Revelations of His Runaway Bride

by Kali Anthony

  This morning Thea lay in luxurious blue satin, split to her thigh. As she sprawled the gown parted, to reveal long, slender legs. He craved to stroke her golden skin, to wake her with gentle caresses. To hear her breathy murmurs of surprise as he coaxed her into consciousness. In his imaginings she welcomed him with a sultry smile and open arms...

  He shook his head, took a slow breath. Clenched his fists, reining in the desire to touch. Madness lay at the end of these current thoughts. Their marriage was a business relationship. Nothing more. Anyhow, Thea didn’t want him. She never would.

  Christo threw himself under a cold shower to douse the fever of Thea raging through his blood. The needles of icy water shocked some sense into him. Once dressed, he made his way to the terrace overlooking a glittering lap pool. He ignored the breakfast of pastry, fruit and meats adorning the table. Of greater interest was the report Raul’s security firm had prepared on Thea’s movements in the months before their marriage.

  He’d commissioned the work with only a fleeting pang of guilt. Tito Lambros couldn’t be trusted, and Christo had wanted to know exactly who he was marrying before sliding a ring on Thea’s finger. He’d glanced at the document before their official engagement. Uninteresting reports of her having coffee with her best friend, shopping, the occasional nightclub. Always overseen by bodyguards. Nothing to alert anyone to the suspicion that Thea was anything other than the dutiful, obedient, innocent daughter her father described.

  Christo yawned. He sipped his bitter black coffee and turned to the photographs. Grainy, night-time pictures. He hadn’t studied them before the wedding, preferring to rely on the certainty of printed words. Had he chanced a look he’d have noticed immediately. Thea and Elena swapped clothes. Hairstyles. In a darkened venue people wouldn’t notice the difference.

  Thea was right. She hid in plain sight.

  The click of heels on the tiled terrace alerted him to her approach. He slid the report into his briefcase and threw back the dregs of his coffee. She sauntered to the table in low-slung jeans and a heavy studded belt. A sheer, jewel-coloured top flowed around her torso. She presented the same contradiction now as on their wedding night: a picture of toughness softened by feminine grace.

  For a startling moment he craved to strip her down and discover where the toughness ended and the woman began.

  ‘Good morning,’ she said, and sat.

  Reaching for a fig, she tore the ruby flesh in half. Her lips wrapped around the luscious fruit as she took a bite. Watching her sleep was an ordeal for even the most pious man, but witnessing her eat was a study in erotic torture. He adjusted himself in his seat. Thanked all things holy that he could remain at the table for as long as it took to wrestle the pounding hammer of need into submission.

  As Thea consumed the mouthful of fig she rubbed her neck, oblivious to his crushing desire to kiss the juice of that fruit from her lips till she moaned his name. He cleared his throat. Quelled the fantasy. She’d probably bite him, not kiss back.

  ‘Poor sleep?’

  ‘I’m sore from the couch.’

  ‘You should’ve asked me for proper pillows.’

  ‘I want my own room. There’s no privacy. No way to keep the mystery alive between us.’

  Thea fluttered her long lashes. The glorious flirtation of her... Was this how his father had been trapped all those years ago? At least Raul’s report gave no indication that Thea had a lover stashed in some safe corner, ready to resume their relationship at a moment’s notice, like his mother had. Sad how he counted that as a blessing rather than an expectation.

  Christo poured another thick, dark coffee and leaned back in his chair. ‘We’re newlyweds. Tangling the bed sheets with passion every night. We don’t want there to be any mystery.’

  The carnal visions rioting through his head made him wish his words were true, rather than a pretence.

  Anna came to the table. She bustled about arranging food, collecting plates. Thea’s lips tilted in a wicked smile as she stabbed a piece of meat with her fork. He had little doubt she wanted it to be his flesh under those sharp tines.

  ‘But, Christo, darling. I look haggard. Of course I need my own room,’ she said, with the perfect pitch of complaint. ‘Anna, come here. You’ll agree. Don’t I look exhausted?’

  Anna sidled over to them, panic written all over her face.

  What was Thea up to?

  ‘See—I look too horrid for Anna even to answer.’

  The girl tried to run off, but Thea clamped a hand on her arm, pinning her to the spot.

  ‘No, stay. I’m not getting any sleep.’

  Christo took another sip from his cup, schooling his face to one of polite interest. ‘There are good reasons for that. Which no one needs to hear...’

  He understood now. He’d been witness to all his mother’s games over the years. This was no different.

  ‘Anna does.’ Thea looked at Anna, brows drawn, face serious. ‘He snores. Terribly. All night.’

  The coffee caught in his throat. He lurched forward. Coughed.

  ‘I don’t!’

  Thea’s wide-eyed innocence continued. ‘He doesn’t want to admit it... I’m sure he’s quite embarrassed.’

  Nowhere in their bargain was there any term allowing her to make a fool of him in front of his staff. His voice was a low growl of warning. ‘Thea...’

  She ignored him, focusing on Anna, whose look of horror might have been comical in other circumstances. ‘Now I’m getting dark rings under my eyes. Soon I’ll stop looking beautiful and Christo won’t want me anymore.’

  ‘I’ll buy you some earplugs.’

  Thea lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘That won’t work. He’s a beast, I tell you. Why, last night—’

  His chair scraped in protest along the tiles as he stood. Jaw clenched tight. Breathing hard.

  ‘Enough.’ The lies and manipulation stopped now. ‘Let Anna go before you horrify her any further.’

  Thea released her grip and Anna ran back into the house. He sat. Took a drink of water. Attempted to cool the anger boiling his blood.

  ‘What is it about the words “real marriage” that you don’t understand?’

  ‘The pronouncement that I had to share your room came after I’d agreed to this arrangement of ours.’ She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. ‘That was underhanded. And as far as I’m concerned it doesn’t form part of our original agreement.’

  He threw up his hands. ‘You’re trying to win this argument on a technicality?’

  ‘No. I’d prefer to talk about what the marriages I know of are actually like. My parents didn’t share a room. What about yours?’

  His parents weren’t an example of marriage to which he aspired. Not that marriage was a state he’d ever thought he’d find himself in until that final argument with his father. But he didn’t want to give her any more ammunition.

  He stretched his neck from side to side. It gave an audible and satisfying crack.

  ‘My parents weren’t traditional in many things.’

  Their relationship had been one of mutually assured destruction. His father had loved his mother. His mother had loved the Callas fortune. A pregnancy and Christo’s birth had secured her future in a neat package.

  ‘So why do we need to be?’ Thea flicked her hair over her shoulders and pouted.

  For all her theatrics, her lips were pink and dangerously kissable.

  ‘If you loved me, you’d let me have my own room.’

  He’d learned from childhood that love and marriage were lies. And a caring family the biggest lie of them all.

  Christo dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Since I don’t love you, what you say is meaningless.’

  ‘That’s the problem.’

  Thea leaned forward, her hands splayed on the table. Christo’s gaze dropped as the front
of her sheer top fell open.

  ‘If you were pretending to love me properly it’s what you’d do.’

  Was she guileless enough not to know that her position allowed him a perfect view of her magnificent cleavage? All silky skin and powerful temptation? Probably not. He suspected Thea didn’t do anything without good reason and a great deal of thought.

  He stared for a moment longer than he ought, then pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘You’re a manipulator.’

  ‘You’re heartless.’

  Thea flopped back into her seat, hands clenched tight on the damask tablecloth. Her colour faded till she was as pale as the white fabric under her hands. Something about it twisted tight in his gut.

  Since when had he started developing a conscience? This was a business deal like any other. Though how he was going to survive another night, let alone another year with her in his room was anyone’s guess.

  Then, over Thea’s shoulder, he spied movement. He reached out to take her clenched hand in his. Her eyes widened and she tried to tug away.

  ‘We’re being watched by my staff,’ he said, and she stilled. He pasted what he hoped was a warm smile on his face. ‘Whilst they’re paid well to be discreet, I’d prefer to give them nothing to talk about.’

  Christo rubbed his thumb over Thea’s knuckles, trying to appear affectionate and attentive. Her eyes dropped to where he stroked gently back and forth, and the barest flush tinted her cheeks. Such a beautiful colour on her golden skin. A glow kindled deep inside him.

  ‘All I was trying to say is that a man would do anything for the woman he truly loves.’ Her voice was a whisper, gentle as the breeze through the olive tree above them.

  ‘Where did you hear that?’

  Thea’s hand relaxed, smooth and warm in his. Her skin was a marvel of liquid silk under his fingers. So soft... How would the rest of her feel?

  ‘Someone told me once,’ she said, ‘when counselling me to demand more from life.’

  Those words pulled him back from his silent imaginings. He’d never had to compromise for anyone. Although what Thea said had a ring of truth to it. They were supposed to be an adoring couple. Their love would have the power to make them do irrational things. Like lifting her hand to his lips. Anna was still watching, after all. Anyhow, it was only a light touch over her perfect skin. Yet he couldn’t stop.

  ‘Wh-what are you doing?’

  He closed his eyes for a moment. Savoured her exotic scent of honey and spice. ‘Pretending to love you properly,’ he murmured.

  What if they made the physical aspects of this marriage real, for as long as they had each other? It would be some sort of solution to what promised to become a long stretch of sleepless nights.

  Thea’s lips parted, all of her soft and languid. Her pupils were huge and dark. He could lean across the table and kiss her now. Start a seduction so complete the word no would leave her vocabulary for ever.

  But his father’s words echoed in his mind. ‘I know you, son. Marry, and nature will take care of the rest.’

  A chill ran through him. He was not that man.

  He released her. Pulled away. Suffered the cold loss of her hand in his.

  ‘Ask me,’ Christo said.

  Hector didn’t know him at all. He was stronger than his father and he’d prove it.

  ‘For what?’

  Her voice was low and husky, scraping across his skin as surely as her fingernails would. So affecting he could almost feel the erotic sting. He craved it. Ignored it.

  ‘Your own room. No lies. No manipulation.’

  She opened her mouth. Hesitated for a moment, as if asking for anything was foreign to her. ‘Christo, I’d like my own room.’

  ‘See? That wasn’t difficult.’

  ‘You haven’t given me an answer yet.’ A faint frown marred her brow. ‘What about this needing to appear like a real marriage?’

  ‘That requirement hasn’t changed.’ He knew of one solution, but part of him wanted her to give something herself. Then he’d consider it a small victory. ‘What can you offer me in return?’

  Another flush of pink coloured her cheeks as Thea reached up to toy with the pendant hanging from a fine gold chain around her neck. ‘If I have my own room, I could come to yours for a little while each night, so your people won’t ask questions.’

  And there it was. Not ideal, but he supposed compromise never was. At least he might get some unbroken sleep without Thea’s glorious temptation sprawled out before him each night, burning his blood.

  ‘You’ll stay for a long while,’ he said, sipping at his now cool coffee. ‘I’m supposed to be making insatiable love to a beautiful woman. That’s something I like to take my time with.’

  She licked her lips. It hit him like a kick in the groin.

  ‘What will we really be doing?’ she asked.

  He shrugged as Anna began another nervous approach to the table. ‘For all I care you can do a crossword.’

  When Anna reached them, she gave a discreet cough. ‘Mr Callas, your mechanic’s here.’

  ‘Thank you. And, Anna? Mrs Callas and I have discussed her request. Please make up the spare room next to mine and move all her things in there. Today.’

  He looked over at Thea, softened his gaze. Tried to muster an enamoured expression. He wasn’t sure whether it worked, so his words would have to suffice. ‘I’d do anything to ensure my bride’s happiness here.’

  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.’