Catherine O'Connor - Obligation To Love

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CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

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.