by Sarah Morgan
‘My cousin designed it,’ he told her, pausing by her side. ‘She has her own interior design business. She is responsible for the paintings as well.’
‘She’s very talented,’ Alesia breathed and then her eye settled on the grand piano in the corner of the room and she gave a gasp of pleasure and surprise. ‘Oh!’
He followed the direction of her gaze with a quizzical frown. ‘You play?’
Alesia hurried over to the piano and ran a hand lovingly over the wood. ‘Yes.’
His eyes narrowed and he gestured towards the piano. ‘Be my guest.’
She flushed and shook her head. ‘No—it’s fine. I don’t—well—’
‘You don’t what?’ His voice was soft. ‘You don’t want to tell me that much about yourself? Was that what your grandfather told you, Alesia? To hide the person you really are?’
Her gaze flew to his and she stared at him in consternation. ‘I—’
‘We’re married now, agape mou,’ he said calmly. ‘The deal is signed and sealed. Nothing you do or say can change that. It’s time to relax and be yourself.’
‘I am myself.’
He gave a wry smile. ‘No. You’re back to being the zipped-up version of yourself. Last night, I suspect, I had a glimpse of the real person.’
Dismay flickered through her. ‘I had too much to drink—’
‘And clearly that lowered your inhibitions sufficiently for you to reveal your true self,’ he drawled, dark eyes glittering as he surveyed her with no small degree of amusement. ‘I discovered last night that my little kitten has claws.’
She flushed and bit her lip. ‘You upset me—’
‘A lapse that won’t occur again,’ he slotted in smoothly, reaching out a hand and pulling her towards him. ‘I discovered that my wife has a personality which I suspect she obediently buried on the orders of her grandfather.’
Alesia swallowed. ‘I—’
‘From now on I want you to be yourself,’ he commanded, sliding a strong hand around her waist and pulling her against him. ‘I want to know everything about you. No secrets.’
No secrets.
Alesia closed her eyes. He still believed that her mother was dead, killed alongside her father. But to have told him the truth would have revealed that her grandfather hated her and that this marriage had nothing to do with mending fences and everything to do with revenge.
If he discovered the extent of her deception—if he discovered everything—then there would be no containing his anger—
At some point he was bound to find out and the thought of his reaction just sickened her.
‘I need to lie down—’
Sebastien muttered something under his breath in Greek. ‘You are never touching alcohol again,’ he vowed, taking her hand and leading her through to the master-bedroom suite.
Like the rest of the villa it was an elegant and simply decorated room and Alesia glanced around and then looked through the open glass doors on to the shady vine-covered terrace and beyond that to the large swimming pool. ‘It’s amazing.’
Apart from the pool, of course, but she intended to ignore that.
Suddenly she realized that the villa was a home in the way that his Athenian mansion never could be. It was full of personal touches that revealed secrets about the owner. And it was wonderfully private and quiet.
Quiet.
‘Where is everyone?’
He frowned. ‘Everyone?’
She waved a hand. ‘Usually you are surrounded by staff—’
He gave a wry smile. ‘This is my retreat. My private bolt-hole. I don’t think it would fit into that category if I filled it full of staff, do you? This is the place I come to forget my responsibilities as an employer.’
She stared at him. ‘We’re on our own here? Just us?’
‘Just us.’ His voice was velvety smooth and she felt her heart miss a beat.
Suddenly she was aware of every vibrant, masculine inch of him.
Reminding herself that only last night he’d been wrapped around another woman, she lifted her chin and met his eyes with a challenging gaze.
‘So who cooks, Sebastien?’
‘We share it,’ he said smoothly, his glance not flickering from her face. ‘A boat delivers fresh produce on a daily basis. Discovering what is in the parcel is half the fun.’
Her mouth fell open. ‘You cook? But Greek men never cook—’
Her grandfather didn’t so much as make a cup of coffee.
‘I frequently come here alone,’ he told her calmly, ‘so it was learn to cook or starve.’
Alesia stared at him in confusion, realizing that perhaps she didn’t know him as well as she thought she did. But just exactly how much time had she spent with her new husband? she reminded herself. Virtually none. Apart from their wedding day, when they had barely been on speaking terms, the only time they’d spent together up until the nightclub had been spent in bed. They hadn’t even shared a meal since their wedding.
Sebastien walked over to the glass doors and slid them open. ‘Lie down for a few hours. I’ll be on the terrace if you need anything.’
Alesia waited for him to go and then stripped down to her underwear and slid between the cool sheets with a sigh of relief.
Her head was still pounding from lack of sleep and the alcohol she’d unwittingly consumed the night before and suddenly nothing seemed clear any more.
Telling herself that she’d work it all out later, she drifted into a deep sleep.
When she awoke it was sunset and she sat up feeling guilty. How long had she slept? Too long—
And there was no sign of Sebastien.
She slid out of bed and searched for her jeans.
‘They have been disposed of,’ came a dark drawl from the doorway and she gave a start and shot back into bed, pulling the sheet up to her neck.
‘You scared me—’
He surveyed her with no small degree of amusement. ‘Since we are the only two people on the island, I couldn’t have been anyone else. And your schoolgirl modesty is totally unnecessary, agape mou. I’m perfectly happy for you to walk around naked.’
She flushed to the roots of her hair. ‘Well, I’m not happy,’ she muttered, wondering if she’d ever feel comfortable with her body in the way that he did. ‘And what do you mean, you’ve disposed of my jeans? You told me not to pack anything. The only clothes I have are the ones I was wearing earlier.’
‘And you won’t be wearing them again,’ he said smoothly, strolling into the room. He’d changed into a pair of cool linen trousers, the sleeves of his casual shirt rolled up to reveal bronzed forearms dusted with dark hairs. ‘Since you didn’t appear to have purchased anything suitable for a hot climate, I took the liberty of arranging a suitable wardrobe for you.’
Still clutching the sheet, she gazed at him warily. ‘A wardrobe?’
He knew she hadn’t bought anything. He knew—
She closed her eyes. Well, of course he knew. He’d been into her dressing room in Athens and seen it empty apart from her wedding dress, her jeans and a few tops and, whatever else he might be, the man wasn’t stupid.
‘You’re not used to shopping, are you?’ His tone conversational, he walked into her dressing room and returned carrying a narrow sheath of peacock-blue silk. ‘An intriguing quality in someone who clearly requires such a large income to support her lifestyle.’
Alesia froze and waited in horrified stillness for him to ask the obvious question—why she’d demanded so much money when she didn’t even seem to spend it.
Frantically rummaging around in her brain for a suitable answer and coming up with none, she almost cried with relief when he simply dropped the dress in her lap.
‘Get dressed,’ he ordered quietly, strolling back towards the terrace with a thoughtful glance in her direction, ‘and then meet me on the terrace. We’ll have supper and talk.’
Talk?
Alesia fingered the beautiful dress and stared after him in disma
y. It had been easier when Sebastien had done his vanishing act, she conceded. At least then she hadn’t had to worry about giving anything away.
Suddenly he seemed to have developed a desire to get to know her and that was going to present her with a big problem.
Fresh from the discovery that his new wife was certainly not lacking in personality, Sebastien lounged on the sun-baked terrace, staring at the azure-blue pool in brooding contemplation.
Never before had he felt confused by a woman. Out of control.
In his experience their behaviour followed a totally predictable pattern. They shopped, they lunched, they partied. Even when he switched one woman for another, which he did with monotonous regularity, the pattern didn’t change.
So he’d never had any expectations that his new wife would prove to be different. Hadn’t she, sole heiress to the Philipos fortune, demanded an enormous sum of money to marry him?
Once in possession of such generous funds, he’d expected her to shop and shop until her feet were blistered and yet it was rapidly becoming clear to him that she hadn’t purchased a single item of clothing since their wedding day.
And maybe not before then, either.
When confronted with a selection of exclusive designer outfits, she didn’t behave like any woman he’d ever met before.
In fact, her frank delight at the clothes he’d produced for her trip to the nightclub suggested that she’d virtually never purchased an item of clothing in her life.
As a male with endless experience in the art of pleasing the opposite sex, Sebastien had been forced to endure countless shopping sessions with women who contrived to look suitably bored by the whole procedure. Never had he known a woman to display such undisguised enthusiasm for clothes. Alesia had behaved like a child who’d just discovered the fun of dressing up.
Which left him with the intriguing and puzzling question of just how she’d spent his money. And he knew that she had spent it because her account was empty, but so far no one had been able to give him an answer to the question of exactly where the money had gone.
None of it made sense. And neither did his own reaction to her.
He gave a soft curse as hot molten lust thudded through him and the force of his own hunger once more threatened to overwhelm him. Never before had he felt this out of control around a woman. Only moments ago he’d been forced to leave the room because the sight of her lying there, sleepy-eyed and pink-cheeked, had made him want to pin her to the bed and keep her horizontal using the most basic and satisfying method known to man.
Even six hours in bed with her the previous afternoon hadn’t cooled his ravenous libido. He’d had no intention of patronizing the opening of Ariadne’s nightclub but he’d needed to do something to take his mind off his mounting sexual hunger for his new bride.
For a man whose attention span with women had always been alarmingly short, his reaction was as mystifying as it was frustrating and it didn’t help to acknowledge that seeing her dancing with another man had forced him to exercise a restraint previously untested. For a brief moment he’d been furious that she’d chosen to dress in such a provocative manner and then he’d been forced to recall that her attire had been his selection, chosen in a desire to remind himself that he’d married a woman prepared to sell herself. Instead he’d succeeded in making her achingly sexy. With those huge, innocent eyes and those endless legs she’d caught the attention of every man in the club. Not used to dealing with jealousy, Sebastien had gritted his teeth and wrestled with the totally baffling impulse to cover her from head to foot in a giant bin bag before transporting her home in an armoured vehicle with blacked-out windows.
It had taken every ounce of self-control for him not to grab the man who’d been dancing and smiling at Alesia and knock him unconscious.
Faced with the fact that he’d married a woman who was a walking temptation, Sebastien vowed that if he ever displayed her in public again then she’d be wearing a sack.
Perhaps it was just that he now viewed Alesia as his property, he mused, and he’d never been that great at sharing. And discovering that his bride was every bit as hot-blooded as himself made him even more inclined to lock her in his tower and throw away the key.
His body heating to boiling point at the mere memory of her uninhibited response to him, Sebastien inhaled deeply and forced himself to acknowledge that although he usually considered himself exceptionally broad-minded about many things, his new wife didn’t fall into that category. When it came to Alesia his attitude was completely and unashamedly Greek.
Dressed in a shimmer of silk that she guessed must have cost a fortune, Alesia stepped out on to the terrace and blinked in surprise.
The table was laid, candles flickered in the darkness and the air smelt enticingly of heat and summer. And she knew Sebastien had done it all for her.
‘Drink?’ Sebastien strolled towards her and handed her a glass, which she took with a wary smile.
‘I’m not sure if I should—’
‘It’s not alcoholic,’ he drawled lightly. ‘I may be many things, agape mou, but stupid isn’t one of them, although I have to confess that you become a different person under the influence of alcohol.’
She flushed. ‘I enjoyed dancing—’
‘So I observed.’ He surveyed her steadily. ‘I want to know why last night was your first visit to a nightclub. I want to know why you haven’t shopped.’
She searched for inspiration. ‘Do you spend everything you earn?’
A ghost of a smile touched his firm mouth. ‘Hardly.’
‘Precisely.’ She gave a shrug. ‘I don’t know where you get this idea that money is all about shopping.’
‘Perhaps because to the female sex it usually is,’ he drawled, ‘but you’re teaching me that women are even more complex than I first thought.’ He waved a hand at the table. ‘Let’s sit down.’
He was being so polite and she just wasn’t used to it. Up until now their relationship had consisted of nothing but insults followed by hot sex.
She settled into her seat and her eyes scanned the various dishes laid out on the table. ‘Did you cook?’
‘Not exactly.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘I confess that most of the dishes are delivered ready-made.’
‘They look good.’ She leaned forward and took a closer look in the dish nearest to her. ‘Jannis makes the same thing. It’s my favourite—’
Sebastien stilled, his powerful frame suddenly rigid with tension, stunning dark eyes suddenly icy-cold. ‘Who is Jannis?’
Alesia stared at him in surprise, wondering why he suddenly sounded so angry. ‘Jannis is your chef.’
The tension left him. ‘Of course.’
‘He’s been teaching me to cook Greek dishes,’ Alesia told him, wondering what was the matter with him. ‘I enjoy it.’
She just loved cooking and it was wonderful not to have to think about the cost of the ingredients.
Dark eyes swept over her. ‘How else have you been spending your time in my absence?’
She shrugged. ‘I explored Athens.’
‘And?’ His gaze was quizzical. ‘Did you enjoy the experience?’
She smiled. ‘It’s an amazing city. Fascinating.’
He took a deep breath. ‘How is it that you have never visited Athens before? Your grandfather has a home very near to mine. Surely you have visited him there?’
Alesia froze. ‘I—no,’ she said finally. ‘I only ever saw him at his home on Corfu.’
Just the once.
Her heart started to beat faster. Would he think that was suspicious? Would he question her further?
‘What about you?’ Taking the initiative, she started to question him. ‘I know you have several different homes.’
He gave a smile. ‘Several different houses, agape mou, but only one home. This one.’ He was silent for a moment, staring out across the lit terrace towards the sea. ‘Home should be somewhere that you can be yourself. Somewhere private, a place wher
e you don’t have to answer to other people.’
‘But you’re rich,’ she blurted out impulsively. ‘You don’t have to answer to anyone—’
He topped up her glass, a gleam of amusement in his eyes as he looked at her. ‘I run an extremely complex, billion-dollar corporation,’ he drawled, ‘and on most days it feels as though I answer to the world. Decisions that I make have an effect on other people’s employment—on their lives.’
And did that really matter to him? Did he really care? Alesia stared at him. ‘My grandfather just made lots of people redundant—’
His mouth tightened and the amusement in his eyes faded, to be replaced by a steely expression. ‘And those people had families and responsibilities of their own. Redundancy is a reflection of poor business planning. If you look into the future you can anticipate market changes and respond in time. Redeploy people if necessary, offer training. My company has never been forced to make redundancies.’
‘And yet you have a reputation every bit as ruthless as my grandfather,’ she replied unthinkingly and to her surprise he laughed.
‘Well, I’m certainly no soft touch, agape mou,’ he drawled lightly. ‘I reward people well and in return I expect them to work hard. It’s a fairly simple formula.’
And yet the financial pages of all the newspapers described him as a business genius. Alesia recalled the things she’d read about him following that first meeting with her grandfather.
‘I read that when you left university you didn’t join your father’s business,’ she said and he gave a shrug.
‘It is never comfortable stepping into someone else’s shoes. I was hotheaded. I wanted to prove myself on my own ground.’
‘So you started your own business?’
‘My father’s business is very traditional,’ he explained, leaning forward and filling her plate. ‘I wanted to test other areas so I developed computer software with a friend from university and then we sold it to companies. In our first year we turned over fifty million dollars. We developed the company for several years and then sold it and by then I was ready to join my father. And that’s enough about me. I want to hear about you. I have heard about English boarding schools.’