The Greek Tycoon's Bride

He had talked of Theodore being proud and unforgiving but Andreas and his father were just the same, Sophy thought. And then a little voice in her head said, But their attitude had been formed through love for Dimitra and what Theodore had done to her, whereas Theodore’s stance had been taken through hate.

Was she making excuses for Andreas? The thought shocked her, intimating, as it did, that she wanted to think the best of him. Which was ridiculous considering the way they had been at each other’s throats from the first moment they had laid eyes on one another. But he wasn’t quite what she’d thought he was.

Sophy didn’t like the way her thoughts were going and now said quickly, ‘I believe you, of course I believe you. Dimitra is so sweet. She couldn’t possibly have treated Theodore badly.’

‘She is a wonderful woman,’ he agreed quietly.

Andreas’s voice unconsciously gentled when he spoke of his mother, Sophy noticed, and she had observed earlier the way he and Evangelos treated Dimitra like precious, rare porcelain. It must be nice to be adored by two such strong, powerful men; one a devoted husband and the other a loving son.

Again she drew her mind away from the path it was following, saying softly, ‘Thank you for telling me all this, Andreas, and I’ll make sure Jill understands how things are. I’m sure she won’t find it necessary to tell Michael anything now or in the future; it’s probably best he remembers his father the way he does now, which is as a remote figure on the perimeter of his life. Michael actually gets on better with Christos, Theodore’s partner in the restaurant, than he ever did his father.’

Andreas nodded slowly. ‘My father has been in communication with Christos and he has appreciated the man’s tact and genuine consideration. It is good Jill has someone like him in the business.’

His face was closed and grim; he obviously had not liked having to reveal such intimate facts about his parents to a virtual stranger but it was hardly her fault, Sophy thought, before she warned herself not to be so touchy. She wasn’t normally like this—but then, since she had met Andreas, she was beginning to realise there were things about herself of which she had had no idea. And she didn’t like that.

She swallowed hard. ‘I’d better get back,’ she said awkwardly, rising to her feet with the robe still held tightly round her. She thought about offering it back but as it was quite on the cards for Andreas to pass her the towel if she did, she decided against it.

He had risen when she did and she found it incredibly difficult to concentrate on anything but the powerfully muscled body in front of her, hearing him say, ‘I hope once these distressing matters are out of the way you and your sister and Michael will enjoy your stay in my beautiful country,’ through hot prickles of rising sensation.

It seemed particularly ironic that the most civilised conversation they had had to date was being conducted with Andreas all but naked and she enveloped in his bath robe. She took a deep breath and managed a somewhat shaky, ‘Thank you.’

His voice had been dark and smoky and his face wasn’t grim any more; in fact, it was wearing an expression she hadn’t seen before and it turned her limbs fluid. ‘Do I frighten you, Sophy? Do you still see me as a threat?’ he asked softly as her heartbeats accelerated to a hundred miles per hour.

‘Of course not.’ She tried for briskness but failed miserably. ‘And I didn’t see you as a threat exactly,’ she lied firmly.

‘Good.’ He smiled, a slow, sexy smile and Sophy knew she ought to get the hell out of there but she was unable to move.

His eyes were as black as midnight and they held her wide blue ones with no effort at all, her lids falling half shut as his face came closer and his firm warm lips met hers in a light, almost teasing kiss. He drew her against his firm hard flesh, one arm round the small of her back as his other hand tilted her chin for greater access to her mouth.

He smelt of the cold, clean water and the night, and as her head began to spin the kiss deepened beyond the soft coaxing he’d employed at first. His lips and tongue were sensuous and experienced but he didn’t rush her, his control enormous, as he pleasured them both.

Her hands were grasping the hard muscled flesh of his broad shoulders, although she had no recollection of how they got there and, although she was pressed so close to him now that she could feel the effect her body was having on his, she could no more have drawn away than flown to the moon.

He was kissing her deeply and slowly, building sensation upon sensation, and nothing in the world could have stopped Sophy from kissing him back. The hard pressure of his hair-roughened chest as he crushed her against him, the sensuous quality of his mouth, the overriding authority and power as he took the sweetness from her mouth with no consideration that she might refuse him was intoxicating. She couldn’t believe how intoxicating.

She had never been kissed like this, never had such overwhelming sensations tearing through her flesh and making her moist and feverish in a man’s arms. She felt as though she was on fire and he seemed to know just what to do to make the flames burn more fiercely.

There was a tight ache in her breasts, their peaks sharply tender, and it was bewildering because suddenly her body wasn’t her own. She had always assumed she must have a low sex drive because Matthew’s desire to only make love once every four or five weeks had never bothered her unduly. Their union had been comforting and reassuring rather than anything else, a relaxing and almost homely reinforcement of their friendship and high regard for each other. As had breakfast in bed on a Sunday and walks in the park.

But this, this took away her will and reason, shooting sensations to parts of her body she had never been aware of before. It made her want more, much more—made her dangerously out of control. The warning registered in her brain with enough force to cause Sophy to jerk back away from the warmth of him with a little cry of distress, the knowledge that she had been in danger of casting off every rule and principle she had lived by for the last twenty-eight years enough to bring her back to reality.

‘Don’t touch me!’ Her voice was high and frantic, and through the rushing shame and humiliation that was pounding in her head a tiny part of her mind registered he obeyed instantly, even though his eyes were hungry and his muscled body taut and hard with passion. ‘I don’t want this! This is not why I stayed down here. You asked me to listen about Theodore, that’s all.’

She was crying out against herself as much as him, against the insanity that had allowed her to lose all rhyme and reason the minute he had touched her. It was crazy, unthinkable—what she had nearly allowed. And with Andreas Karydis. Andreas Karydis of all people! She had only met him a few hours ago.

‘Sophy, listen to me—’

‘No, don’t you dare come near me!’ And then, in her panic and confusion, she said something unforgivable before she ran from him. ‘You’re just like them! Theodore and his father! Forcing yourself on women to get what you want.’

And then she was running from him, the robe slipping from her arms and falling on the ground as she sped across the cool tiles and then out on to the soft velvety grass beyond, careless of the clothes she had left behind as she ran as though the devil himself was at her heels. Which was exactly how she felt.

By the time she reached the sanctuary of her room, her breath was sobbing in her throat and the realisation was dawning that she had made a monumental fool of herself. She sank down on the bed, shaking uncontrollably as she relived the last few seconds with Andreas and what she had screamed at him. How could she? How could she have said he was like his brother and that madman who had sired Theodore? What a terrible thing to have thrown in his face.

She sat, shivering and shaking on the edge of the bed as she went over and over in her mind what had occurred, before she threw herself face down on the covers and cried her eyes out. A good ten minutes later, when her face was red and blotchy and her eyes so swollen she felt she was peering through two slits, she forced herself to emerge from the deep well of despair.

She would have to apologise to him for that last remark. The knowledge was like a hard lead ball in the pit of her stomach. It had been nasty and cruel, and most of all it hadn’t been true. She had wanted what had happened just as much as he had, if not more. She groaned softly at her weakness, hating herself.

He was clearly the playboy type, or perhaps work hard and play hard was a more accurate description, but whatever—she had been nothing more than a brief dalliance as far as he was concerned. And she’d offered herself on a plate, after all.