‘I quite liked the Gothic setting,’ Melanie said as he laid her down on a sea of dark red satin.
‘Next time,’ he promised.
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‘Why? How many honeymoons are we going to have?’
‘A lifetime of them.’
He wasn’t joking. Two months later they were back in England, locked away inside their Gothic mansion. Melanie was lazing in the bath when Rafiq strode into the room and announced, ‘Hassan and Leona are the proud parents of a baby boy. Both mother and child are very well.’
‘Oh, do you think we should fly back?’ Melanie suggested anxiously. ‘It seems wrong for you and I to be enjoying ourselves here when we might be needed there.’
‘No,’ Rafiq replied adamantly. ‘Our son is with his new best friend—my father, Hassan and Leona are in twelfth heaven with their own son, and you and I, my darling, are on our second honeymoon here while Ethan Hayes and his crazy wife make William’s house fit to live in.’
‘You really should have told me about that,’ Melanie chided as he strode towards the tub. ‘I had a right to be consulted before you dared to touch anything in my house.’
‘But the house does not belong to you,’ Rafiq informed her as he removed his clothes. ‘William left it to our son—though you saw fit not to tell me that. So I asked Robert’s permission to renovate. He was delighted to give it. Unlike you,’ he mocked her, ‘our son had the good sense to know the house was in danger of falling down.’
‘It wasn’t that bad!’ Melanie protested. ‘And I thought Robbie loved it exactly as it was!’
‘No, he has better taste—as I do,’ he added arrogantly, referring to his good taste in wives.
With that, he stepped into the tub and slid himself into the water at the opposite end from Melanie. A hand reached up to pull a cord, which drew the purple silk curtain around them.
Candlelight flickered from hidden places. Silhouettes moved and came together…
A Passionate Marriage
By Michelle Reid
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
CHAPTER ONE
LEANDROS PETRONADES sat lazing on a sunbed on the deck of his yacht and looked out on the bay of San Estéban. Satisfaction toyed with his senses. The new Spanish resort had developed into something special and having enjoyed a very much hands-on experience during its development, he felt that sense of satisfaction was well deserved. Plus the fact that he had multiplied his original investment, he was business-orientated enough to add.
He had done a lot of that during the four years since he took over from his late father, he mused idly. Multiplying original investments had become an expectation for him.
Which was probably why he’d found this project just that bit different. It had always been more than just another investment. He had been in on it from the beginning when it had been only an idea in an old friend’s head. Between them, he and Felipe Vazquez had carefully nurtured that idea until it had grown into the fashionable new resort he was seeing today.
The problem for him now was, where did he go from here? The resort was finished. The luxury villas dotted about the hillside had their new owners, the five-star hotel, golf and leisure complex was functioning like a dream. And San Estéban itself was positively bustling, its harbour basin filled with luxury sail crafts owned by the rich and famous looking for new places to hide out while they played. By next week even this yacht, which had been his home while he had been based here, would have slipped her moorings. She would sail to the Caribbean to await the arrival of his brother Nikos, who planned to fly out with his new bride in three weeks.
It was time for him to move on, though he did not know what it was he wanted to move on to. Did he go back to Athens and lose himself in the old cut and thrust of the corporate jungle? His wide shoulders shifted against the sun bed’s padded white cushion as an old restlessness began to stir deep within his bones.
‘No, it is not possible to go over the top with this.’ A soft female voice filtered through the open doors behind him. ‘It is to be a celebration of San Estéban’s rebirth, and a thanks and farewell to all who worked so hard to make the project happen. Let it be one of fireworks and merriment. We will call it—the Baptism of San Estéban, and it will become its annual day of carnival.’
A smile eased itself across his mouth as Leandros listened, and his shoulders relaxed as the restlessness drained away. The Baptism of San Estéban, he mused. He liked it.
He liked Diantha. He liked having her around because she was so calm and quiet and so terribly efficient. When he asked her to do something for him she did it without bothering him with the irritating details. She was good for him. She tuned in so perfectly to the way of his thinking.
He was almost sure that he was going to marry her.