The Greek Tycoon's Unexpected Wife

He turned on his heel and marched to the door, pulling it shut behind him as he reached the corridor. There he stood, unmoving, trying to make sense of what had just happened as the blood roared like a wild thing in his ears.

He didn’t know which disturbed him more—the ravening hunger for Tessa Marlowe that grew with every moment he spent in her company, or the way she made him feel he was in the wrong. As if she was the innocent in all this.

Either alternative was appalling. Both indicated just how badly out of control he was.

And that had never happened to him before. Ever.

CHAPTER EIGHT

STAVROS left her alone after that. Each day he departed early, striding long-legged and confident to the helipad. No doubt he slept like a log, satisfied that he’d put her in her place.

Meanwhile Tessa still bore the brunt of that appalling scene. She relived the exquisite excitement she’d felt in his arms and her utter horror when he’d confirmed what he really thought of her.

She’d love to land one good punch on him. To inflict a fraction of the raw pain he’d dealt her. As if she’d even make an impact on that hard, muscled body!

That hard, hot-as-sin body. She remembered how it felt to be embraced by him. To be kissed as if he wanted to devour her, draw her in so tight that their bodies became one. She was ashamed to admit it but the liquid heat still burned like wildfire whenever she remembered.

Years ago she’d put Stavros on a pedestal, thought of him as a knight in shining armour who’d given his life to rescue her. In her fear and homesickness, she’d focused all her thwarted emotions, her desire on him.

Now she faced the uncompromising reality of Stavros Denakis the ice-cold tycoon, the angry man using his sharp tongue and quick mind and physical strength against her. Yet still she was hampered by remnants of fantasies where he was her hero. Where he protected her.

Where he wanted her for himself.

Perversely, she could understand his viewpoint. He thought he was protecting his family and the woman he loved from a scheming witch. Tessa had seen the bone-chilling blankness in his eyes when he’d spoken of his stepmothers. No wonder he was slow to trust and ready to doubt.

It didn’t excuse his appalling behaviour. Her skin crawled when she remembered his savage accusations. Yet through her misery and anger she felt a sneaking compassion for him. What did that say about her?

She needed to forget that and focus on the future. On a time when Stavros would be just a memory, not…her husband.

Tessa slumped against the fine-grained leather of the limousine’s back seat, barely registering the quaint beauty of the coastal town through the tinted windows.

She should be ecstatic to escape the confines of the villa, if only for an hour and under the chaperonage of Stavros’ burly minders. Instead she fought back despair.

Her life was a mess. Leaving Greece wouldn’t solve her problems. She didn’t have a place of her own in Australia. She’d have to find somewhere to live while she job-hunted and fended off the Press. And that was after she sorted out the legalities of this marriage. How she was going to do that when she never again wanted to face the man who was her husband, she didn’t know.

She squeezed her eyes shut and drew a deep breath. No point in rehashing history. She’d do better to prepare for this upcoming interview with Vassilis Denakis. The summons from Stavros’ father had come just thirty minutes ago.

The question was: why should her father-in-law want to see her again?

Stavros paused in the courtyard of the house where he’d grown up. He remembered when it had been home, filled with warmth and laughter. With its own unique perfume: sea salt and the jasmine his mother always wore.

The memory seemed so real. Then he realised it was real. The scent of jasmine came from a vine in the corner.

He frowned. When had the old man had it planted? His last wife, the icy Nordic beauty with a heart as cold as an empty wallet, had decreed the garden was old-fashioned and passé. She’d ordered it be dug up and paved.

He pushed open the door, reluctant to enter. Not because of ghosts. But because he’d prefer not to see his father make a fool of himself over another beautiful woman.

Tessa had come here every afternoon this week. Sometimes the old man returned with her to share a meal with Stavros, talking about the business with a vigour that had been missing since his last stint in hospital.

Stavros had intended to ban her visits. Yet when his father spoke about her he sounded like his old self. Before illness and money-hungry women had taken their toll.

His father had a new lease of life and it was at least partly due to Tessa. Stavros was torn between wanting to thank her and wanting to lock her away where she couldn’t interfere. Somewhere she couldn’t play on the emotions of a man with weak lungs and a penchant for a pretty face. Where she’d be utterly at Stavros’ mercy.