His Contract Christmas Bride (Conveniently Wed!)

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘I don’t know why we’re fighting about clothes, Lucy,’ he said unevenly as they broke away to drag oxygen into their air-starved lungs. ‘Since my expressed preference is to see you not wearing anything at all.’

  And wasn’t it pathetic how thrilled she was to hear that husky compliment? As if she was only just beginning to realise that, despite her somewhat homely appearance and complete lack of fashion sense, Drakon Konstantinou really did fancy her. But that was one of the reasons she was here, Lucy reminded herself. Her midwifery training wouldn’t mean a thing without the white-hot chemistry which seemed to combust whenever they touched.

  She felt blindsided by the sense of something which, having been awoken, now needed urgently to be fed. Was that why she let him kiss her again and to deepen it with provocative intimacy, so that she moaned softly into his mouth? And something about that moan made him lever her up against the wall, his face dark and inscrutable as he looked down at her. She could sense the tension which was making his powerful body seem as tight as a strung bow and, where they were touching, her skin felt as if it were on fire.

  His fingers were unbuttoning her grey coat and unashamedly roving beneath her sweater and when he jutted his hips forward like that, she could feel the hard column of his erection pressing against her. Beneath her thick denim jeans the molten slick of desire made itself known and Lucy longed for him to touch her there. His fingers were whispering over the cool skin of her torso, moving down towards the top button of her jeans, and she shivered as he popped it open then slid her zip down with a dexterity which suggested he must have undressed millions of women before.

  But suddenly Lucy saw herself as an outside observer might see her—all windswept and rumpled with the Greek tycoon’s fingers burrowing their way inexorably towards her panties. Why, she hadn’t even taken her coat off! She’d only been in his apartment for ten minutes and all they’d done was to fight and kiss and now he was about to take it one step further. If she didn’t put a halt to this then before she knew it, she would be pressed up against that wall with Drakon thrusting deep inside her.

  She pressed her hand against his chest, feeling the powerful pound of his heart beneath her palm. ‘We need to stop this right now.’

  ‘Oh, Lucy. That’s not the message I was getting a moment ago,’ he drawled.

  Well, it’s the m-message you’re getting now,’ she said, unable to iron the tremble from her voice. ‘I need to freshen up before Sofia comes back with the baby and to...’

  ‘To what?’ he questioned mockingly as her words tailed off.

  Lips pressed together, she gave him a determined smile. ‘To unpack my case and settle in. And to be honest, Drakon...’ She hesitated. ‘I think you’re right about having separate rooms, but let’s do it properly, shall we—with no sneaking around the corridors at midnight? Maybe we should wait until we’re married until we have...’’

  ‘Sex?’ he supplied, his eyebrows arching in disbelief. ‘Is that what you’re trying to say?’

  She could feel hot colour flooding her cheeks and, although she realised she could be accused of having double standards, wasn’t it better this way? Because what if her earlier doubts came true and she drove him crazy—wouldn’t it be easier to draw a line under the whole thing if they hadn’t become lovers? Easier to walk away if she hadn’t had a second distracting taste of physical intimacy? And it would do Drakon good to demonstrate that he wasn’t the one making all the rules, and she wasn’t going to be totally submissive. To show him that she might have agreed to this marriage of convenience but that didn’t make her into some sort of puppet.

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m trying to say,’ she agreed primly.

  Still he waited, as if she was going to suddenly turn around and tell him she was joking—as if no woman in her right mind would refuse the opportunity to fall into bed with him at the earliest opportunity.

  And Lucy wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t enjoyed the brief look of disbelief which flashed from Drakon’s ebony eyes when he realised she meant every word she said.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LUCY AWOKE TO the sound of a baby’s cry and instinct made her sit bolt upright in bed, her heart clenching with painful recognition. Hunger, she thought, as she listened some more. Funny how you could still recognise the different nuances of an infant’s cry even though it had been so long since that sound had been part of her daily routine.

  Heavy-eyed after a restless night, she got out of bed and it took a few seconds for her befuddled brain to realise she wasn’t tucked up in her cosy riverside cottage, but in the fanciest bedroom she’d ever seen. Her new home. The vast Mayfair apartment where she would live as wife to one of the world’s most powerful men. Above her head, a chandelier glittered like a shoal of falling diamonds and silk rugs lay strewn over a pale wooden floor, which felt deliciously silky against her bare feet. Grabbing her dressing gown, she knotted it tightly around her waist. It was actually her old dressing gown which she’d brought with her from home because it seemed that her luxury replacement wardrobe didn’t cater for a sensible garment you could throw on first thing in the morning to cover up your pyjamas and feed a baby in. Presumably because once she was married she would no longer be wearing pyjamas. Running her fingers through her hair to tame its tousled wildness, she set off towards the nursery.

  The crying had stopped by the time Lucy got there and she was greeted by a scene of perfect domesticity. Sofia was sitting on a yellow sofa giving Xander a bottle while soft nursery rhymes played gently in the background. It felt a little strange for Lucy to be standing in her nightclothes in front of someone she’d only met a couple of times but the middle-aged nanny merely looked up and gave her a friendly smile as she entered the room.

  ‘Good morning, Lucy,’ she said. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Very well, thank you,’ said Lucy with more politeness than truth—because nothing was more boring than hearing someone relate the story of what a bad night they’d had. She certainly didn’t want Sofia quizzing her about the reasons for her restlessness. Reason, she corrected herself silently. One reason alone—all six feet three of him. ‘You should have woken me.’

  Sofia shook her head. ‘Drakon said you were to be left undisturbed.’

  Drakon. Lucy started at the mention of his name and she thought—how pathetic is that? Had her heart missed a beat because she’d resisted his sexual overtures when she’d arrived yesterday and been haunted by tantalising dreams about him ever since? Or because it was still difficult to believe that the gorgeous billionaire would soon be her husband and that this was now her reality? A reality brought home by the stilted dinner they’d shared last evening, presided over by his stern-faced housekeeper, Zena—a meal which had kept being interrupted while Drakon had dealt with one international phone call after another. He’d been talking to someone in New York when eventually Lucy had excused herself and his absent wave of farewell as she’d headed off to her bedroom had spoken volumes. He hadn’t followed her and she hadn’t really expected him to, because instinct told her that a man like Drakon would never beg a woman for intimacy when she had told him it wasn’t going to happen. She’d lain there listening until eventually she’d heard him heading for bed, freezing with hope and expectation as his footsteps had paused outside her door, before moving on. As an introduction to life in the fast lane, it hadn’t exactly felt welcoming. Or maybe he had just been making a point...

  She stood in the doorway watching as Sofia fed the baby and suddenly felt almost redundant. With a touch of anxiety she licked her lips and looked around, but the room was pristinely tidy. ‘Is there anything I can do? Some dusting, or tidying up?’

  ‘No, honestly, I’m fine. It’s all under control. Drakon employs an army of people to do the housework for him. He’s going down for a nap shortly but you could do the midday feed if you like. But only if you have time before you go out for lunch,’
Sofia amended hastily.

  Lucy maintained her bright smile even though she was aware that her voice sounded brittle. ‘I wasn’t aware that I was going out for lunch.’

  Sofia’s eyes crinkled in a smile. ‘Apparently. Zena told me. The car has been ordered for you. Lucky you,’ she added, in her perfect but heavily accented English. ‘It will inevitably be somewhere grand.’

  Lucy hoped her expression didn’t give away her feelings as she returned to her bedroom and tugged off her dressing gown. Whether or not the restaurant was grand was completely beside the point. It was one thing to agree to a marriage of convenience, she thought furiously as she stood beneath the fierce blast of the shower. But quite another when she was being treated a convenience. Did Drakon think he could just move her around like a vacuum cleaner? How come the housekeeper and the nanny knew she was going out for lunch, when it was a mystery to her?

  She dried her hair and, for the first time, tried on some of the new clothes which had been chosen by his business partner, Amy. Last night at dinner she’d stubbornly insisted on wearing one of her own dresses, still needled by the fact that Drakon had asked someone else to kit her out for her new role in his life. Yet hadn’t her defiance backfired on her, so that she’d been left having to endure the entire meal feeling somewhat less than? Her navy shirt-dress dress was her go-to favourite but there was no doubt that the fabric looked cheap against all the unrestrained luxury of Drakon’s home and Lucy was certain his housekeeper had been looking down her nose at her, as if wondering why someone like her was associating with the impeccably clad tycoon. Hadn’t the same question crossed her own mind more than once as the evening had progressed?

  So just go with the flow, she told herself as she rifled through the colour-coordinated rows of garments before pulling out a long-sleeved dress in silk chiffon. The soft violet hue was the colour which sometimes tinged a late sunset and, admittedly, a shade she would never have thought of choosing for herself. The delicate fabric floated to just above the knee and made her waist look positively tiny, and she teamed it with a pair of shoes higher than anything she’d ever worn before. Did the added height make her assume a rather awkward gait? Was that why the middle-aged housekeeper did a double-take as Lucy cautiously picked her way into the dining room for breakfast?

  ‘Good morning, Dhespinis Phillips,’ said Zena.

  ‘Good morning, Zena.’ Lucy sat down at the table and gave the housekeeper a nervous smile. ‘Um...is Drakon...?’

  ‘The master went to the office at seven this morning, but he left you a note,’ said Zena, indicating an envelope which was propped up in front of a vase of flame-coloured roses. ‘I will bring you some breakfast.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Lucy thought about the housekeeper’s words as she picked up the envelope. The master. It was an oddly archaic term of address yet it seemed scarily suitable. Because Drakon was the master, wasn’t he? The master of all he surveyed. At least that was the impression he gave, with his cabal of loyal staff, his enormous wealth and his different homes dotted around the world. Was he expecting to become her master once they were wed—was she to obey him in all things, as the marriage ceremony used to demand but which most modern couples now rejected? And shouldn’t this be something they discussed before she allowed him to slide that gold ring on her finger?

  Slitting open the envelope, she pulled out a single sheet of paper, realising that this was the first time she’d ever seen Drakon’s writing. It was exactly as she would have imagined it to be. Angular black lines slashed over the thick writing paper. Succinct, forceful and strong. A reluctant smile curved the edges of her lips. Just like him.

  My car will pick you up at 12.25. We’ll eat lunch at the Granchester for reasons which will quickly become evident.

  Mysterious as well as autocratic, she thought as she drank some inky Greek coffee and picked at a bowl of iced mango, before getting up to leave.

  She spent the next hour exploring the sprawling apartment and studying some of the books she found in the library, before going to the nursery to give the baby his feed. But at least her interaction with Xander cheered her, and as he glugged greedily on the teat she buried her nose in his silky hair, remembering how much she loved tiny babies and how much she’d missed them. And this baby would soon be her son. The child she had always longed for and never thought she’d have.

  But she couldn’t stem the dark doubts which began to crowd into her mind as she winded the infant and laid him in his crib. He was so cute, with his black eyes and matching hair—a miniature version of his father’s identical twin brother. What if she fell hopelessly in love with this little infant and her marriage failed, as so many marriages did, despite Drakon’s determination for that not to happen? Because he couldn’t control everything, could he, no matter how much he tried?

  He’d told her he didn’t believe in love and that he’d never been in love—but who was to say that the thunderbolt wouldn’t one day hit him, as it had hit so many cynical disbelievers in the past? In that scenario, wouldn’t she become an also-ran in Xander’s life? The woman with no blood ties with no real claim on the child who could be dispensed of as carelessly as you would yesterday’s newspapers. Lucy sighed, knowing she mustn’t think like that because nobody was ever given any guarantees in this life—you just had to do the best you could in the circumstances.

  She was nervous as she snuggled herself into the cashmere coat with the velvet collar and slid into the back of the waiting limousine, and even more nervous when the car drew up outside the landmark Granchester Hotel after a ridiculously short journey from the apartment. Outside the impressive building, she could see an enormous Christmas tree, topped with a huge golden star and smaller gold and silver stars which dangled from the abundant branches. The doorman hurried forward to open the door for her and Lucy gingerly made her way into the gilded foyer in her new shoes, her heart missing a beat when she spotted Drakon, with his back to her, standing beside another decorated fir tree—almost as big as the one at the front of the hotel.

  Dark, broad-shouldered and powerful, he seemed oblivious to the stares he was attracting from the other guests and she wondered whether something must have alerted him to her approach. Why else did he suddenly turn around? He was mid-conversation on his phone but his eyes narrowed and his words seemed to die away as she approached and, abruptly, he cut the call. Something about the way he was looking at her was making her feel breathless and excited and scared all at the same time and Lucy found herself resenting his effortless power over her.

  ‘Lucy,’ he murmured as he helped her slide the coat from her shoulders. ‘You’re here.’

  ‘Yes, I’m here. Though I could have walked in less time than it took to drive!’

  ‘I don’t think so. Not in those shoes,’ he commented wryly, his gaze travelling down to her feet and lingering on them for longer than was strictly necessary.

  ‘You don’t like them?’ she asked, berating herself for needing reassurance but asking for it all the same.

  Drakon heard the genuine doubt in her voice and, unusually, he was surprised—searching her face for signs of disingenuousness and finding none. Was she out of her mind? Didn’t she realise that every man in the place was staring at her as if she’d just tumbled down from the heavens? Of course, she didn’t. Because she was totally without guile, he realised. An innocent who stood out from the women he usually mixed with. But she looked incredible. Having slipped the coat from her shoulders, he saw the filmy dress, which hinted at the firm flesh which lay beneath, and in those spike-heeled shoes... He swallowed. Didn’t her calves look ripe for stroking and her ankles made for wrapping around a man’s neck?

  ‘I like them very much,’ he said unevenly. ‘In fact, there’s a term which is commonly used to describe shoes like those but I don’t think that now is the right time to introduce it into the conversation.’

  Predictably,
she blushed and Drakon felt a powerful beat of lust, which made him wonder why he’d arranged to meet her here, in one of the most public venues in the city, rather than exploiting the intimacy of his nearby apartment. You know why, he thought grimly. Because she had firmly stated that they weren’t going to have sex until they were married and he was in no doubt that she meant it. Just as he was aware that he was in part responsible for her old-fashioned stance.

  He frowned. He’d thought he’d tantalise her by offering her a separate room, thinking that interludes of pleasure would keep her on her toes. More than that, he liked his own space and was used to it because he’d never shared a bedroom full-time with a woman before. He’d thought he would use the opportunity for some extended personal space before things changed once they were married.