ll right," he said in a strained voice, backing away from her, his hands held up as if to show he was unarmed. "I won't touch you, I promise. See? I'll even sit down." He suited his actions to his words and stared at her, his black eyes somber. "But God in heaven, Jessica, why?"

She stood there on trembling legs, trying to control her sobs and find her voice to explain, but no words would come and she only returned his gaze dumbly. With a groan he brought his hands up and rubbed his eyes as if he was tired, and he probably was. When he dropped his hands loosely onto his knees, his expression was grim and determined. "You win," he said tonelessly. "I don't know what your hang-up about sex is, but I accept that you're too frightened to come to me without some assurance about the future. Damn it, if marriage is what it takes to get you, then you'll have your marriage. We can be married on the island next week."

Shock made her grope weakly for the nearest chair, and when she was safely sitting down, she said in a quavering voice, "No, you don't understand—"

"I understand that you have your price," he muttered angrily. "And I've been pushed as far as I can be pushed, Jessica, so don't start an argument now. You will sleep with a husband, won't you? Or do you have another nasty little surprise saved up for me after you have the ring on your finger?"

Anger saved her—clean, strength-giving anger spurting into her veins. It stiffened her spine and dried her tears. He was too arrogant and bullheaded to listen to her, and she was tempted for a minute to throw his offer back in his face, but her heart stopped her. Maybe he was proposing for all the wrong reasons, but it was still a proposal of marriage. And however angry he was now, at both her and himself, he would calm down and she would be able to tell him the truth. He would have to listen; she would make him. He was frustrated now and in no mood to be reasoned with; the best thing to do was not make him angry.

"Yes," she said almost inaudibly, lowering her head. "I'll sleep with you when we're married, no matter how frightened I get."

He heaved a sigh and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees in a posture of utter weariness. "Only that saved you tonight," he admitted curtly. "You really were frightened, you weren't faking it. You've really been treated roughly down the line, haven't you, Jessica? But I don't want to hear about it, I can't take it now."

"All right," she whispered.

"And stop looking like a whipped kitten!" he shouted, getting to his feet and pacing angrily to the window. He shoved his hands deeply into his pockets and stood staring out at the brightly lit streets. "I'll telephone Maman tomorrow," he said, reining in his temper. "And I'll try to get out of my meeting fairly early so we can shop for your wedding gown. Since we'll have to get married on the island, all of the trimmings will be expected," he explained bitterly.

"Why does it have to be on the island?" she questioned hesitantly.

"Because I grew up there," he growled. "The island belongs to me, and I belong to the island. The villagers would never forgive me if I got married anywhere but there, with all the traditional celebrations. The women will want to fuss over my bride; the men will want to congratulate me and give me advice on handling a wife."

"And your mother?"

He turned to face her and his eyes were hard. "She'll be hurt, but she won't question me. And let me warn you now, Jessica, that if you ever do anything to hurt or insult my mother, I'll make you wish you'd never been born. Whatever you've been through before will seem like heaven compared to the hell I'll put you through."

She gasped at the hatred in his eyes. Desperately she tried to defend herself and she cried out, "You know I'm not like that! Don't try to make me a villain because things haven't gone as you'd have liked them! I didn't want it to be this way between us."

"I can see that," he said grimly. "You'd have preferred it if I'd been as gullible as Robert Stanton, seeing only your angelic face and willing to give you anything you wanted. But I know you for what you are, and you won't take me to the cleaners like you did that old man. You had a choice, Jessica. As my mistress, you'd have been spoiled rotten and treated like a queen. As my wife, you'll have my name and very little else, but you made your choice and you'll live with it. Just don't expect any more generous settlements like I gave you for those stocks, and above all, remember that I'm Greek, and after the wedding you'll belong to me body and soul. Think about that, darling." He gave the endearment a sarcastic bite and she winced away from the savagery of his tone.

"You're wrong," she said in a trembling voice. "I'm not like that, Nikolas; you know I'm not. Why are you saying such awful things? Please, let me tell you how it was—"

"I'm not interested in how it was," he shouted suddenly, his face rilled with the rage he could no longer control. "Don't you know when to shut up? Don't push me!"

Shaking, she turned away from him and crossed to the bedroom. No, she couldn't do it. No matter how much she loved him, it was plain that he'd never love her, and if she made the mistake of marrying him, he would make her life a misery. He'd never forgive her for bringing him to the point where he'd agreed to marriage. He was proud and angry, and as he had said, he was Greek. A Greek never forgot a grievance; a Greek went after vengeance.

It would be better to make a clean break, never to see him again. It would be impossible to forget him, of course, but she knew that any sort of marriage between them was impossible. She had lived with scorn and suspicion from strangers, but she couldn't take it from her husband. It was time she left England completely, returned to the States, where she could live in quiet seclusion.

"Put that suitcase back," he said in a deadly voice from the doorway as she lifted her case from the closet.

Paling, she cast him a startled glance. "It's the only way," she pleaded. "Surely you see that marriage between us wouldn't work. Let me go, Nikolas, before we tear each other to pieces."

His mouth twisted cynically. "Backing out, now that you know you won't be able to twist me around your little finger? It won't work, Jessica. We'll be married next week—unless you want to pay the price for walking out of this hotel without me?"

She knew what he meant and her chin went up. Without a word, she shoved her suitcase back onto the shelf and closed the door.

"I thought so," he murmured. "Don't get any more ideas about running out on me, or you'll regret it. Now come back in here and sit down. I'll order dinner sent up and we'll work out the details of our arrangement."

He was so cold-blooded about it that the last thing she wanted to do was talk to him, but she went ahead of him and took a seat on the sofa, not looking at him.

He ordered dinner without asking her preference, then he called Andros, who was on the floor below them, and told him to come to the suite in an hour, he wanted him to take some notes. Then he replaced the receiver and came to take a seat on the sofa beside her. Uneasily Jessica edged away from him and he gave a short bark of laughter.

"That's odd behavior for a prospective bride," he mocked. "So standoffish. I won't let you get away with that, you know. I'm paying for the right to touch you when I please and however I please, and I don't want any more playacting."

"I'm not playacting," she denied shakily. "You know I'm not."

He eyed her thoughtfully. "No, I suppose you're not. You're afraid of me, aren't you? But you'll do what I want, if I marry you first. Too bad that kills any sense of mercy I might have possessed."

There was no convincing him. Jessica fell silent and tried to draw together the shreds of her dignity and composure. He was furious, and her attempts to establish her innocence were only making him that much angrier, so she decided to go along with him. If nothing else, she could salvage her pride.

"Nothing else to say?" he jeered.

She managed a cool shrug. "Why waste my time? You'll do what you want anyway, so I might as well go along for the ride."

"Does that mean you've agreed to marry me?" The tone was mocking, but she sensed the seriousness underlying the mockery and she realized that he wasn't certain that she'd stay.

"Yes, I'll marry you," she replied. "On the same conditions that I agreed to be your mistress."

"You backed out of that," he pointed out unkindly.

"I won't back out of this."

"You won't get a chance to. The same conditions, eh? I seem to remember that you didn't want to live with me; needless to say, that condition doesn't stand."

"The part about the money does," she said, turning her green eyes on him, opaque and mysterious with the intensity of her thoughts. "I don't want your money. Anything that I want, I'll pay for myself."

"That's interesting, even if it isn't convincing," he drawled, putting one strong brown hand on her throat and lightly stroking her skin. "If you're not marrying me for my money, why are you marrying me? For myself?"

"That's right," she admitted, meeting his gaze squarely.

"Good, because that's all you're getting," he muttered, leaning toward her as if drawn irresistibly by her mouth.

His lips fastened angrily on hers; his hands were hard and punishing and he pulled her close to him, but she didn't struggle. She rested pliantly against him and let him ravage her mouth until the anger began to fade and the hungry desire in him became stronger. Then she kissed him back, tentatively, and the pressure of his hard mouth lessened.

The long kiss provided an outlet for his black anger and she could sense him growing calmer even as his passion flared. He was prepared to wait now; he knew that she would be his within a week. He drew back and stared down into her pale face with its soft, trembling lips, then he kissed her again, hard.

The arrival of their dinner interrupted them and he released her to get to his feet and open the door. He seemed in a calmer frame of mind now, and as they ate, he even made small talk, telling her about his meeting and the problems that had been discussed. She relaxed, sensing that the worst of his temper had passed.

Andros arrived right on cue just as they were finishing the meal, and his dark eyes flashed at her in silent hostility before he gave his attention to Nikolas.

"Jessica and I are going to be married," Nikolas announced casually. "Next week, on the island. Tuesday. Make all the arrangements and notify the press that an engagement has been announced, but give them no details about when the wedding will take place. I'll call Maman myself, early tomorrow morning."

Andros's astonishment was plain, and though he didn't look at Jessica again, she sensed his dismay. No doubt his nose was more than a little out of joint to learn that the woman he actively disliked was going to marry his employer!

"We'll also have a prenuptial agreement drawn up," Nikolas continued. "Take all of this down, Andros, and have it on Leo's desk tomorrow morning. Tell him I want it back the day after tomorrow at the latest. It will be signed before we go to the island."

Andros sat down and opened his pad, his pen at the ready. Nikolas gave Jessica a considering stare before he started speaking again.

"Jessica renounces in advance all monetary claims against my estate," he drawled, sitting down and stretching his long legs out before him. "Should we be divorced, she will be entitled to no alimony and no property except such gifts as I have made to her, which will be her personal property."

Andros flashed Jessica a startled look, as if expecting her to disagree, but she sat quietly, watching Nikolas's dark, brooding face. She felt calm now, though she knew that her entire future was at stake. Nikolas had agreed to marriage when she had thought that he never would, so it was a start.

"While we're married," Nikolas continued, leaning his black head back against the sofa, "Jessica will conduct herself with strict propriety. She's not to leave the island without my personal escort, or with my permission and a substitute escort that I've chosen. She will also turn over the handling of all her income from her first husband to me." Now he, too, looked at Jessica, but still she made no protest. Her business affairs would be in marvelously competent hands with Nikolas, and she had no fears of him cheating her.

Then a thought occurred to her, and before she could halt herself, she said evenly, "I suppose that's one way of getting back the money you paid for my stocks."

Nikolas's jaw went rigid and she wished that she'd held her tongue rather than make him even angrier. She wasn't even protesting letting him have control of the money; she hadn't wanted it anyway. He wanted to have her completely under his power and she was willing to go along with him. It was a chance she was taking, but she had to hope that when he found out how wrong he was, he would soften his stand.

After a tense moment Nikolas delivered his final condition. "Last of all, I shall have final authority over any children that we should have. In case of divorce, I'll retain custody, though of course Jessica will be permitted visitation rights if she wants to come to the island. Under no circumstances will she be permitted to take the child or children away from the island or to see them without my permission."

Pain twisted her heart at that last and she hastily turned her head away so they couldn't see the welling of tears in her eyes. He seemed so hard! Perhaps she was being a fool; perhaps he'd never come to love her. Only the thought that he would know beyond a doubt that she came to him an innocent gave her the courage to agree to his conditions. He would at least realize that she wasn't going to corrupt their children.

If only there would be children! Nikolas seemed to take it for granted that their marriage wouldn't last, but already she knew that for her it was forever. No matter what he did, she would always be married to him in her heart. She wanted to have his children, several children, miniature replicas of him with black hair and black, flashing eyes.

"No comments, Jessica?" Nikolas asked softly, the jeering tone plain in his voice.

Jerking her thoughts back from a delightful vision of herself holding a tiny black-eyed baby in her arms, she stared at him for a moment as if she didn't recognize him, then she gathered herself and replied almost inaudibly, "No. I agree to everything you want, Nikolas."

"That's all," he said to Andros, and when they were alone again, he snapped, "You won't even make a token protest to keep any children, will you? Or are you hoping that I'll pay you to stay away from them? If so, disillusion yourself. You won't get a penny from me under any circumstances!"

"I agreed to your conditions," she cried shakily, her control broken by a heavy pain in her chest. "What more do you want? I've learned that I can't fight you, so I won't waste my breath. As for any children we might have, I want children—I want your children—and the only way I'll ever leave them will be if you physically throw me off the island. And don't insult me by insinuating that I won't be a good mother."

He stared down at her, a muscle in his jaw jerking out of control. "You say you can't fight me," he muttered hoarsely, "but you still deny me."

"No, no," she moaned, despairing of ever making him understand. "I'm not refusing you. Can't you see, Nikolas? I'm asking more from you than you're offering, and I'm not talking about money. I'm talking about yourself. So far you've offered me only the same part of yourself that you gave Diana, and I want more than that."

"And what about you?" he growled, getting to his feet and pacing restlessly about the room. "You won't even give me that much; you hold yourself away and demand that I give in to you in every respect."

"You don't have to marry me," she pointed out sharply, abruptly weary of their bickering. "You can let me walk out that door, and I promise you that you'll never see me again, if that's what you want."

His mouth twisted savagely. "You know I can't do that. No, you've got me so twisted inside that I've got to have you; I'll never be worth a damn if I can't satisfy this ache. It's not a wedding, Jessica, it's an exorcism."

His words still rang in her ears the next day as she paced the suite, waiting for him to return from his meeting. Andros was there; he had been there all morning, watching her, not talking, and his silent vigilance rasped painfully on her nerves. It had been a hellish night, sleeping alone in the big bed that Nikolas had intended to share with her, listening to him turn restlessly on the sofa. She had offered to take the sofa and let him have the bed, but he had glared at her so fiercely that she hadn't insisted. They had both slept very little.

Earlier, he had phoned his mother and Jessica had shut herself in the bathroom, determined not to listen to the conversation. When she came out of the bathroom, Nikolas had gone and Andros was there.

Just when she thought she couldn't stand the silence any longer, Andros spoke, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. "Why did you agree to all of Niko's conditions, Mrs. Stanton?"

She looked at him wildly. "Why?" she demanded. "Do you think he was in any mood to be reasonable? He was like a keg of dynamite waiting for some fool to set him off."

"You're not afraid of him, though," Andros observed. "At least, you're not afraid of his temper. Most people are, but you've always dared him to do his worst. I've been turning it over and over in my head, and I can think of only one reason why you'd let him make those insulting conditions."

"Oh? What have you decided?" she asked, pushing her heavy hair away from her eyes. She had been too upset that morning to put it up and now it tumbled untidily over her shoulders.

"I think you love him," Andros said quietly. "I think you're willing to marry him under any conditions because you love him."

She gulped at hearing it put into words. Andros was watching her with a different light in his dark eyes, a certain acceptance and the beginnings of understanding. "Of course I love him," she admitted in a tight whisper. "The only problem is making him believe it."

Suddenly Andros smiled. "You don't have a problem, Mrs. Stanton. Niko is besotted with you. When he calms down, he'll realize, as I did, that under the conditions he set, the only reason you had for marrying him is love. It's only because he's so angry now that it hasn't already occurred to him."

Andros didn't know the whole of it, but still his words gave her hope. He said that Nikolas was besotted with her. That was a little hard to believe; Nikolas was always so much in control, but it was true that he was willing to marry her if he couldn't have her any other way.

Nikolas arrived then, preventing her from talking with Andros any longer, but she felt better. The two men conferred over a sheaf of papers that Nikolas took out of his briefcase, then Andros took the papers to return to his room and Nikolas turned to Jessica.

"Are you ready?" he asked remotely.

"Ready?" She didn't understand.

He sighed impatiently. "I told you that we'd shop for your wedding dress. And you'll have to have rings, Jessica, they'll be expected."

"I'll have to put up my hair," she said, turning to the bedroom, and he followed her.

"Just brush it and leave it down," he ordered. "I like it better down."

Wordlessly she obeyed him and took out her lipstick. "Wait," he said, catching her wrist and pulling her around to him. She knew what he wanted and her heart lightened as she leaned against him and lifted her mouth for his kiss. His lips pressed on hers and his hot breath filled her mouth, making her dizzy. He wanted more; he wasn't content with kisses, but with a quiver of his body he pulled away from her and once again the look in his eyes bordered on the murderous.

"Now you can put on your lipstick," he muttered, and slammed out of the bedroom.

With a shaking hand she applied the lipstick. His temper hadn't improved, and she was afraid that to deny him even her kisses would make him that much worse. No, nothing would satisfy Nikolas but her full surrender, and she wished fervently that the next week would fly past.

But how could an entire week fly by when even the afternoon dragged? She could feel the tension building up in her as they sat at the quiet, exclusive jewelers and examined the trays of rings that he set out. Nikolas was no help at all; he merely sat back and told her to pick out what she liked, he didn't care. Nothing he could have said would have been better calculated to demolish any joy Jessica might have felt in the proceedings. On the other hand, the jeweler was so nice and tried to be so helpful that she hated to disappoint him with her disin-terest, so she forced herself to carefully examine each and every ring that he thought she might like. But try as she might, she couldn't choose one. The brightly winking diamonds might have been glass for all she cared; she wanted only to find a quiet corner and weep her eyes out. At last, with tension cracking in her voice, she said, "No—no! I don't like any of them!" and made as if to get to her feet.

Nikolas stopped her with an iron grip on her wrist and he forced her back into her chair. "Don't get upset, darling," he said in a gentler tone than he had used all day. "Calm down; you mustn't weep or it will upset Monsieur. Shall I pick one out for you?"

"Yes, please," she said in a stifled voice, turning her face away so he couldn't see her eyes brimming with the tears he had said she mustn't shed.

"I don't care for the diamonds either, Monsieur," Nikolas was saying. "Her coloring needs something warmer… yes, emeralds to match her eyes, in a gold setting."

"Of course—I have just the thing!" Monsieur said excitedly, taking the trays of diamonds away.

"Jessica?"

"What?" she asked, still not turning around to face him.

She should have known that he'd never allow her to keep her head turned away from him. One long forefinger stroked along her jaw, then gently forced her face to turn to him. Black eyes took in her pallor, her tense expression, noted the wetness that threatened to overflow from her eyes.

Without a word, he took out his handkerchief and wiped her eyes as if she was a child. "You know I can't bear for you to cry," he whispered. "If I promise not to be such a beast, will you smile for me?"

It wasn't in her to deny him anything when he was being so sweet, even if he had been as cold as ice only a moment before. Her lips parted in a gentle smile and Nikolas touched her mouth with his finger, tracing her lip line. "That's better," he murmured. "You understand why I won't kiss you here, but I want to, very much."

She kissed his fingers in answer, then he saw the jeweler returning and he straightened up, taking his hand away, but his brief attentions had put color in her cheeks and she was smiling hazily.

"Ah, this is more like it," Nikolas said, pouncing on a ring as soon as the jeweler set the tray down before them. He took Jessica's slender hand and slid the ring onto it; it was too big, but she caught her breath at the sight of it.

"What a lovely color," she breathed on a sigh.

"Yes, this is what I want," Nikolas decided. The square-cut emerald was not so big that it looked awkward on her graceful hand, and the rich, dark green looked better on her than a thousand diamonds would have. Her golden skin and tawny hair were a perfect setting for her mysterious Egyptian green eyes, and the emerald ring was only an echo of her own coloring. Brilliant diamonds surrounded the emerald, but they were small enough that they didn't detract from the deep color of the gem. He removed it gently from her finger and gave it to the jeweler, who carefully put it aside and measured Jessica's finger. "And a wedding ring," Nikolas added.

"Two," inserted Jessica bravely, meeting his eyes. After a moment he gave in, nodding his permission.

"I don't like wearing rings," he said as they left the jewelers, his arm hard about her waist.

"We're going to be married, Nikolas," she said, turning to face him and putting both hands on his chest. "Shouldn't we try as hard as we can to make a success of our marriage? Or are you going into it with divorce already on your mind?" Her voice quivered at that thought, but she met his dark gaze squarely.

"I don't have anything on my mind except having you," he said bluntly. "Rings aren't important to me. If you want me to wear a wedding ring, then I'll wear one. A ring won't stop me if I want to be free of you."

She nearly choked on the pain that welled up in her chest and she turned abruptly away, fighting for composure. By the time he caught up with her she had managed to pull her cool mask in place again and she revealed nothing of her inner hurt.

When they were in the taxi, she heard him give the address of a well-known couturier and she said quietly, "I don't know what you have in mind, Nikolas, but there isn't time to have a gown made. A ready-to-wear gown will be fine with me."

He didn't even glance at her, and after his gentleness in the jewelry shop, the chill was that much colder. "You're forgetting who I am," he snapped. "If I want a gown ready for you by tomorrow afternoon, the gown will be ready."

There was nothing to say to that, because it was true, but she thought of the people who would be sitting up all night to do the delicate stitchery that had to be done by hand and she knew that it wasn't worth it. But Nikolas had a set to his jaw that dissuaded her from arguing with him, and she sat back in miserable silence.

So far as Jessica knew, Nikolas was not inclined to personally select clothing for his women, but he was recognized the instant he stepped into the cool foyer of the salon. Immediately a tall, slender woman with severely styled ash-blond hair was gliding across the dove-gray carpet toward them, welcoming them to the salon, and if Monsieur Constantinos wished to see anything in particular…

Nikolas was all charm, raising the woman's fingers to his lips, his wolfish black eyes bringing a wave of color to her cheeks that owed nothing to artificiality. Nikolas introduced Jessica, then said smoothly, "We're to be married next week in Greece. I managed to convince her only yesterday, and I want to have the wedding immediately, before she can change her mind. But this leaves very little time for the gown, you understand, as we are leaving for Greece the day after tomorrow."

The woman snapped to attention and assured him that a gown could indeed be ready, if they would like to see some models…

A parade of models appeared, some wearing white, but the majority in pastel colors, delicately flattering colors that were nevertheless not virginal white. Nikolas looked them all over carefully and finally chose a gown with classically simple lines and requested it in a shade of pale peach. Jessica suddenly frowned. This was her wedding gown, and she was entitled to wear the traditional white.

"I don't like peach," she said firmly. "In white, please, Madame."

Nikolas glared at her and the woman looked startled, but Jessica stood her ground. It was to be white or nothing. At last Nikolas gave in, for he didn't want to make a scene in front of extremely interested witnesses, and Jessica was taken into the dressing room to be measured.

"You made a fool of yourself, insisting on white," Nikolas said curtly on the way back to the hotel. "Your name is recognized even in France, Jessica."

"It's my wedding, too," she said stubbornly.

"You've already been married, my sweet; it should be old hat to you by now."

Her lower lip trembled at that cut and she quickly firmed it. "Robert and I were married in a civil ceremony, not a religious one. I'm entitled to a white gown, Nikolas!"

If he caught her meaning, he ignored it. Or perhaps he simply didn't believe it. He said grimly, "After your history, you should count yourself lucky I'm marrying you at all. I have to be the world's biggest fool, but I'll worry about that afterward. One thing is for certain, as my wife you'll be the most well-behaved woman in Europe."

She turned her head in frustration, staring out the window at the chic Parisian shoppers, the elegant cafe's. She had seen nothing of Paris except fleeting glimpses through the window of the taxi and the gay, mocking lights of the night winking up into her hotel window.

It was too late to back out now, but she was aware of the awful, creeping knowledge that she had made a mistake in agreeing to the marriage. Nikolas was not a man to forgive easily, and not even the knowledge that she was not promiscuous would make him forget that, to his way of seeing it, she had sold herself to him for a price— marriage.