The Greek's Bought Bride

She blinked in disbelief. ‘Just like that?’

He shrugged. ‘You clearly want it. I can afford it. And obviously, the more I am prepared to pay—the more I get out of our brief union.’

The silky inference behind his drawled words made Tamsyn’s stomach clench with anger. And something else. Something far more potent than anger. Because at times during his story she had wanted to reach out to him. To comfort him? Or to kiss him? Or both. Maybe both. Especially when his face had grown hard and hurt when he’d mentioned his mother. She could feel her breasts pushing against the fine wool of the cashmere dress as she directed him a heated look, forcing herself to be bold enough to ask the question. ‘You think I’m going to have sex with you?’

‘That’s a pretty naive question, Tamsyn,’ he answered softly. ‘Why wouldn’t I? We’ve had sex before and it was good. Very, very good.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘And isn’t it a very necessary part of the marriage contract?

There was a pause during which Tamsyn steeled herself against the shocking beauty of his face and her own even more shocking reaction to him...the heat of excitement in her blood and the soft throb of hunger between her legs. But somehow, using the kind of resilience which every abandoned child needed in order to survive, she managed to present to him a face devoid of expression. ‘Not in this case, because it’s only make-believe,’ she said coolly. ‘I’ll marry you because I want your money. But it’s nothing but a business arrangement and there’s no way I’m being intimate with you again, Xan. Because it wouldn’t be right. Not after everything that’s happened.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

SOMEHOW THE FLOWERS woven into her hair stayed in place, even though the sea breeze was whipping wildly all around her. Tamsyn guessed that was one of the benefits of marrying a billionaire—that he could afford to pay a top hairdresser to tame his prospective wife’s unruly curls into an elaborate style which had miraculously stayed put all day. She clutched the railings of Xan’s luxury yacht as it skimmed through the sapphire waters, trying to get her head around the fact that she was now the Greek tycoon’s wife, and that the shiny golden ring which glinted on her finger was for real.

Well, as real as a fake wedding would allow.

Determined not to let herself be led like a lamb to the slaughter on her wedding day, she’d stated her terms before the ceremony, insisting she didn’t want a big fuss—opting instead for something low-key and pared down. She thought it would have felt cheap to put on a big public show which meant nothing, and there was no way she could have made hollow vows in a place of worship. Most important of all, she didn’t want Hannah hearing about the marriage until it was over, just in case she decided to do something dramatic like arriving in a flurry of royal pomp to try and talk her out of it.

But keeping their nuptials quiet seemed to have appealed to Xan as well and in a quiet moment he’d admitted that he had no stomach for weddings in general and his own in particular.

‘The details will be posted in the local town hall which is a requirement by law,’ he said. ‘But since the mayor is a friend, our privacy will be respected and there’s no way word will get out to the press. At least, not until I am ready to issue a statement.’ A hard glimmer of a smile had followed. ‘And it adds a little passionate authenticity to our whirlwind romance if we keep it all very hush-hush don’t you think, agape mou?

What Tamsyn thought wasn’t really here nor there. It bothered her that Xan seemed to be almost relishing the clandestine nature of the wedding, until she forced herself to remember that most men enjoyed secrecy. This was nothing but an elaborate game to Xan, she reminded herself, and since they weren’t planning to be married for very long, what was the point in objecting?

‘We will have a big party straight after the honeymoon,’ Xan had informed her the day after she’d accepted his proposal, when he had turned up unexpectedly at her tiny bedsit, his lips curving with distaste as he looked around, before announcing that from then on she would be staying at the Granchester until the wedding. ‘A big, lavish party to which we will invite family and close friends, and announce that we are man and wife.’

‘And Sofia?’ Tamsyn’s voice had asked, wondering how the Greek woman who had been Xan’s bride intended would take the sudden news. ‘When are you planning to tell her?’

‘I will phone her after the ceremony, once I’ve spoken to my father.’

Something about the obvious omission made her tentatively ask the question. ‘And what about...your mother?’

She had never seen his face so expressionless. As if it had been wiped clean of all feeling—his features looking as if they had been hewn from some dark and impenetrable marble. ‘My mother died a decade ago.’

‘Oh, Xan, I’m sorry.’

It had been an instinctive condolence on her part but he hadn’t wanted it, cutting short the conversation with a cool determination she had come to recognise as Xan’s way of doing things. And in a way she could understand his reluctance to talk. She didn’t want to him delving into her past, did she? Didn’t want him probing her own areas of painful memory. Why rake all that up, when this was a relationship which was never intended to last?

‘But do you think Sofia will be upset?’ she had persisted. ‘The last thing I want is to cause another woman pain.’

His mouth had hardened. ‘Let’s hope not. Maybe she will have realised that she’s better off without a man like me,’ he’d added, his voice growing harsh. ‘A man who cannot give her the love she deserves.’

Recalling those words, it was difficult for Tamsyn not to conclude that he considered her somehow unworthy of those things. In Xan’s mind she was greedy and acquisitive. He thought of her as a gold-digger, just like her sister—she knew that. And although it wasn’t necessary for him to have a high opinion of her, she couldn’t deny it hurt that he thought so little of her.

They had married in a tiny ceremony outside Athens earlier that day—without fuss or fanfare, just two anonymous witnesses plucked from the street and a single photographer, who had captured the event for posterity. It was the first time she’d seen Xan smile all day.

‘It will be no hardship to lose the obnoxious tag of “Greece’s most eligible bachelor”,’ he had drawled, those thick, dark lashes shuttering the cobalt brilliance of his eyes. ‘At least in future I might just be left alone to get on with my life and to live it as I please.’

His words had been arrogant enough to make Tamsyn bristle, but she’d bitten back her sarcastic response, deciding that having a stand-up fight right before the ceremony might not be the best way of portraying marital harmony. Instead, she’d concentrated on her appearance, determined to play her own part with aplomb. She’d chosen an extremely short white wedding dress in diaphanous layers of silk-chiffon which came to mid-thigh and defined the shape of her legs beneath. It was pretty and delicate as well as being slightly daring, but that was exactly what she wanted. She wanted people to look at her and tut. To remark that she really was an outrageous choice of bride for the Greek tycoon because that would pave the way for their speedy divorce.

What she hadn’t banked on was Xan’s reaction when he saw her walking towards him clutching a scented bunch of white flowers. He had looked her up and down as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, his gaze lingering on her bare legs and a little muscle flickering at his temple. And when she’d enquired—a little anxiously—if the short dress was emphasising the freckles on her thighs, he had given her an odd kind of smile before shaking his head and guiding her towards the car waiting to take them to Piraeus.

‘Not at all, agape mou.’ His denial had been husky and the little muscle had still been flickering at his temple. ‘Not at all.’

And now she and her new husband were skimming over the sapphire sea towards the Peloponnese peninsula, because Xan had told her the best way to see his home for the first time was from the water. Almost as if was a real honeymoon and he was trying to impress her!

She’d never been on a yacht before—just ferries—most memorably a day-trip to Calais when she’d been just seventeen. But Xan’s sleek craft was worlds away from the lumbering ferry which had moved through the water with all the grace of a giant tractor. This boat gleamed silvery-white in the spring sunshine. It drew the eye of every passing yacht—especially with Xan at the helm. He had swapped his dark wedding suit for a pair of faded denims and a white T-shirt which emphasised the contrasting gleam of his olive skin. The muscles in his arms bunched as he did impressive-looking things to the billowing sails and his raven-dark hair rippled in the Aegean breeze. With an effort, Tamsyn tried to concentrate on the horizon, trying to prevent her gaze from sliding to his powerful body as he tugged on a rope—as she wondered how difficult it was going to be to resist him during the fortnight’s honeymoon which lay ahead.

‘Tamsyn! Look over there.’