The Greek's Virgin Bride

'Right,' he began, 'we'll get a few things clear, I think. Firstly, yes, of course I have had liaisons with other women— I was free to do so and I did! But—

' he held up his hand 4—I have not set eyes on another woman since the day I met you.'

His assurance left Andrea less than impressed.

'So you just dumped them, did you? Charming!'

Nikos shut his eyes briefly, then opened them. 'My relation­ships with both women are—were—what you might call "open",' he said. 'Xanthe Palloupis has several other rich lov­ers who help keep her in the style she fully intends to hold on to for as long as her looks last, and Esme Vandersee—'

'Esme Vandersee? The supermodel?' Andrea's voice cut in incredulously. 'She's one of the world's most beautiful women!'

There was a note in her voice that Nikos did not miss, and it sent a shaft of satisfaction through him which, right now, he badly needed. It had been something between dismay and jeal­ousy.

'She is also,' he said, 'quite happy to reward a large assort­ment of her chosen admirers with a hands-on tour of her spec­tacular body. I'm confident she found it extremely easy to re­place me,' he finished dryly.

But Andrea didn't want to hear about Esme Vandersee and her spectacular body. In fact if the supermodel had suddenly beamed aboard right in front of her she would have got a dusty reception from her lover's bride. Extremely dusty.

She quelled the stab of pure possessiveness that darted through her at the thought of Esme Vandersee or Xanthe Whatever-her-name-was making moves on Nikos Vassilis. It was utterly inappropriate.

And totally irrelevant.

Why am I discussing Nikos's mistresses? she thought.

They've got nothing to do with why I'm going home tomor-

'So,' Nikos continued smoothly, 'now I understand the rea­son for your ill-temper all day, Andrea mou—'

'I'm still leaving tomorrow morning! And it's got nothing

do with any of the women you put out for! I have absolutely no intention of staying married to you!'

The glitter was back in Nikos's eyes.

'And what objection, may I ask again, are you going to put forward now?'

Her eyes flicked to the opulence all around them. Kim's entire flat would just about fit into the space of this single stateroom! Tell him the truth about yourself now—he'll send you packing the moment he hears!

'For heaven's sake, how could I possibly even think of being married to you? We come from totally different worlds—'

She broke off. Something was in his face that made her feel frightened suddenly.

Different world? Oh, yes, different worlds indeed. A father­less street boy and a pampered heiress...

'Nevertheless...' the softness was back in his voice, and it was slicing at her flesh again '...you are my wife, Andrea Vassilis, and if you understand nothing about what it means to be Greek, understand this—no husband lets his bride make a laughing stock of him by walking out on him straight after their wedding! And never, ever—' his eyes slid over her face, her body '—before their wedding night...'

He came towards her. She could not move. Slate eyes fixed her where she was. Slate eyes with only one purpose in them.

The fear dissolved. For a brief moment desire flooded through her, powerful and irresistible. She crushed it aside. There was no place for it. There could not be. There must not be. In its place came a flat, dull resolve. So it was going to be like this, was it? Very well, so be it. She'd see it through the bitter end—and be on a plane home tomorrow.

She stood there motionless. In her mind she searched for the impenetrable mask she had donned every time she was in his company. It was time to wear it again.

He stopped in front of her. She was very still. Like a statue. He reached a hand towards her. The back of his fingers brushed her cheek, trailing down over the column of her neck, turning to close over the cusp of her shoulder, bared except for the narrow straps of her dress.

'The last time you wore this you melted into my arms like honey on a warm spoon.'

The thumb of his other hand came up to ease along the trembling line of her lips.

She stiffened, clutching the carapace to her.