Revelations of His Runaway Bride

She sighed. Rolled her eyes. ‘There’s a tech start-up in the States. The talk is that they’ve increased the capacity for solar cell efficiency to eighty percent. It’ll make a small fortune.’ She looked him up and down, as if inspecting something unpleasant. ‘Not that you need it.’

‘Name?’

‘I’ll let you know tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Once you’ve agreed to a divorce and given me the contents of that envelope.’

CHAPTER THREE

THEA SMILED. CHRISTO’S face wasn’t so impassive now. His head was cocked to one side, pinning her with his hard green eyes. He slowly rolled the brandy balloon in his hands and took another sip.

Christo didn’t want a clever wife; he wanted a compliant wife. She’d never be that, ceding her precious freedom to a husband. A quick divorce and he could find himself another woman. One who might even like to be with him, or to sleep in that bed which looked big enough to have a party on.

Heat flooded to her cheeks, slid through her blood. Not that she’d ever think about parties in his bed, or what sort of parties he might have there. No way.

‘Unfortunately, I require a wife. Since I have you, I don’t see any point looking for another.’

She clenched her hands, the edges of her mobile phone cutting into her palms. There had to be a way out of this. Alexis would know what to do if she asked, but her texts lay unanswered.

She took a few deep breaths, trying to calm the nerves roiling in her stomach. She’d come too far to fail. Time to start negotiations to release her from this disastrous union.

Although she doubted Christo had any, Thea appealed to his better judgement. ‘I don’t want to be your wife. And you don’t want me. I know. Why settle for this? You could find someone else. Someone you love.’

He lounged back on the couch, impossibly masculine with his shirt part open, showing a dark sprinkling of hair on that strong chest. A shadow of growth now adorned his jaw. She’d never looked at a man before—not unfiltered like this—and he was mesmerising. He drained his drink. As he leaned forward to place his glass on the table he licked his full bottom lip. A seductive pulse sparked deep and low in her belly.

‘I’ve no interest in love.’ His lazy, heavy-lidded gaze fixed on her. Assessing. ‘So, for now, I’m keeping you.’

The folded paper with her account numbers gleamed a taunting white in his hand. Christo turned it over in his fingers, flicking it backwards and forwards. But his eyes never left her.

She slumped in her chair. There was going to be no negotiation here. She was a prisoner. Just as with her father and Demetri. A pawn in some scheme between rich, powerful men.

She clenched her teeth. ‘You’re a monster.’

He shrugged and smiled. It should have been friendly enough, but the way he bared his perfect white teeth looked a little...carnivorous. Still, she wouldn’t waver. She wasn’t scared of him—not this man.

‘Yes. Though on some days I’m only human,’ he said. ‘You’d do well to remember that.’

She glanced over at the enormous bed again. Did he mean she could buy her freedom another way? There was a presence about him. Muscular, powerful, superior. Maybe some women craved that in a man. Would relish running their fingers through his spiky dark hair. Live to drown in the depths of his hazel-green eyes.

She wasn’t one of them.

Christo followed her gaze and looked back at her through steepled fingers.

‘Tired, Thea? It has been a long day.’ His perfectly etched lips tilted at the corners. ‘So let’s stop toying with each other. My father’s will stipulates that to inherit Atlas Shipping I must have a wife. Since you’ve married me, I’m not letting you go till he’s dead and buried.’

Threads of fear wrapped around Thea’s throat, tightening till she gasped for breath. Her heart pummelled her ribs. How old was Christo’s father? This could go on for years.

She couldn’t.

She wouldn’t...

Christo leaned forward. ‘There’s no point hiding the truth from you. Not now.’

How could he sit there so calmly, as if this sort of thing happened to him every day?

Her phone fell from her hand into her lap. She curled her freed fingers into her palm, concentrating on the bite of her nails on the soft flesh. Her breathing steadied.

‘How’s your father’s health?’

Christo smiled. ‘My father’s ill. Terminally so. Although his condition has stabilised of late. But I appreciate your concern.’