The Greek's Virgin Bride

'I'm sorry,' he said suddenly. 'Of course she would find it distressing to revisit the place where she was so happy with your father,'

'Yes,' said Andrea, swallowing, 'that's it'

'Then perhaps a private wedding would be best, ne?”

'Definitely,' she agreed. 'And as speedily as it can be ar­ranged.'

She reached for her wine glass. She had drunk more than she had meant to, but her nerves, beneath the unemotional car­apace that had descended on her, were shaky, she realised. As she moved forward his hand stayed her wrist, closing around it loosely.

'You are so eager to be my wife, Andrea?'

His voice had lowered again, taking on that intimate timbre that made her go shivery. Her eyes flew to his. In her wrist, as his thumb rubbed casually along the delicate skin over her veins, a pulse throbbed.

'I meant,' she said, as brusquely as she could, 'that you must be keen to get the merger underway as soon as possible.'

She drew her hand away and picked up her wine glass, drinking deeply.

For a moment Nikos hovered between indignation and amusement. Amusement won out. Mocking amusement. She was responsive to him—he had proved that twice already—and he knew perfectly well that he would dissolve any last resis­tance to him. Knowing now that she was only interested in marrying him for money, he would take particular pleasure in revealing to her just how sexually vulnerable to him he could make her—when he chose. She would leave their marriage bed in no doubt whatsoever that he could turn her into a willing, purring sexual partner, eager to do in bed whatever he wanted her to...

He frowned. A moment ago he had been feeling sorry for her—mourning, with her mother, her lost father. The girl with the cash-box mentality had been completely absent then.

Now she was back with a vengeance.

'As eager to get on with your merger as I am to get my grandfather to release my capital,' she announced crisply.

The phrase sounded good in her ears. Made it sound the sort of thing that heiresses said—the sort of thing that went down well, with approving nods, in places like this. People were still looking at her, she knew. Word had gone round—the Coustakis heiress was in town.

And she was lunching with Nikos Vassilis.

Marriages or corporate mergers—they were all the same thing to people like these.

There was a sour taste in her throat, despite the wine.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lunch seemed endless, and it was well into the afternoon be­fore Andrea could finally escape. And even then she could not escape Nikos.

He had phoned his office on his mobile, cancelling all his appointments. That alone, he knew, would accelerate the ru­mours. Nikos Vassilis never cancelled appointments—he was assiduous in his pursuit of business and profit.

He smiled down at his bride-to-be, an intimate smile that Andrea knew was for the benefit of the remaining diners, as they took their leave from the restaurant. 'I thought that you might like to go shopping. I'm sure you will wish for a spec­tacular trousseau!'

I've got all the clothes I need,' she replied sharply. She didn't want any more clothes—the closets in her room at her grandfather's house were groaning. Today, having made the momentous decision to marry Nikos Vassilis, she had changed into one of the outfits Zoe had shown her—a pair of beautifully cut taupe trousers and a shaped appliqued top. There were more than enough remaining to see her through to her wedding day.

He gave a disbelieving laugh. 'No woman has all the clothes she needs,' he commented dryly.

'I'm not interested in clothes,' she said carelessly.

He laughed again. 'Then you are unique amongst your sex! Besides...' his voice took on a caressing note '...even if you are not interested in clothes, Andrea, they most definitely are in

terested in you...’

His eyes worked over her torso, blatantly taking in how the jersey material of her top stretched across her full breasts, out­lining their generous swell.

Unconsciously she tugged at the hem of her top, as if that would instantly conceal her figure.

'You only reveal yourself more to me,' he said softly, his breath warm on her throat. Fleetingly he ran the back of his hand down her cheek, making her breath catch. 'I would like to choose some clothes for you, Andrea—please allow me that privilege.'

'I told you 1 had enough!' She pulled away from him, wish­ing her heart-rate had not suddenly started to race at his touch.