it.
“You didn’t see her. She was rude and insolent and ignored everything I said to her. She didn’t even greet me.”
“It’s not her fault—”
“Of course it’s her fault,” Pandora cut in heatedly. She raised an eyebrow. “Unless you put her up to it?”
“I didn’t put Maria up to anything. But I should’ve told—”
“You should tell her she needs to be more polite to me.” Pandora cringed when she heard the self-righteous words and added lamely, “After all, I am your wife.”
Zac stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. “Why do you deserve Maria’s respect when you gave her none? She says that you opened the door, made her unwelcome in your room and slammed the door on her. That woman has been there all my life. She raised me when I lived with my grandfather at the house in Athens. She looked after me while my father went through dozens of floozies and my mother drank herself to death.” Zac’s eyes were flashing now. “One thing I never had you pegged for was a spoiled little rich girl.”
“I’m not a spoiled little rich girl. She was damn rude to me. She ignored me, she turned her back on me.” It sounded so petty. It was obvious Zac cared about Maria. A lot. “Look, maybe she’s worried now that you’re married,” Pandora conceded. “Maybe any woman you married would never be good enough in her eyes. But she didn’t have to—”
“She’s deaf.”
“Deaf?” Pandora gaped at Zac. The scene in the bedroom ran through her head. “Oh, no! Now I feel terrible.”
“It’s my fault,” Zac sighed. “I usually sign to her, although she can lip-read Greek fluently. I should have warned you to speak English very slowly and keep to a basic vocabulary. But I never even thought about it. I never think of her … disability.”
“I’ll tell her I’m sorry.” Pandora lifted her chin. “But you’re right—you should’ve told me. In fact, you should never have brought me here. What do you think Maria would think of the boy she raised abducting a woman?”
“You’re not telling her that.”
“I can’t, can I? Not if she’s deaf and can’t lip-read English properly.” She gave a mirthless laugh, furious with him, with her helplessness. “You’ve got it all sussed, right down to the deaf jailer.”
“Kiranos is not a jail.”
“It sure feels like one. Unless you’re planning to take me to the airport?” Pandora sneaked him a look from under her bangs. But for the first time she wasn’t so sure she wanted to go. Once she left, their marriage would be over. And Zac would never look at her with that glow in his eyes, never again touch her with fingers that reduced her to shivers—
God, she had to stop thinking about … about the sex side of their marriage.
Zac avoided her gaze. “I’ll let you go when I’m good and ready.”
His high-handedness caused another flare of annoyance. “And then you wonder why I say I hate you.”
The eyes that met hers were a flat, expressionless green. “You don’t hate me.”
Before he could expose the ignominious desire she was trying to hide, Pandora retorted, “What’s to like about you? You’re arrogant, deceitful and sly. You talk about your noble ancestors and their chivalrous love for their brides, yet you abduct me and stop me from going home to my family. You are a man totally without honour.”
Zac stared at her, his face ashen. Without a word, he swung on his heel and left her room, the door closing silently behind him.
Feeling no relief at her victory, only emptiness, Pandora slunk to the armchair and listened as his footsteps retreated. The tearing sense of loss splintered her soul, hurting deep within her psyche and leaving a void where her love for Zac had flourished. All that was left was the humiliating knowledge that she still wanted him. But after her last crack, he’d have to be made of steel to even think of touching her.
Dropping her head into her hands, she remembered Maria’s sullen face when she’d left earlier … and just now Zac’s face had been grey as a result of the words she’d hurled at him. Words that left the nasty, bitter taste of shame on her tongue. She’d always been kind and upbeat to everyone she’d met. At school, some of the girls had sniggered that she was a regular little Pollyanna. What the hell was happening to her? What was she becoming?
Yes, Zac’s behaviour to her had been unacceptable. His actions had instilled a sense of confusion and powerless-ness. And, yes, she’d been wallowed in her own misery. But there was no need to take it out on Maria.
Or even Zac. His shattered expression flashed through her mind. She’d known that her words would hurt like poisoned arrows. Zac’s sense of honour lay at the heart of the man he was—the man he believed himself to be. Her venomous attack had been small-minded, not like her at all. She’d behaved like a petulant child.
Remorse stabbed at her. And while a niggling voice said that he deserved it because he’d taken away her right of choice, her freedom, she suppressed it. She was not going to allow Zac’s actions to destroy the person she’d always prided herself on being.
So when Maria arrived with her lunch tray, Pandora gave her a tentative smile and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
The Greek woman’s face broke into a smile and she started to speak in very broken, very hesitant English. “Zac tell me you not know.”
The knowledge that Zac had taken the blame for what had happened completely flummoxed her, and she stared after Maria openmouthed as she set the tray on the chest of drawers.
After Maria had gone, Pandora picked at the Greek salad with its red tomato quarters and fat olives before pushing the tray aside. Not hungry but not yet ready to venture out and face Zac, Pandora picked up a book. It was a mystery featuring a kick-ass heroine by a favourite author who usually held her entranced. But today the words on the pages aroused no interest.
The afternoon was hot. Even inside the thick whitewashed stone walls, Pandora could feel the temperature rising. The fine cotton dress clung to her body, so she turned up the air-conditioning. Thoroughly restless now, Pandora crossed to the window and pushed it open.
The villa—if one could call a structure with towers and parapets that—perched like an eyrie high above a sweeping cobbled terrace, and far below lay the stony beach. And beyond, the sea glittered in the sunlight. On the terrace, a thickset man with a head of unruly black hair—Georgios, Maria’s husband, she supposed—was watering terra-cotta pots full of bright magenta geraniums.
The startling glare of the heat shimmered off the white walls of the villa. The sea looked blissfully tranquil. Incredibly tempting. Pandora stood there, her arms folded on the wide sill, for what seemed forever.
At last she acknowledged to herself that she was waiting for Zac to appear.
Turning away in disgust, she threw herself down on the bed and stared at the wooden door.
This time she hadn’t locked it.
Because after her cruel words she knew Zac would not return.
Pandora spent the next three days closeted in her bedroom, avoiding Zac, full of remorse at the way she’d spoken to him the last time she’d seen him. But she couldn’t help being a little irked that Zac hadn’t bothered to check on her.
Yet beneath the conflicting emotions lay something more, an unsettling desire that was still very much alive. Despite everything he had done—and her own vehement demand for a divorce—what she really wanted was for Zac to apologise, preferably on his knees, for keeping her here against her will. It infuriated her to be so confused, at the mercy of a man and her own turbulent emotions.
The only respite from the quagmire of emotions, ironically enough, was Maria. Three times each day Maria brought her a tray heaped with delicious food. Swiss muesli and fruit and rich, creamy yogurt with honey for breakfast. Greek salads topped with chunks of crumbled feta cheese and glossy black kalamata olives, pita bread with taramasalata and hummus and slices of warm lamb seasoned with rosemary. Maria clucked like a concerned mother hen if she failed to finish meals and smiled her approval when the plate and bowl were clean of food. Any thought Pandora might’ve had to undertake a hunger strike to make Zac realise how seriously angry she was about what he had done was undermined even as it took root.
Maria brought Pandora a pile of outdated magazines. Cosmopolitan, Harper’s Bazaar and Town & Country, as well as an assortment of Greek magazines, giving Pandora something to do. So one evening, when Maria arrived with a dinner tray, Pandora gave her the silk scarf she’d touched with such reverence that first morning.
Maria’s eyes lit up. “Mine?”
Pandora nodded.
Maria took the scarf, holding it like some fragile piece of glass. Then she stood in front of the mirror and tied it around her neck.
“Here, like this.” Pandora moved to Maria’s side and fiddled with the ends until they were arranged to her satisfaction.
The smile of joy on Maria’s face brought a lump to her throat. The old woman’s wrinkled fingers kept going up to stroke the lustrous silk with reverent touches.
“Beau … beautiful.” Maria struggled with the word.
Pandora dipped her head in acknowledgment. “It was my mother’s. She was an artist—she hand dyed the colours herself.” She’d said too much—Maria’s frown indicated she did not follow.
“Your mother … dead?” Maria asked finally.
“Ne.” Yes. It was one of the Greek words she’d learned over the last few weeks.
Maria shook her head from side to side, muttering something in Greek, her hand going to where the knot sat at her shoulder.
“No.” Stilling the older woman’s hands, Pandora said, “It gives me pleasure to give it to you.”
Maria seemed to get her meaning. “Efgaristo.” And danced out the room on light feet.
Over the last three days Pandora had reread the meagre selection of books in her baggage, scanned the year-old magazines Maria had brought her until they were dog-eared, her heart stopping each time Zac stared unsmiling out of a photograph at her.
Now, as she readied herself for bed, Pandora finally admitted that she was bored out her skull.
So when she woke on Friday morning, Pandora stared out the window at the pebbled beach that edged the stony outcrop below the villa and decided she’d had enough of being cooped in her bedroom while the sun shone outside.
Quickly she donned a brief white-and-silver swimsuit and covered it with a white cheesecloth shirt that Zac had bought for her at the Plaka in Athens, then tied a yellow sarong around her waist and trod into a pair of metallic leather sandals. A slather of sunscreen, a hat, and she was ready to face the blistering Mediterranean sun.
She met no one as she crept down the spiral staircase and bypassed the reception rooms. Outside, the beach was even more alluring than it had appeared from her window. The sea was a clear turquoise under the arch of cerulean sky. Round pebbles stretched into the water. Pandora found a flat rock and spread out her towel and stretched out in the morning sun.
What was Zac doing right now? Just thinking about him brought back the unresolved tension between them. She hadn’t seen him since he’d left her room, white-faced, days ago. Where was he? She hadn’t heard the helicopter depart, so she assumed he must still be on the island.
When was he going to release her?
Surely he’d need to return to the corporation he headed? Or did he maintain a makeshift office in the villa—despite his claim that Kiranos was his retreat from the frenzy that he existed in? From under the hat she risked a glance at the villa and scanned the windows overlooking the beach. Eventually she homed in on the three windows a level below the vast glassed living room. If an office existed, it made sense that there would be some sort of telephone, even a satellite phone—he couldn’t be totally out of contact with the rest of the world.
With a sigh, she pushed the thought from her head and closed her eyes.
A little later, made lazy by the sun, she explored the beach, hopping along the pebbles to where a sheer wall of rock ended the curve of beach. Soothed by the gentle lap of the water against the pebbles, Pandora came back to where her towel waited and wedged herself in the shade of a large rock and closed her eyes.
That was where Maria found her when the sun was at its zenith. The tray of sliced fruit and fresh bread with slivers of smoked salmon and chunks of cheese looked delicious, and she thanked Maria. Made hungry by the salty air, Pandora ate with gusto. But she couldn’t help wishing that Zac was here … to share the moment.
When she pushed her plate back onto the tray and pulled out the serviette wedged under a plate, a piece of folded paper fluttered onto the beach.
She bent down to pick it up.
Don’t forget it is hot in the sun. Stay in the shade or come inside. Join me for a drink on the terrace this evening.
Pandora didn’t need the slashed Zac to identify the writing.
At once a host of emotions shook her. Aggravation at his high-handedness. Regret for what might have been. And finally outrage.
How dared he leave her languishing for three days and now tell her what to do and demand her company? She ignored the twinge of fairness that admitted that staying in her room had been her choice. Deep down, she’d wanted him to come running after her, to placate her.
But he hadn’t.
His failure to do so had both infuriated and frustrated her. Yet at the same time she was filled with a kind of relief. The past few days had given her much-needed breathing space and a chance to gain perspective.
She slopped on more sunscreen, telling herself it had nothing to do with Zac’s directive about the heat of the sun, then lay down. But too soon she was hot and itchy. A sheen of perspiration dampened her skin. She wriggled and twisted. But the edgy feeling would not leave. Finally she rose and headed for the sparkling sea.
The water was cool against her heated body, the pebbles smooth under her toes as she edged carefully in. The water crept higher as she went deeper, and finally the unbearable frissons against her sun-warmed skin forced her to dive headlong into the calm water. She came up breathless from the mild shock of the saltwater. Swimming a little way, she turned onto her back and stared at the unfathomable blue of the sky overhead until the on-edge tightness subsided a little. She felt calmer, more able to deal with Zac.
Zac had been watching Pandora from his study on and off the whole morning—and it had shot his concentration to hell. Unsettled, he struggled to read the report his PA had e-mailed to him, a report that had to be finalized—he glanced at his watch—in the next half hour.
Pandora had called him a man without honour. And she was proving to be right. What did he care about a report deadline when Pandora floated on the sea in the tiniest wisps of white fabric bound with provocative silver bows that he itched to untie?
But her words rankled.
Because there was more than a hint of truth in them. Kidnapping her, bringing her to Kiranos when she’d clearly thought he was taking her somewhere to talk before allowing her to leave, had been devious.
