The Greek's Bought Bride

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘It looks very beautiful, Manalena,’ she said softly. ‘Efkaristo.’

  Looking gratified, Manalena beamed and nodded. ‘I wait for you outside.’

  Alone at last, Tamsyn kicked off her high-heeled shoes and wiggled her newly liberated toes. And even though she could have happily thrown herself onto the bed and tried to blot out what was coming next, she freshened up in the lavish bathroom, helping herself from a selection of costly bath products which had obviously been acquired for the new bride. Pulling the wilting flowers from her hair, she raked a brush through her hair, gradually removing the tangles until it fell in a thick and vibrant curtain all the way down to her waist. She eyed the spindly wedding shoes doubtfully and decided against putting them back on. With a final tug at her short dress, she went back downstairs with Manalena, where Xan was waiting for her in the dining room.

  And Tamsyn could do nothing about the overwhelming rush of desire which pulsed over her. It seemed incongruous to see the Greek tycoon standing there, still in his sailing clothes, his cobalt eyes darkening with unmistakable appreciation as he surveyed her. Her heart began to thunder as she realised that this powerful man was now her husband.

  And she needed to keep it together. Not let desire weaken her. To remember that this was nothing but an elaborate ruse. A business transaction, that was all.

  ‘You don’t look much like a bridegroom,’ she commented lightly, in a vain attempt to defuse the sudden tension which seemed to have accompanied her into the room.

  His gaze raked over her, lingering on the filmy white dress and focussing last on her bare feet whose toenails were painted a shimmering iridescent silver. ‘Whereas you look exactly like a bride, agape mou,’ he said unevenly. ‘If a somewhat unconventional one.’

  ‘Wasn’t that the whole idea?’ she questioned acidly.

  Xan couldn’t quite bring himself to answer, because he wasn’t sure where his head had been when he’d asked Tamsyn Wilson to marry him. Had he thought she would be easily manipulated? That her humble status and the knowledge he was paying her a great deal of money, would give him the upper hand? Yes, he had. Guilty on all counts.

  Pulling out a chair for her, he felt the silkiness of her loose curls brushing tantalisingly against his hand and his groin hardened. He hadn’t believed her when she’d told him there was to be no sex, but her distant behaviour since they’d made their deal, had convinced him that she’d meant every word she said. He’d tried convincing himself that he wouldn’t find it too much of a problem—and that three months enforced celibacy was easily doable. What he had failed to take into account was just how entrancing he would continue to find her, or that her stubbornness would act as an aching kind of aphrodisiac. His mouth hardened. He should have picked a bride from the type of woman with which he was familiar. The type who would jump when he snapped his fingers. Who would do whatever he asked of them, and do it with gratitude and pleasure. Not some feisty woman who seemed determined to oppose him every step of the way.

  He poured two glasses of vintage champagne and handed her one, his throat drying with lust as their eyes met over the rims of the fine crystal. Suddenly he wished he’d told Manalena that they would eat something light on the balcony of his bedroom, so that he could have had Tamsyn all to himself. To test just how strong her resolve was. Too late, he thought grimly, knowing how much trouble his cook would have gone to.

  But his expression betrayed none of his disquiet as he raised his glass to hers. ‘So. What shall we drink to, Tamsyn?’ he questioned.

  For a moment she looked uncertain—like a small creature who’d strayed too far from her natural habitat. She stared down at the fizzing wine before lifting her gaze and chinking her crystal glass against his.

  ‘To money, of course,’ she said defiantly. ‘That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Money and land.’

  And all that flippancy was back—the defiant tilt of her chin just daring him to challenge her, when ironically—all it made him want to do was kiss her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT WAS THE longest meal she’d ever endured but Tamsyn was determined to spin out her wedding breakfast as long as she could. Because eating and drinking would delay the inevitable—and she was terrified of accompanying Xan upstairs, to that vast bed scattered with pink rose petals. Terrified that she would give into the demands of her traitorous body and fall hungrily into his arms. Because that was the last thing she needed.

  Dutifully she picked at course after delicious course, trying to give every impression of enjoying the food which had been so carefully prepared by Rhea, the cook. The Greek salad topped with fragrant basil, still warm from the herb garden. The fish with delicious sauce, followed by giovetsi—a dish of lamb baked in a clay pot, served with green beans stewed with tomatoes. Rhea’s final flourish was a traditional wedding dessert called diples, a sweet fried concoction covered in a great deal of honey and crushed walnuts. The honey kept sticking to the roof of her mouth and she really didn’t need another morsel, but Tamsyn was determined to eat it.

  And each course had an accompanying wine—fine wines in different colours. Tamsyn rarely drank but today she sipped a little, so that by the time the sweet wine was served with dessert, she felt better than she had in days. It was as if a tight knot at the base of her stomach had slowly begun to unfurl, allowing her to relax at last.

  Staring across the table at Xan, she tried not be affected by his rugged masculine beauty, but that was easier said than done. His skin gleamed like gold in the sunlight and the close-fitting jeans and T-shirt gave him a deceptively laid-back air. At times she was in danger of forgetting that he was a billionaire control freak who was calling all the shots, because right now he looked like some rippling-fleshed fisherman who’d just wandered up to the house for a bit of lunch.

  ‘So,’ she said, finally admitting defeat and putting her dessert spoon down. ‘Here we are. Mr and Mrs Constantinides. How weird is that?’

  A glint of amusement entered the cobalt eyes. ‘Pretty weird,’ he admitted.

  ‘Have you issued your statement to the press yet? Is that what the phone call was all about?’

  ‘I have no intention of speaking to the press today, Tamsyn. I will respond to questions if and when necessary. I was speaking to my father.’ There was a pause. ‘And Sofia.’

  Tamsyn felt her heart lurch. ‘And?’

  ‘Sofia took it better than I expected. She seemed more resigned than upset. Which is a good thing.’

  ‘Like I said,’ Tamsyn observed. ‘She’s probably secretly pleased not to have to spend a lifetime with you.’

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, sweetheart,’ he said drily.

  She wanted to tell him not to tease her like that, just like she wanted to tell him not to look at her with that sexy glint of amusement in his eyes. Mainly because she liked it. She liked it way too much. It made her want to do what she had vowed she wasn’t going to do—mainly to rush upstairs and get up close and personal with him. She cleared her throat. ‘And your father?’

  For the first time, his face showed a flicker of darkness. ‘My father took the news less well. He was angry, which didn’t surprise me, but his concerns were focussed more on his island inheritance than on the people involved. No change there.’ His laugh was tinged with bitterness. ‘He seems to think that Sofia’s father might refuse to sell me the island now that I’ve jilted his daughter. I think it will depend on Sofia’s reaction, but better that than breaking her heart,’ he added harshly.

  ‘And if he’s right? If Sofia’s father won’t sell?’

  ‘Oh, if Sofia is okay, he’ll sell—don’t you worry about that.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because Tamsyn, everyone has their price’ He gave a cynical smile. ‘Even you.’

  It was a timely reminder of her new husband’s cold-heartedness but Tamsyn forced he
rself not to react, instead fixing him with a look of interest. ‘Is your father coming to the wedding party?’

  ‘He said not, but I know his bluster of old and he’ll be there—if only because the cream of Athenian and international society will be attending and he’d hate to miss out.’

  ‘And in the meantime, we have a whole two week honeymoon to get through.’ Tamsyn resisted the temptation to chew on her fingernails which had been varnished silver to match her toes. ‘Wasn’t that a rather unnecessary addition to this sham marriage?’

  ‘I told you. We don’t want to make it look like a stunt.’ He leaned back in his chair to study her. ‘And we can make this as easy or as difficult as we like.’

  Tamsyn wondered if he was out of his mind. Didn’t he realise that there was a constant battle raging inside her? That while her head was telling her not to have sex with her new husband—her body was urging her in the opposite direction. Did Xan know that every time she looked at him she wanted to touch him, even though to do so would be madness. Or that at night she was haunted by the memories of his hard body thrusting into hers and giving her pleasure, over and over again? Running her trembling fingertip round the edge of her crystal glass, she struggled to find a neutral topic. ‘Manalena seems very sweet,’ she said at last.

  ‘She is.’ He took a mouthful of wine, his expression mocking her.

  ‘Why did she used to look after you? Did your mother go out to work?’

  ‘No. But motherhood appealed to her about as much as being poor, and she didn’t care who knew it. Including me, just for the record. She went to great pains to assure me that some women simply weren’t maternal, and she was one of them.’

  His words were terse and he spoke them as if they didn’t matter but they told her a lot, mainly that his mother had been emotionally distant. Tamsyn nodded, wondering just how far she could push him—without stopping to ask herself why she wanted to. ‘Do you think that’s what made you so...’

  ‘So what, Tamsyn?’ he questioned sardonically as her words tailed off.

  ‘So... I don’t know.’ She straightened her napkin so that it lay at a ninety-degree angle next to her place-setting, just as she would have done if she’d been at work. ‘So anti-love and marriage...’

  He shrugged. ‘That’s what the psychologists would say, I guess.’

  ‘And was it bad?’ she questioned suddenly, her heart going out to him despite telling herself that he didn’t need her sympathy. ‘Your childhood, I mean?’

  ‘Bad enough. But I happened to like the independence which came about as a result of having a mother who was never there for me. The thought of having to answer to someone every hour of every day filled me with horror and still does.’ His eyes were like dark blue ice. ‘In future all my bios will say, he was briefly married. And you, agape mou, will have liberated me from the expectation which society heaps on every wealthy man, that he is not complete until he finds himself a suitable wife. You will have done me a big favour, Tamsyn.’ His lips curved into a reflective smile. ‘And that in itself is worth the money I’m paying you to wear my ring.’

  His mocking words effectively terminated the conversation, but it left Tamsyn thinking that maybe they were more similar than she’d imagined, despite the great difference in their lifestyles.

  ‘So what now?’ she questioned, aware that they couldn’t sit amid the debris of their wedding breakfast all day.

  His eyes gleamed. ‘Now that you’ve made lunch last as long as you possibly could?’

  ‘I was hungry.’

  ‘Of course you were, agape mou,’ he agreed, silkily. ‘Hungry enough to pick at your food with marked indifference and then to push it around your plate? But your face is pale and your eyes strained, so I suggest you retire to the bedroom and take an afternoon nap. It’s been a long day.’

  His words made sense because Tamsyn was tired. But the memory of that petal-strewn bed kept flickering into her mind and she knew she couldn’t keep skirting round the issue. In London she’d told him there was to be no sex and he needed to realise she meant it. But she couldn’t discuss the subject here—not with Manalena poking her beaming head around the door and asking if they’d like coffee.

  Her husband declined the offer, his drawled response bringing an instant smile to Manalena’s face as she remained in the doorway, watching them. And when Xan walked around the table and held out his hand towards Tamsyn, she found herself taking it. She told herself she was doing this for the housekeeper’s benefit and maybe she was. But she couldn’t deny that she was enjoying the sensation of Xan’s strong fingers encircling hers, as he led her upstairs towards the master bedroom. Of course she was. Because in those few moments she felt safe. As if nothing could ever harm her so long as she was with this powerful and charismatic man.

  And that was nothing but an illusion. She was nothing but a bought bride, to be disposed of as soon as possible.

  She was shivering as he closed the bedroom door behind them, acutely aware of the intimacy of the enclosed space. She ran her fingertips over the wilting bouquet she’d placed on a nearby table and then, when there was no room left for prevarication, looked into his face. ‘Where am I sleeping?’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Judging by the amount of petals which seem to have been offloaded onto the bed, I’d say right here.’

  She shook her head, hating the sudden hot prickle of her breasts. ‘I told you I didn’t want any intimacy, Xan, so therefore it makes more sense for me to have my own bedroom.’

  ‘And if I were to grant you your wish, that would bring into question the validity of our marriage,’ he answered coolly. ‘Which kind of defeats the whole purpose of you being here.’

  ‘So we’ve got to share a bed?’

  ‘It’s a very large bed.’

  ‘I can see that for myself. But it doesn’t matter how big it is,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t want...’

  ‘What don’t you want, Tamsyn?’

  She stiffened as she heard the soft mockery in his voice. Was he going to make her spell it out? And if he was, so what? She was no longer the shrinking little virgin who had given herself to him one starry desert night, even if right now she felt like it. This man knew her like no other. He had kissed her lips and suckled her breasts. He had shown her how he liked to be touched and stroked and had then thrust deep inside her hungry body. He had seen her vulnerable in the midst of her orgasm. Had heard her stumble out his name in a choking cry as she tumbled over the edge. Surely that gave her the right to say what was on her mind. ‘Sex,’ she managed, her cheeks growing hot.

  ‘It isn’t obligatory to have sex with me.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not planning to demand my conjugal rights, if that’s what you’re worried about. Like I said, it’s a big bed.’

  ‘And you think it’s possible for us to lie side by side and, and...’ Her voice tailed off, unable to articulate the confusion of her feelings which were compounded by the sheer depth of her inexperience. Did he guess that? Was that why the look he slanted her seemed almost compassionate?

  ‘I think it’s possible,’ he said slowly. ‘It won’t be easy and it certainly won’t be enjoyable, but in the end the decision is yours, Tamsyn. Yet all you have to do is say the word and we could have one hell of a honeymoon.’

  Her cheeks grew even hotter. ‘I don’t know how you can be...so...callous.’

  ‘And I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of it. You think every time a couple have sex, there has to be some great big emotion underlying it?’ His cobalt gaze seared into her. ‘Didn’t it ever occur to you that sexual gratification is just one of life’s fundamental pleasures, Tamsyn?’

  Tamsyn was aware of a sudden emptiness. A disappointment. As if he’d just burst some invisible bubble. As if the stories women told themselves about happy-ever-after really were a myth. ‘And that’s all there is to it?’ she asked, in a smal
l flat voice.

  He shrugged. ‘It exists for the procreation of children, but that’s not going to be an issue for us, is it?’

  ‘No,’ she agreed, unprepared for another unexpectedly painful clench of her heart. ‘It’s not going to be an issue.’

  ‘Don’t take it so personally,’ he advised softly. ‘Sex doesn’t have to be about love.’

  ‘I realise that. I may be relatively inexperienced, but I’m not stupid!’ she declared. ‘I’m not looking for love but if I was, you’d be right at the bottom of my wish-list, Xan Constantinides!’

  Her words sounded genuine and Xan gave the ghost of a smile because she really was surprising. Up-close contact with his enormous wealth didn’t seem to have blunted her determination to do things her way, nor to subdue her feisty nature. She was behaving like his equal and that was doing dangerous things to his libido. He was used to female subjugation and was finding the lack of it a powerful aphrodisiac. Lust pulsed through him, hot and potent. She was such a contradiction in so many ways. Tough and outspoken—and yet at times he was certain he’d detected a glimpse of frailty beneath her waspish exterior. And didn’t that intrigue him? Make him wonder what had put it there?

  He stared out of one of the windows where he could see Orestes tending to the violet blooms of an exotic flower and he thought about the fortnight ahead, realising that this fabricated honeymoon would drag like hell unless he could find something pleasurable to fill the time. And sex with his fiery new bride would certainly while away the hours in the most delicious way.