A Bride at His Bidding

by Michelle Smart

The lengths she had gone to in the past to keep her face hidden from public view, like all journalists who worked undercover, had been for nothing. That the Greek billionaire Andreas Samaras was dating the respected journalist Carrie Rivers had generated more excitement than even she had expected.

  Her name would be linked to his for ever.

  ‘It cannot be a line when it is the truth.’ The pulse in his eyes shot straight through her flesh and into her bloodstream. ‘You are beautiful.’

  Heat rose inside her, a now familiar throbbing ache.

  When they dined out together he would stare at her with that same look, his eyes holding hers as he probed her with questions about her job and her interests, drawing her into conversation as any other dating couple behaved.

  She’d been surprised at how...easy it had all been. She’d expected there to be awkwardness between them but Andreas had carried all the conversations with an easy-going wit, always keeping talk in safe territory, displaying a droll humour that often made her laugh without her having to fake it for the paparazzi lenses.

  There had been moments when she had forgotten why they were there, forgotten that she hated him. Forgotten why she hated him; struggled to reconcile him with the man she’d spent three years dreaming of destroying.

  And underlying everything lay the strange chemical cocktail that snaked between them. Always she refused to drink wine with their meals; his intoxicating presence enough for her to fight against without adding alcohol to the mix. She had to keep her defences up as much as she could, not blithely allow herself to lower them.

  ‘Are you packed?’ he asked.

  She blinked sharply to clear her head—it seemed she was always having to clear it when with him—and nodded. ‘My case is in the kitchen. Give me a...’

  ‘I’ll get it for you,’ he interrupted with a wink, then swept past her and into the house. ‘I have some papers for you to read through before we leave.’

  Carrie couldn’t help the laugh that burst out of her.

  Until that moment, she had continued to refuse him admittance into her home. This was her territory, her sanctuary away from him, the one place she felt safe from all the turbulence that her life had become and the wild emotions he continually evoked in her.

  She sighed and rolled her eyes. She had only been delaying the inevitable and, frankly, she was surprised she’d been able to keep him out of her home for this long. Andreas had proved himself to be a steamroller when it came to getting what he wanted done. Even at the registry office the other day when they’d gone to book their wedding, the date he’d wanted had been fully booked and yet somehow the registrar had been able to accommodate him for that particular date and for the exact time he wanted.

  Carrie followed him down the long hallway behind the trail of his tangy cologne.

  Breathing in his scent drove away her momentary amusement and replaced it with the tell-tale flutters of panic and with it a certainty that she would never be able to walk down this hallway again without thinking of him...

  How could she know that?

  Stop being so melodramatic, she chided herself grimly.

  ‘This is nice,’ he commented as he stepped into the airy high-ceilinged kitchen. ‘It’s much bigger than it looks from the outside.’

  ‘Yes, it’s a regular Tardis.’

  ‘It’s a good location too. It must have cost a lot of money to buy.’

  ‘I guess so. It costs a fortune to maintain and heat.’ The front looked out over Hyde Park but as a child the monetary value of such a prime location had meant nothing to her. She remembered sunny days there, going for picnics, curling up on her mother’s lap under a tree as she read her stories, remembered teaching Violet how to do cartwheels and walk on her hands. Remembered dropping her ice cream and trying so hard to be grown up and not cry about it and Violet, chubby legged and her hair in pigtails, toddling over to her.

  ‘You eat mine too, Cawwie...’

  She blinked the bittersweet memories away before they could lance her heart any more.

  She’d spoken to Violet only the day before, another stilted conversation but this time it had been stilted on both sides, the question Carrie most wanted to ask she’d found herself incapable of saying: Did you lie about Andreas setting you up?

  She hadn’t asked because she was afraid of the answer. She was afraid that even if Violet’s answer was negative, she might not believe it.

  ‘I’ve lived here since I was four,’ she explained, speaking over the fresh roil of nausea that was induced whenever she allowed those doubts to gain too much space in her head. ‘My stepdad bought it when he married my mum. She got it when they divorced.’ And Carrie and Violet had inherited it when she’d later died. ‘What were the papers you wanted me to look at?’

  He pulled a thick envelope out of his inside pocket and held it out. ‘It’s a draft of our pre-nuptial agreement.’

  ‘What pre—?’ She caught herself and shook her head. ‘Of course. You’re protecting yourself.’

  ‘Anyone in my position would protect himself but you will see I have made more than adequate provisions for you.’

  ‘Unless that document says we both walk away with nothing from each other I don’t want to read it. I don’t want your money.’

  Andreas stared at her beautiful set face.

  Had there ever been a more stubborn person in the history of the earth?

  He thought of the thousands of pounds’ worth of designer goods she’d left behind in the Seychelles, giving them to one of Sheryl’s young daughters who was the same dress size. He only knew this because an anxious Sheryl had called him to make sure it was okay for her daughter to have them.

  That Carrie had done this shouldn’t have surprised him when he considered she’d spent their last day there sweltering in her own clothes rather than changing into any of the items he’d bought for her. It had still stung though, just as her refusal to take the envelope from his hand and read it also stung. She would much rather overheat than wear something paid for by him. She would rather struggle to pay her heating bill than accept a cash sum from him that would keep her comfortable for life.

  If she were starving she would still refuse his money.

  And he’d thought they’d been making progress.

  She still believed him to be corrupt.

  ‘Carrie,’ he said, making sure to keep his tone moderate although he wanted to snarl his words at her, ‘I’m only giving you what a court would award you on our divorce.’

  ‘I don’t want it. I earn my own money.’

  He shook his head, incredulity and anger merging like a toxin inside him. ‘You are unbelievable.’

  ‘Why? Because I won’t play the money roulette game? I’m only marrying you to protect my sister. I don’t want your money. The only thing you could give me that I would want is a time machine that can fast forward the next six months.’

  He held the envelope up. ‘You are sure about this? You are certain you want to give up a small fortune?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered without any hesitation.

  ‘I’ll get a new one done, then, that spells out you receive nothing.’ He ripped the envelope in half and let the pieces fall to the floor. Then he stepped over them to the large old-fashioned suitcase by the kitchen table. ‘And now that that is settled, we can go. Maybe some sunshine will make you more agreeable although I doubt anything could.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  CARRIE OPENED THE French doors of the living room of the lavish Mykonian-style villa she had been given for her stay on Agon and looked out over its beautiful garden. Fruit trees had come into blossom, filling the air with the most wonderful spring scent. She breathed it in deeply, letting it calm her ragged nerves.

  The island itself was dazzling, mountainous and overlooked by blue skies, but that was where the similarity with the Seychelles ended. Andreas’s peninsular had been remote, his and the chef’s cottage the only homes for miles and miles. Agon was filled with pristine
white homes, its beaches golden where the Seychelles sand was white. There was a different feel to it too, different smells and a much different vibe. This was a rich island and a growing financial powerhouse. Carrie’s villa would befit royalty and if she were in a different frame of mind she would be delighting to find herself staying in such a beautiful place for the next week.

  She didn’t know if the villa was hers alone or if Andreas was sharing it with her. She hadn’t seen him since his driver had dropped her off and brought their cases in while Andreas waited in the car. His only words as she’d got out of the vehicle had been, ‘I’ll be back by seven to take you out for dinner.’

  Since they had left her London home that morning he had hardly exchanged three sentences with her. His cases were still by the front door. If he were planning to stay here they would have been taken to whichever of the six bedrooms had been appointed as his.

  A housekeeper and a general handyman had been in the villa to greet her and show her to her room, the handyman carrying her case up the marble stairs for her.

  Her bedroom had taken her breath away; it was the complete opposite of the box room she’d been given in the Seychelles. She’d then been given a tour of the rest of the place and given the phone number for the staff house, where a small army of workers lived, all available twenty-four-seven for whatever she needed.

  She’d been alone now for three hours and time was dragging insufferably. She’d had a bath in her en-suite bathroom, feeling decadent in the freestanding roll-top bath, and then had changed into a pretty summer top in a light peach colour with spaghetti straps and a full matching skirt that fell to mid-calf. The top half of it especially was very similar to the summer dresses Andreas had bought for her but...this didn’t feel as good. The clothing he’d bought for her had caressed her skin in a way she hadn’t realised until she’d put her own, much cheaper clothing back on.

  She’d paced from room to room ever since, checking her watch every few minutes.

  She checked it again and bit her lip.

  It was almost seven.

  Nerves were accumulating in her belly at an ever-increasing rate, far more violent nerves than she’d become used to when waiting for him to pick her up for their dates in London.

  She’d angered him and while it was a thought that should make her glad, it made her stomach feel all coiled and acid-filled. In all that had passed between them in the past week she’d forgotten what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his anger, as she had been three years ago when he’d lasered her with his stare outside the headmistress’s office.

  He’d been angry the night when the truth had been revealed between them but that had felt different. They’d both been angry—furious—with each other. Since then he’d been all charm and geniality and she didn’t think it was an act. He was that way with everyone, treated even underpaid and always undervalued waiting staff in restaurants as if their opinions on the dish of the day truly mattered, made a point of learning their names and remembering them.

  She couldn’t help thinking that her refusal to open his envelope had wounded him in some way, which she knew was a ridiculous notion...

  Footsteps treading on the marble floor sounded out behind her and she spun round to find him standing there holding an enormous bunch of red roses.

  Their eyes met and held, and her heart made the most enormous thud against her ribs, the motion knocking all the air from her lungs.

  There was no humour in his eyes, no knowing gleam, not even any anger, just a steadfast openness that made the thuds in her heart morph into a racing thrum.

  He’d changed into fresh clothes, tailored dark grey trousers and a black shirt, since he’d dropped her at the villa. But there was something unkempt about him, his hair a little messier than he usually wore it, his jaw thick with stubble when he’d always been freshly shaved on their dates.

  He held the flowers out to her. ‘Peace offering.’

  She paused for only a moment before taking them from him.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

  She’d never been given flowers before.

  Keeping her eyes on his, she rubbed her nose against the delicate petals. They smelt wonderful.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he said simply.

  Her heart now racing so hard she could imagine it bursting out of her ribs, she attempted a smile but found one impossible to form.

  ‘I’ll find a vase to put these in.’ Forcing her feet to uproot themselves from the floor, she walked past him and headed to the vast kitchen on the other side of the villa.

  Andreas kept step beside her. ‘Have you settled in all right?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ She hadn’t found it this awkward to talk to him since the interview in his office. Back then, her tongue had been tied with the fear of being discovered. Her fear now was of a completely different hue. ‘Have you had a good afternoon?’

  ‘It has been productive.’

  ‘Oh?’ They’d reached the vast kitchen.

  Carrie put the flowers on a worktop and immediately busied herself opening cupboards and drawers, ostensibly to find a vase but more to keep her attention diverted from him and the terrifying things happening inside her.

  ‘I had a meeting.’ He opened a high cupboard and took down a crystal vase. ‘Is this what you’re looking for?’

  She took it from him with a small smile of thanks and almost dropped it when their fingers brushed.

  A shock of electricity skipped over her skin and danced into her veins, and she hurriedly turned her back to him as she muttered her thanks.

  Just breathe.

  First she filled the vase with water and added the sachet of feed to it.

  Breathe.

  She’d spotted scissors earlier when she’d made herself coffee, and she grabbed them out of the drawer and cut the pretty cellophane wrapping around the roses, then took the first rose—thankfully the thorns had been removed—and cut an inch of the base off and put it in the vase. She grabbed another, certain she remembered her mother doing something else when she was given roses but her brain was overloaded, trying to focus on the task at hand while tuning out the huge figure standing so close to her.

  She could feel his eyes on her.

  As she reached for another rose, a warm hand pressed into her lower back while another wrapped around her reaching wrist.

  She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. Her blood had thickened to a sludge that pulsed through every crevice in her body.

  Andreas felt the pulse in Carrie’s wrist beat madly against his thumb, the only movement on her still frame.

  Theos, he wanted her so badly it had become a constant ache he carried everywhere with him.

  He’d been so damned angry with her and her stubborn refusal to take her blinkers off when it came to him.

  When he’d dropped her at the villa he’d had half a mind to check himself into a hotel for the night but then he’d left his meeting hours later and a woman in a soft-top convertible had driven past him, roof down. She’d had chestnut hair almost identical in colour to Carrie’s. His chest had contracted so tightly in that moment he’d had to fight for breath.

  Why should he care what Carrie thought of him? he’d told himself as he’d dragged air into his lungs. She was only going to be in his life for a short period. All that mattered was that she marry him and kill the rumours before they properly started.

  But even as he was thinking all that he’d found himself walking into a florist and asking for their largest bunch of roses.

  He’d never bought flowers for a woman before.

  It had been the look in Carrie’s eyes as he’d passed the flowers to her that had driven the last of his anger out. There had been a vulnerability in those eyes he’d never seen in her before.

  He leaned forward to breathe in her cloud of hair, the silky strands tickling his nose, and heard a jagged inhalation.

  His need for her, the compulsion to touch her, the yearn to taste her...
He had never wanted a woman more.

  He breathed the fragrant scent of her hair in again then cupped her cheeks in his hands, his body almost touching hers, close enough to feel the tiny quivers vibrating through her.

  Stark, frozen hazel eyes stared into his, her trembling lips parted but no sound coming out.

  ‘I’m going to kiss you,’ he said huskily. ‘I’m going to kiss you until you tell me to stop.’ Then, caressing her cheeks with his fingers, he pressed his lips to hers...

  At first she remained stock still, not even breathing, her body like soft concrete. Slipping his hands round to spear her hair and cradle her head in much the same way she had cradled his what now felt like a lifetime ago, he moulded his mouth a little more firmly to hers, gently coaxing her into a response he knew she was fighting with everything she had.

  Stubbornly, she continued to resist, her body still rigid, her soft plump lips refusing to move with his. But she didn’t push him away or tell him to stop.

  Emboldened, he gently moved his mouth over hers and ran a hand down the length of her back.

  He felt her give the tiniest of shivers.

  Then she took the tiniest of breaths.

  And she still didn’t push him away or tell him to stop.

  He pressed himself a little closer, trapping her against the worktop.

  She gasped into his mouth then quickly closed her own again but made no effort to break away from his kiss.

  And still she didn’t push him away or tell him to stop.

  His mouth still covering hers, Andreas brushed his hands lightly down her sides and clasped her hips, then in one movement broke the kiss to lift her onto the worktop. Her hands sprang to life and grabbed his arms as if to steady herself.

  Her eyes fluttered open.

  For a moment that passed like an age, they stared into each other’s eyes, Carrie’s hooded gaze pulsing dazed desire at him. The hands holding his biceps like a vice loosened but she didn’t let go.

  Suddenly desperate to feel the softness of her lips against his again, he crushed his mouth to hers and gently pushed her thighs apart through the fabric of her skirt and stepped into the space he’d just created so the unmistakable feel of his arousal pressed against her pelvis, obvious even with all the layers of thin clothing separating them.