by Julia James
Well, it was none of her business. She didn't care about Nikos Vassilis. He was using her to get what he wanted—and she was simply returning the favour! And she wasn't even cheating him. Even after she'd been packed off home he'd still have got what he wanted—Coustakis Industries—courtesy of his brand-new and totally unwanted wife! He'd be perfectly happy if the bride didn't stick around like glue! A grim smile played about her mouth. In fact, the only person who would end up with a bad bargain would be her beloved grandfather! He'd have handed over his company to Nikos Vassilis, along with his despised granddaughter, but he'd be waiting a long time for his precious heir!
The throaty roar of a high-powered car approaching the house along the long drive that was hidden from the front gardens interrupted her bitter reveries. She tensed. It did not sound like the purr of the huge limousine her grandfather had taken his leave in some half-hour ago—heading, she assumed for his office in Athens. This was a much more aggressive engine indeed—and it didn't take a genius to guess whose it was.
Some few minutes later her assumption was confirmed. Nikos Vassilis strode out on to the terrace. He came to where she was sitting.
Andrea felt her body tense. Something leapt inside her. He was looking spectacular again. A pale grey immaculately cut business suit, gleaming white shirt, grey silk tie, made him look taller and more svelte than ever. His expression was unreadable, made more so by the dark glasses covering bis eyes, and as she looked at his face she felt her stomach hollow out.
Oh, dear God, he's just gorgeous! she felt herself thinking.
He sat himself down opposite her, stretching out his long legs, his feet almost touching hers. Automatically she drew her legs back, the sudden movement causing a jolt of mild pain to go through them.
He caught the expression on her face and frowned slightly.
'Are you all right?'
The rich timbre of his voice, so seductively accented, made her feel weak. She nodded briefly to answer his query, unable to speak.
'How is your cheek?'
The frown had deepened, and before she could stop him he had reached across the table and touched the side of her face with his fingers. They felt cool, but where they made a thousand sensations quiver through her. He tilted her head slightly, so that he could see where he touched.
There was a bruise, definitely, even if only faintly visible. She had made no attempt to cover it with make-up, though she had let her hair fall loose, so that it covered her right ear which was still red from having caught the main thrust of her grandfather's blow.
'Fine,' she said quickly, brushing bis hand aside. She did not want his concern—the last words she had flung at him had been an atrocious insult, and his evident concern for her now put her off kilter. So did the echoing resonance of his light velvet touch just now...
The soft-footed approach of a servant carrying a tray of coffee for two was a welcome interruption. It gave Andrea precious moments to collect herself.
Nikos lifted off his dark glasses and slid them into his breast pocket. Andrea wished he hadn't. Although it was disturbing to address a man whose eyes she could not see, it was far, far worse to have those keen slate-grey eyes visible to her. The eyes searched her face.
'You are upset still,' he said quietly. 'Last night was very distressing for you. I apologise—it should not have happened that way.' He paused, feeling carefully for his words. 'Your grandfather is a...difficult...man, Andrea, as you must surely already appreciate from all your years of knowing him. He is used to commanding others, to giving orders—and to getting his own way by the swiftest means possible. However brutal.' There was a frown in his eyes. 'Hitting you was insupportable. But—' he held up a hand to ward off what her reply must be '—understandable. That is not to excuse him, Andrea—merely to point out that there was no way he was going to be outfaced by his own granddaughter in front of me, and that he comes from a generation which did not believe in sparing the rod.'
Andrea stilled. She thought of her father, brought up here, a vulnerable boy, bullied by his father from the day he was born—thrashed into obedience...
The only bright hope of his life had been Kim, the girl he'd met on a beach and fallen in love with on the spot, their young romance an idyll out of Romeo and Juliet. And just as doomed. I'm not just doing this for you, Mum—I'm doing it for my father too. Looking after you the way he was never able to... Nikos Vassilis was talking again. She forced herself to listen. 'You must believe me when I tell you that last night I naturally assumed you knew of your grandfather's marriage plans for you—and agreed to them.' She reached forward to the coffee pot—filter coffee, she noticed gratefully, not the treacly Greek brew—and started to pour them both a cup.
'But I do agree to them,' she announced. 'I've had a talk with my grandfather this morning and it's all settled, Mr Vassilis. You can continue with your merger plans.'
Her voice was remarkably calm, she thought. But then that was the way to play it—cool, calm and collected. This was not a real marriage they were talking about; it was part of a business contract that would benefit them both. She must remember that and not think about anything else.
Certainly not about the way the sensual line of his mouth contrasted with the tough, cleanly defined edge of his jaw, or the way his dark silky hair made her long to reach her fingers to it...
She pushed the cup towards him.
'Milk and sugar?' she asked politely.
He shook his head briefly, a frown creasing between his eyes.
'Did he bully you again?' he demanded openly.
Her eyes widened in surprise.
'Certainly not,' she answered, economising on the trudi to cut to the chase. 'We struck an excellent deal that I'm perfectly satisfied with.'
She poured milk into her coffee and took a reflective sip.
'Deal?' There was an edge in Nikos's voice that Andrea would have had to have been deaf not to hear. 'What deal?'
She smiled. It was an artificial smile, but for all that she could not stop a curl of satisfaction indenting her mouth. Satisfaction that at last, after a quarter of a century, her mother would get reparation from Yiorgos Coustakis. Devastated, heartbroken and pregnant, Kim had asked nothing from Andreas's father, had wanted only to offer him and Andreas's mother the comfort of knowing that, although their son had died so tragically, a grandchild had been conceived. She had not asked for money—she had offered comfort and consolation.
But Yiorgos Coustakis had treated her like a gold-digging whore...
'Finally, Mr Vassilis, I get money of my own.'
'Money?' There was a chill in his voice now that raised the hairs on her neck, but she kept the tight, artificial smile pasted to her lips.
'Yes, money, Mr Vassilis. You know—the crisp folding stuff, the bright shiny stuff, the silent, electronic stuff that wings its way into bank accounts and makes the world go round.'
Her eyes were bright and hard.
'Explain.'
That was an order, just as if Nikos Vassilis had been speaking to one of his underlings. And if he owned a company worth five hundred million euros, Andrea reminded herself deliberately, that meant he had one hell of a lot of underlings!
'Explain? Well, it's an extremely simple contract, Mr Vassilis. Just between me and my grandfather—it will have no impact on your own contract with him, 1 promise. My grandfather undertakes to make a certain amount of money over to me upon my marriage to you.' She smiled again, bright and hard. 'Unlike you, I prefer Coustakis cash, not shares.'
Nikos's face had frozen.
'He is paying you to marry me?'
Andrea could have laughed. Laughed right in his handsome face. He was angry! He actually had the nerve to be angry! God, what a hypocrite! But she couldn't laugh. Her throat felt very tight suddenly, as if there was a cord around her neck. Choking at her. All she could do was give a careless, acknowledging nod and take another mouthful of coffee.
She set her cup dow
n with a click.
'Just as he is paying you,' she pointed out, 'to marry me.'
'That is different! Completely different!'
Refutation was in every syllable. Andrea busied herself topping up her coffee. She felt very calm now. Extremely calm.
'I don't see why. You would hardly hitch yourself to an unknown woman if there weren't something in it for you, would you? I just happen to come with enough Coustakis shares to make it worth your while.' She replaced the coffee pot and looked straight across the table at the man she was going to marry. For half a million pounds.
'Mr Vassilis, let us be completely up-front about this. You did me the courtesy last night—' she did not trouble to hide the sarcasm in her voice '—of pointing out that our marriage was predicated upon your taking control of Coustakis Industries. You can't do that without a majority shareholding. Even I, with my tiny business brain, know that!'
Nikos looked at her. His grey eyes were like cold slate. 'I am buying Coustakis shares! Not in cash, but in paper—exchanging them for Vassilis shares at a hefty premium, I assure you! Your grandfather will do very well out of the deal! I'm undertaking a reverse takeover, whereby the much smaller Vassilis Inc can acquire the much larger Coustakis holding with a minimum of debt purchase or rights issues to fund it.'
She waved her hand impatiently. 'Spare me the technicalities! The salient point, so far as I am concerned, is that my grandfather will not agree to the merger—reverse take-over, acquisition, whatever you call it—unless you marry me. That means you're marrying me to get Coustakis Industries. Owning the majority of Coustakis shares will make you even richer than you are—i.e. you're being paid to marry me. End of story.'
Tony would be proud of my cool, clear logic, she thought defiantly.
Every good resolution that Nikos had entertained since brooding on Andrea Coustakis in his boardroom vanished. Every last shred of sympathy. Sympathy for her being kept in ignorance by Old Man Coustakis, sympathy for her having a brute like him for a grandfather—all went totally. He had come to make his peace with her, to start over again, begin his wooing of her as a man should woo his bride...
That hysterical harpy he had seen last night would never come back—there would be no need for her. Instead only the soft, yielding, sensual woman he had held in his arms so tantalisingly would be the bride he took for his wife.
But what did he find now? A woman sitting and talking about marriage and money in the same breath. A woman with a mind like a cash-box.
Conscience pricked at him, but he pushed it away. No, of course he would not have dreamt of marrying an unknown woman without the chance to take over Coustakis Industries! But dynastic marriages of convenience were commonplace in the world of the very rich—that did not mean they had to be sordid. And since setting eyes on Andrea Coustakis he had known straight away that marriage to her would be anything but a marriage of convenience—it would be a marriage of mutual pleasure...
Andrea sat across the table and studied him dispassionately. He was offended. Offended by her frankness. She no longer wanted to laugh. Nor did her throat feel tight any more. Instead, a sort of dull, hard, unemotional carapace had descended on her, covering every inch of her.
As he looked back at her Nikos felt his gaze hardening. Theos, but she was a cool piece. Coustakis blood ran in her veins, no doubt about that!
Revulsion shimmered through him. The woman he had held trembling in his arms last night seemed a thousand miles away, as if she had never been. This was the true Andrea Coustakis now. Like her grandfather—knowing the price of everything, the value of nothing.
And she knew her own price, that was for sure. He smiled grimly. Well, he knew her price too. And he would treat her accordingly.
He got to his feet.
'Well—' his voice was abrupt '—since we now both know where we stand, we can begin.'
She looked up at him, uncertain suddenly.
'Begin what?'
He flashed a smile. It had no humour in it.
'Our official betrothal.'
He reached down and took her hand, drawing her to her feet.
'And, though you might wish to seal such an event with a chequebook, I prefer a more traditional method—'
She had a fraction of a second to read his intent. It was utterly inadequate to allow her to react in time and pull away.
His kiss was deep and sensuous. Slow and possessive.
Very, very possessive.
His mouth moved over hers, lazily, exploringly, lastingly...
Making absolutely free with her.
She felt her stomach plummet to the floor, felt adrenaline flood through her veins, felt weakness debilitate her totally.
Felt her hand lift of its own accord and curl around his neck, splaying its fingers into his silky hair. Felt herself moan softly, helplessly, as he played with her mouth.
He let her go, casually unwinding her hand and letting it drop nervelessly to her side. Then he took her chin in his fingers and tilted it up. Her mouth was bee-stung, lips red and swollen. Aroused.
Her eyes were lustrous, wide and staring at him, her lashes thick and lush.
'You are an acquisition, Andrea Coustakis, that I shall very much enjoy making,' he said softly, gazing down at her with gleaming possession in his eyes. His voice dropped, making her heart stop. 'I look forward, very much to our personal merger...'
His meaning made perfectly clear, he stroked her cheek and stood back. Then he glanced at his watch.
'Come—we shall lunch, and show the world that Vassilis Inc has plans for Coustakis Industries.' -
He tucked her hand into his arm and led her off.
Andrea went with him helplessly. She hadn't a bone left in her body to resist.
The restaurant was plush and crowded. It was clearly excruciatingly expensive. Andrea didn't have to glance at the menu prices to know that.
As they'd walked in, she stiff and wary, concealing her nervousness at being in such a place, she'd felt every eye upon her. A covert glance around showed her that just about everyone here was male—the place was awash with suits. Very expensive suits. This was a place, she knew immediately, where the most successful businessmen in Athens took their lunch and cut their deals, made their contacts and their money.
The maitre d' who advanced upon them at their entrance knew her escort, that was obvious. His manner was oh-so-attentive, oh-so-deferential. Though the place looked packed, he did not seem in the least dismayed by the prospect of having to find a table for his latest arrivals.
Nikos knew he'd sort something. For a start he was too curious about the female at his side not to want to find out more. Athens was a city that liked to gossip, and Nikos had made sure that it liked to gossip about him. Having a reputation as a connoisseur of fine women did him no harm at all in the business world. Men envied him—envied his success, his ability to have a beautiful woman on his arm, envied the fact that, unlike most of them, he did not need his money to keep them there—he could do it on his looks alone.
'Kyrios Vassilis,' smiled the greeter. 'How delightful to have you as our guest today. And your lovely companion, of course...'
His voice trailed away expectantly.
With an acknowledging half-smile, Nikos accommodated him.
"Thespiris Coustakis,' he obliged.
The man's face was a picture. Nikos almost laughed. Then, revealing nothing but the excited gleam in his eyes, the man immediately bowed to Andrea and murmured, in breathless .tones, how greatly honoured he was to have her grace his establishment.
'No fuss, if you please,' said Nikos, and began to head for the bar area. 'We'll have a drink until our table is ready.' He caught the man's eye and made his message clear. 'Something as private as you can manage.'
'Of course.' The man bowed again, eyes gleaming even more, and clicked his fingers imperiously for a pair of minions, who were there immediately and then despatched variously at his bidding. Then, bowing yet again
, he ostentatiously ushered Nikos and Andrea towards the bar.
'This way, if you please, Thespiris Coustakis,' he said, in a voice that was intentionally louder than before. Andrea could see a couple of men seated nearby, also waiting for their table, look up sharply, subjecting her to penetrating stares. Then one of them promptly got up and moved across to one of the tables in the dining area, bending low to speak into the man's ear. The man looked up abruptly and followed his line of gaze towards Nikos Vassilis and his companion.
As she took her seat—a huge, soft leather chair into which she sank almost completely—she said through clenched teeth, 'What the hell is this circus? Have I got two heads or something?'
Nikos gave a brief laugh, his teeth gleaming wolfishly.