No Gentle Possession Read online

  David didn't seem bothered by their strained silence. He continued to hit Yanos with a barrage of questions. The old man answered him patiently. "This car doesn't have the best mileage, but—"

  "Why does it need twelve cylinders?" David asked.

  By the time they reached the Aristides estate, a huge gray stone building on Long Island's north shore, Zen was ready to jump out of her skin with impatience.

  With effort she stilled a fluttering panic when she saw Sophie Aristides standing on the fan-shaped cement steps leading to the front entrance way, a slightly smaller version of David standing next to her. Sophie's hand lay possessively on Daniel's shoulder.

  As the car drew up, Zen pulled David down next to her on the seat. "There's your grandmother and your brother Daniel," she whispered, her hands tightening on his shoulders.

  "Oh," David whispered back, all at once quiet as they got out of the car and stood uncertainly in the driveway.

  For a moment Zen felt a fiery resentment because Sophie stood three steps above them, like a queen looking down on her subjects. Zen bit her lip, deliberately pushing aside those feelings. Suddenly, looking up at Daniel, she felt a great rush of love for the boy.

  "Hello, I'm your Aunt Xenobia. But you can call me Aunt Zeno, as David does." Zen paused, studying the boy. He looked very much like David, but there was a subtle difference. David had the stockier build of the Aristides, while Daniel was smaller with somewhat lighter skin and a more delicate facial structure, like his mother Eleni. Yes, Zen thought, there was more Driscoll in Daniel than in his twin.

  "Hello." Daniel's smile was like sun coming through clouds on a rainy day.

  David responded instantly. "Hi." He bounded up three steps. "Do you like football?" he asked, referring to the soccer of Ireland, the Irish lilt in his voice sounding more pronounced.

  "Oh, I do," Daniel replied quietly. "I've been to see the New York Jets."

  "Huh? Do they play for the World Cup, Aunt Zeno?" David asked, clearly puzzled.

  "No, darling. Remember I told you that in this country football is called soccer."

  "I forgot," he said solemnly, but with a twinkle in his eye as he came back down the steps and took her hand.

  Zen turned him around. "Now go back and say hello to your grandmother."

  "Oh... that's right." David ran and grabbed Sophie's right hand. "How do you do, Grandmother, I hope you're well," he recited, just as Zen had taught him. He laughed up at the stern-faced, older woman, totally at ease with her. "Are you going to kiss me now?"

  Sophie's rigid expression softened; then she seemed to collect herself. She leaned down and kissed David's cheek. "You are full of vinegar, I can see that. Do you speak Greek? Your brother Daniel does."

  "Mother," Damon said softly but firmly, "it's not necessary for the boy to know Greek since both of them will be speaking English."

  "That's all right. I don't mind teaching David to speak Greek," Daniel offered with a maturity beyond his years.

  "Okay," David said with a shrug, "but not now." Zen followed his gaze across the wide expanse of manicured lawn that sloped gently down to Long Island Sound. "We can play foot—I mean soccer—here. There's lots of room."

  "After you change your clothes... After you visit with your grandmother... After your rest," Zen told him.

  "Aunt Zeno," David wailed. "All those things to do first... I'll never get to play." He pushed out his chin, and glared at Zen, but she remained firm. "All right," he relented, "but I won't like it." He hung his head and paced the stone step, scowling, then grimaced at his twin. "Aunt Zeno is nice, but when she makes up her mind, ya havta go along." David's brogue thickened emotionally as he and Daniel stepped into the cavernous house, following a butler.

  Zen studied Sophie's steel-colored hair and black shoe-button eyes and thought she looked much the same as she had three years ago. She had a few more lines in her majestic face, but she stood as straight and as strong as ever.

  "Hello, Mrs. Aristides," Zen said. "It's been a long time." Zen was surprised at how stiff her words sounded. She was finding it hard to face this woman.

  "Hello, Xenobia. You look well... and prosperous. You didn't used to style your long hair like that... or wear such high heels. You've grown up."

  "I'm twenty-eight years old," Zen replied defensively.

  Sophie regarded her in thoughtful silence. "The April wind has a chill," she finally said. "Why don't we go inside?" She turned regally and walked slowly into the house.

  Following, Zen was temporarily blinded by the suddenly dim light after the bright sunshine. She stumbled slightly and instantly felt a hand at her waist. Stiffening, she pulled away and glanced up.

  Damon's face was hard as granite. "You didn't always pull away from me," he said softly but with underlying steel.

  "That was in another lifetime." Zen backed up a step and turned to face him. "I'm not some moonstruck girl you can manipulate like a puppet on a string." His angry expression made her take another involuntary step backward.

  "You—" He stopped, then gestured to a servant to help Yanos take the baggage upstairs.

  Released from the gaze of Damon's impenetrable black eyes, Zen hastened toward the sound of the boys' voices in the living room.

  Tea had been served, but, ignoring it, the boys stood facing each other on a Persian carpet. David was tossing a hard roll from hand to hand, and his grandmother was sitting straight-backed on a settee in front of the tea trolley, watching him.

  Mouth agape, Zen stared immobilized as David threw the roll into the air and butted it with his head like a soccer ball.

  "Now you try it," he instructed his twin.

  Daniel sailed his hard roll into the air and dived toward it, head first. He missed it by a wide margin and reeled into a Sheraton table, knocking over an Ainsley lamp.

  Zen leaped forward, reaching out to save the lamp just as Damon stepped in front of her. Her hand grazed his cheek moments before he deftly righted the lamp.

  "Zen!" he thundered, his right hand coming up to cover the scratched cheek at the same time that her forward momentum thrust her against his rock-hard chest. They staggered, his body absorbing the full impact of hers, then stumbled into a chair. Zen landed sprawled in Damon's lap. His arms tightened immediately around her as they gasped for breath.

  "Crikey, Aunt Zeno, look what you did to Uncle Damon's face." David's loud voice echoed in the suddenly quiet room. "She doesn't do things like this at home," he informed his open-mouthed twin. Then he smiled at his grandmother. "Sometimes Aunt Zeno plays soccer with me, though."

  "I see." Sophie Aristides had risen to her feet and was regarding with disapproval the tangle of legs and arms on her high-backed silk chair. "Damon, do get up. Xenobia, you will cover your legs." The boys giggled, and Damon muttered darkly.

  "Mother," he began, trying to set Zen on her feet, "I think you should pour the boys something to drink." His face was flushed with anger when he stood at last and met his mother's enigmatic expression.

  "I do not believe that tea or chocolate would have enticed the boys away from the intriguing sight of their aunt and uncle behaving like children in the living room." Ignoring her son's flaring nostrils and clenched teeth, Sophie put a hand on the shoulder of each boy and urged them toward the tea trolley. "There are homemade biscuits and cookies." She hesitated when she saw David mask a yawn with his hand. "After tea, I will rest before dinner. You may come up and talk with me, David. Daniel might like to speak to Aunt Zeno."

  Daniel smiled hesitantly at Zen, melting her anger and making her heart twist with love. In that instant, he looked so like Eleni.

  Zen took a chair across from Sophie and close to David, who sat cross-legged on a cushion and began eating a biscuit covered with strawberry jam.

  When Damon sat down, both boys stared at the scratch on his cheek. Sophie regarded it also, but said nothing. Embarrassed by what she'd done, but feeling angry and resentful toward Damon, who she didn't trust for one momen
t, Zen studied the pattern in her damask napkin.

  A few minutes later a plump woman in her fifties with black hair streaked with gray entered the room. She bestowed a warm smile on the boys and told them to come with her. Zen recognized the housekeeper who had been with the Aristides family for as long as she had known them.

  David hesitated and glanced at Zen.

  "You needn't mind, young mister," the woman said. "I'm Lona, and I'm going to show you which room is yours, and then you may go along to your grandmother's room, or wherever you like."

  "All right, but I want to sleep near Aunt Zeno. Sometimes she gets nightmares... and I take care of her," David said.

  Zen's stomach seemed to drop to her toes. She knew David was trying to hide his own nervousness, but she dreaded Damon's reaction to his revelation.

  Lona inclined her head and assured him he would be close to his Aunt Zeno. The boys left side by side, Lona leading the way.

  Silence fell over the room like a shroud.

  Sophie cleared her throat, the sound loud in the abrupt stillness. "So... you have nightmares, Xenobia?"

  Zen coughed nervously. "I did.. .a few times." She had no wish to discuss the bad dreams that had caused her many restless nights.

  "No doubt from losing your sister so tragically," Sophie mused.

  Zen nodded, determined never to tell anyone what had caused her nightmares... never to describe the long struggle to overcome them.

  "More coffee, Damon?" Sophie's voice was calm, unruffled.

  Damon held out his cup, his expression unreadable.

  "Tell me about your work, Xenobia." Mrs. Aristides poured more tea for Zen.

  "I'm an assistant designer with Deirdre Cable, of Cable Knits Limited, Dublin. Occasionally I design suits or dresses, but mostly I design fabric. I work closely with the weavers. I love my job, and I make a good living for David and myself." She took a deep breath. "I'm on leave for three months."

  "You haven't married."

  "No."

  "Damon is getting married, next year perhaps, to a Melissa Harewell."

  "That name doesn't sound Greek," Zen snapped, then bit her lip.

  Damon glared at her. "Lissa's bloodlines do not concern me, or should they you," he said. "Her family has been in this country since the Pilgrims."

  "Ah... you mean she's descended from the thieves and reprobates who first settled this country."

  Damon rounded on her. "You're twisting my words, Zen."

  "It's strange that I didn't see her picture in the New York Times," Zen went on, seemingly unperturbed. "I get it in Dublin." She took a sip of tea.

  "We haven't formally announced it yet." Damon grimaced at his mother, who placidly dropped two lumps of sugar into his coffee. "Mother, I never take sugar."

  "Perhaps she thinks you need to add something sweet to your system," Zen shot at him.

  "You haven't changed, Zen," he accused her. "Still the same sharp tongue you've always had." He took a sip of coffee and choked. "Mother, I'd like another cup."

  "Of course."

  Zen set down her tea. "I think I'll go up and see how David is."

  "No need," Sophie said swiftly. "Do tell me about the man you intend to marry."

  "Mother, Zen never said she was marrying," Damon said coldly.

  "I think it would be good for her to marry. It's difficult to raise a boy alone. Of course once you are married, you will be in a position to take both boys."

  "Never!" Zen surged to her feet. "If you think I would let you take David from me—"-

  "I've never said anything like—" Damon protested.

  "Then why did your mother—"

  Damon jumped to his feet as well. "My mother and I have never discussed taking David from you."

  "You can't. Don't forget that. That was all thrashed out in court three years ago when I obtained permission to take him to Ireland." Zen faced him, arms akimbo, her eyes snapping fire at him.

  "Why do you keep reading things into what I say?" Damon demanded.

  "Because I know you, and I'm going to be watching you all the time. Seamus—"

  "Don't bring his name into it!"

  "Stop shouting! You sound like a dockworker." Zen shook her fist in his face as his mother's hand hovered delicately over the cookie tray.

  "And you sound like an Irish washerwoman."

  "Don't you make fun of the Irish," Zen shouted, furious.

  "I wasn't making fun of the Irish; I was drawing an analogy," Damon explained in a low roar as his mother dabbed calmly at her lips with a napkin.

  "Bushwaugh!" Zen riposted.

  Sophie looked up with mild curiosity. "Is that an Irish curse word?" she asked.

  "No!" Damon and Zen shouted together, looking at her, then back at each other.

  "Oh," said Sophie.

  Damon took a deep breath, drawing Zen's eyes to his breadth of shoulder. "We invited you here so that the boys would have a chance to get acquainted. Isn't that right, Mother?"

  "Hmm? Oh, yes. I think it would be a fine idea for Xenobia to see how well the two boys would fit into the life you and Melissa are planning." She finished on a sigh, putting a tiny, cherry-filled crepe into her mouth and closing her eyes in enjoyment.

  "Mother!" Damon stared at her.

  "I am not letting you have David! I would not have come here if I'd known I would be subjected to this kind of aggravation." Zen took a deep breath to continue, but Damon interrupted.

  "Aggravation!" he stormed. "What do you call what you did to me at the airport today?"

  "Oh? What was that?" Sophie asked, stirring her Turkish coffee in small, precise circles.

  "She struck me... in the stomach," Damon muttered, not taking his eyes from Zen.

  "Really?" Sophie's narrow mouth twitched once, as though she were stifling a smile.

  "It was a little lower than that, I think. In the groin, perhaps?" Zen clarified with great relish, glancing at his mother. "Anyway, it was an accident." She looked back at Damon. "I told you that." She lifted her chin defiantly.

  "Accident? Bull! I see now that you deliberately tried to incapacitate me."

  "Only in the bedroom," Zen riposted, then felt her face flush with embarrassment as she remembered his mother's presence.

  But Sophie was busy studying the cookie tray and seemed not to have heard.

  "It will be a cold day in hell when you can put me out of commission in bed," Damon said. His eyes had a coal-hard sheen that seemed to pierce to her inner core and spark an inexplicable emotion.

  "Who cares what you do in... anywhere!" Zen cried.

  They stood staring at each other, the strength of their antipathy... and some other feeling... making them oblivious to everything but each other.

  "You are a guest in my house, and as such you will be treated with respect and courtesy."

  "Just as you would treat the family goat on the island of Keros?" Zen shot back.

  "Stop acting as though we were born in Greece. You were born here, just as I was." Damon struggled visibly to control his temper.

  "I was born in Selkirk, New York, not on Long Island," Zen pointed out childishly.

  "Oh, I don't think you've changed much," Sophie said into the sudden silence. "Xenobia still has that turned-up nose, which is so un-Greek."

  "Many people prefer a turned-up nose," Damon said.

  "Not Greeks." His mother shrugged.

  "You do not speak for all Greeks," her son thundered. "Besides, this is the United States."

  "I am pleased, my son, that your geography lessons were not wasted on you."

  Damon's teeth snapped together as he studied his mother, baffled anger twisting his classic features.

  "And, of course, Xenobia's endearing habit of attacking you at every turn—"

  "She doesn't do that."

  "I don't do that."

  Damon and Zen spoke at the same time.

  Sophie shrugged. "Well, how would you describe that little scene when she scratched your cheek,
then fell into your lap with her skirt riding up to her thighs? I cannot say I approve." She selected another sweet.

  "It was an accident," Damon growled.

  Suddenly Zen had had enough. "Excuse me. I think I'll go to my room," she said through clenched teeth. "I assume it's the same one I had before." She stalked out of the living room before either Damon or Sophie could answer.

  Chapter 2

  It would have been an exaggeration to say that the Aristides' home was in a state of siege, but in the days that followed Zen found the atmosphere distinctly unfriendly—except where the two boys were concerned.

  Not only had they become friends but David, who had never been interested in anything but games, was trying hard to learn Greek; and Daniel, who, as he told Zen, had never cared for sports, was discovering he had a natural ability at soccer.

  The next afternoon, Zen was playing goalie as the boys brought the soccer ball down the field toward the net that Yanos had constructed for them. The ground was damp from a morning drizzle, and the grass was slippery. As the ball sped toward Zen, she dived to repel it, but suddenly she lost her footing and crashed against the uprights holding the net.

  She stood up slowly, feeling a little shaken and cradling her left arm, where she knew a bruise would show the next day. Suddenly she was swung up into powerful

  Her senses reeled. Her head bounced against a hard shoulder as her rescuer began running for the house. "Damon! Damon, stop it. Put me down. I'm not hurt."

  He slowed to a stop, the boys puffing up behind him, but he didn't release her. His eyes swept intently over her, seeming to check every pore.

  "Is Aunt Zeno hurt, Uncle Damon?" Daniel asked anxiously.

  "Naw," David answered. "Aunt Zeno doesn't get hurt, do you?" David looked up at his aunt as she lay cradled in Damon's arms.

  "No, of course I don't. Damon, you can put me down now." She pushed against his steel like body.

  "Do you like being carried, Aunt Zeno?" David frowned up at her. "When I grow up, I can carry you, too."

  "I wouldn't want you to, dear." She smiled down at the boy, then looked up at Damon. "Will you put me down?" she insisted. She glanced toward the house and groaned as Sophie stepped onto the terrace, watching them.