The Greek's Virgin Bride

I'm going to marry him...

A shaft of pure excitement sliced through her. She felt a quickening inside herself. That man, that drop-dead, fabulous-looking, breathtaking man, whose touch had set fire to her, melting her very being into him, Nikos Vassilis, was going to be her husband...

Reality hit like a cold douche. Of course he wasn't going to be her husband! Not for more than a day! All he was to her was her passport to Spain with her mother, nothing more

!

And all I am to him is his passport to my grandfather's money!

Her lips pressed together. What kind of man was he that would even think of marrying a woman he'd never laid eyes on just to get hold of an even bigger fortune than he yet had? That he wasn't even a fortune-hunter somehow made it worse! Being poor herself, she knew how tempting it must be to think that you could claw your way out of poverty the easy way. But if Nikos Vassilis was already rich, had already made his pile, then why did he want even more? If his company really was worth five hundred million euros then a fraction of what he already possessed would have kept her and Kim in luxury by their standards!

Well, it was none of her business. She didn't care about Nikos Vassilis. He was using her to get what he wanted—and she was simply returning the favour! And she wasn't even cheating him. Even after she'd been packed off home he'd still have got what he wanted—Coustakis Industries—courtesy of his brand-new and totally unwanted wife! He'd be perfectly happy if the bride didn't stick around like glue! A grim smile played about her mouth. In fact, the only person who would end up with a bad bargain would be her beloved grandfather! He'd have handed over his company to Nikos Vassilis, along with his despised granddaughter, but he'd be waiting a long time for his precious heir!

The throaty roar of a high-powered car approaching the house along the long drive that was hidden from the front gar­dens interrupted her bitter reveries. She tensed. It did not sound like the purr of the huge limousine her grandfather had taken his leave in some half-hour ago—heading, she assumed for his office in Athens. This was a much more aggressive engine in­deed—and it didn't take a genius to guess whose it was.

Some few minutes later her assumption was confirmed. Nikos Vassilis strode out on to the terrace. He came to where she was sitting.

Andrea felt her body tense. Something leapt inside her. He was looking spectacular again. A pale grey immaculately cut business suit, gleaming white shirt, grey silk tie, made him look taller and more svelte than ever. His expression was unread­able, made more so by the dark glasses covering bis eyes, and as she looked at his face she felt her stomach hollow out.

Oh, dear God, he's just gorgeous! she felt herself thinking.

He sat himself down opposite her, stretching out his long legs, his feet almost touching hers. Automatically she drew her legs back, the sudden movement causing a jolt of mild pain to go through them.

He caught the expression on her face and frowned slightly.

'Are you all right?'

The rich timbre of his voice, so seductively accented, made her feel weak. She nodded briefly to answer his query, unable to speak.

'How is your cheek?'

The frown had deepened, and before she could stop him he had reached across the table and touched the side of her face with his fingers. They felt cool, but where they made a thou­sand sensations quiver through her. He tilted her head slightly, so that he could see where he touched.

There was a bruise, definitely, even if only faintly visible. She had made no attempt to cover it with make-up, though she had let her hair fall loose, so that it covered her right ear which was still red from having caught the main thrust of her grand­father's blow.

'Fine,' she said quickly, brushing bis hand aside. She did not want his concern—the last words she had flung at him had been an atrocious insult, and his evident concern for her now put her off kilter. So did the echoing resonance of his light velvet touch just now...

The soft-footed approach of a servant carrying a tray of cof­fee for two was a welcome interruption. It gave Andrea pre­cious moments to collect herself.

Nikos lifted off his dark glasses and slid them into his breast pocket. Andrea wished he hadn't. Although it was disturbing to address a man whose eyes she could not see, it was far, far worse to have those keen slate-grey eyes visible to her. The eyes searched her face.

'You are upset still,' he said quietly. 'Last night was very distressing for you. I apologise—it should not have happened that way.' He paused, feeling carefully for his words. 'Your grandfather is a...difficult...man, Andrea, as you must surely already appreciate from all your years of knowing him. He is used to commanding others, to giving orders—and to getting his own way by the swiftest means possible. However brutal.' There was a frown in his eyes. 'Hitting you was insupportable. But—' he held up a hand to ward off what her reply must be '—understandable. That is not to excuse him, Andrea—merely to point out that there was no way he was going to be outfaced by his own granddaughter in front of me, and that he comes from a generation which did not believe in sparing the rod.'

Andrea stilled. She thought of her father, brought up here, a vulnerable boy, bullied by his father from the day he was born—thrashed into obedience...

The only bright hope of his life had been Kim, the girl he'd met on a beach and fallen in love with on the spot, their young romance an idyll out of Romeo and Juliet. And just as doomed. I'm not just doing this for you, Mum—I'm doing it for my father too. Looking after you the way he was never able to... Nikos Vassilis was talking again. She forced herself to listen. 'You must believe me when I tell you that last night I nat­urally assumed you knew of your grandfather's marriage plans for you—and agreed to them.' She reached forward to the coffee pot—filter coffee, she noticed gratefully, not the treacly Greek brew—and started to pour them both a cup.

'But I do agree to them,' she announced. 'I've had a talk with my grandfather this morning and it's all settled, Mr Vassilis. You can continue with your merger plans.'

Her voice was remarkably calm, she thought. But then that was the way to play it—cool, calm and collected. This was not a real marriage they were talking about; it was part of a busi­ness contract that would benefit them both. She must remember that and not think about anything else.

Certainly not about the way the sensual line of his mouth contrasted with the tough, cleanly defined edge of his jaw, or the way his dark silky hair made her long to reach her fingers to it...

She pushed the cup towards him.

'Milk and sugar?' she asked politely.

He shook his head briefly, a frown creasing between his eyes.