by Anna Cleary
When she did that an appreciative gleam lit his eyes that made her conscious of having crossed some sort of safety line. His glance made the skin of her chest and shoulders tingle and burn as if razed by a solar flare. Call her a needy tart, but the sensation felt thrilling to a woman that no man in Greece—probably Europe—would touch, even with a very long pole.
Her sexual receptors were madly spinning. He would touch her if he got the chance, she felt sure.
‘You set this up, didn’t you?’ she challenged him, caressing the stem of her glass.
He smiled in acknowledgement. ‘I’ve never really liked eating alone.’
She glowered at him, hoping he didn’t guess how seriously that sexy smile was seeping into her bloodstream and melting her resistance. ‘How did you know I would be coming to the restaurant?’
He considered her, his sensual gaze flickering with masculine expertise from her face and hair, down her throat to her breasts. ‘You’ve put your hair up. And the dress. You went to so much trouble to look gorgeous, I couldn’t see you wasting it all in your room. Even to spite me.’ Amusement warmed his eyes.
‘Oh.’ She flushed. ‘Well, I hope it cost you heaps.’
Sebastian watched the delicate tide suffuse her neck, then rise to her soft cheeks, and felt a dangerous surge in his blood. The knowledge that he had the power to evoke such a response was seductive, to say the least.
He restrained his eyes from wandering to her breasts, though he was aware of them with every fibre of his being.
Now the thaw had set in, there was a sparkle in her blue eyes, brought about by the champagne, or the electric charge pulsing between them, he wasn’t sure which. Either way, tonight his edgy bride had shown him alluring glimpses of her true self. Bubbly, mischievous, funny, though every so often he heard the tip of some other emotion tinge her voice. Sometimes her smile had a feverish quality, as if her mood could be fragile. Or was she excited?
His supposed bride, he corrected himself, watching her lips close over the chocolate-laden spoon while her lashes drifted down in utter bliss.
Disturbed from her appreciation of the divine chocolate by that searing gaze, Ariadne looked at him. ‘Do you ever accept a no?’
The sensual flicker in the dark depths of his eyes triggered an answering response deep in her insides. ‘Depends who it’s from. And how much I want to get to know them.’
‘You didn’t want to get to know me this morning. Or this afternoon.’
‘That was before I met you.’
‘Am I supposed to be flattered?’
He considered her. ‘Not flattered. Just alive to the possibilities. ’
What possibilities? The word floated in her mind like a scintillating mist. Truth to tell, part of her had been alive to some possibilities since the moment she’d rounded that pillar and seen him occupying the table. Or maybe even before then. Perhaps from the first time his eyes had connected with hers across the lobby this evening and started her heart hammering.
She risked a gulp of her champagne, knowing very well it could be a mistake. The stuff was already effervescing in her veins, and she needed to keep her head.
But it was magic, frothing away her misery and easing her anxiety, or at least changing its flavour. Now she felt like a beautiful, desirable woman riding a wild and fantastic whirlwind, and if it wasn’t the champagne making her feel that way, what was it?
As if to heighten her turmoil, the singer wrapped them in a smoky embrace with a nostalgic lament for a lost past in some shining place.
She was used to good-looking men with dark eyes and gleaming white smiles, but Sebastian had another dimension that could cut straight through her defences if she didn’t take care. Though tonight he was subtly flirtatious, every so often that serious, steel quality shone through. Like her first impression, but without the anger and the ice.
She risked another glance at him. Definitely, the ice had melted, but he was a different species from Demetri and friends, strutting the playgrounds of the world with their lazy, sophisticated boredom. If she hadn’t known the truth, she couldn’t have imagined he’d have accepted a bribe to marry her.
What had he been offered? she wondered. Shares in the Giorgias line, with the expectation of his wife being heiress to the lot?
She pushed the horrid thought away and concentrated on the positives. She was, in fact, feeling better after the bruschetta, the sliver of tart, the two delicious serves of linguini, the fish—not that she’d eaten very much of anything. She was in far too much of an uproar. The chocolate pudding had been certainly beneficial, although there was also that glass of champagne. Or had it been two? There was the one she’d had before she’d moved…
She peered over at the ice bucket and tried to see how much was left in the bottle. Whatever the level, it had shored up her spirits and helped her to feel warm and glowing and alive, even a bit reckless.
‘So what are you doing here with me?’ she challenged, fluttering her lashes. ‘Is there a shortage of women in Sydney?’
‘Not that I’ve noticed. What’s your excuse?’ he retorted. ‘Are the guys in Greece all doddery and near-sighted?’
She hesitated, evading his smiling, but still penetrating glance, regretting laying herself open to that painful subject. This was a murky alleyway she didn’t want to venture down. The last thing she wanted to admit to him was that she’d exhausted her options in Greece. She didn’t doubt her uncle’s declaration for a minute. No Greek man would risk engaging himself to her now. Not after Demetri’s experience and all the publicity.
She said huskily, ‘I don’t plan to get married. Ever. In Greece or anywhere else.’
‘What if you meet someone you fall in love with?’
She shot him a sardonic look. The sheer irony of him, of all people, talking about love. ‘Are you kidding?’
His brows lifted and she said, waving her fork, ‘Let me try to explain, though like all men I expect you’ll scoff.’ Ignoring his blink, she wrinkled her brow in concentration, and tried to bring it down to words of few syllables. ‘You see, my problem is I’d need the person to be in love with me as well. So we would be equals. How can you make promises and accept the blessing of the church without sincerity on both sides?’ She looked earnestly at him. ‘Do you think you can try to understand that concept, Sebastian?’
His eyes glinted, but she went on, regardless. ‘That’s why I can never risk it. You imagine someone loves you, then you find out they only wanted to marry you because they mistakenly thought you would inherit the Giorgias shipping fortune.’
His tanned, lean hands stilled. He’d understood that bit all right.
‘So you aren’t set to inherit?’ He scanned her face with an alert gaze.
She might have predicted his interest, but still she felt a stab of disappointment. Just when she was thinking he might be different from Demetri.
He’d made his own feelings on the issue so clear this afternoon, it made her wonder, if he was hoping to talk her round, what sort of marriage had he in mind? A marriage in name only, where they signed the register then went their separate ways?
Oh, it was all so humiliating. Did greed always have to outweigh honour and integrity in every man alive? She let out a frustrated sigh. She should let him know right now his chances of using her to improve his fortunes were zilch.
‘I won’t get a cent of it, as far as I know,’ she informed him, watching his face while she dashed his hopes. ‘I have older cousins, all male, and the company will go to them. Thio Peri doesn’t believe a woman can manage a business. Well, he knows, of course, women can manage some, but he doesn’t think a woman could manage his business.’ She sat back in her chair to await results. Would he rise from the table, bid her goodnight and disappear into the distance? ‘I’m only a niece, you see. And besides, Thio knows I don’t want to have anything to do with it.’ With a bittersweet smile she added softly, ‘The only thing I’m set to inherit is a little bit of money my parents l
eft. They weren’t rich, I’m afraid. We lived in a modest little cottage. I don’t think they even owned it. So you’d have nothing to gain.’
He was silent for several seconds, his eyes downcast, his lean face inscrutable. Then he looked up at her. His dark shimmering eyes meshed with hers, deep and unreadable.
‘If I married you.’
‘That’s right. If you…But you can’t now, can you? Now that I’ve—refused you.’
He continued to hold her in his veiled gaze. The moment stretched, while her heart thumped and questions clamoured in her brain. What was he thinking? She had no real idea what her uncle had offered him, what he’d said. Had her warning been enough to put him off? Did he think he could change her mind?
Was she really so innocent? Sebastian wondered. It sounded as if she had no idea of the means her uncle had used to bring him to this point. If she had been set to inherit everything, he felt sure the old magnate would have had no hesitation about dangling his empire before his eyes. The fact that Pericles had never mentioned it to him made her claim seem likely to be true. In a strange way, it even made the outrageous deal slightly more palatable.
He grimaced. He must be going insane. What was wrong with him that made him find something to prefer in being blackmailed in a business deal over being bought like a stud stallion?
The dessert courses were cleared, and he watched her lift her head and turn a little to ask the waiter to pass on to the chef her undying gratitude for the chocolate pudding. The line of her cheek and neck, the smooth curve of her shoulder riveted his gaze and sank into his awareness like a hypnotic. Desire quickened in his blood.
Yiayia was right. He’d been without something lovely to look at for too long.
Even her voice, low and sweet, fell on his ears like an intoxication. Supposing he did decide to marry her, how hard would it be to persuade her?
‘Nothing else for me, thank you. Sebastian?’ She turned enquiringly to him. ‘Cognac?’
He pulled himself together and waved away the menu, asking for the bill, only part of his mind engaged.
The rest of it was imagining how it might be to have Ariadne Giorgias as his wife. To meet those luminous blue eyes, that luscious mouth across his breakfast table. To bury his face in the silken mass of her hair and fan it across his pillow. To plunge himself into the slick heat of her gorgeous body and possess her utterly, until she cried out in ecstasy, night after night after long, hot night.
He drew a long breath and smiled. ‘Do you feel like stretching your legs?’
Ariadne looked up, met his darkly handsome face and her heart skittered. Was this where he made his pitch? She hesitated. She could excuse herself, say goodnight, goodbye, and flee to her room. It flashed in on her then though, that once she was alone in her room, she’d have to face the cold reality that this would be her last night’s sleep in safety and comfort. All she’d have to look forward to when she lay her head on the pillow would be the morning—homeless, and on her own resources in a strange country.
That morning was racing towards her like a black horror. She felt a deep dread, like an offender staring prison in the face for the first time. With a little shiver, she rose from the table.
The terrace hugged the hotel like the deck of an ocean liner, the sea lapping at its sides. In one direction Circular Quay was a blaze of activity, while far and wide lights twinkled all around the foreshore. As she gazed across at the opera house, its luminous pale shells rendered magical by moonlight, Ariadne could almost have believed she was on one of her uncle’s cruise ships, heading for some romantic destination.
Perhaps she wouldn’t mind living here, once she’d settled with a job and a place to live. Once she got over the hurt.
They moved out of the spill of light from the restaurant, and she felt grateful for the shadows, not having to keep her smile on.
She could sense a tension in Sebastian, too. The intensity of the mood had ratcheted up to a higher gear, as if the looming goodbye had brought her uncle’s deal back to scream silently between them. The suspense that he was about to ask her to reconsider marrying him kept her nerves jangling.
As they strolled the terrace, though, chatting about tastes in books and music, he didn’t mention it, or touch her. Maybe she was being super-sensitive, but it seemed to her he tried extra hard not to let his hand or any part of his clothing brush hers.
Like Demetri, only not like Demetri. With Demetri, she’d never had this taut, smouldering awareness. Never felt so feminine and desirable.
Sebastian eyed her profile and wondered what devil had tempted him to suggest strolling out here in the dark. As soon as he had her away from the crowd, it was hard not to think about her breasts, and how long it had been since he’d kissed a woman.
It must have been the power of suggestion. If it had never been suggested to him that she could be his, he probably wouldn’t need to keep looking at her. He wouldn’t be itching to smooth his hand over her shoulder, or be so achingly aware of the creamy rises swelling the black fabric of the dress. And there was the explosive fact lurking in the nether regions of his mind that she had a room upstairs, and a bed.
His loins stirred and he willed his flesh not to react to his luscious imaginings any further. She was so slender and petite, he had to wonder if she’d be large enough to take him.
He sighed. As if she’d read his mind she sent him a quick, searching glance, and he made a resolute attempt to keep the conversation on the straight and narrow.
‘Do you remember much about Australia?’ he said.
She looked up. ‘I have some images of our house, and the school I went to. Children I played with. When I drove in from the airport I saw some trees that looked familiar. You’ll probably think this sounds silly, but seeing them made me get all misty.’
‘No. I don’t think that’s silly. I guess this must be quite an emotional time for you.’
Ariadne lowered her glance. ‘You could say that.’
She felt surprised. There’d been sensitivity in his observation, almost like a friend. How ironic that, having dreaded meeting him almost to the point of nausea, as he was the only person she knew in the whole country she now dreaded the moment of saying goodbye to him.
That poignant song wafted from inside, winding its way in among her emotions. As she fielded Sebastian’s questions about her life in Naxos the singer brought the melody to a crescendo of yearning that tore at her heart like a cry from across the sea.
The silver moon, the evening tide… how they evoked Naxos. She was swamped by a flood of homesickness, made worse by the knowledge she could never go back there now. Not now she’d sinned and they’d packed her off to the other side of the globe. Not now they’d hurt her.
Sebastian leaned beside her, caught a faint whiff of some enticing flowery perfume, and moved a safer distance away. Her blue eyes were dark and unreadable, with an occasional glitter that came from within. He realised with a slight shock that a vein of sadness ran beneath her volatile mood.
Desire was singing a siren song in his veins, but he kept a tight rein on it. Beauty mixed with emotion and moonlight could tempt a man to do and say things he’d regret. If he didn’t maintain strict control he’d be dragging her against him and kissing her, tasting her sensuous mouth, caressing her soft curves…
‘So what do you plan to do on your holiday?’ he said.
‘I might travel around. See some of the country.’
‘Do you have any relatives here from your mother’s side? Grandparents?’
She gave a shrug. ‘My Australian grandma died a couple of years ago. There are a few cousins I’ve never met. Just a great-auntie Maeve who lives somewhere on the coast. Well, used to. My parents took me to stay with her once for a holiday when I was very small.’ She wrinkled her brow. ‘It might have been called Noza. Nootza. Something like that. Is that a place?’
He frowned. ‘Could you be thinking of Noosa?’
Her brows lifted. ‘Could be. That s
ounds right, doesn’t it? Oh, it was heavenly there. I remember the beach, and Mummy and Daddy being really happy.’ After a second she said lightly, ‘Is it far from here?’
Something in her voice made him turn to examine her face. ‘Noosa’s up north. In Queensland. About a day’s drive from here, perhaps a couple of hours by air. It’s a fairly popular tourist resort.’
‘Oh, good, good.’ After a second she cast him a veiled glance. ‘Do you think Queensland has art galleries?’
He lifted his brows. ‘Bound to, of some sort. But if you want to visit art galleries there are plenty right here in Sydney.’
‘Oh. Yeah.’ She lowered her lashes. ‘Of course. There would be.’
‘Are you interested in art? Your father was an artist, wasn’t he?’
She looked quickly at him. ‘How do you know that?’
‘My grandmother remembers who’s who in everyone’s family.’
‘Oh.’ Even in the soft light from the restaurant he saw her flush. ‘You checked up on me. They know.’ Her voice grew hoarse, as if she was stricken with the news. ‘Your—your family know. About the—the deal you made with my uncle.’
Shocked by the raw emotion in her voice, for a moment he couldn’t answer, words were snatched from him. Then he said, ‘No, no, they—They don’t know anything. And I haven’t signed anything.’
‘Oh, you haven’t signed. Great.’ She gripped the rail as if to steady herself. ‘So tell me, then, what did he offer you? Honestly, please.’
‘You.’
Her flush deepened, then she covered her face with her hands. The strangled words were almost a cry. ‘In exchange for what?’
Her pained mortification wrenched something deep in his guts. With shame he recognised he’d never once properly considered the transaction from her point of view. He’d always assumed she was compliant. Even when she’d told him she didn’t intend to marry him, he’d assumed it had been out of pique and anger.
How had the uncle presented the deal to her? It was clear now it hadn’t been her initiative at all, and she knew nothing about the blackmail. He tried to remember what she’d told him in the lobby. A holiday to see if they suited each other, wasn’t that what she’d said? Was that how it had been sold to her?