Rumors Behind the Greek's Wedding

‘My housekeeper will show you to our room. Your bags should already—’

‘Our?’

He frowned, wondering what had been unclear about his statement. ‘Yes, “our” room.’

He could have laughed at the shocked look on her face, widening her beautiful amber eyes with something akin to horror. That was new. He’d never had that reaction to the suggestion he share a bed with a woman before.

‘I’m not sharing a...room with you,’ she replied, clearly stumbling over the moment she might have said bed.

Instantly the misstep threw up a riotous display of imagery, Loukis peeling away the straps of her bra, placing kisses across the delicate line of her collarbone, leading down over the gentle slope of her breast to—

Loukis cut off the errant chain of thought, desperately fighting the shocking streak of arousal that had shot through him and instead casting his gaze to the hallway to make sure that no staff were within hearing distance.

‘Would you care to sit for this conversation?’ he asked, gesturing to the seat opposite him.

‘I’ll stand, thank you,’ she replied, as if waiting, bracing herself for some kind of penance.

‘Célia, let me explain something to you. You have agreed to become my fiancée.’

‘I don’t remember being given much choice.’

‘And as such,’ he pressed on as if she had not interrupted, ‘we need to be seen as a couple very much in love and ready to spend the rest of our lives together. And when I say “be seen”, I do not mean just when we’re out in public. Everything I have, everything I love, is riding on this engagement being believed. By everyone. By Meredith, by the courts, by my sister and I will not have that at risk because a member of my staff sees that we are using separate rooms.’

Although he had not raised his voice to a level that could be overheard, Célia felt the vehemence of his words right down to her toes. His insistence that they share a room became a primal demand within her, one she seemed powerless to deny.

Célia knew what he was saying made sense. That it was in her interest as much as his not to be found out. Because if they were, the damage to her reputation and business would be apocalyptic. But the thought of sharing a room, let alone a bed, with Loukis Liordis was terrifying. Not because she was in any way scared of the man. No, she was more scared of herself. Because somehow the thought of sharing such an intimacy with him thrilled her. It sent a cascade of electrical bursts through her body, ensuring that every inch of her was hyperaware, over-sensitised even. She hadn’t even felt this way about Marc. And that was warning enough.

CHAPTER FIVE

CÉLIA STEPPED OUT of the car that had picked her up from the stylist’s and brought her to what she could only presume was one of Greece’s most renowned restaurants—if the deluge of supercars on display lining the road was anything to go by. Ferrari, Maserati, Lamborghini, McLaren. The brands rolled off her tongue like a shopping list for the rich and famous.

Reluctantly she had to admit that four hours ago she would have been terrified to even get out of the car. But Layna, despite her severe and frosty demeanour, had been a revelation. Instead of being superior and dismissive, she had peppered Célia with a hailstorm of questions. What she wanted from her clothing

, what colours she had in her apartment, did she have a favourite painting, what did she see clothing as being to her. All the different questions had initially seemed unconnected, but as Layna took her through the selection she had cultivated while Célia was getting her hair and make-up done, she realised how the woman had woven a select wardrobe built from her. How each piece reflected something of the answers she had given about her life, her tastes, her fantasies even. She couldn’t deny how they flattered and had miraculously unfurled some hitherto unknown sense of pride and satisfaction in her looks.

Which had made her sad. Sad because, once, she had loved dressing in bright clothes, had relished a sense of her own beauty. Before she had cast aside her family name, been discarded by Marc, and hidden within bland, invisible clothing so as not to be seen. Not to be noticed. Because if she was honest with herself, Célia was a little fearful of what such close inspection would reveal.

She brushed aside a layered lock that she was just about getting used to. Before the hair stylist had got his hands on her, she had been unconcerned about the universally shoulder-length, light brown strands. And perhaps that had been part of the problem. The moment she had caught sight of herself in the mirror she hadn’t been able to prevent the shocked gasp that had fallen from her lips.

‘Nai. Good? Good.’

She hadn’t even been able to muster any kind of resentment at the knowing gaze and asked and answered question from the hair stylist. Because he was right. Taking her hair a few shades darker, a rich, warm auburn shade of mahogany, had made her somehow more her. Her pale skin now seemed creamier, richer. And her eyes—they glowed. She glowed. But more than that, she felt it deep within her. A feminine pride she hadn’t realised that she’d sorely missed.

As she got out of the car, she picked up the gorgeous forest-green silk of the dress’s skirt so it wouldn’t get damaged on the pavement. The moment she had seen the dress, her heart had thudded in her chest. She’d never usually wear such a thing, certainly couldn’t usually afford such a thing, but Loukis appeared to be more than willing to fund the extravagance. The dress seemed timeless, having borrowed aspects from different periods, and rather than confusing was somehow eternally elegant. The halter-neck detail that swept from behind her neck, between her breasts and round to the low dip of her spine offered a more risqué design, while the style of the details, the small green jewels sewn into the overlaid cream fabric, suggested grandeur and delicacy.

Her make-up had been kept simple apart from a swipe of bright red matt lipstick and her only accessory was a golden clutch that—as yet—was completely empty. ‘But appearances must be kept,’ Layna’s command echoing in her mind.

Her golden sparkly heels glinted in the street lights and as she straightened up, she caught the approving glance of the driver, before he quickly masked his features. It fired a little spark within her. Not because of the driver, but because it gave her a little hope as to what Loukis’s reaction might be.

And momentarily she faltered, wobbling a little on her too-high heel. She shouldn’t be wondering that. She shouldn’t be blurring the lines at all. This wasn’t some fairy-tale romance, with her own private Cinderella moment. This was a carefully constructed lie in order to get Loukis what he wanted. Hadn’t he already proved the lengths he would go to in order to do so? Hadn’t he already threatened her reputation and her business? No. She had to remember that he was proving himself to be just like her father, just like Marc. Only interested in her for what she could get for him.

It was precisely this chain of thought that caused the slight flattening of her lips, the barely perceptible tense line to her shoulders. None of the other diners in the restaurant would have noticed such a thing, all too readily consuming the beautiful vision she presented. But Loukis did. He noticed every single thing about her as she walked towards the glass-fronted balcony to where he sat at a table beneath the night sky, waiting but most definitely not ready.

The fierce red slash of colour on her lips was almost carnal and his hands clenched into fists as she swayed towards him provocatively on high-heel-clad feet. Her hair was a different shade, which seemed so much more natural than her previous colouring. The colour reminded him of autumn, but a glorious fireball of autumn that promised warmth...heat even.

Fire. He was playing with fire. Because he couldn’t help but acknowledge that he’d found Célia strangely alluring even dressed in that horrible beige top. But that inner sense of beauty he’d known she masked was now on full display for all to see. And it was incredible.

Wordlessly, he stood as the waiter guided her towards him, as if presenting him with some great gift. He watched as she walked towards him. The streak of lightning that cut through him when their eyes met was something he tried hard to ignore. This evening had one purpose. Everything had been arranged, right down to the second. That should be what he was focusing on, not the way that her hips swayed beneath the deep green silk of her dress, the way that it veed down her sternum, revealing rather than hiding the dramatic slope of her breasts. Not the way it cut in at her waist, giving her a true hourglass figure and making his mouth water.