The Greek Tycoon's Bride

‘You can take it any way you want to,’ he answered pleasantly, but with just the faintest touch of steel underlying the smoothness. ‘But for now we will return to the Pallini and eat well. We will smile and converse and speak of nothing more controversial than whether the moussaka is to your taste. You do like moussaka?’ he added easily.

‘Yes, Andreas, I like moussaka.’

If he noticed the cool flat note of control in her voice he didn’t comment, merely gathering up the almost empty bottle of wine and the two glasses and following her as she began to walk back down the beach. And this time he did not take her hand. Ridiculously, Sophy felt bereft.

Sophy had not expected to enjoy the rest of the evening but—annoyingly—she found she couldn’t help it.

The meal was wonderful but of gargantuan proportions, beginning with Iona’s tzatziki, a dish made with yoghurt and garlic and served in two small bowls with warm chunks of fresh garlic bread to scoop it up with. The moussaka was heavenly but she was openly amazed at the amount Andreas put away, and he still found room for a healthy portion of a pastry dessert oozing with honey and cream and succulent red cherries.

They ate on the veranda overlooking the sea, the breeze off the water taking the edge of the humid heat and making it very pleasant. The sun went down in a riveting display of colour, rivers of red and gold and cinnamon flowing across the soft charcoal grey and midnight blue in a stunning extravaganza of nature at her best. It was hypnotic and spell-binding and the stuff dreams were made of.

And so was Andreas. Sophy knew he had set out to charm her, but in spite of herself she couldn’t help responding. He was amusing and attentive, telling the odd funny story directed against himself with a wicked self-effacement that stated quite clearly he was deliberately being deprecative to win her round. The dark eyes flashed with humour and in the dim light his face had taken on something of the appearance of a handsome bronze statue, his features purely male and classical and his hair as black as the night.

She was enjoying herself, so much, and she didn’t want to—but he made it impossible not to. And as though he had picked up on her thoughts, he leant closer to her as they sipped their coffee and brandy, his voice low and smoky as he said quietly, ‘You should relax more often, but you find it hard to let go, don’t you? If it wasn’t your marriage that made you that way, then what? Because, deep, deep inside, I do not think you’re like that.’

She stared back at him, suddenly finding the warm scrutiny unnerving. She opened her mouth to make some airy light comment but instead found herself saying, ‘The way we were brought up, I suppose. My mother had to work all the time and Jill… Well, I guess I felt I had to look after her somehow. She always seemed younger than me, much younger, even though we’re twins.’

Andreas nodded slowly. ‘Your father?’

‘Left the bosom of his family when Jill and I were a couple of months old,’ she said, not as flatly as she would have liked. It was the wine, she told herself irritably. She had drunk just enough to make the mask slip a little. She had to be careful.

He had picked up the thread of bitterness. ‘Your mother didn’t marry again?’ he asked softly.

“How could she? She worked all the hours under the sun; there was no time for socialising or meeting anyone. Besides, I think she still loved my father, although she would rather have died than admit it. She knew he was a weak, worthless rat but she couldn’t quite let go.’

The faint air of bewilderment caused his mouth to tighten for a moment before he said, ‘Do you ever see him?’

‘I’ve never seen him.’ Sophy straightened in her chair and the body language and the crispness of her voice told him the conversation was over. ‘He might be dead, for all I know.’ And then she smiled, a brittle smile, as she said, ‘Could I have another brandy, please?’

A spirit of recklessness had taken her over and suddenly she didn’t want to think any more. He had said she found it hard to relax and let go, and it was true when she thought about it. She had been on the treadmill of life for as long as she could remember, always being responsible and rational and in control. Even with Matthew it had seemed natural to them both that she would make the final decision on things. Not that she had minded, she told herself quickly, as though the thought was a betrayal; in fact, she had liked it being that way…hadn’t she?

Suddenly she wasn’t sure about anything—and it was a frightening feeling. The urge to chill out, to let her hair down without any thought of the consequences was as strong as it was dangerous, and she had to master it now, right this minute.

She felt obliged to drink the second glass of brandy when it came but washed it down with two cups of strong black coffee, the fleeting moments of devil-may-care foolhardiness vanishing almost as soon as they had arrived. But they were a warning, she told herself soberly, as she watched Andreas’s face as he talked to Iona and Nick who had joined them at their table.

Andreas was a complex, enigmatic man and she didn’t have a clue what made him tick. That kiss had told her he was as far out of her league, sexually and in every other way, as the man in the moon. And he was a man who liked women, and they liked him back.

Behind them in the distance where the beach road ran came the low whisper of cypress trees teased by the soft warm breeze, and the night sky was bright with stars, the moon sailing resplendent and proud surrounded by her lesser subjects. There were fewer people left now but the band was still playing, and the dance floor was not as crowded as it had been whilst they had eaten, just the odd couple dancing dreamily to a slow ballad.

‘Come.’ Andreas stood to his feet, extending his hand towards her. ‘We will dance a little.’

‘Oh, no,’ she said immediately. ‘I’m not a good dancer.’

She might as well have saved her breath because she found herself lifted to her feet with an authoritative hand and whisked through to the interior of the building, Iona and Nick following in their wake. She nerved herself for the moment when he took her into his arms and consequently was as stiff as a board, earning a little click of annoyance from Andreas. ‘Relax, let the music lead you,’ he murmured softly in her ear, his male warmth enclosing her in its own magic. ‘It is not a sin to be young and carefree.’

Carefree, no. Careless, yes. And the two were dangerously entwined tonight.

‘Is there anyone special in England?’ he asked her quietly after they had danced for a minute or two.

‘Not really,’ she answered, trying to make it sound as though she had a whole regiment of boyfriends to choose from. ‘Any relationships have to fit in with my work schedule, which can be hectic at times.’ Or they would if she had any relationships!

‘And your friends—your men friends—are content with this?’ Andreas asked disapprovingly. ‘Did Matthew fit in with your work schedule, too?’

‘That’s really none of your business.’ It was hard to sound as vinegary as she would have liked when she was being held against his hard muscled frame, and his breath was ruffling her hair. But it was such a typical Andreas comment!

‘Of course it isn’t,’ he agreed immediately. ‘So, did he?’

Sophy’s head shot up, her violet-blue eyes expressing her indignation. ‘You really don’t take no for an answer, do you?’ she said tartly. ‘I’ve never met anyone so confrontational.’