by Sarah Morgan
Her face scarlet with mortification, Alesia tried to turn away from him but he swung her round to face him, his hands holding her firmly.
‘Just don’t be tempted to flirt with anyone else tonight,’ he warned. ‘You may be a slut but you’re mine alone. I never share.’
Flirt?
Still horribly conscious of her nudity, Alesia stared at him in disbelief, reminding herself that this man knew absolutely nothing about her. She’d never flirted in her life and wouldn’t even know where to begin. Because of her situation she’d always avoided that sort of contact with men. Had avoided relationships deeper than friendship.
Sebastien reached out a hand and grabbed a top from the rail. ‘Wear this with the skirt,’ he ordered, ‘and no bra.’
She stared at the clothes in dismay. She’d never worn anything like them in her life. ‘I c-can’t go braless,’ she stammered. ‘I’m too—’
‘Curvaceous?’ he taunted her. ‘Plenty of people out there are wondering why I married you. I intend to show them.’
Goaded beyond reason by his taunts, she turned on him. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer me to just go out in my underwear?’ Her tone dripped sarcasm and he gave a slow smile.
‘This is going to be even sexier than underwear, trust me.’
Alesia closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe this was happening. ‘You can’t make me wear that outfit.’
‘Don’t test me, Alesia,’ he warned softly.
‘Fine.’ She yanked the outfit out of his hand, grabbed a handful of the cosmetics and shot him a defiant look. ‘If you want the whole world to know you married a slut, then that’s up to you. Let’s broadcast it, shall we?’
She stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.
CHAPTER SIX
SEBASTIEN checked his watch and paced the length of his bedroom one more time.
Never before had he had reason to question his mental acuity, but nothing about his new wife was making sense. She was an heiress in her own right, had demanded an extortionate sum of money from him on her wedding day, a sum which he knew had already vanished from her account—and yet there were no visible signs of profligate spending. She’d led a pampered and privileged existence from the day she was born, and yet she’d been in the kitchen making her own lunch as if she did it every day. And she’d been wearing a pair of ancient jeans that no previous woman of his acquaintance would have been seen dead in. It did not add up.
When he’d married Alesia Philipos he’d expected rich, pampered, shallow and boring. In his eyes her only redeeming feature had been her incredible face and body and her apparent willingness to display it. What he hadn’t expected was complex—and his new wife was definitely complex.
Realising that she’d been in the bathroom for the best part of an hour, Sebastien stared at the closed door in brooding contemplation. What could she be doing in there that was taking so long?
Never good at waiting at the best of times, he was at the point of breaking down the bathroom door in search of an answer when the lock finally clicked and Alesia stepped back into the bedroom.
Sebastien stilled, his usually restless gaze arrested by the girl standing in front of him.
Only years of experience in controlling his facial expression prevented his jaw from hitting the ground.
Whatever she’d been doing in the bathroom all that time, the end result was spectacular.
She was drop dead gorgeous. Beautiful.
Her skin was pale and flawless, the faint brush of colour on her cheeks simply emphasizing the perfect shape of her face. Her incredible violet eyes looked larger than ever and the subtle sheen of colour applied to her lips simply accentuated the tempting curve of her mouth.
Sebastian bit back a groan of lust as his eyes raked every delectable inch of her in unashamed masculine appreciation.
She shouldn’t have looked like that in the outfit he’d chosen.
She should have looked like a cheap tart. Instead she managed to look innocent and seductively feminine at the same time, although how a woman could contrive to look innocent in a skirt barely wider than a belt, he couldn’t imagine. Her slender legs went on for ever, the miniskirt skimmed her perfectly shaped bottom and the tiny top exposed a tantalizing stretch of feminine midriff. It was just tight enough to offer support to her full breasts and Sebastien’s body hardened in urgent and immediate response. For a brief but distinctly unsettling moment he struggled to remember why they had to leave the bedroom.
It was just as well he had a reliable team of bodyguards, he reflected grimly as he wrestled his emotions under control, because otherwise he’d have trouble keeping people away from her. Men away from her.
Sebastien ground his teeth, astonished by how possessive he felt over a woman he didn’t even like.
‘You insisted on this outfit so you can stop staring,’ she said stiffly, ‘and I probably ought to warn you that I’m not used to walking in heels this high, so unless you want me to break an ankle I’m gong to have to hold your arm.’
Taken aback by her candid admission that she’d rarely worn heels before and mentally adding that muttered confession to a growing list of facts that just didn’t add up, Sebastien frowned as he felt her hand slide over his biceps.
‘It’s hold you or fall over. Otherwise, believe me, I wouldn’t touch you with a bargepole. I hope you’re well insured,’ she muttered, stooping with a pained frown and sliding a finger along the strap. ‘If I tread on anyone’s foot while I’m dancing in these I’m going to cause serious damage.’
He gritted his teeth and refrained from pointing out that she wouldn’t be dancing with anyone but him. Not given to making mistakes, Sebastien was forced to admit that in this case he’d made a serious error of judgement.
He’d intended her to dress like a tart to remind him of the woman she really was, because he was finding those huge eyes and that innocent expression profoundly distracting. Instead he’d turned her into nothing short of a walking temptation.
Staring down into her beautiful face, he suddenly realized that the glow of almost childlike innocence came from inside her. Nothing she wore would ever make her look cheap because she just exuded class.
A well-disguised gold-digger, he reminded himself grimly, reaching for his jacket and striding towards the door.
No matter how stunning she was or how exciting his new wife was in bed, there was no way that he’d be forgetting what had brought her there in the first place.
His money.
In the back of the limousine Alesia felt the slide of expensive leather under her bare thighs and stared down at her glamorously shod feet with almost childish fascination. A bubble of laughter threatened to erupt inside her and she struggled to hold it back. She just loved the shoes. They were sexy and glamorous and totally frivolous and she’d never owned anything frivolous before in her life. And she loved the clothes. And the make-up. She’d never had the money to spend on cosmetics before so she had absolutely no experience of applying them, which was why she’d taken so long in the bathroom.
After the first effort she’d looked like a clown, and after the second she’d managed to look as though she had a cold. Finally, after her face had been given time to settle down from all the washing and scrubbing, she’d managed to master the art of subtle enhancement and she’d been delighted with the result. And, although she felt hideously self-conscious in such revealing clothes, she also felt beautiful. Was this what it was like to be seriously rich? She wrapped one long leg over the other and felt a flash of satisfaction as she saw Sebastien’s molten gaze settle on the length of thigh exposed by the ridiculous skirt.
He wanted her.
She resisted the temptation to smile and smile. He might loathe and despise her but he definitely wanted her. And he might pretend to be ultra cool about it, but surely no man could spend six hours in bed with a woman if he were as bored and indifferent as he pretended to be?
Lost in her own private thoug
hts, a sudden flash of light in her face made her jump and she gave a gasp and shrank back in her seat while Sebastien gave a soft curse.
‘Paparazzi,’ he muttered by way of explanation as the car slid to a halt outside a glitzy-looking building. ‘They won’t be allowed in the club so just smile and don’t speak.’
‘What is it about Greek men that keeps them well and truly stuck in the Stone Age? I’m always being told not to speak.’ Alesia reached for her bag, hoping that she could manage to walk as far as the door of the nightclub without twisting her ankle. ‘Someone ought to tell you that these days women are supposed to have a voice.’
Sebastien caught her arm and prevented her from leaving the car. ‘Carlo will open the door. It prevents the press getting too close,’ he said smoothly. ‘And, for your information, I have a totally modern outlook when it comes to the role of women. You can speak whenever you choose. But not to the press.’
Totally modern?
Alesia gaped at him, wondering if he truly knew himself at all. This was a man who told her how to wear her hair and how to dress and who clearly saw her prime role as being to satisfy his rampant sexual needs. And he thought he was modern?
Before she could enlighten him as to the true meaning of the word, the car door opened and she was ushered into the nightclub amidst an explosion of flashbulbs and photographers yelling for her to look this way and that.
One photographer came in too close and was instantly blocked by two of Sebastien’s security team.
Alesia glanced around her in confusion and astonishment. ‘I can’t think why they’re suddenly so interested in me,’ she muttered and Sebastien flashed her a seductive smile that seriously threatened her ability to walk in a straight line.
‘Because I married you, agape mou,’ he drawled lazily, ‘and our two families have been at war for three generations. Newspaper editors the world over are loving it and so are the gossip magazines. Photographs of us will sell for a small fortune.’
People would pay for photographs of them?
Why? She was just an ordinary girl dressed up in designer clothes!
Casting a shimmering glance in her direction, Sebastien lifted an eyebrow. ‘How did your grandfather manage to keep you hidden from the media for all those years, tell me that?’
Alesia dragged her fascinated gaze away from the banks of photographers jolting for her attention. ‘I—er—I led a very private life,’ she muttered vaguely, wondering again why anyone would be remotely interested in staring at a photograph of her. The outfit was nice, but still…
Alesia allowed herself to be ushered into the sleek, ultramodern club and gazed around in awe. The club was crowded with beautiful people and she realized suddenly that her impossibly tiny skirt didn’t look remotely out of place in this setting.
‘This place is crowded with people wearing nothing but underwear.’ She raised her voice to be heard above the music and Sebastien raised a dark eyebrow in response to her comment and then gave a reluctant smile.
‘Dancing is hot work.’
Watching the gyrations on the dance floor, Alesia opened her mouth to confess that she’d never been to a nightclub in her life before and then realized that such a confession would betray far too much about her.
Evidently he believed her to be a real party animal: a rich, pampered heiress who spent her entire life shopping and then modelling the results. This was supposed to be her natural habitat.
She stared around in fascination, drinking it all in. She’d never been anywhere like this.
Coloured lights swirled and flashed, various effects shimmered and smoked and through it all the pounding, pulsing beat of the music tempted more and more people on to the exotically lit dance floor.
Alesia felt a thrill of excitement that she couldn’t quite identify. Suddenly, more than anything, she wanted to be on that dance floor. She wanted to let her body move to the compelling, hypnotic rhythm. She wanted to enjoy herself.
She turned to Sebastien, her eyes bright and her lips parted. ‘I want to dance.’
And dance and dance…
Night-black eyes clashed with hers and his hard mouth lifted in mockery. ‘With or without the shoes?’
She didn’t care. She just wanted to move.
‘I’ll start with shoes and then we’ll see—’ Aware that they were still attracting a significant degree of interest, she glanced around with a frown. ‘Do people never stop staring?’
‘You are the granddaughter of one of the richest men in the world,’ he drawled, casting a cynical glance over his broad shoulder. ‘Like me, you must be used to it. People always stare. You know that.’
She bit her lip and tried to look casual and confident, as though being the object of everyone’s attention was an everyday occurrence.
With an air of bored cool that reflected his total lack of interest in the people gawping at them, Sebastien threaded his fingers through hers and led her on to the dance floor, retaining his possessive grip on her as they moved together.
The music pounded and pulsed and Alesia closed her eyes and discovered for the first time in her life that she just loved to dance. She loved the silken brush of her hair as it swished from side to side, loved the sinuous sway of her body as she moved her hips and arms to the addictive rhythm of the music. In fact she loved it all.
She danced to record after record, her body seduced by the hectic rhythm of the music and the relative anonymity of the crowded dance floor.
Finally the music slowed and Sebastien hauled her against him in a characteristically possessive gesture which should have annoyed her but for some reason made her already wide smile widen even further.
He was easily the best-looking guy in the room and all the women were staring at him. And she was willing to bet that they would have been staring even if he hadn’t been rich and famous and useful for selling newspapers to a public hungry for a diet of celebrity gossip. Sebastien Fiorukis was a man who would stand out in the densest crowd. It was like parking a sleek Ferrari in a bicycle shed. He just looked expensive and he had an air of power and command that would always draw women like moths to a bright flame.
But for tonight he was with her, she thought, gleeful as a child as she intercepted the envious glances cast in her direction.
Trying to see him as a stranger would, her eyes skimmed over his glossy dark hair and slid to the hint of bronzed skin visible at the neck of his shirt. He looked every inch the multi-millionaire that he was. Vibrant, driven and successful at everything he touched. A man who didn’t know the meaning of the word failure. He was part of her new costume and every bit as glamorous and sophisticated as the shoes and the designer outfit.
They danced until her feet ached and her throat was parched and finally she agreed to his suggestion that they break for a drink.
Responding to an impulse that she didn’t understand, she wound her arms around him and gave him a spontaneous hug before they left the dance floor. ‘Oh, Sebastien, thank you.’ Breathless and laughing, her eyes shone as she looked up at him. ‘This is fantastic and I’m having the best time—’ She felt him stiffen and watched as stunned dark eyes swept her flushed cheeks.
‘You’re behaving as though you’ve never been to a nightclub before.’
‘I haven’t. I mean, not one like this,’ she corrected herself quickly, wincing at her own mistake. Aware that he was studying her with a curious expression on his face, she tilted her head questioningly, still breathless from wild dancing, her eyes shining with an excitement that she couldn’t even begin to conceal.
She knew she should be playing it cool, looking bored and indifferent as if she spent her life in places like this, but she just couldn’t. There was too much adrenalin flowing through her veins, too much excitement—
In fact, she wanted the evening never to end—
‘What?’ She tried to slow her breathing. ‘You’re staring at me because I’ve got a red face, aren’t you?’
His eyes narrowed
. ‘I’m staring at you because I’ve never seen you smile before.’
‘Well, I’m having a nice time.’ Forgetting to be guarded, she glanced back at the dance floor regretfully. ‘Do you think we could—’
‘No,’ Sebastian drawled immediately, taking her hand and leading her to a vacant table with a prime view of the dance floor. ‘We definitely couldn’t. I’m a man in need of a drink.’
Alesia registered that her shoes were digging into her feet and plopped gratefully on to one of the chairs, wondering why this table was free when the rest of the club was heaving with people. She felt tired and just ridiculously happy. She was uncovering a whole new side to herself that she’d never even known existed. She’d always assumed that she wasn’t like other girls. That she didn’t enjoy partying, clothes or other ‘girly’ pursuits. But now she realized that she’d never actually been given a chance to experience those things. And the truth was she loved them. For the first time in her life she could be self-indulgent and just enjoy herself.
She was just wondering at exactly what point she dared suggest venturing back on the dance floor when the crowds pressing in on their table parted.
‘Sebastien! You came!’ A tall, slender woman wearing an indecently low-cut black dress shimmered up to their table, her glossy mouth curved into a predatory smile. ‘I’m so pleased.’
‘Ariadne.’ Sebastien rose to his feet and kissed the woman on both cheeks. ‘You’ve surpassed yourself. I predict a massive success.’
The woman threw a satisfied glance at the heaving dance floor. ‘Captivating, isn’t it? And stylish. We’re already having to restrict membership.’ Her slim fingers curled possessively over his forearm, the scarlet nails gleaming like a warning. ‘I’m glad you came. I reserved you the best table.’
Sebastien’s gaze fastened on those reddened lips and he smiled. ‘Thanks.’
‘I really need the benefit of your business brain.’ Ariadne slid into the vacant seat next to him, not glancing once in Alesia’s direction. ‘We’ve come up against a couple of problems and I might need you to use your influence—’ Ariadne’s voice lowered and she leaned closer to Sebastien, her hand snaking around his strong neck, drawing his head towards her reddened lips ostensibly so that she could keep the conversation private.