But Emma refused to be convinced. She shook her head, wet hair slipping over her shoulders. Trails of sea water ran down from it to the miniscule triangles of her bikini top. Christo followed those wet tracks to the proud points of her nipples. Another wave of lust hit him and his flesh tightened across his bones as he fought the impulse to reach out and claim her.
‘You’re mine.’ The words emerged as a roughened growl.
She stiffened, her chin jerking higher. ‘Not for long. I’m filing for divorce.’
Like hell she would!
He’d carefully chosen Emma after considering all the options. Every reason he’d had for making her his wife still stood.
He needed her to make a real home instead of the bachelor flat he’d lived in for years. He needed her to be a mother to Anthea, providing a stable, caring environment for the little girl who was a stranger to him and with whom he had no hope of building a rapport.
Besides, Emma was his, and what Christo possessed he kept. It was in his nature.
Then there was today’s revelation. That he wanted his wife with a hunger more powerful than he’d thought possible. That just standing here, fully dressed while she wore nothing but a bright bikini and a frown, brought him closer to the edge of his control than he’d been in years.
He intended to have her.
On his terms.
‘File away, wife.’
He saw her flinch at the word and vowed that one day soon she’d purr at the sound of his voice. The thought of his runaway wife, eager for his touch, offering her delicious body for his pleasure, made the blood sing in his veins.
‘But, before you do, I’d advise you to investigate the consequences. Divorce isn’t an option.’
CHAPTER THREE
EMMA GROUND HER TEETH.
She was tired of men trying to rule her life. At least Papou had acted from love, not self-interest, wanting to see her ‘safe’ with a ‘good’ man before he died. Christo Karides had no such excuse. Her battered heart dipped on the thought but she refused to crumble as the familiar hurt intensified.
Instead she watched the tall figure of her husband turn and saunter back along the beach without a glance in her direction.
He should have looked out of place, ridiculously overdressed, wearing a tailored dark business suit on a sandy beach. Instead, as she watched his easy stride, the latent strength in those broad shoulders and long legs, a thrill of appreciation coursed through her.
What a terrible thing desire was.
Her love, still fresh and new, had been battered away, swamped by pain and outrage. Yet standing in the sunlight, shivering not with cold but with a heat that she tried to label fury, Emma realised in horror that things weren’t so simple.
She despised Christo Karides.
She loathed the cold-hearted way he’d set out to use her.
She vowed never to trust a word he said.
Yet as she watched him disappear around the end of the beach honesty forced her to admit she still desired him. That hadn’t disappeared with her trust and her foolish dreams.
In Melbourne she’d thought the slow pace of his wooing sweet, proof he was considerate to her grief. At the same time she’d hungered for more than gentle caresses.
Now that hunger coalesced with the white-hot ire in her belly, producing an overwhelming mix of emotion and carnal need. She wanted to hurt him for the hurt he’d inflicted on her, yet at the same time she wanted...
Emma gritted her teeth and forced herself to breathe slowly.
She did not want Christo. She refused to allow herself to want him.
What she wanted, what she needed, was to free herself of him and this appalling marriage. She had plans, didn’t she? An exciting scheme that would require all her energy and skill and which promised the reward of self-sufficiency in this place she loved.
Who did he think he was to decree divorce wasn’t an option?
He might be the expert negotiator, the consummate sleazy liar who thought her easy pickings, but he was about to discover Emma Piper couldn’t be steamrollered into compliance!
* * *
Forty-five minutes later Emma made her way from her bedroom to the salon with its expansive views of the sea.
Instead of hurrying to shower and dress, she’d taken her time, after having checked with Dora that Christo was, in fact, still on the premises. With that knowledge she’d locked her door and set about deciding what to wear.
Ideally she’d have worn a tailored suit, severe and businesslike. But Steph had persuaded her to splash out on new clothes for her honeymoon, reminding her that Papou would have wanted her to enjoy herself.
There was nothing businesslike in her wardrobe here. In the end, Emma gave up worrying about what impression her clothes might give Christo. She’d dress for herself.
The swish of her lightweight sea-green skirt around her bare legs reminded her of the holiday she was supposed to be enjoying. That she intended to enjoy as soon as he’d left. Her flat sandals were beach-comfortable rather than dressy and she wore a simple top that was an old favourite.
But she pulled her hair up into a tight knot at the back of her head and put on make-up, feeling that armour was necessary for the upcoming confrontation.
Ignoring the way the door knob slipped in her clammy palm, Emma opened the door and walked in.
To her surprise, Christo wasn’t on his phone, absorbed in business, or pacing the vast room in obvious impatience.
Instead he stood at one end of the room, perusing the family photos her grandmother had collected. Generations of photos, mainly taken here on the Corfu estate to where Papou had brought his Australian bride before they’d decided to live full-time in her home country.
Christo swung around. His pinioning stare brought all the feelings she tried to suppress roaring into life.
After a moment Emma gathered herself. She had nothing to answer for.
She opened her mouth to ask if he needed another drink, then shut it again, annoyed that innate politeness made her even consider making the offer. Instead she crossed to a comfortable chair and sat.
‘We need to talk.’ Good. She sounded calm yet cool.
Silently one black eyebrow rose with arrogant query. The effect might have made her squirm if she hadn’t been prepared.
‘Or, if you prefer, I’m happy to finalise this via our lawyers.’
To Emma’s chagrin that didn’t dent his composure in the least. He strolled the length of the room, stopping to tower over her long enough to make her wonder if she’d made a mistake, taking a seat. Then, just before she shot to her feet, he settled into a chair, not opposite her but slightly to one side.
Emma silently cursed his game-playing and shuffled round to face him. Her skirt rode up at one side and she tugged it down, wishing she’d worn jeans instead.
Annoyingly, Christo looked utterly unruffled.
Until she saw the fire in his eyes and the determined set of his jaw.
Clearly he wasn’t used to being crossed.
Good. It was time someone punctured his self-absorption.
‘I’ll file for divorce in Australia. I assume that’s easiest.’ Her tight chest eased a fraction as she spoke. It would be a relief to take action after days of doing nothing but grapple with disappointment and hurt. It was time to stop the self-pity.
‘That’s not a good idea, Emma.’
She frowned. ‘I can’t stay married to a man I despise.’
For an instant she thought she read something new flare in those heavy-lidded eyes. Something that sent a shiver tumbling down her backbone.
Emma sat straighter. What did she care if he wasn’t used to hearing the truth about himself? He’d behaved appallingly and she refused to pretend otherwise.
‘I know you’re upset by your recent loss, so I’m willing to forgo the apology for your behaviour. But—’
‘Apology for my behaviour?’ She barely got the words out, she was so indignant.
A
nnoyingly, Christo simply nodded. ‘Disappearing from your own wedding breakfast is hardly good form.’
She goggled at him.
‘But your aunt and I convinced everyone you were completely overwrought. That the wedding had come too soon after the loss of your grandfather.’ He spread his hands. ‘I took the blame for wanting an early wedding, but your family understood and were very sympathetic.’
Emma opened her mouth then closed it again, feeling pressure build inside like steam in a kettle.
This was unbelievable!
‘You made it sound like I had a breakdown? And they believed you?’
He shrugged, the movement emphasising the powerful outline of his shoulders and chest. ‘What else could they believe? Your suitcase was gone, with your purse and passport.’ His eyes narrowed to glowing slits that belied his relaxed pose. As if he were even now calculating how she’d managed to get away. Did he suspect Steph of helping? Had he bullied her into confessing? Steph hadn’t mentioned it, but then she wouldn’t.
‘Once your aunt got that nonsensical message from you, of course she wondered.’
Emma shot to her feet. ‘It wasn’t nonsensical. I explained I needed time alone to think things through.’
Christo merely lifted those sleek black eyebrows and leaned back. ‘Exactly. What sane woman would do that when she had a caring family and a brand-new husband to share her problems with?’
‘Except you were the problem!’ Emma heard her voice rise on a querulous note and swung away, pacing across to the window.
The view across the terrace to the private cove and bright sea did nothing to calm her fury. No one, not even her papou at his most obstinate, had got under Emma’s skin the way this man had. Had she ever been so furious, her thoughts skittering so wildly?
How straightforward her world had been, how easy to be calm, before Christo Karides had slithered into her life.
Emma’s heart hammered high in her chest at his gall, implying she was an emotional wreck who’d had a breakdown.
With a huge effort she pushed that aside. ‘You said you’d worried I’d been abducted. But you knew I’d taken my luggage.’
Another nonchalant shrug. ‘That wasn’t clear at first. Your friend Steph didn’t seem quite sure. And, even if you had left of your own free will, you could still have got into trouble. You’re not used to being by yourself.’
Emma blinked. Christo made her sound like a child. Clearly he had no concept of the fact that she’d run Papou’s house and some of his local investments for years. She’d chosen to live there for Papou’s sake, not because she lacked independence.
Pride demanded she set the record straight.
She swung round and met that complacent, slate-blue stare, feeling the instant buzz of reaction as their gazes clashed. Immediately she changed her mind. Why explain to a man who’d soon be out of her life?
The notion eased the tightness cramping her chest and shoulders.
‘We’re wasting time. What’s done is done.’ It was time they moved on.
‘I agree.’ Yet the way Christo surveyed her, like a cat poised outside a mouse hole, warned her the next step wouldn’t be so simple.
It was on the tip of her tongue to demand an apology but the way he sprawled there, ankles crossed nonchalantly, arms spread across the upholstery as he surveyed her, Emma knew she had no hope of getting satisfaction on that front.
The only satisfaction she’d get from this man was knowing she’d never have to see or hear from him again.
‘It’s in both our interests to end this quickly,’ she began. ‘Would an annulment be faster, do you know?’
‘You think I’m an expert on unconsummated marriages?’ For the first time Emma saw more than a flicker of annoyance in Christo’s preternaturally still expression. Did he think she impugned his manhood by mentioning an annulment? She wouldn’t be surprised. ‘But I can tell you it would be a mistake.’
‘How so?’ Maybe annulments weren’t simple after all.
‘Because I refuse to consider it. Can you imagine the press furore if it became public?’ He shook his head with grim disapproval.
‘Frankly, I don’t care. All I want is to be shot of you.’
His eyes narrowed to steely slits and his stare turned laser-sharp, scraping her throat and face. Emma crossed her arms and refused to look away.
‘You’ve led a sheltered life. You have no idea how disruptive media attention can be till you’ve lived in the public eye.’
He was right. Emma had seen the articles about his business prowess, defying the odds when Greece’s economy had faltered and his global investments had continued to return so spectacularly. And more, about his private life, all those assignations with beautiful women.
She shrugged one tense shoulder, her lips twisting in distaste. ‘I’ll cope, if it means ending this marriage quickly.’
‘You really think you’d be able to deal with paparazzi camped at your door? Following you wherever you go? Digging up dirt—’
‘There’s no dirt to dig up!’ At least not about her. Who knew what secrets Christo guarded?
‘They’d invent something. The press are good at that.’ He paused. ‘Unless you have the power to keep them in check. As I have.’
Emma shuddered at the picture he painted of her hounded by photographers, of scurrilous stories in the tabloids, of friends and family pestered for interviews.
‘If not an annulment, then a divorce.’
Christo spread his hands in mock sympathy. ‘You’d still be hounded relentlessly.’
Emma lifted her chin. ‘Maybe I’ll sell my story to them instead. Have you thought of that? I could make big bucks and then they’d leave me alone.’
For a second Emma thought he’d surge to his feet. She read the quickened pulse throbbing at his temple and the severe line of his mouth and knew Christo Karides wasn’t used to such defiance.
Did people always do as he demanded? It was time someone broke the trend. Satisfaction filled Emma at the thought of being the one to disrupt his plans. She wasn’t a pawn to be played to suit his schemes.
‘Good try, Emma, but you won’t do it.’
‘You think you know me so well?’ She sucked in a rough breath, trying to control the wobble in her voice. It didn’t matter that fury, not hurt, made it unsteady. She hated the idea of seeming weak before this man. ‘You have no idea who I really am. You never did.’
For what seemed an age, her surveyed her. ‘I know you’re a private person. You don’t wear your heart on your sleeve.’ He paused and she wondered, choking down hurt, whether he realised he was rubbing salt on her wounds.
For she had worn her heart on her sleeve. She’d been gullible, believing the unbelievable—that handsome, charming Christo Karides, with the world at his feet, actually cared for mousy little Emma Piper.
She spun on her heel and hurried across to the window, feigning interest in the view she knew as well as the back of her hand. It gave her time to deal with the honed blade of pain slicing through her.
Silence swallowed the room. When Christo spoke again his voice had lost that easy, almost amused cadence. ‘What I mean is, you have more pride and integrity than to share anything so personal with the gutter press.’
Was he complimenting her? Emma blinked out at the sunlight glittering on the Ionian Sea and told herself it was too little and far, far too late.
‘Coping with the press is a problem I’ll deal with when I have to. My priority now is getting a divorce as quickly as possible.’
‘That’s not going to happen, Emma.’
Was that pity in his voice?
Her hackles rose. She swung round and was relieved to find she’d been wrong. That tight jaw spoke of impatience, nothing softer.
‘You can prolong the process but you can’t stop it.’ That much she knew.
‘You’re my wife. We made vows—’
‘Vows that meant nothing whatsoever to you!’ Hearing her voice grow striden
t, she paused, hefting a shallow breath. Emma needed to stay calm, not fall apart. She’d run from him once, overwhelmed by the disillusionment that had rocked her to the core. She refused to give in to emotion now.
‘I vowed to honour you, to cherish and look after you.’ He’d never looked more proud or more determined. ‘I have every intention of doing just that. This misunderstanding—’
‘There’s no misunderstanding. You cold-heartedly set about marrying me for a property deal.’ As if she were a chunk of real estate! ‘And to get a carer for your child.’ Emma dragged in another breath but couldn’t fill her lungs. ‘Your baby is your responsibility. Yours and your lover’s.’
An image filled her mind of Christo as she’d imagined him so often, sprawled naked in bed. But this time he wasn’t smiling invitingly at her, he was kissing another woman. Their limbs were entwined and...
Emma banished the image and ignored the sour tang on her tongue that might, if she thought about it, be jealousy.
When she spoke again her voice was ragged. ‘Together you need to look after the baby, not foist it on someone else.’
Her heart pumped an unfamiliar beat as adrenalin surged. Emma wasn’t used to confrontation. She was a negotiator, a people pleaser, not a fighter. But something inside her had snapped the day she discovered Christo’s motives and she still rode that wave of indignation.
She didn’t know which was worse—that he’d played on her emotions and callously made her fall for him, or that he’d tried to palm his baby off on someone else. An innocent child deserved its parents’ love.
What sort of world did the man inhabit? Surely one far removed from hers, where family and friends were everything.
Suddenly she realised he was on his feet, prowling towards her. Emma swallowed but stood her ground.
Fortunately he stopped a couple of paces away, so the illusion of distance held, though she caught a hint of the aftershave he used—cedar, spice and leather mingling with warm male skin. To her dismay, a little shimmy of appreciation shot through her.
Modern Romance May 2019: Books 5-8 Page 19