Revelations of His Runaway Bride

Thea flashed a smile in response, relieved and yet dazzling. It curled into him, flickered into life a beguiling warmth in his chest. Odd how this new agreement between them felt so enjoyable...

He stood, before the sensation ran away with him completely.

‘Tonight, koukla mou,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek, relishing her soft exhalation as he did.

And as he walked away he found himself counting the moments till he saw her again.

CHAPTER FIVE

THEA SAT ON the edge of her new bed, in her new room, hands tightly clenched. Concentrating on the cut of her fingernails into her palms.

Pretending to love. Pretending.

Her whole life was a pretence. Faking her role as a dutiful daughter, a happy bride.

The pain of it knotted inside her, tighter and tighter. She breathed slowly through the gnawing in her stomach. And yet for a fleeting moment she’d snatched a glimpse of another life. The touch of a man. Her husband. The soft press of his lips on her hand. The burn it had left. How, for a breathtaking second, she’d craved something more and her heart had filled with silly, jagged if-onlys which had cut on every beat.

But this was more pretence. Marriage formed no part of her plans. Even in her short life she’d seen enough. Knew that husbands ruled, and heaven help any woman caught by circumstance or, even worse, love. She’d never succumb to it. It was a romantic trap set for the foolhardy. That was when the bars truly fell, clanging into place for ever.

She shivered, wrapping her arms round her waist. She had her plan. What she needed was to find Alexis. To ease the constant ache of fear in her chest. To prove her agreement with Christo was good for something.

Time for the next charade.

She stood, smoothing her palms over her clothes, relieved that at least she didn’t have to deal with the teasing caress of silken lingerie sliding over her body. Or the hot gleam from Christo’s eyes which had taunted her for the past three nights.

That man pretended too. His appearance of a tightly reined-in gentleman was an act. She’d seen the way he’d looked at her as she’d lain on the couch in his room. As if she was a meal set out for his pleasure. All that dark hunger had tempted Thea to spread herself out and be devoured.

But it would never happen. He’d used her for his own ends and she’d take what she could from him, no questions.

Having her own room was a win, and in her lif

e she’d had too few. It wasn’t as big as Christo’s, and was all soft neutrals—a blank, pale canvas like her life so far.

Thea dreaded leaving its silence and safety, but she padded down the hall with book and pencil in hand, her toes sinking into the velvety carpet. The doors to his suite were closed when she arrived. She raised her hand and knocked.

‘Come.’

His deep, low voice slid over her like a rush of warm water. Thea hesitated, then took a steadying breath and entered the room.

Christo sat on the couch in jeans and a T-shirt, the clothes soft and well worn. His shirt looked bound to the sculpted muscles of his chest and biceps. The jeans outlined his powerful thighs. Her stomach flipped with a curious disappointment. But no, she definitely didn’t miss the expanse of bronzed skin and naked torso he’d subjected her to as he’d slept on his huge bed.

Out of suit trousers and bespoke shirts he looked young. Thea supposed he was—though at thirty-one Christo was hardly Greece’s youngest billionaire. And, unlike his usual stern poise during the day when his employees were present, tonight there was something almost approachable about him, with his hair raked through and messy, a few strands falling across his brow.

The observation tugged low and warm in her belly, pooling in a way that made her shift on the spot. But it was something on which she refused to dwell. Instead, she did a prancing little twirl.

‘I wasn’t sure how to dress.’ She waved her hands between them as she looked down at her black leggings and oversized grey top. ‘For this...assignation.’

His eyes met hers, then took a meandering journey over her silhouette. Even though her body was hidden under formless clothes it was as if he could see right through them.

‘What you wear is immaterial, since the aim of newlyweds is to get out of their clothes as quickly as possible.’

All she envisaged was searching hands and naked limbs entwined. Breathless sighs and a deep, unrelenting ache.

She shut out the errant thoughts and flopped into the overstuffed armchair opposite. ‘Charming.’

The corners of his mouth tilted in a lazy smile. ‘If you pretended to be more of an adoring wife, I’d show you how charming I could be.’

She ignored the invitation. ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’