Revelations Of His Runaway Bride (Mills & Boon Modern)

by Kali Anthony

  Anyhow, Christo despised her. After that exchange in his office, the interminable silence on his plane, she had been left only with businesslike interactions before each function. Information so she knew who was coming, what to say.

  It was preferable, all this sullen formality. Except when they were on show as a couple. Then he epitomised the perfect husband. Pretending to be interested, pretending to care. All those affectionate meaningless touches and still her treacherous body sang to every single one.

  Those thoughts chased her. So Thea ran. Ran till the air burned in her lungs and she couldn’t suck another breath. Ran till her heart thrashed in her chest as if to escape. She stopped at a tree, one hand gripping the rough bark. Retching from the exertion. And still she hadn’t run far enough. From the people. The crowds. From herself. The feelings.

  She folded at the waist, gasping for air. Her free hand was on her thigh, fingernails cutting into the screaming muscle. The cruel bite of pain helped. She’d focus on that. Wait till her heart stopped slamming like a battering ram at her ribs.

  Still the air wouldn’t come quickly enough, her lungs heaving. The clutch of panic grabbed tighter. Her vision blurred at the edges. She’d faint. She’d die. Here, in front of everyone.

  Heavy footsteps thudded behind her. An arm under hers gave support. An urgent voice pierced the fog.

  ‘Mrs Callas!’

  Sergei.

  She found her breath. Steadied it.

  In for four. Hold. Out for eight. Repeat.

  She moved to a seat somehow. Sat with her elbows on her knees. Head buzzing.

  There was a water bottle. The murmur of words. Strange. Distant.

  ‘Are you all right...? Do you need a doctor...? I’ve called Mr Callas.’

  She sat up with a sharp intake of breath, hands trembling as her upside-down world righted itself.

  ‘No!’

  Sergei stepped back. He’d hardly broken sweat, whereas her skin was slick with it, stinging her eyes. Thea wiped at the hair sticking to her face. When was the last time she’d had an attack this bad?

  She stood, legs on fire and shaking like a newborn lamb. ‘I don’t need Mr Callas. I’m going back to the apartment.’ She tried to sound strong, but her voice cracked.

  Soft rain fell as she walked, sprinkling over her skin. At the doors of the building she was welcomed by the ever-friendly doorman. Dripped water all over the marble floor of the lift to the penthouse, where Christo’s apartment took up the whole level.

  Sergei hovered close. ‘Are you sure you’re well?’

  Panic, her old enemy, always followed her. Taunting from the shadows. She wouldn’t let it win.

  ‘I pushed myself a little hard.’

  An ambush like today was a concern, because it normally heralded more attacks. But she’d fight back. Regain control.

  ‘It was more than that,’ Sergei said as the lift stopped at the top floor and they exited. He punched the key code to enter the apartment.

  ‘Worried I’ll die on your watch?’

  ‘You might feel like you’re dying, but I won’t let that happen,’ he said as he held the door open for her. ‘I’ll carry paper bags for next time.’

  Thea shot a look over her shoulder. ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  He shrugged and exchanged a concerned look with Anna, who’d rushed towards them. Sergei must have texted her.

  ‘I’m fine. Really,’ Thea said, as Anna opened her mouth to speak. ‘I just need a shower and coffee.’

  ‘I’ll bring breakfast. You haven’t been eating enough,’ Anna chided.

  Thea smiled. It felt stiff, unfamiliar, but if she faked it for long enough her smile might become reality. One day.

  ‘In my room. Thank you.’

  She went into her en suite bathroom. Discarded her sodden clothes and stood under the steaming shower as water pounded her skin, washing away the dark hand of fear threatening to strangle her.

  She had to get help to Alexis. How dared her father accuse him of stealing the money she’d negotiated as part of her agreement to marry Christo?

  But her father had lied and now her marriage was pointless.

  Christo might help.

  She silenced the inner voice. That would require trust she didn’t have for another man who was using her for his own ends.

  Thea turned off the water. Dried her now wrinkled skin and wrapped a robe tight around her body.

  The food Anna had left held as much temptation as cardboard. So she lay on her side in the huge bed. Stared out at the drizzly view of New York sprawling below her. The place her mother would never see.

  And, as much as she’d tried to outrun the feelings, now she let them overwhelm her. For Alexis. For this marriage. For that awful afternoon when she’d waited in the kitchen, clutching only her favourite doll and wearing her St Christopher medal for a safe journey. Waited for her mother to come through the small wooden side door and steal her away. Waited as the day had darkened and daylight had faded.

  But the person she’d loved most in the world had never come. And the waiting had ended when her father found her and delivered the words which had changed her life for ever. ‘Your mother’s dead...’

  Thea curled tighter into a ball on her side, arms wrapped round her waist.

  A shadowed reflection loomed in the window ahead of her. The prickle of awareness skittering along her spine announced that there was only one person it could be.

  ‘Sergei says you were ill on your run.’

  The voice was tight with concern. But Christo didn’t care. He only wanted to ensure he inherited from his father. She was just a casualty along the way.

  ‘I overexerted myself.’

  ‘Sergei doesn’t believe that.’

  ‘I don’t care what anyone believes.’

  The bed dipped as Christo sat on the edge of the mattress. She didn’t look at him. Only at the rain that beaded and slid down the window ahead of her.

  ‘So you’ve made clear before. Would you like me to call a doctor?’

  Thea shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. You shouldn’t have interrupted your day.’

  ‘Sergei called. I came.’

  A cool hand rested on her forehead. She closed her eyes.

  ‘No temperature...’

  So few people cared about her. She could count them on one hand: Alexis, Elena. Anna and Sergei, perhaps, but they were paid to care, after all. Same as the servants at her father’s home, who’d looked after her when her mother had left. And still, like the little girl she’d once been, she craved the caring with a bone-numbing ache.

  ‘We have the dinner party tonight.’ Christo’s voice was gentle and soothing. ‘I’ll cancel it.’

  ‘No, I’ll be there as promised.’

  Her voice quavered and caught. She cleared her throat. Stupid. To fall for these tiny scraps of kindness, tossed to her by a man who cared as little for her as her father did. Still, a yearning twisted in her stomach.

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  She turned to him. Sat up. Pretending for a little while longer. They were so close on the bed. Her dishevelled in her robe. Him in his immaculately tailored dark trousers. The fine herringbone weave of his white shirt. Close enough for her to catch the scent of his aftershave and that whispered undertone she recognised instantly. Something dark and primal. All Christo.

  Heat bloomed inside her, unravelling the tight twist of fear. Smoothing it out till the only ripple left was a low, sultry pulse she tried to ignore. But harder to ignore was his mouth...so close. The sensual curve of his lower lip... The slight shadow of stubble grazing his jaw...

  His eyes fixed on hers. Hazel rimmed with slate, soft with concern. She shouldn’t crave this, but for once she wanted to pretend that Christo cared too. The ache of it
twisted hard, till her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed.

  Still, it must have shown on her face. He cupped her cheek, his palm hot against her skin. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Christo was trying to peer inside her, and she couldn’t allow him to see too much.

  Perhaps she’d tell him why she felt this way. It was a truth. A real truth, as Christo had demanded. But she was so full to the brim with truths they threatened to choke her. Her mother leaving. Finding Alexis. The years of deprivation. Fighting to retain a part of herself when darkness threatened to devour her. She’d pasted so many false layers over her true self—one breach of the barrier and it would all fall apart. She couldn’t risk it. Not for this man.

  She closed her eyes to shut him out as he threaded his hands into the tangle of her hair. The warmth of his breath was close, so close. She might not be able to tell him anything, but she could allow herself to let go. For a moment. She was entitled to that at least, wasn’t she?

  ‘Thea...’

  Her name was a whisper as his lips brushed hers. She didn’t care any more about pushing him away. For once, all she cared about was succumbing to sensation. Forgetting the world was hard and real and taking pleasure for herself and damn the consequences. Losing herself and ignoring the fear of gilded cages and the trap of marriage, even one with a time frame as short as theirs.

  She slid her hands to the back of his neck, into his dark hair...softer than she’d imagined for such a hard man. Pulling him closer, she pressed her lips to his. He deepened the kiss, his tongue gliding over hers as she relished the invasion.

  She wanted all of him. Because now she didn’t have to think—she could feel. The rasp of his growing stubble. The prickle of her scalp as his fingers tightened in her hair. His lips teasing, testing, as he eased her backwards onto the bed. The heavy weight of him as he lay over her and pressed her down, down into the soft covers.

  Her legs fell open, cradling his hips between hers. The ridge of hardness at his groin notched into her with a delicious burn. She writhed under him, shifting restlessly as she tried to alleviate the ache there, losing herself in the erotic grind of their bodies. Her skin overheated till she felt desperate to tear her clothes away.

  This was a flame only Christo could quench.

  He was rocking against her. The tightness low inside her twisting tighter and harder. He tore at her robe, his breath mingling with hers as they panted and moved against each other. His searching fingers drifted over her breast, teasing at her nipple till heat seared between her thighs. She moaned, but his kiss trapped the sound.

  Thea tore her mouth from his and gasped for air. ‘Please... Please...’

  She toyed with the buttons of his shirt. No thought other than having him naked and inside her, quelling the ache now at a fever pitch.

  ‘I have you,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll look after you.’

  It wasn’t enough. Her whole body screamed to be filled by him. She didn’t care. Nothing mattered any more but this. His hips worked against hers. The edge of oblivion was close. So close. She wrapped her legs tight round him. Gripped his back and arched into him as he rolled her nipple between his fingers and kissed and kissed, his tongue delving into her mouth.

  Then nothing.

  Everything stopped.

  Why? Why was he so still?

  She groaned, and didn’t care how frustrated, how desperate she sounded.

  ‘Oh, no!’

  Anna’s voice?

  Christo turned his head towards it as his hands gently closed her robe, his body still covering her.

  ‘What do you want?’ he growled.

  Christo was coiled tight, but there was the slightest tremble through his huge frame, and she wasn’t sure whether it was unsatisfied desire, or anger at being disturbed. She buried her head in the side of his neck to hide her face, breathing in the clean scent of him mingled with something musky and erotic. Desire and arousal...

  ‘The breakfast plates. I’ll—’

  ‘Please leave.’ The words were a hiss through his clenched teeth.

  ‘I’m sorry...’

  The clink of cutlery, shoes scuffing on carpet and then the snick of the door signalled Anna’s departure.

  And a return of Thea’s common sense.

  What had she been doing? All of this was evidence of how easily she could be ensnared. Her heart raced. Not in a way that was pleasant or spoke of passion, but thready and panicked.

  ‘Koukla mou,’ Christo said, stroking his thumbs over her jaw.

  No, she couldn’t do this. He still wanted her. His interest hadn’t diminished and he remained hard and ready. But for her it was like being plunged into a stream of meltwater. She shifted and pushed. Because she couldn’t be under him anymore.

  He rolled from her as she sat up and tied her robe tight—too tight. How needy she’d been. He must leave. She could never allow him to see her like this again.

  ‘Don’t you need to be back at work?’ She reached trembling fingers to her lips, which were tender and bee-stung from his kisses.

  Christo raked his hand through his hair, a crease forming between his brows. ‘I could stay.’

  His eyes were hot on hers. The invitation in them, clear and tempting. Too much more and she’d burst into flames. But she couldn’t—not now. Even though the memory of his touch, his hardness between her thighs, burned relentlessly.

  Thea chewed the inside of her mouth. Clenched her hands into fists and let her nails bite the soft flesh of her palms. She mustn’t forget the only reason she was here was the deal, and what her father had done to force her compliance. It was nothing more than business. Her body had never been part of the bargain, no matter the ache at her core and how much every cell protested Christo’s absence.

  She shook her head. ‘No. Go. Take over the world or whatever you plan on doing today.’

  He hesitated, then stood. Still hard. The zip of his trousers was straining; his shirt was crushed. He looked delicious and disarrayed, like she’d never seen him before. Warmth coursed through her—a heady rush of power. She’d done that to him. This implacable man was now softened and less than perfect. Looking...human. Devastatingly handsome. Her husband.

  But in the end it was all meaningless.

  Christo took a step back, smiled, but something about it appeared stiff and brittle, not reaching his eyes. ‘World domination isn’t as entertaining in your absence.’

  He leaned over, touched his lips to her forehead. Then he brushed a gentle hand over her hair, straightened and left the room.

  As she curled back into herself Thea hated it that his last moment of tenderness caused a tear to slip down her cheek.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHRISTO SAW OFF his dinner party guests. Exchanged crushing handshakes. Suffered pats on the back and the words, ‘Give my regards to Hector.’

  His father had always been the centre of any party. Splashing millions around in a way Christo never would. Yet he needed to secure the loyalty of these people if his plan to save Atlas was to succeed. To cement ties which would stand when Hector was gone.

  There was so much work to do, and tonight, he still had another part to play. He’d be accompanying the men to an exclusive club. Without their wives. That suggestion by one of his guests had been telling in itself.

  Perhaps Thea would share a coffee with him before he left? She’d been wary of him since he’d arrived home, earlier than expected, after leaving her looking so tumbled and wanton on her bed. His day of meetings had been shot to pieces because fantasies of Thea naked and himself buried deep inside her had consumed his every thought. Especially now he knew how they ignited together.

  The same thoughts obviously hadn’t plagued her. He could tell by the way she avoided his gaze, flitted away from him when he tried to get close. He couldn’t abide that reticence. He wanted the fire, the
passion. Her pleas for him to satisfy her ringing loud in his ears.

  His hunger for her was something he longed to explore. Like the hills and valleys of her glorious body which so far he’d barely touched. Still, the sensible part of him cautioned that he must keep the distance he’d deliberately maintained till now. A challenging task when his hunger for her remained undiminished, despite the lies.

  Although his broker had called, advising him that the solar company she’d recommended was on its way to making him millions. So what she’d told him about her money-making abilities appeared true.

  This dissonance in his picture of her unsettled him. She remained an enigma, and in his ordered world he hated puzzles.

  The apartment was hushed and in near darkness as he walked towards the dining room to find her. Only the glow from the myriad candles on the long table seating twenty flickered in the room.

  Christo hesitated near the door. Thea gleamed in the low lights. She was elegant and understated in black, yet she’d shone more brightly than any of the other women, with their colourful clothes and sparkling jewels. She drifted around the table, blowing out candle after candle. Their waxy smell thick in the air.

  She stopped in front of the table’s centre, her face illuminated in the golden light of a squat candle in the middle of an arrangement, which held a well of melted wax around its flame. She dipped the tip of her finger into it, blowing till the thin coating of wax hardened. Then she picked up the candle and tipped a stream of molten liquid onto her open palm.

  Christo started forward, gut clenching hard. He should stop her. It must burn. Yet all he could do was watch, transfixed, as she toyed with the fire. Replacing the candle, Thea licked her fingers and pinched out the flame, then another, and another. Each one was extinguished with a quiet hiss.

  He couldn’t take any more.

  She jumped as he stepped into the honeyed light. ‘I thought you’d already left.’

  He didn’t miss the curl of her hand, closing over her wax-covered palm, as he strolled round the table towards her.

  ‘I’m going soon,’ he said, keeping his voice calm.