The Greek's Bought Bride

The rest of the staff? Exactly how many people did he have working for him? Suddenly Tamsyn felt daunted by the line of workers who were waiting to mee

t her. Silently, she repeated their names before saying them out loud, terrified she would forget them before wondering why she was so anxious to please. There was Rhea the cook and pretty young Gia, who was in charge of the cleaning. A part-time driver named Panos, and Orestes the gardener, whose wife Karme helped Gia in the house when the need arose.

Tamsyn said hello to them all, using the few words of Greek she’d managed to learn before leaving England, but once again she felt faintly uneasy about deceiving these people who obviously adored her Greek husband and wanted the best for him.

Once again Manalena said something in Greek and Xan nodded, before glancing briefly at his watch.

‘The meal is almost ready, but there are a couple of phone calls I need to make first,’ he said. ‘Manalena will show you where to freshen up and I’ll meet you downstairs in the dining room in ten minutes.’

Feeling as if she’d been dismissed, Tamsyn followed the housekeeper up a sweeping staircase to the first floor, wondering how Xan was expecting to maintain the image of doting bridegroom if he couldn’t even be bother to show her to the bathroom himself! Yet she couldn’t deny a feeling of relief, that she would be spared the intimate reality of their shared marital space for at least a little while longer.

She walked down a wide and airy corridor, past walls covered with dramatic seascapes, until at last Manalena halted in front of a set of double doors. ‘This is your room,’ said Manalena, a note of pride creeping into her voice as she pushed open one of the doors.

Tamsyn walked into a room of breathtaking splendour with views right over the water, so that sunlight danced in an ever-moving lightshow over the pale walls. On the dressing table she could see the a pair of gold cufflinks set with sapphires which perfectly matched her new husband’s eyes. Xan’s room, she thought. And now hers, too. Her throat constricted. If it had belonged to anyone else she would have walked straight over to the window and feasted her eyes on the dark swell of the sea, but her attention was caught by something else. By the vast bed, on whose snowy covers someone had scattered pink rose petals—dozens of them—their scented splendour seeming to mock her. Another reminder of a romance which wasn’t real, she reminded herself, trying to erase the stupid sense of wistfulness which was clenching at her heart. Yet what could she do other than smile at the faithful housekeeper who stood anxiously in front of her, obviously awaiting her verdict on the honeymoon suite.

‘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.