Emma crossed to the railing and breathed deep. Funny that she’d never realised how much she missed this place till she returned. The scent of the sea was so evocative, mingling with the perfume of blossom and something else she couldn’t name. A spicy aroma that tugged a cord low in her belly. She closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose, her brow crinkling in concentration. It was tantalisingly familiar and deeply attractive. She just couldn’t place it.
‘Hello, Emma.’ Christo’s voice, warm as melted chocolate, enveloped her. ‘Couldn’t sleep?’
She spun, one hand grabbing the railing for support, the other automatically closing the neck of her robe.
He stood a little way along the balcony. The private balcony accessed only by the master suite and one extra room where Papou had occasionally slept when Grandma had been ill and easily disturbed.
Emma blinked, but he was still there. Christo Karides, looking as she’d never seen him before. The light was too dim to read his expression but there was still a lot to see. A lot of naked flesh. He wore only loose, low-slung trousers that rode his hips and looked on the verge of sliding down long, hard thighs.
She swallowed abruptly and yanked her gaze up. But there was his bare torso. The starlight picked out sculpted lines and curves that spoke of power and pure eroticism.
He looked wonderful fully clothed. But half-naked, he was stunning. She’d dreamed of him nude so often but it was a shock to discover how compelling the sight of that bare body was. How it smashed through her anger and drilled down to the burning truth within her. That physically, at least, she’d never stopped craving this man. Even the rounded angles, from shoulders to arms and the symmetry of that tall, muscular frame, were too much.
Emma’s breath disintegrated in an audible sigh and she swung away to stare at the sea. But her precarious calm was gone. She heard nothing over her pulse’s catapulting rhythm.
And the tiny voice in her brain that spoke of want.
‘What are you doing here?’ She turned her head in his general direction, but not far enough to see him. This blast of weakness was too appalling. She refused to feed it.
‘Like you, I had trouble sleeping.’ He paused but only for a fraction. ‘Perhaps we should find something to do together that will tire us out.’
Emma ignored the amusement in his tone and the blatant innuendo. That didn’t deserve an answer.
But she couldn’t ignore the unnerving hollow ache low in her body. Or the spiralling heat. It was as if at twenty-two her body had suddenly lost all connection with her brain, or with that part of it devoted to rational thought. She despised this man. She never wanted to see him again. But her long-dormant libido hadn’t got the message yet. Once roused by him, it was still alive and eager.
‘I mean, what are you doing here, in this part of the house? We prepared a different suite for you.’
‘And it was charming. But totally unsuitable.’
Emma was on the point of swinging round to look at him when she changed her mind. Instead she anchored her fingers on the decorative ironwork railing and clenched her teeth.
‘Why?’
‘Because I asked Dora where your room was and told her I wanted to be next door. I refuse to sleep in the wing furthest from my wife. As you said, we have a relationship to forge.’
‘I was talking about you and Anthea.’ Her fingers tightened till they felt numb.
‘Us too, Emma.’ His voice slid easily to that faux intimate note that in the past had drawn her in so easily. The note that she’d innocently thought signalled genuine caring. She knew better now.
‘There’s no need for that. It’s a marriage in name only and it will last just twelve months.’
‘You know that’s not true. You know there’s more between us.’
Unable to contain herself, she spun round to face him. He’d moved closer, so close she could almost touch him. She jerked her gaze up and caught the glitter in his eyes.
‘There won’t be anything more. I’m not signing that contract.’
Slowly, annoyingly, he shook his head. ‘I wasn’t talking about the contract. I was talking about the fact that we want each other.’
‘Not any more.’ Emma curled her fingers, fighting the restless urge to reach out.
‘Liar.’ It was the merest whisper yet the accusation tolled through her body like a chiming bell.
He was right. That was the horrible truth.
Here in the intimate darkness, Emma felt the thousand proofs of it. The thrust of her pebbled nipples against the silk of her nightgown. The way that fine fabric grazed her bare flesh as if every nerve ending was suddenly too sensitive. The liquid heat between her legs. The edginess that made her want to shift and wriggle and, worse, press herself up against that hard body and discover how it would feel to...
‘I don’t want you, Christo.’ It was the first bald-faced lie she could remember telling. But she refused to let him think she was so pathetic.
‘Really?’ He didn’t sound at all dismayed. ‘I could prove you wrong.’ He shifted his weight, as if to step nearer, and Emma’s heart leapt.
‘No closer!’ Emma flung her arm up, palm out. It took everything she had to draw air into her lungs and find her voice but she did it. She’d learn to resist him if it killed her. ‘I don’t want to go to bed with you.’
Could he hear the lie?
At least he didn’t move closer. In fact, to her astonishment, he turned and leaned his weight on the balustrade, looking out to sea. Her gaze roved his profile, from that strong nose to the hard angle of his jaw and up to the dark hair that looked rumpled, as if he’d dragged his hands through it.
Christo in a suit had been handsome. Christo pared back to basics and ever so slightly dishevelled made Emma’s belly squeeze in longing.
Abruptly she turned away, sucking in a deep breath and placing her hands on the same railing.
‘Don’t look so scared. I told you I’d never force a woman. I’ll wait till you come to me.’
She opened her mouth, to say that would never happen, then closed it again. The words would wash off him like water off a rock. She’d just have to demonstrate she meant what she said.
‘So you don’t want a contract now?’ He sounded mildly curious, as if the issue of her sleeping with him was only of minor interest.
That, surely, would feed her determination? She’d never been brash or loud, demanding attention, but he’d already made her feel insignificant and taken for granted. She refused to settle for that.
‘I don’t want that contract.’
‘Ah. But you still want everything else.’
‘“Everything else” being property that’s mine by right.’ Adrenalin pumped through her blood. ‘Or should have been if you hadn’t inveigled your way into my grandfather’s trust.’
How a wily businessman like Papou had been taken in by Christo Karides, Emma would never understand. His health might have been failing but his mind had been sharp right till the end. It was he who’d warned her uncle that he’d over-extended, expanding his construction business so rapidly.
‘Tell me about this place.’ Christo’s low voice drew her back to the present.
Instantly Emma stiffened as suspicion reared. ‘Why do you want to know? I thought your company handled commercial property. Isn’t that where you invest?’
‘Relax. I only want to know because it’s important to you. I heard it in your voice when you talked about it in Australia.’ He paused. ‘And you seem different here.’
She frowned. ‘Different?’
‘More assured. More confident.’
Emma shook her head and, standing straighter, turned to face her nemesis. ‘I’m the same woman I always was. Nothing’s changed.’ Except she’d lost the last person she held dear. ‘You were looking for a quiet mouse so you believed everything Papou told you about me.’ Maybe this time he’d believe her.
‘And your grandfather didn’t get it right?’ Instead of sounding annoyed,
Christo’s tone was merely curious.
She shrugged. ‘He thought I was more delicate than I am.’ Emma paused, wondering how much to share. But maybe this would convince Christo he was mistaken in thinking she could ever be the sort of wife he wanted. ‘I had asthma badly as a kid and I was on the small side. Even though I grew out of the asthma, Papou never quite believed it. He was over-protective. He used to worry, so I learned not to confront him over things that didn’t matter.’
Which had led to her taking the path of least resistance a lot of the time. Maybe if she’d stood up to him more often he wouldn’t have persuaded Christo that she’d make the perfect homebody.
‘I’m not a dutiful doormat.’
‘So I’ve discovered.’ Was that approval in his voice? She had to be imagining it. ‘Now, about the villa...’
Emma stared up into that bold, shadowy face and wondered why he really wanted to know. On the other hand, talking with Christo was better than fighting him. Even with right on her side she found that unsettling.
She’d never enjoyed confrontation, but arguing with him was simultaneously frustrating and—Emma hated to admit it—exhilarating. As if the pulse of energy between them gave her a rush she’d never experienced before.
That was just plain crazy.
Finding her gaze straying down to those broad, straight shoulders and the muscled body limned by starlight, Emma swung away. She planted her palms on the railing and fixed her eyes on the view.
Which wasn’t nearly as fascinating as the view of the man standing beside her.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to find the resolve she needed to pretend he didn’t affect her.
Yet when she spoke her voice had a hoarse edge that she feared betrayed her. ‘My grandparents met on Corfu. Papou had come back for a friend’s wedding and my grandmother was on holiday from Australia. After a week, they were engaged. Three months later they were married.’
‘Your grandfather was a decisive man.’
‘Love at first sight is a family tradition. My aunt and uncle married after four months and my parents after two.’ Emma snapped her mouth shut, belatedly seeing the connection to her own disastrous wedding. She’d fallen for Christo in record time. Because she genuinely believed in him, or because she’d been programmed to think love at first sight was utterly reasonable?
Now she knew to her cost how perilous that illusion was.
‘And your grandfather owned this place?’
‘It was his grandfather’s.’ She opened her eyes to survey the familiar coastline, the fragrant garden and behind it the silvery sweep of olive trees rising up the slope towards the hills. ‘My grandmother adored it from the moment he brought her here. She was a horticulturalist and loved seeing what she could grow.’
‘So they lived here.’
Emma shook her head. ‘Only for a short time. Mainly they lived in Athens, then Australia. Papou was a businessman with interests on the mainland. In those days tele-commuting wasn’t an option. But this was always their favourite place. They’d come here several times a year. Even when they moved to Australia they came back regularly. We all did.’
‘It had sentimental value, then.’ He paused. ‘For you too.’
Silently she nodded, surprised at the understanding in Christo’s voice. She couldn’t believe he had a sentimental bone in his body. Some of her happiest memories centred around this place. Of those precious years before her parents died. Of course there were other memories of them, of their day-to-day lives in Australia, but here at the villa there’d always been more time together as a family. Time Emma treasured.
She drew a breath and made herself focus on the present. ‘It’s a nice old place.’ She wouldn’t admit exactly how much it meant to her. Who knew how Christo would try to use that to his advantage? ‘It’s also an asset I can use to support myself.’
‘Because you’re determined to be independent.’ His tone was non-committal but Emma heard the question.
‘That’s always been the plan.’ Though she hadn’t originally envisaged herself building a business here, in Greece. ‘I’ve got a degree in business and event management. Plus experience in the field.’ Okay, it was part-time experience, first with a major event organiser and later with a small but up-and-coming wedding planner. But full-time work had been impossible while she studied and looked after Papou. ‘Of course I’ll work.’
‘Some would say marrying a wealthy man is a great career move. You need never lift a finger to support yourself.’
Emma’s breath sucked in so sharply, pain shafted behind her ribs to radiate out and fill her chest.
She swivelled to face him, outrage obliterating caution. ‘You...’ She was so furious, the words backed up in her throat. In frustration she pointed a finger at his chest. ‘You...’
Warm fingers enclosed hers and a thread of fire traced from his touch along to her elbow, then up to her shoulder, making her quiver.
‘You’re accusing me of marrying you for money?’ Finally the words poured out, high and harsh.
‘It’s not unknown.’ Christo’s voice was matter-of-fact. His utter lack of expression was fuel to the fire of her anger. Did he think she’d been on the make?
‘My family might not be as wealthy as yours, but we’re not stony broke. At least, we weren’t, before you weaselled your way into my grandfather’s good graces.’ For now Christo controlled her assets. ‘But even if I didn’t have a cent to my name—’ scarily, she wasn’t too far off that now ‘—I would never marry a man just to get his money.’
Vaguely Emma was aware of heat encasing her fingers as his big hand surrounded hers. But she was more concerned with convincing Christo he was utterly wrong about her.
‘What proof have you got?’ His tone was infuriatingly calm. ‘Women do it all the time.’
That, Emma realised with a jolt, was the second time he’d referred to women cold-bloodedly targeting men as meal tickets. Suddenly she had a glimpse of the down side of being a mega-wealthy bachelor. Christo would never know how much of his appeal was down to his bank balance.
Tough! That didn’t give him the right to use her for his convenience. Or accuse her of being a liar.
‘Well, I don’t. I didn’t come looking for you, Christo Karides. I didn’t deliberately set out to con you into marriage.’ That had been him, targeting her and playing up to her hopes and vulnerabilities.
‘So, if you didn’t marry me for my money...’ his words were slow and warm, like sun-drenched honey dropping onto her skin ‘...why did you marry me, Emma?’
It was only as the darkness pulsed between them and the silence grew heavy with waiting that Emma recognised his trap. To tell the truth meant admitting that she’d fallen in love with him. Or at least fallen for the mirage of love.
‘This conversation’s getting us nowhere. That’s in the past and—’
‘On the contrary, this conversation is just getting interesting.’ He lowered his head, as if trying to read her face in the darkness. ‘Tell me why you married me, Emma.’
That voice, honey now mixed with rumbling gravel, scraped through her insides. But, instead of leaving painful grazes, it stirred something altogether unwanted. Something she needed to banish. If only she knew how!
Suddenly she realised the danger of being this close to him. Of his flesh on hers. ‘I want to go inside.’
‘Could it be,’ he went on as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘Because of this...?’
He tugged her hand, pulling her against him. Emma’s hissed breath was loud as she planted her other palm on his chest to push him away.
But before she could he’d raised her captured hand to his face and pressed his lips to her palm. She felt surprisingly soft lips and the delicious abrasion of his hair-roughened jaw, a reminder of his masculinity, as if she needed it!
Instantly sensation juddered through her.
Desire.
Delight.
Weakness.
Shivers reverberated
through her and Emma knew she had to fight this. But then Christo moved, bending lower to kiss the sensitive flesh of her wrist, creating a shower of sparks in her blood.
The trouble was Emma had so little experience. There’d been a guy at university when she’d been eighteen but that had never progressed beyond a few kisses, because her grandmother had died and suddenly, more than ever, she’d been needed at home. She had no experience withstanding such powerfully erotic caresses. Or the demands of her own body, finally woken after so long.
Firming her mouth, she pushed that unyielding chest with her free hand. It made no impact.
Or perhaps she didn’t push very hard. For now Christo was kissing his way along the bare flesh of her forearm where the wide sleeve of her robe fell back.
His grip wasn’t tight. She could yank her hand free. If only she could find the willpower to do it.
But, oh, the lush sensations spreading from those tiny yet incredibly intimate kisses.
Her breath sawed and in her ears blood rushed helter-skelter.
He’d reached her elbow and she stiffened like a yacht’s sail snapping taut in the wind. Taut but trembling too, at the sensations he evoked. Her hand on his chest no longer pushed. Instead it splayed, fingers wide, absorbing the sultry heat of his hard chest and the teasing friction of the smudge of dark hair on his pectorals.
‘Stop that now.’ Because, heaven help her, she couldn’t. ‘I’m not sleeping with you, Christo.’
That caught his attention. He looked up and even in the gloom she caught the brilliance of his eyes as he looked down at her. Then, without uttering a word, he put his mouth to her arm and slowly licked her inner elbow.
Emma’s knees all but gave way as a frighteningly potent shot of lust punched her. She made a sound, a soft, keening noise that she wouldn’t have thought possible if she hadn’t heard it slide from her lips.
She cleared her throat, ready to demand he release her, when she felt the scrape of teeth nipping the soft flesh in the crease of her elbow. Then almost immediately the strong draw against her skin as he sucked the spot.
Emma bit down hard on her lip to prevent a groan escaping into the night. She’d had no idea something as ordinary as an elbow could be so sensitive. That it could make her feel...
Modern Romance May 2019: Books 5-8 Page 23