Wife For A Night

  WIFE FOR A NIGHT

  Angela Devine

  She wanted a real marriage!

  Greece--its shimmering seas and brilliant blue skies were a photographer's choice location to shoot. And that was Kate Walsh's only reason for being there--until Philip Andronikos turned her safe, if lonely, world upside down.

  His magnetism skimmed over her skin, awakening senses she hadn't known existed. He was alternately infuriating and seductive, and she could love him, easily. But he belonged to another, and affairs weren't her style.

  The powerful land developer believed in achieving his dreams. And Kate Walsh could make all of those dreams come true--if she would trust both her heart .. . and the strength of his love.

  CHAPTER ONE

  'HELP! Help! Voethia!'

  Kate shouted with all her might and waved her torch despairingly at the glossy white car that was nosing its way down the mountain road in the gathering twilight. Let him stop, please, please, please let him stop, she thought urgently. A convulsive shiver ran through her and she gripped the torch harder, suddenly aware that she was close to panic. She was twenty-six years old and not much given to panic in general, but then she had never been through an earthquake before. Her work as a photographer had put her in some very tight spots, but this had to be the worst yet.

  Scrambling down a mountainside that quivered like jelly under her feet with stones crashing down around her was not an experience she wanted to repeat. And finding her hire-car wrecked beyond any possible hope of driving was even worse. For over an hour she had been sitting here, fighting down her terror of another quake. Now the hope of rescue was unbearably tantalising. She swung the torch in a wild arc and shouted again.

  'Voethia!'

  The car paused suddenly in its cautious downward course, and Kate caught her breath with relief. Then, just as suddenly, it continued over the edge of the slope and disappeared out of sight. It was all she could do not to burst into tears. Dropping her camera case, she scrambled through the mass of fallen rocks and ran to the bend where the road disappeared from view. The sight which met her eyes was typical of the wild and lonely Halkidiki region of northern Greece. All she could see was the pale ribbon of the road looping down a series of hairpin bends to the floor of the valley far below. A river cut like a silver scimitar through the dark landscape, and tall stands of pine trees reared their battlements against the fading red glow of the sunset, but there was no sign of life anywhere. The car had vanished as if it had never existed, hidden no doubt by one of the outcrops of rock far below.

  'Damn!' said Kate. 'Damn, damn, damn. I'll just have to camp out for the night. Oh, why do these things always happen to me?'

  Picking her way back to her own car, she shone the torch on it and frowned thoughtfully. It wasn't a reassuring sight. A large rock had smashed the windscreen, sending shards of glass all over the front seat, and another rock had dented the roof. But would the car offer her the best hope of shelter for the night or should she camp out under a heavy rock ledge? She hauled a woven Greek rug out of the back seat and paused uncertainly. If another quake came, which would be worse?

  'Oh, I wish the ground would open up and swallow that awful man in the white car!' she declared passionately.

  'How very uncivilised of you!' said a deep, throaty voice with an undercurrent of amusement. The accent was faintly Greek, but the words were English.

  Kate spun round with a gasp and saw a figure looming over her in the twilight. Snatching up her torch, she played its beam on the man's face. He must have been in his mid-thirties and, although not conventionally handsome, he was certainly striking in looks. Glossy dark hair sprang in waves above features she had seen a thousand times on Greek vases. Liquid brown eyes narrowed against the light; a short, straight nose; full, sensuous lips, twitching with the effort not to smile. His frame was taut and muscular and he wore grey trousers and an open-necked white shirt, which revealed a gold neck-chain and a tuft of springy dark hair on his chest. Yet, in spite of the casual clothes, something about him suggested wealth and power and assurance. Perhaps it was his aura of having the whole situation totally under control. With a sigh Kate felt some of the tension drain out of her.

  'Why did you leave me?' she demanded bluntly.

  'I didn't,' he replied, still with that undercurrent of amusement. 'It was merely a strategic withdrawal. I thought it best to park the car under a rock ledge, which would give it some protection in the event of another quake. These things are rather unpredictable, you realise. It could happen at any moment.'

  Another convulsive shiver hit Kate.

  'I know,' she said through clenched teeth.

  'You're cold and frightened,' he murmured in a voice full of concern.

  'Come, we'll get your things and go to my car. With luck we may be able to make it through to the next village. If not, my car should at least be more comfortable for camping than yours.'

  That much was certainly true, thought Kate in amazement as they reached the spot where the white car sat snugly hidden under a rock ledge. Her rescuer opened the passenger-door, revealing an interior so luxurious that she could do nothing but gape. The seats were of brown leather, and a car phone was tossed idly on one of them, alongside a slender dark briefcase and a Louis Vuitton overnight bag. She felt suddenly conscious of the shab- biness of her own holdall and stained camera bag dangling easily from his lean, brown hands, then he opened the boot and thrust them swiftly out of sight.

  'Now,' he said with satisfaction, 'in you get. The torch you may put in the glove-box. The rug, I think, you would be well advised to keep around you. You may be suffering from delayed shock. And I'll dress that cut on your head for you before we go.'

  'Cut?' asked Kate blankly.'On your temple. Weren't you aware of it?'

  'No, I wasn't,' she said stupidly.

  His fingers were firm and reassuring as he set to work. From somewhere in the car's gleaming interior he produced a first-aid box, and Kate felt the sting of antiseptic, followed by the smoothness of a healing cream and the pressure of sticking plaster. Warmth seemed to lap over her in waves, and she pulled the rug around her and leant back against the seat, luxuriating in the feeling of being safe and cosseted. Whoever this man was, he was amazingly calm and competent. It did not even surprise her when he produced a stylish white Thermos flask and pressed a cup of hot, sweet Turkish coffee into her hands.

  'Thank you,' she said gratefully. 'You really are the most astonishing person, Mr... ?'

  'Andronikos. Philip Andronikos. And you are Miss...?'

  'Katherine. Katherine Walsh. But I'm usually called Kate.'

  'Kate?' He tried the monosyllable on his tongue, wrinkling his face distastefully. 'It seems to me a very ugly abbreviation, not at all suitable for a beautiful young woman. I will call you Katarina.'

  Kate ran her fingers through her feathery auburn curls and choked on a giggle.

  'Something I have said amuses you?'

  'I'm sorry. It's just the way you called me a beautiful young woman. I don't feel in the least bit beautiful. I fell over at least half a dozen times getting down the mountainside, my jeans are ripped to shreds and my shirt is filthy.'

  'Ah, yes. Your clothes are atrocious, I grant you, and they must have been dreadful even before you ruined them. But that oval face and the emerald-green eyes and the red hair...I stand by my statement, Miss Walsh.

  You are a beautiful young woman.'

  Kate wriggled uncomfortably.

  'What else should I wear on a mountainside if not jeans and a shirt?' she asked, feeling unaccountably annoyed by his comment.

  'Ah, you English!' he exclaimed. 'Why is it that you cannot accept a compliment gracefully? I tell you how beautiful you are and you complain becau
se I do not like your clothes.'

  'I'm not English,' protested Kate irrelevantly. 'I'm Australian!'

  'Very well, Australian, then. And for the sake of peace I will even admit that your clothes were extremely suitable for scrambling about on a lonely mountain. But whatever were you doing there in the first place?'

  'Taking photos,' said Kate pertly. 'What were you doing there?'

  He smiled at the hint of annoyance in her voice.

  'I'm a hotel developer,' he said. 'I was on my way back to my newest hotel in Sithonia and I chose the scenic route through the mountains. Fortunately for you, perhaps.'

  ; , 'Yes,' admitted Kate reluctantly. She took a swift gulp of the hot coffee and gave him a wavering smile. 'I can't tell you how pleased I was to see you coming down the hill, Mr Andronikos. For a moment there I really thought that...'

  Her voice broke and she could not continue. A gleam of compassion came into his eyes and his lean, brown fingers reached out and touched her tumbled hair.

  'You're safe now, Katarina,' he said softly. 'And in the circumstances I think we should drop this Mr Andronikos stuff. My name is Philip. OK?'

  'OK,' she agreed with a touch of spirit.

  'Good. Then finish your coffee and we'll get moving. Where were you headed for before the quake struck?'

  'Nyssa. It's a village about eighty kilometres from here. Do you know it?'

  'Yes. I doubt if we'll get that far, but at least we can try.'

  A moment later she handed him her empty cup, which he stowed in a bag in the back seat. Then he fastened his seatbelt and turned on the ignition.

  'I intend to go very slowly,' he explained. 'I've been in touch with my secretary on the radio phone ever since the quake started and he's given me as much information as he can. As far as I know, the road is clear from here to Pirgadikia, but there will almost certainly be some rocks on the way. Now tell me about these photos. You are a professional photographer, are you not?'

  'Yes,' agreed Kate curiously. 'How did you know?'

  'My dear Katarina, it is obvious. You have two hundred thousand drachmas'

  worth of photographic equipment in that bag. Your other luggage is not worth a tenth of that amount. Either you are a complete fool about spending your money or you are a very serious photographer. So what were you photographing? The scenery?'

  'No. I was taking some photos of an archaeological site for someone I've been staying with. An archaeologist I met a few weeks ago in Turkey. Dr Charlie Lucas, the head of the team at Nyssa.'

  His eyebrows flew up.

  'Late on a Sunday afternoon in a remote area on your own? Don't you realise there are wolves in these mountains? Not to mention the danger of an accident occurring or some man finding you alone and unprotected! But I suppose that wouldn't worry you if you're prepared to stay with a man you met only a few weeks ago. Anyway, what was this Dr Lucas of yours doing that he could not accompany you?'

  His voice was harsh with disapproval. Looking at his chiselled profile, Kate felt a sudden rush of annoyance.

  'If you must know what Dr Lucas was doing, she was washing her clothes.

  She, not he. Charlotte Elizabeth Lucas, better known as Charlie. She's hoping to excavate here at Mount Panagia next summer and she asked me to take some preliminary photos of the site for her. At the moment she's digging near Nyssa, and I've been with her there for the last two weeks.

  Although I don't see that it's really any business of yours who I stay with!'

  'Hmm,' said Philip suspiciously. 'But, even if it had been a man, you would still have stayed with him, wouldn't you?'

  'Probably,' agreed Kate. 'If he had offered me work and if I trusted him. Why shouldn't I?'

  'Because your honour would be compromised,' replied Philip earnestly.

  Kate choked on a disbelieving laugh.

  'You really mean that, don't you?' she demanded.

  'Of course,' agreed Philip emphatically. 'But I don't want to quarrel with you.

  Tell me about your photos. Why couldn't you take them during the week when other people were with you?'

  'Today is the first day that the light has been exactly right,' replied Kate, glad of the change of subject.

  The amusement was back in his tone.

  'And the light must be exactly right? So you are a perfectionist, Katarina?'

  'You could say that.'

  'And do you only work on archaeological sites or do you do other types of photography as well?'

  'Anything, really,' said Kate. 'I'm trying to get established as a freelance photographer, so I take whatever work is available. Shop catalogues, photojournalism, anything. But my favourite work is what I suppose you'd call artistic photography. Landscapes, studies of light and shade, visual images that I find evocative.'

  'But why come to Greece to be a photographer? Couldn't you have done it in Australia?'woman to find herself alone in such a dangerous situation as you were in today.'

  Kate's lips quivered.

  'Just for tonight I'm finding it very pleasant indeed to be a Greek woman,'

  she assured him. 'There's nothing I'd like better at the moment than simply to give up and lean on you.'

  Philip's fingers moved back to the blanket, tucked it below her chin, then touched her cheek in a fleeting caress.

  'Then do it,' he urged. 'You've had a very frightening time. Why don't you just go to sleep and let me deal with the problems from now on?'

  How long she slept Kate did not know, but when she woke she was vaguely conscious of the barking of dogs and a narrow lamplit street flanked by shuttered white houses. Gazing around her, she saw that Philip was gone and panic surged through her. But, as she struggled out of the rug, he came out of one of the whitewashed houses and crossed the street towards her. A sign on the door said 'domatia enoikiazontai' . Rooms to let, thought Kate with sudden comprehension as Philip opened the car door.

  'Good, you're awake,' he said. 'This is Ayfa Sofia. I'm afraid we can't go any further tonight—the road ahead is blocked. But I've found a place to stay.

  It's fairly primitive but quite clean. There's only one problem.'

  'What's that?' asked Kate, groping in the glove-box for her torch.

  'There's only one room available.'

  He made this pronouncement with such gravity that Kate felt an irrepressible impulse to burst out laughing.

  'Honestly, Philip!' she exclaimed. 'I thought you were going to tell me there was another earthquake on the way at the very least. I don't mind sharing a room with you. It's not the first time I've had to share with a man when I've been travelling. It really doesn't bother me.'

  His mouth hardened.

  'I think I would prefer that it did,' he said disapprovingly. 'Somehow I do not like the idea of your sharing rooms so eagerly with other men. But, as I said before, foreign morals are very peculiar to me. You tourists come here and sleep with men you hardly know, but I can't pretend I approve of it.'

  'Now, just a minute!' exclaimed Kate hotly. 'When I said "share a room", that's all I meant. Not "share a bed", whatever you may choose to think. I don't suppose you've ever been young and poor, but it's the only way a lot of people can afford to travel.'

  Philip's eyebrows rose sceptically.

  'Perhaps,' he said fastidiously. 'But it is not a custom I care for. However, tonight there seems to be no choice. I have told the woman in the house that you are my wife and you will be treated with the greatest respect. And, needless to say, your honour will be safe in my keeping.'

  He gave a small, formal nod as he said this and reached out his hand to help Kate out of the car. As their fingers met she was conscious of a warm current like electricity tingling between them, and the question shot irresistibly through her mind. What would it really be like to be Philip Andronikos's wife? She had no doubt that he would be protective and considerate. But wouldn't he also be arrogant and intensely jealous? Somehow the idea did not repel her in the way she'd expected. Instead it sent an odd, head
y excitement coursing through her veins so that she gave an involuntary shiver.

  'You're cold,' said Philip swiftly, draping the rug around her shoulders. 'Go inside while I get the bags.'

  A dark-haired woman, whose smile glinted with gold, came forward to greet Kate. With obvious pride she showed the girl a tiny bathroom with a flush toilet and overhead shower. Then she led her through into a bedroom, which was scrupulously clean but had as its only furniture a wardrobe, a chair, a bedside table and a very small double bed. Kate swallowed. Suddenly she didn't feel nearly so blase about sharing a room with Philip. One of them would have to sleep on the floor, she decided, gazing wildly around her. The woman caught her anxious glance.

  'Endaxi?' she asked.

  We. Ne. Endaxi,' agreed Kate, smiling desperately. It's fine. Or at least it would be if we really were married or desperately in love. But the floor is terrazzo, it'll be hideously cold and uncomfortable, apart from being cramped. I can't possibly expect Philip to sleep there. Then I'll have to.

  She became suddenly aware of the woman's puzzled look. 'Endaxi,' she repeated desperately.

  Reassured, the woman withdrew amid an absolute torrent of Greek and a good deal of mime, designed to assure Kate that a meal would soon appear.

  Left alone, Kate looked nervously around her. There were two windows, each hung with a rectangle of handmade lace, and in front of each was a garish vase of plastic flowers. The walls were whitewashed and must have been well over a foot thick, judging by the depth of the window- sills. The room had no decoration apart from the flowers, an icon of the Virgin Mary, hanging above the bed, and a green and white woven rug on the floor. Kate found her gaze drawn irresistibly back to that bed. The crisp white sheets and the fluffy blanket with its pattern of pink roses seemed somehow indefinably threatening. Or exciting. She wasn't sure which. In an effort to come to grips with the strange emotion that filled her, she seized one of the white pillows and set it down on the floor in the corner furthest from the bed. Then she moved the green and white rug into the corner and laid her own rug on top of it. There. At least she had made herself a separate bed.