by Lucy Gordon;Sarah Morgan;Robyn Donald;Lucy Monroe;Lee Wilkinson;Kate Walker
She shifted in her seat. ‘I really don’t—’
‘Erotic is concerned with the most intense and arousing of sexual pleasure. When a woman uses her femininity as part of sexual stimulation, that’s erotic. When a man gives in to powerful sexual desire and pleasures a woman, that’s erotic. It’s an orgy of sensual fulfilment, agape mou, not a word extracted from Greek mythology. To give it a more contemporary translation, erotic is carnal, erogenous, rousing, seductive, sexy, suggestive, voluptuous—’
‘Stop it! Be quiet!’ She put her hands over her ears, unable to listen to another word. For a moment she couldn’t breathe at all and then his eyes lifted back to hers and suddenly she felt as though she had jumped straight into the deep end of a swimming pool from a great height. Out of her depth, she looked away from him, desperately trying to slow the rapid thump of her heart. His knowledge of Greek mythology surprised her but somehow he’d managed to take what could have been a stimulating academic discussion and lower it to the basest level. Which was entirely typical of him, she thought shakily. It was evident that, when he was with a woman, all he thought about was sex.
Consoling herself with the fact that she still held the trump card, she finally managed to steady her breathing and ignore the insidious throb deep in her body. ‘I’m sure that the word “erotic” has featured frequently in your life in the past,’ she said in a shaky voice, trying and failing to understand the burning ache between her thighs. ‘Which is actually just as well because it certainly isn’t going to feature in your life again in the future.’
‘You think not?’ Something about his deep velvety voice set her heart thumping again and she shifted in the seat.
‘I know not.’ Confused by her own feelings and furious with him for tying her in knots, she finally turned her head and looked at him. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me what I want written into the pre-nuptial agreement?’
‘It’s of very little interest to me.’
‘Really?’ Suddenly she wanted to do something to shake him out of his customary cool. She really, really wanted him to mind about something and as far as she could see, apart from money, there was only one thing that dominated his Neanderthal brain. ‘I’m going to insist that the lawyer includes a clause which prevents you from having sexual relations with another woman. Once you marry me, you’re going to live a celibate life, Nikos, so you’d better learn to say goodbye to all things erotic.’
A warm feeling of smug satisfaction spreading through her body, she settled back in her seat and waited for the reaction. But if she’d expected an explosion, then she was disappointed. Instead he lay sprawled in his seat, watching her from under half lowered lashes, the expression on his handsome face unreadable.
‘You don’t want me to have sex with another woman?’ His gaze lingered on her face. ‘You’re absolutely sure about that?’
‘Absolutely sure.’ She smiled, confident that she was now back in control. ‘And, if at any point during our marriage I’m shown evidence of your infidelity, then I won’t reveal the whereabouts of the jewel.’
‘You return the jewel to me on the day of our wedding, otherwise the deal doesn’t go ahead.’
‘If I did that, then you would simply divorce me.’
He gave a faint smile. ‘I’ve instructed my lawyers to draw up an agreement which binds us together for two years, just as you requested. That should be more than enough for us to drive each other up the wall and for you to extract what you see as revenge. If you’re in any doubt as to the depth of the punishment, then I can assure you that two years with you will be the equivalent of twenty years with any other woman.’
She absorbed the insult, telling herself that the more he loathed her, the more effective the revenge. ‘So you agree to my terms?’
He suppressed a yawn. ‘I agree not to have sex with other women for the duration of our marriage, if you’re absolutely sure that’s what you want. You might want to think hard before you confirm that point.’
She didn’t need to think at all. She knew it was the right thing to do and was extremely glad she’d thought of it—and slightly surprised, if she were honest. Things pertaining to sex weren’t usually high in her thoughts. She smiled, delighted that she’d won that point and wondering why he hadn’t constructed a more vociferous argument in defence of his sex life. Or any argument, come to that. He’d been remarkably compliant considering the issue at stake. Surely a man as obsessed with sex as Nikos Kyriacou wouldn’t so readily agree to having his activity in that area curbed for a full two years? Wouldn’t agree to celibacy? On the other hand, he probably didn’t want to reveal just how badly her punishment was affecting him. A man like him had an ego to protect. Except for the few occasions where she’d obviously driven him to the extreme limits of his patience, he clearly prided himself on his cool, unemotional approach to life. He was hardly going to display his true feelings on the matter.
Convinced that she had the upper hand for possibly the first time in days, Angie smiled at him, unable to hide her triumph. ‘It’s what I want.’
His eyes rested on her face and for a brief moment she thought she saw amusement in his gaze but then it was gone and he sat forward, hit a button that opened an intercom between him and the driver and issued another stream of instructions. ‘We’ll see the lawyer right away. Why wait?’
Her feeling of triumph faltered slightly in the face of his indifference. Then she reminded herself that so far they’d spent less than an hour in each other’s company. If he found her personality unfortunate on such relatively short acquaintance, she was surely guaranteed to cause him complete misery when they were joined in matrimony.
Chapter Five
TWO weeks later, Angie sat waiting for the make-up artist to finish her work. ‘Not too much. I don’t usually wear makeup.’ She couldn’t quite believe that she’d allowed her mother to talk her into this. She would have been quite happy to just turn up at the wedding looking the way she always looked. It wasn’t as if Nikos had any other expectations. He hadn’t so much as mentioned a wedding dress or flowers. In fact, he’d treated their forthcoming nuptials in much the same vein as he might a business meeting.
She still smarted with indignation as she remembered his attitude during the visit to the lawyer. He’d virtually dragged her into the room and had then proceeded to ignore her, speaking entirely in Greek to the young, nervous lawyer seated behind the enormous desk. But even her fluency in his language hadn’t helped her understand what was going on in his head. He’d instructed the man to ensure that the jewel became his on marriage.
Then they’d switched to English and it had been left to her to stumble out her wish that Nikos be banned from indulging in extramarital sex, a conversation she’d found painfully embarrassing to conduct with a third party.
Instead of looking annoyed, Nikos had lounged in a chair in the furthest corner of the room, occasionally glancing at his watch as if he were being detained from something far more pressing than the simple matter of a pre-nuptial agreement.
In the car following their visit to the lawyer, he hadn’t spoken to her. Instead he’d checked his e-mails on his Blackberry and made endless calls on his mobile phone, pausing only long enough to drop her home with the announcement that he’d send a car for her in two weeks’ time. Then he’d driven off without a backward glance, leaving her seething and fuming.
It was clear that he wasn’t allowing the prospect of marriage to interfere with his life in the slightest.
She frowned as the make-up artist stepped back and admired her work. Or maybe he was making the most of his last two weeks of freedom. Yes, that was probably it. Knowing him, Nikos was probably currently indulging in a sexual marathon of Olympian proportions. Something that would keep him going throughout his long sexless marriage to her.
Suddenly a disturbingly clear picture of Nikos’s bronzed limbs entwined with creamy female flesh filled her brain and she blinked in shock, trying to dispel the image. What was it about
him that made her think about sex when she wasn’t even interested in sex?
She chewed at her freshly glossed lower lip, wondering what on earth she was letting herself in for. What had possessed her to demand all those things from him?
What had possessed her to insist on marriage when she wasn’t in the least bit interested in marriage and even less so in marrying a man like Nikos, who had none of the qualities she admired in a person. He was probably quite clever, she conceded, or surely he wouldn’t have been able to make such a success of his life but he clearly didn’t require the slightest intellectual stimulation from his female companions. As long as they had blonde hair and were formed in the mould of Venus, he was happy.
Relieved that the make-up artist had finally finished, she stood up and examined her reflection in the mirror, failing to see a difference in herself. Even make up couldn’t turn her into something she wasn’t.
An image of the elegant blonde she’d seen him with in the paper taunted her and she took a step backwards, turning away from the mirror. Marrying her must indeed be the most hideous of punishments for a man like Nikos. All right, so she’d put away her glasses in favour of contact lenses and had allowed them to trim her hair and apply a little discreet make-up, but she still looked nothing like the women he usually escorted.
And that was a good thing, she told herself firmly. She was perfectly happy with the way she looked. She wasn’t the slightest bit insecure. She knew she wasn’t at all attractive in a physical sense and it really didn’t bother her. It wasn’t what mattered. She’d been given other, far more important gifts, like her brain. And the fact that Nikos didn’t exactly regard intelligence as an asset was a good thing, wasn’t it? She wanted him to suffer. That was the whole point of the exercise. He was going to be trapped with her. Committed to one woman for the first time in his life. It was surely justice at its most poetic.
‘You look really worried,’ the make-up artist said as she stood back to admire her handiwork. ‘Bridal nerves, I expect. Perfectly normal.’
Angie didn’t respond. What was normal about marrying a man you hated for the sole purpose of making him unhappy?
Suddenly submerged by a wave of panic, she was on the verge of withdrawing from the whole deal when she suddenly caught sight of her sister’s photograph on the small table in the living room. Tiffany was laughing and posing, clearly flirting with the person behind the camera. Angie gave a soft, wistful smile and then felt a stab of pain. However foolish her sister had been, she hadn’t deserved Nikos Kyriacou. She hadn’t deserved to be so badly treated.
Staring at the photograph, she blinked back tears. If she didn’t go through with the wedding then it would be someone else’s sister. Someone else’s loved one who was hurt. And she wasn’t going to let him do it to anyone else.
‘You look amazing.’ The make-up artist was obviously trying to be reassuring. ‘Your skin is so good you don’t actually need much make-up. And you have an amazing bone structure. If you were a few inches taller you could find work as a model.’
Angie bit back the instinctive denial that leapt to her lips. The girl was trying to be kind, she reminded herself. And it was very sweet of her. It would be churlish to point out that she knew she looked absolutely nothing like a model.
‘Thank you.’
‘And I love your dress. Fabulous. It’s simple but it really shows off your figure.’
Angie opened her mouth to say, What figure? but stopped herself in time, instead glancing down at the simple shift dress she’d chosen with a doubtful frown. It had been the first thing on the rail with a reasonably high neck. She certainly wouldn’t have described it as fabulous. But she’d had to purchase something. It had crossed her mind that she might turn up at the wedding wearing her everyday navy suit just to irritate Nikos, but she had a nasty feeling that he was more than capable of stripping it off her and, anyway, she mused as she turned sideways and studied her reflection in the mirror, she wasn’t prepared to wear navy to her wedding, even if the whole thing was a sham.
‘Angelina—’ Her mother entered the room and gave a soft gasp. Wearing a dress of soft blue silk, she floated across to Angie and studied her in amazement. ‘My goodness, you look almost—almost—’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Angie interrupted her hastily before her mother could say something that would dent her fragile confidence.
‘I mean you’ll never touch Tiffany for looks, but at least you look tidy.’ Her mother looked at the make-up artist and her eyes filled. ‘My Tiffany was a real stunner.’ She opened her bag and pulled out a handkerchief.
‘No crying, Mum,’ Angie said quickly, aware that the make-up artist was looking at them in amazement.
‘I can’t actually believe you’re going through with this.’ Her mother blew her nose. ‘It’s the perfect revenge. So clever. Not only does the man have to marry even though he doesn’t want to but he has to marry you! And all I can say is he deserves it!’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ Her dry tone received no acknowledgement from her mother and Angie gave a sigh and quickly paid the make-up artist and hurried her out of the house, not even daring to imagine what must have been going on in the woman’s head. Not only had it been made brutally clear to her that Angie’s mother had an extremely low opinion of her own daughter, but she was obviously under the impression that Angie herself had trapped some poor unsuspecting male into marriage against his will.
Which was exactly what she had done, of course.
Feeling more and more jittery and less and less confident and sincerely wishing she’d agreed to meet her mother at the register office so that she wouldn’t have been in a position to consistently undermine her when what she really needed was encouragement, Angie picked up her bag. ‘Are you ready to leave? The car should be outside by now.’
‘Of course I’m ready.’ Her mother adjusted her hat and swept through the door. ‘I want to see that man get his comeuppance. I want him walking down the aisle knowing that because he let Tiffany slip through his fingers he’s now stuck with you.’
‘It’s a register office, Mum,’ Angie reminded her patiently as she picked up her keys and locked the front door. ‘We’re not walking down an aisle. Nikos didn’t want to do it in church.’
‘Whatever.’ Her mother’s dismissive wave of her hand indicated that she considered the venue to be irrelevant. ‘The contrast between you and your sister is so enormous that he’s going to be kicking himself.’
Angie rolled her eyes. It was a good job that given the choice between beauty and brains she would have chosen brains. Otherwise her mother’s comments would have made her too self-conscious to leave the house. But then, she’d had years to get used to it.
Nikos prowled the length of the tiny room and back again, ignoring the nervous glances of his bodyguard, who had already made the unfortunate faux pas of congratulating his employer on his wedding day. Reminded of something that he was trying hard to forget, Nikos had exploded in a tirade of Greek that had left his staff in no doubt at all as to his attitude to the institution of matrimony.
Aware that they would now all be wondering whether he’d made some poor unfortunate girl pregnant and been trapped into a hasty wedding, Nikos ground his teeth and paced the length of the room once more, battling an almost overwhelming urge to put his fist through the wall. He eyed the cheap chairs and plastic flowers with incredulous disbelief and no small degree of self-loathing. What the hell was he doing here? This was just the sort of situation that he’d successfully avoided all his life.
He’d decided many years before that marriage wasn’t going to be for him, that commitment to one woman was best avoided. And now here he was, not only forced to marry, but forced to marry someone who would have been as far from his ideal choice of woman as it was possible to be.
The only glimmer of light on the horizon was that she obviously had no idea what she was letting herself in for. She’d clearly expected to be able to grab an indecent amount of money out of thei
r wedding and he almost smiled as he contemplated the depth of her disappointment when she realised that the pre-nuptial agreement had been constructed in such a way as to ensure that she received not a single penny on their eventual divorce. And she obviously had some twisted belief that, by forcing him into a commitment that he’d previously avoided, she was going to punish him. Her naïvety was almost amusing. The truth was that he was so angry with the entire Littlewood family that he was actually beginning to relish the prospect of turning the tables on her.
If she was looking for a fight, then she’d come to the right place, he mused grimly, reflecting on the fact that Dr Angelina Littlewood was about to face a vastly superior adversary.
In the circumstances he found her continued defence of her sister distinctly unpalatable and, although he’d always considered himself to be an emotionally restrained person, he could no longer think about Tiffany without feeling his temper rise to dangerous levels. Having met the mother, it was obvious that she was a drunken version of her younger daughter and, as for the elder—
The door opened and Angie Littlewood stumbled through the door, wobbly on unfamiliar heels and clutching a small bunch of roses in front of her. Behind her, Gaynor Littlewood hovered, wearing a completely ridiculous hat, but Nikos didn’t spare her a glance. His gaze was fixed on his bride-to-be.
He’d braced himself for the navy trouser suit and the usual haphazard hair. What he hadn’t expected was a stylish dress in a soft fabric that skimmed her figure and hinted at feminine curves concealed beneath. His gaze lifted and lingered on her full lips, now accentuated by a subtle sheen of gloss and then settled on her hair, which had been swept on top of her head in an elegant knot.
She cast a quick glance around the room and walked over to him with exaggerated care, clearly trying not to trip on her shoes. ‘You chose a small register office wedged between a public library and a supermarket in a small provincial town. One has to wonder why.’ Clutching a small bouquet of roses, her blue eyes were cool as she looked up at him.