by Sarah Morgan
She gave a gasp of pain and curled her fingers into the sheets. 'Are you comparing me to a prostitute?'
'Not at all.' He gave her a cool smile and sprang out of bed, lithe and energetic, as if he hadn't just spent an entire afternoon engaged in extremely physical activity. 'You're much more expensive.'
'I really, really hate you, do you know that?' Wounded and humiliated, she curled up in the bed and pulled the sheet over her for protection, consumed by a self-loathing so powerful that the pain of it was almost physical. How could she respond to a man who clearly had absolutely no respect for her? ‘ I don't want you to come near me again.'
It was said for her benefit as much as his but he merely smiled
'Yes, you do.' He strolled back to the bed and leaned over, planting both arms on the mattress so that his face was only inches from hers. 'Do you think I don't know how much you ache for me? You may want to hate me but, fortunately for both of us, your hot little body is totally lacking in scruples and the moment I flick the switch you're mine.'
She lifted a hand to slap his face but he caught it with a warning glance.
'Not nice, my little wife’ he purred softly. 'You made your bed and now you're lying in it. Or rather, you're lying in mine. On your front, on your back, whichever way I choose to position you. And that's where you're going to stay.'
Her eyes clouded with pain. ‘ I want you to leave me alone—'
'Not a chance.' With a final lingering glance at her lush mouth, Sebastien straightened and picked up the phone by the bed, his eyes fixed on hers as he spoke in rapid Greek. Minutes later there was a discreet tap on the door and he answered it and came back to bed carrying a tray. ‘ Sit up. You need to eat or you'll collapse on me later.'
She stayed stubbornly under the sheet. ‘I’m not hungry.'
'We've just had sex without stopping for six hours,' he said in a conversational tone.
'You didn't eat that lunch and you're going to miss dinner. I don't want you fainting on me in the nightclub.'
Six hours? She stared at him in mute astonishment and then glanced at the darkened windows. The knowledge that she'd been so sexually transported that she'd lost all track of time made her want to sink deeper in the bed. It took her a moment to register the rest of his statement.
'Nightclub?' Her voice shook. 'What nightclub—?'
'The one I'm taking you to this evening,' he said smoothly.
' It is a new business venture of a very good friend of mine. Athens society will be deciding whether it is the "in" place to be seen’
And doubtless if Sebastien Fiorukis were there then it would be considered the 4 in' place to be seen, she thought helplessly. He was a man who set trends, a man who others followed.
She clutched the sheet. 'I don't feel like going out'
'Your feelings on the matter are completely irrelevant’ he informed her in a bored tone. 'I wish to make an appearance with my new wife.'
‘I’m not getting dressed.'
He didn't hesitate. Then I take you naked,' he promised softly, his dark eyes glittering dangerously as he surveyed her. 'It's your decision, pethi mou. You're my wife and part of your role is to entertain.'
‘ I thought I just did’ she said tartly and he gave an appreciative smile.
That sort of entertainment is for me alone, agape mou’ he drawled lazily. 'What I had in mind was something more formal. I am meeting some very important guests. I need you to charm them.'
Her jaw lifted stubbornly and she tried a different tack. ‘ I don't have a single thing to wear—'
He gave the sigh of a male vastly experienced in the challenges presented by female attire. 'On the day of our wedding two weeks ago I furnished you with an indecent sum of money to add to your already indecent fortune,' he reminded her in a silky tone. 'Doubtless you have spent the last two entire weeks shopping. Pick something suitable and wear it.'
She swallowed painfully. What was she supposed to say? That she hadn't been near a shop in the two weeks since their wedding?
‘ I—I haven't bought anything—'
His eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened. 'Every single penny of the money I gave you has gone from your account,' he said softly. 'You withdrew the whole lot, my hot, sexy wife, so don't tell me that you haven't been spending because I won't believe you.'
Panic slithered over her bones as she realized that he was obviously tracking her spending. How could she have been so naive as to think he wouldn't know? Did he know where the money had gone? No, or he would have said something.
' I—I bought different things,' she hedged, sitting upright and grabbing at the sheet before it slid to her waist.
With a disbelieving glance in her direction, he prowled into the enormous dressing room that adjoined their bedroom.
Alesia closed her eyes and waited in a state of unbelievable tension for the inevitable explosion.
There was a long, pulsing silence and then he strolled back to the bedroom and picked up the phone again, barking out a set of commands in rapid Greek.
Resolving to learn Greek as soon as possible, Alesia discovered that she was still holding her breath and released it suddenly.
He must have seen that her wardrobes were totally empty and yet he hadn't said a word.
What was going on?
' Use the shower,' he ordered, lifting a bottle of champagne out of an ice bucket and handing it to her. 'By the time you've finished, the clothes will have arrived’
'What clothes?'
The clothes I have just ordered for you,' he said with all the casual assurance of someone with a bottomless bank account. She looked at him nervously. Suddenly he seemed very intimidating.
What was she going to say to him when he finally demanded answers on how she'd spent the money?
Her mind in overdrive, searching for plausible excuses, she stumbled into the luxurious bathroom and stood under the revitalizing spray of the shower. Suddenly she had a new awareness of her body and, after five minutes of searing-hot water and several applications of various luxurious shower foams, she realized that nothing was going to wash away the memory of Sebastien's own heady brand of lovemaking.
Filled with a self-loathing that all the water in the world couldn't quench, Alesia turned off the shower, dried herself quickly and wrapped herself in a large fluffy towel that virtually covered her from neck to toe.
Suitably concealed, she lifted her chin and strolled back into the bedroom with as much aloof dignity as she could muster.
Immediately her eyes were drawn to a rail packed with clothes and she stared at the rail and then back at him in amazement. 'Where did these come from? You didn't have time to go to a shop—'
' If you're rich then the shop comes to you’ he informed her smoothly, 'but, as the pampered granddaughter of Dimitrios Philipos, I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that'
She swallowed her eyes still on the rail.
Stores brought the clothes to him?
Noticing a selection of expensive cosmetics laid out on a nearby table, she blinked in amazement. It seemed that nothing had been left to chance.
She strolled over to the rail, trying to look as though this sort of thing happened to her every day. She'd never had the opportunity to even look at clothes of this quality and style before, let alone wear them. In awe she fingered a silk skirt so short that it was almost indecent.
'Good choice,' he said cynically from immediately behind her. That skirt has "slut" written all over it, and seeing as that's what you are you might as well advertise the fact'
She turned on him, eyes flashing with hurt, her blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders. 'And if I'm a slut, what does that make you?'
'Sexually satisfied’ he mocked, removing her towel with a single, purposeful jerk of his bronzed hand.
She gave a gasp of shock and grabbed at the towel but he held it out of reach, his eyes slightly narrowed as they swept over her naked body.
'You really do have
the most amazing body,' he murmured, skimming a hand over one full breast. Immediately Alesia's nipples peaked and he gave a low laugh. 'And you really, really want me, don't you? If we weren't pushed for time I'd take you straight back to bed and try yet another position.'
Her face scarlet with mortification, Alesia tried to turn away from him but he swung her round to face him, his hands holding her firmly.
'Just don't be tempted to flirt with anyone else tonight,' he warned. 'You may be a slut but you're mine alone. I never share.'
Flirt?
Still horribly conscious of her nudity, Alesia stared at him in disbelief, reminding herself that this man knew absolutely nothing about her. She'd never flirted in her life and wouldn't even know where to begin. Because of her situation she'd always avoided that sort of contact with men. Had avoided relationships deeper than friendship.
Sebastien reached out a hand and grabbed a top from the rail. 'Wear this with the skirt,' he ordered, 'and no bra.'
She stared at the clothes in dismay. She'd never worn anything like them in her life. 'I can't go braless,' she stammered. ‘I’m too—'
'Curvaceous?' he taunted her. 'Plenty of people out there are wondering why I married you. I intend to show them.'
Goaded beyond reason by his taunts, she turned on him. 'Are you sure you wouldn't prefer me to just go out in my underwear?' Her tone dripped sarcasm and he gave a slow smile.
This is going to be even sexier than underwear, trust me.'
Alesia closed her eyes. She couldn't believe this was happening. 'You can't make me wear that outfit.'
'Don't test me, Alesia’ he warned softly.
‘Fine.' She yanked the outfit out of his hand, grabbed a handful of the cosmetics and shot him a defiant look. 'If you want the whole world to know you married a slut, then that's up to you. Let's broadcast it, shall we?'
She stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.
CHAPTER SIX
Sebastien checked his watch and paced the length of his bedroom one more time.
Never before had he had reason to question his mental acuity, but nothing about his new wife was making sense. She was an heiress in her own right, had demanded an extortionate sum of money from him on her wedding day, a sum which he knew had already vanished from her account — and yet there were no visible signs of profligate spending. She'd led a pampered and privileged existence from the day she was born, and yet she'd been in the kitchen making her own lunch as if she did it every day. And she'd been wearing a pair of ancient jeans that no previous woman of his acquaintance would have been seen dead in. It did not add up.
When he'd married Alesia Philipos he'd expected rich, pampered, shallow and boring. In his eyes her only redeeming feature had been her incredible face and body and her apparent willingness to display it. What he hadn't expected was complex—and his new wife was definitely complex.
Realising that she'd been in the bathroom for the best part of an hour, Sebastien stared at the closed door in brooding contemplation. What could she be doing in there that was taking so long?
Never good at waiting at the best of times, he was at the point of breaking down the bathroom door in search of an answer when the lock finally clicked and Alesia stepped back into the bedroom.
Sebastien stilled, his usually restless gaze arrested by the girl standing in front of him.
Only years of experience in controlling his facial expression prevented his jaw from hitting the ground.
Whatever she'd been doing in the bathroom all that time, the end result was spectacular.
She was drop dead gorgeous. Beautiful.
Her skin was pale and flawless, the faint brush of colour on her cheeks simply emphasizing the perfect shape of her face. Her incredible violet eyes looked larger than ever and the subtle sheen of colour applied to her lips simply accentuated the tempting curve of her mouth.
Sebastian bit back a groan of lust as his eyes raked every delectable inch of her in unashamed masculine appreciation.
She shouldn't have looked like that in the outfit he'd chosen.
She should have looked like a cheap tart. Instead she managed to look innocent and seductively feminine at the same time, although how a woman could contrive to look innocent in a skirt barely wider than a belt, he couldn't imagine. Her slender legs went on for ever, the miniskirt skimmed her perfectly shaped bottom and the tiny top exposed a tantalizing stretch of feminine midriff. It was just tight enough to offer support to her full breasts and Sebastien's body hardened in urgent and immediate response. For a brief but distinctly unsettling moment he struggled to remember why they had to leave the bedroom.
It was just as well he had a reliable team of bodyguards, he reflected grimly as he wrestled his emotions under control, because otherwise he'd have trouble keeping people away from her. Men away from her.
Sebastien ground his teeth, astonished by how possessive he felt over a woman he didn't even like.
'You insisted on this outfit so you can stop staring,' she said stiffly, 'and I probably ought to warn you that I'm not used to walking in heels this high, so unless you want me to break an ankle I'm gong to have to hold your arm.'
Taken aback by her candid admission that she'd rarely worn heels before and mentally adding that muttered confession to a growing list of facts that just didn't add up, Sebastien frowned as he felt her hand slide over his biceps.
'It's hold you or fall over. Otherwise, believe me, I wouldn't touch you with a bargepole. I hope you're well insured,' she muttered, stooping with a pained frown and sliding a finger along the strap. If I tread on anyone's foot while I'm dancing in these I'm going to cause serious damage’
He gritted his teeth and refrained from pointing out that she wouldn't be dancing with anyone but him. Not given to making mistakes, Sebastien was forced to admit that in this case he'd made a serious error of judgement.
He'd intended her to dress like a tart to remind him of the woman she really was, because he was finding those huge eyes and that innocent expression profoundly distracting. Instead he'd turned her into nothing short of a walking temptation.
Staring down into her beautiful face, he suddenly realized that the glow of almost childlike innocence came from inside her. Nothing she wore would ever make her look cheap because she just exuded class.
A well-disguised gold-digger, he reminded himself grimly, reaching for his jacket and striding towards the door.
No matter how stunning she was or how exciting his new wife was in bed, there was no way that he'd be forgetting what had brought her there in the first place.
His money.
In the back of the limousine Alesia felt the slide of expensive leather under her bare thighs and stared down at her glam-orously shod feet with almost childish fascination. A bubble of laughter threatened to erupt inside her and she struggled to hold it back. She just loved the shoes. They were sexy and glamorous and totally frivolous and she'd never owned anything frivolous before in her life. And she loved the clothes. And the make-up. She'd never had the money to spend on cosmetics before so she had absolutely no experience of applying them, which was why she'd taken so long in the bathroom.
After the first effort she'd looked like a clown, and after the second she'd managed to look as though she had a cold. Finally, after her face had been given time to settle down from all the washing and scrubbing, she'd managed to master the art of subtle enhancement and she'd been delighted with the result. And, although she felt hideously self-conscious in such revealing clothes, she also felt beautiful. Was this what it was like to be seriously rich? She wrapped one long leg over the other and felt a flash of satisfaction as she saw Sebastien's molten gaze settle on the length of thigh exposed by the ridiculous skirt.
He wanted her.
She resisted the temptation to smile and smile. He might loathe and despise her but he definitely wanted her. And he might pretend to be ultra cool about it, but surely no ma
n could spend six hours in bed with a woman if he were as bored and indifferent as he pretended to be?
Lost in her own private thoughts, a sudden flash of light in her face made her jump and she gave a gasp and shrank back in her seat while Sebastien gave a soft curse.
'Paparazzi,' he muttered by way of explanation as the car slid to a halt outside a glitzy-looking building. They won't be allowed in the club so just smile and don't speak.'
'What is it about Greek men that keeps them well and truly stuck in the Stone Age? I'm always being told not to speak.' Alesia reached for her bag, hoping that she could manage to walk as far as the door of the nightclub without twisting her ankle. 'Someone ought to tell you that these days women are supposed to have a voice.'
Sebastien caught her arm and prevented her from leaving the car. 'Carlo will open the door. It prevents the press getting too close’ he said smoothly. 'And, for your information, I have a totally modern outlook when it comes to the role of women. You can speak whenever you choose. But not to the press.'