The Greek's Hidden Vows

‘Perhaps she didn’t think she’d be welcome,’ Costas parried.

Christos tossed his napkin on the table and picked up his wine glass. Unlike his grandfather, he’d stuck to a full-bodied Merlot, which he now swirled lazily despite the uneven tic in his jaw. ‘If she wants advance reassurance of what her reception would be, I’m afraid she’s going to be disappointed.’

Other than a mild grimace, Costas showed no outward sign of censure or disappointment at Christos’s answer. ‘Does the same apply to your father?’

Christos’s expression grew icier. ‘Ne, very much so.’

Costas’s gaze turned contemplative as he set his glass down. ‘You inherited many traits from me, including my stubbornness. As much as I want to, I can’t fault you for that. All I can advise is that you limit the fallout.’

‘Is this your way of telling me they’re both attending your party?’ Christos bit out.

‘Your father is my son, Christos. I cannot forbid him from attending.’

Christos raised a mocking eyebrow. ‘You expect me to believe that you have no control over your own guest list?’

Costas bared his teeth, his enjoyment of the tense tussle evident. ‘Maybe I do. But I despise gossip. And news that I’ve banned my own son from attending a birthday celebration is bound to set far too many tongues wagging.’

‘You live on a private island and dictate who sets foot on it. I dare say outside gossip doesn’t bother you too much.’

‘But its effect on my company’s share value does,’ he retorted. ‘And as a major shareholder, it should matter to you too.’

Alexis had to hand it to the old man for the neat counterargument. As a top-notch lawyer, Christos had a reputation steeped in solid evidence, but he also understood the power of perception. Any rumours of trouble within the Drakakis family were bound to have public repercussions.

Silence descended over the table, Christos’s eyes remaining shadowed as he sipped his wine.

To her relief, the silence was broken a minute later by the arrival of after-dinner coffee. Alexis took the opportunity to make her escape. ‘I?

?m afraid I’ll have to decline. I’ve already passed my two-cups-a-day tally. Another on top of the ouzo will leave me wired and wide awake for hours.’

A layer of shadow left Christos’s eyes as they rose to meet hers. ‘I’ll be up shortly. Between us I think we can come up with a way to dissipate any nervous energy that needs expending,’ he drawled, the blatant sexual intent behind his words sending a wave of heat into her face.

Costas laughed at whatever expression she’d shown as she strove for composure. ‘How refreshing to see you can still make your bride blush, Christos.’

The glare she sent Christos behind her pasted-on smile earned her another heated look. ‘Yes, it is indeed refreshing,’ he concurred.

‘I’ll leave you two on this high note you seem to be having. Goodnight.’

Costas nodded at her, his smile still warm, while Christos merely watched her leave, the hyperawareness sinking into her skin telling her his gaze remained on her until she stepped through the French doors. Alexis chose to dwell on the transformation in the old man, to see it as a win, rather than on the just-for-show sexual gauntlet Christos had tossed at her.

She fully intended to be in bed, fast asleep, by the time he came up. Going on previous visits, he’d most likely retreat to his study after dinner to check on his priority cases before turning in. She hurried through her bedtime routine, slipping on her peach satin night slip before diving under the covers. She groaned as the sumptuous sheets welcomed her. But an hour later, wide-eyed and heart pounding, she hated herself for listening out for the door.

She squeezed her eyes shut when Christos turned the handle, her heartbeat roaring in her ears. For the next ten minutes she listened to him moving around his dressing room, images of him undressing infusing further heat through her bloodstream.

Perhaps it was because she was so preoccupied with calming her runaway libido that she didn’t at first realise what was happening. But when the mattress suddenly shifted, she pivoted towards the man who was easing himself into bed beside her. The half-naked man, dressed in a pair of black silk pyjama bottoms and nothing else.

‘What are you doing?’ she semi-squeaked, the sight of him drying her throat.

Christos paused, that infernal eyebrow cocked, the slightly dishevelled hair falling over his forehead lending him a dangerously rakish look that made her fingers convulse on the covers she clutched.

‘It seems fairly obvious, yineka mou,’ he said.

‘But we...you...normally sleep on the sofa when we’re here,’ she said, her voice curiously breathless.

Except this time, he didn’t retreat to it. No, he was tossing half of his pillow mountain to the floor, then plumping one of the remaining ones, the muscles in his six-pack contracting in a way that made her fingers itch to experience that warm flesh the way she’d explored him by the pool this afternoon.

‘I thought we’d established our new course of action?’

‘Yes, but I didn’t think you’d...invite yourself into my bed, just like that!’ God, why did her tongue feel so thick in her mouth? Why was her feminine core tingling so wildly? So needily?