by Sarah Morgan
‘The way I feel about you has nothing to do with the fact that you’re pregnant,’ he groaned. ‘Although I can’t pretend I’m not delighted about that because it ties you to me. I cannot believe that a woman as loyal and giving as you would willingly deprive her child of a father.’
She closed her eyes. ‘Sebastien, this is ridiculous. You made it perfectly clear what you thought of me right from the beginning. You thought I was the very worst type of gold-digger, and in a way I was—’
‘That was before I knew you,’ he breathed, the skin stretched taut over his hard bone structure. ‘And I feel very guilty about the way I treated you.’
‘I don’t blame you for any of that—’
‘Then you should,’ he said roughly, removing the tray from her lap and putting it on a nearby table. ‘You seem to have forgotten that I’m not exactly blameless. ‘You were forced to marry me for money but I just assumed you were like all the other women I’d ever known and I treated you abominably.’
‘Sebastien—’
‘But you have to understand that I’d never met a woman like you before,’ he groaned as he came down beside her on the bed. ‘All the women I’ve met in the past have only ever been interested in material things. I assumed that was why you wanted the money.’
She opened her eyes and gave a faint smile at that. ‘I can’t pretend I don’t enjoy being able to wear nice things and eat delicious food—’
‘Then stay with me and I will teach you how your sex is supposed to behave,’ he said with a sardonic smile that wasn’t quite steady. ‘I’ll teach you how to spend, spend, spend and party, party, party. You deserve it.’
It was so tempting just to say yes. ‘It isn’t enough, Sebastien,’ she said shakily, lifting a hand to her throbbing head. ‘You’ll get bored.’
‘Never—you constantly surprise me—’
‘You’ve never stayed with one woman for more than five minutes—’
‘And with you I can’t be away from you even for that long,’ he pointed out in husky tones. ‘Or has that fact escaped you?’
She blushed. ‘That’s just sex.’
‘Not just sex,’ he contradicted her, inhaling deeply as if he were bracing himself to say something. ‘I love you and I know that you don’t feel the same way about me, but I still can’t let you go.’
She stilled. ‘You don’t love me—you just said that for the benefit of my mother and grandfather.’
‘I said it because it is true,’ he said quietly, stroking a hand over her tumbled hair and giving her a strangely uncertain smile. ‘I never thought love existed before I met you and now I’ve found it I can’t let it go, even though I know it isn’t reciprocated. I still think I can make you happy.’
Alesia was in a daze. He loved her? ‘You can’t possibly love me—after our wedding night you just walked out. You didn’t even spend the night with me.’
‘Don’t remind me what a total louse I was,’ he groaned, sliding his hands around her face and forcing her to look at him. ‘I was so cruel to you.’
‘Because you hated me—’
‘Because I didn’t trust myself in the bed with you,’ he corrected her, bringing his mouth down on her softy parted lips and stealing a drugging kiss. ‘It took a monumental effort on my part not to climb back into bed with you and make love until you couldn’t move.’
‘Then why didn’t you?’
‘Because what I felt for you scared me and I didn’t like feeling that way,’ he confessed with unusual candour. ‘You made me feel out of control and I just hated that. Particularly given the sort of woman I believed you to be.’
‘So you vanished for two weeks without any contact—’
He gave a rueful smile. ‘I wasn’t used to being faced with powerful emotions because it had never happened to me before. I decided to keep my distance and on top of that I was working twenty-four hours a day trying to unravel the mess your grandfather had made of the company.’
She stared at him. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d been under pressure at work but of course he must have been. ‘We were so close on the island but after I told you that I was infertile you didn’t come near me. I thought you hated me.’
‘At first I was angry,’ he conceded, sliding an arm round her and tucking her against him, ‘but when I calmed down I realized that you’d had no choice but to marry me. Because of the person that you are and because of your circumstances, you made the only decision open to you. Once I recognized that, I didn’t want you to be forced to endure my company.’
‘But you announced that you were going to continue to support me because you felt responsible for the explosion even though you weren’t even there.’
He sighed. ‘I’d sensed trouble all along. I’d advised my father not to have the meeting because I didn’t trust your grandfather not to intervene. But he thought it was time to mend fences and I was only nineteen—why should he listen to me? I was arrogant—thought I knew everything—’
Alesia looked up at him. ‘But you were right.’
He shrugged. ‘As it turns out, yes. I decided to go to the meeting anyway but, as I reached the bay, the boat exploded. In the chaos afterwards I never knew who was on board.’
Her gaze softened. ‘I still can’t believe it was you who saved me—’
‘It was fate,’ he growled possessively, tightening his grip on her. ‘You were meant to be mine all along.’
‘That’s guilt, Sebastien,’ she whispered, ‘not love, and you have no reason to feel responsible for what happened.’
‘It’s not guilt,’ he said fiercely, ‘and one day I will make you love me the way I love you.’
The breath jammed in her throat. ‘Do you mean it?’
‘I am devoting every waking hour to finding ways of making you love me,’ he vowed and she shook her head, her gaze suddenly shy as she stared up at him.
‘No, I mean do you really love me?’
‘You need more convincing?’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I have made myself vulnerable for the first time in my life, agape mou, and for a very proud Greek man, that should say it all. The fact that I’m prepared to confess my love, knowing that it isn’t returned—’
‘It is returned. I do love you, Sebastien,’ she whispered softly, her blue eyes reflecting everything she felt. ‘I’ve loved you from the moment I realized what sort of man you really are. Strong, dependable, responsible. Everything that my grandfather isn’t.’
His powerful body tensed and he stared at her intently. ‘You don’t have to lie to me to make me feel better—’
She shook her head. ‘No more lies, ever. From now on, only the truth and the truth is that I love you.’
He caught the words in his mouth and kissed her. ‘Tell me again,’ he groaned against her mouth, ‘and again—’
‘I love you.’ Alesia gave a womanly smile and then gasped as his mouth found a sensitive spot at the base of her neck. ‘Oh, Sebastien—’
‘No other man is ever going to discover just how hot you are,’ he vowed, pulling her down next to him and curving her trembling body into his.
‘I forgot to add that as well as strong, dependable and responsible, you’re also macho, overbearing and impossibly possessive,’ she teased, and he gave a smug smile.
‘I’m Greek, agape mou. What do you expect?’
‘I like the fact that you want to protect me. No one has ever done that for me before.’
He tightened his hold on her. ‘From now on, nothing will hurt you. And we need never go to the island again,’ he promised her in thickened tones. ‘We can live in cities if that is where you feel more comfortable.’
‘I don’t mind where we live as long as you’re there,’ she confessed breathlessly, snuggling against him like a contented kitten. ‘You make me feel safe. I don’t think swimming in the sea will ever be my speciality but I can learn to fly over it as long as you’re holding my hand. I love the island, Sebastien. It’s the place where I fell in love with you.’
‘Anything?’ Her eyes twinkled and he gave an appreciative laugh.
‘Now you’re making me nervous.’ His wickedly sexy eyes gleamed. ‘What is it you want? At this point perhaps I ought to warn you that I won’t permit the mother of my child to walk around dressed in a miniskirt and three-inch heels.’
‘Possessive again,’ she teased, but her arms slid round the strong column of his neck and she pressed a kiss into the corner of his mouth. ‘Did you mean what you said about my mother living in Greece?’
‘Of course. The doctors feel she will recuperate much faster in the sunshine,’ he told her. ‘As soon as she is well enough to travel we will have her transferred to a private hospital in Athens.’
Alesia sighed. ‘What it is to have money—’
‘You still have to ask me for something for yourself,’ he reminded her, a trace of amusement lighting his dark gaze.
‘What are you, the genie of the lamp?’
He gave a groan of submission. ‘I just want to give you everything,’ he confessed and she smiled the smile of a woman who knew she was truly loved.
‘In that case, can we go back to Greece as soon as possible? I’m in love with Greek food and Greek sunshine.’
‘And Greek men?’ He dropped a kiss on her parted lips. ‘Are you in love with them also?’
‘Just the one Greek man, Mr Fiorukis,’ she replied with a laugh in her eyes. ‘Just the one.’
Taken by the Highest Bidder
By Jane Porter
CHAPTER ONE
SAMANTHA VAN BERGEN’S husband was missing in action. Again. And unfortunately, Sam knew where he was.
She knew where to find him when he didn’t return home for days at a time, and she knew what to expect.
Disaster.
This was a battle, she thought, drawing her gray velvet cloak closer to her evening gown as she swiftly climbed the stairs to Monte Carlo’s grand Le Casino, a battle she was losing.
Johann had always been a compulsive gambler but he used to win more. He used to walk away from the table when it turned ugly. But he didn’t do that anymore. He just sat there, losing. Losing. Losing.
They’d already lost so much. Their savings. The chic penthouse. The Ferrari—not that Sam had ever driven it.
What was left? She wondered, climbing the casino’s marble steps.
In Le Casino’s VIP card room, Cristiano Bartolo lounged at his favorite table when the door to their private room opened. Annoyed by the interruption, he glanced up, but his irritation eased as he recognized beautiful, blond Samantha van Bergen, or more commonly known as the baroness van Bergen.
It was, he thought, mouth curving faintly, such a huge, stately title for such a young blushing English bride.
He played his card, then looked up to watch her unfasten the top hook on her velvet cloak, letting the dove-gray velvet fabric fall back over one shoulder revealing her white evening gown beneath.
She fascinated him. He didn’t know why. He’d only seen her once before, but she’d made such an impression that night six months ago he knew he’d never forget her.
The first time he’d seen her had been here, at Le Casino, as well. Then, as now, he’d been sitting at the exclusive high roller tables, and then, as now, every head at the table had turned. Cristiano turned, too, to see what had caught every man’s attention.
No wonder every man stared.
The baroness was small, slim, beautiful. She had a delicate oval face framed by blond ringlets, long loose curls that gave her a decidedly angelic appearance, although her eyes, slightly tilted at the corners, were not completely innocent.
Beautiful girls were a dime a dozen, but she touched him; with her serious expression, her dark brown brows pulled, the deep furrow between arched brows.
Cristiano watched now as the young baroness stood just inside the door, not nervous or uncertain, just focused. She wore a look of utter concentration, an expression of grave concern, and Cristiano was certain this is what Joan of Arc must have looked like before battle as she moved to Johann van Bergen’s side.
Cristiano had never liked Johann, would never like Johann, and had deliberately sat at this table so he could play the baron. Cristiano had discovered months ago that Johann van Bergen didn’t know how to play cards, couldn’t gamble and hadn’t a clue how to walk away from a game even when he was being bled. And he was most definitely bleeding tonight.
Bleeding out.
Bleeding dry.
Cristiano scooped up a handful of chips, moved them forward, upping the ante by two hundred and fifty thousand pounds. It wasn’t a small bet, but neither was it huge. Over five million pounds had already been wagered tonight. Johann’s loss to Cristiano’s gain.
Eyes narrowing, Cristiano watched as Samantha approached the table, watched one long loose blond tendril slide forward on her shoulder, dangle across her breast. He envied the curl. Longed to take it, twine it around his fingers and then dip it between her full breasts.
Cristiano reached for his whiskey, sipped it, let the heat and fire warm him, wanting Samantha. She made him feel—curious, carnal, intent on possession.
She crouched now at Johann’s side, her velvet cloak pushed back on her shoulders, her slim bare arms extended, her hands on Johann’s thigh.
Her hands didn’t belong on Johann’s thigh.
Her hands belonged on his.
Cristiano’s gaze moved from her bare arms to her shoulders to her deep cleavage revealed by the plunging neckline of her white evening gown. Leisurely he let his gaze travel up, along the smooth column of her throat to her firm rounded chin and jaw, the curve of cheekbone and the worry in her blue eyes. The worry was also there in the faint line between her perfect arched brows, as well as in the press of her lipsticked mouth, her beauty delicate and yet painfully pinched.
Angels shouldn’t be so tormented, he thought, finding his chair suddenly uncomfortable, just as his body felt too hard and tight.
He imagined kissing her full mouth until it softened beneath his, saw her lying naked in his bed, her slender limbs stretched out beneath him, her delicate gold necklace the only thing she wore.
But his blond Joan of Arc was on a mission, and she was oblivious to all but Johann as she spoke to him, her voice but a murmur of soft sound. Cristiano couldn’t hear what she said to Johann van Bergen, but the baron made no effort to lower his voice. “Go,” Johann told her, tone cold, blunt. “Go back home where you’re supposed to be.”
But she didn’t go. She continued to crouch at Johann’s side, whispering urgent words only the baron could hear, words that only angered him further. “I don’t need a mother,” he said, slapping his cards down. “I already had one. And I don’t need you. You’ve done nothing for me.”
Two dark pink blotches stained her cheeks. Silently she regarded him, face flushed, chin lifted, painful dignity. Then without another word, she slipped off her cloak, handed it to the gentleman at the door and took a chair, sitting behind Johann.
During the next hour and a half Cristiano watched her. He liked watching her. She’d been beautiful six months ago but she was even more stunning tonight. He’d have her. Soon. Very soon. Even if she was another man’s wife.
Cristiano folded his cards, tossed them onto the table and leaned back, content to use the time to watch his woman. Because she was his. She was everything he wanted—young, sleek, sexy and unavailable. The unavailable aspect he found especially seductive.
It was good to feel tempted. Seduced. It felt good to want something, someone. It made him feel, period, and God knows, he didn’t feel much of anything anymore.
Lashes lowered, he watched Baroness van Bergen now as aga
in she whispered more urgent words to her husband. But her husband was ignoring her.
Foolish man, Cristiano thought derisively. Foolish man to marry such a woman and then ignore her. Because there was beauty, and then there was beauty, and Johann’s young blond wife wasn’t your run-of-the-mill beauty, but something finer. Rarer.
Cristiano called Johann’s bluff, forcing the baron to show his cards. Nothing.
It was all Cristiano could do to hide his contempt. Johann was gambling his life away. What a fool. A gambling man understood risks, and took them. A gambling man understood wins and losses. But Johann wasn’t a true gambler, he didn’t understand risk, and he didn’t understand loss.
But Cristiano did. He knew what it was to win, and he knew what it was to lose and he didn’t like losing. So he didn’t. Not anymore. Hadn’t lost in so long that he’d almost, almost, forgotten the bitter taste.
Almost.
But not quite.
And that faint but bitter taste of loss still burned his tongue as it burned his heart and made him take. Risk. And win.
It was conquering. It was plundering. It was—he reached for the cards just dealt him—revenge.
Sam sat behind Johann, her gaze fixed on his new hand of cards, seeing what he was seeing, wondering if he was as nervous as she. He had terrible cards. Absolutely nothing in his hand and yet he was sitting there playing as if he held only aces in his hand.
God, Johann, what are you doing?
What are you thinking? Playing?
Stomach in knots, hands folded on her knee, Sam drew a deep breath, her white jersey dress with the gold spaghetti straps pulling tightly across her shoulders.
The villa was gone.
The bank account emptied.
There was nothing left to wager.
With a cry of disgust, Johann tossed his cards onto the table, showing what he had. Nothing. Three sevens.
Sam bit the inside of her cheek to hide her shame. Three sevens. He’d bet and lost their home with his three sevens. God forgive him. Where was his common sense? His survival instinct? What kind of fool was he?