The Greek's Bride 0f Convenience (HQR Presents)

by Helen Bianchin

  Broken dreams, a cynical inner voice taunted; the destruction of the hope that Georg could possibly feel about her the way she felt about him, that such a tenuous, precious emotion as love might be shared.

  Yet pride forbade acceptance of any logic, and she pulled away from him, straining against hands that held her firmly at arm’s length.

  ‘Let me go,’ she demanded, attempting to wrest free from his grasp and failing miserably.

  ‘So that you can run away again?’

  ‘I didn’t run,’ she disclaimed heatedly, and glimpsed the wry twist of his mouth.

  ‘No?’

  ‘Will you please leave?’ she countered with unaccustomed hauteur. ‘I’m tired, I have a headache, and I want to go to bed.’ Her eyes resembled fiery shards of sheer topaz, a brilliance that refused to be daunted beneath his probing gaze. She felt mentally drained, and completely enervated. The headache was no fabrication, and she raised a shaky hand to her left temple in an attempt to ease the pain.

  ‘I would have thought you impervious to any element of gossip,’ Georg drawled with soft inflexibility.

  Her eyes didn’t waver from his for a second. ‘Paul was terribly convincing.’ She saw the dark flaring in the depths of his eyes, the faint bunching of muscle at the edge of his jaw. ‘Yes, Paul. But then, you know, don’t you? I have no doubt David called you, in spite of anything I said to the contrary.’ She lifted a hand in an involuntary gesture as he would have spoken. ‘Don’t. Please don’t compound the situation with any meaningless qualification.’ She even managed a faint smile. ‘It’s amazing, really. Beneath the anger, the sheer rage that my life, my future, should be treated with such clinical detachment and utter high-handedness, I can still see the logic of it all from Jonathan’s point of view. The youngest child, his adored little girl, couldn’t be allowed to drift through life alone. A man had to be found: the right man. Someone above reproach, of considerable financial standing, and preferably of a similar calibre to Jonathan himself.’ Her features assumed a deliberately winsome expression. ‘Even fate took a hand in providing the perfect opportunity to have me collaborate. Bypass surgery is sufficiently serious to warrant respect and a willingness to ease the patient’s mind. I can even understand Jonathan’s need to tie it all up beforehand, so that he could undergo surgery safe in the knowledge there would be someone to care for me should things go wrong. What I fail to comprehend,’ she continued slowly, ‘is your involvement. You don’t need my share of my father’s money. You’re so self-sufficient, you certainly don’t need me. And I refuse to believe you’d consent to marry merely to honour the close friendship of a business partner.’ She drew in a slight breath, not caring just how brutal her analytical dissection became. ‘There is, of course, the possibility you had reached an age where you were inclined to make the clinical decision to take a wife and sire a son to follow in your footsteps. In that respect I guess I qualify. I’m from the right side of the track, educated, personable. We’re even physi-cally—’

  ‘Compatible?’

  Remembering exactly to what precise degree they were sexually in tune almost proved to be her undoing, and a faint tinge of pink rose to define her cheekbones. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is that how you see me?’

  Her chin lifted fractionally as she accorded without guile, ‘I have to give you full marks for sensual expertise.’

  His eyes seared hers, almost as if he could see through to her soul. ‘You think that’s all it was?’ he demanded in a voice that sounded like steel razing silk asunder.

  ‘Good sex,’ she conceded matter-of-factly. Inside she was slowly dying. ‘I doubt it comes any better.’

  ‘The mechanical coupling of two consenting adults who indulge in an act of physical lust? Not making love, where each partner takes infinite care to caress and arouse until they ache with an awareness so acute it transcends mere pleasure? And even then the pleasure is extended until the fire becomes unbearable, like a mindless passion demanding the release that only they can give—to each other?’

  Lexi wanted to close her eyes and shut out the images his voice evoked, to still the shivers that slithered across the surface of her skin as memory provided a graphic reminder of the nights they’d spent in each other’s arms.

  ‘Tomorrow I fly north to Cairns for the photographic shoot at Port Douglas. I plan to stay on at the resort for a few days.’ She managed to hold his gaze without wavering. ‘I need some peace and tranquillity in my life.’

  ‘You imagine I’ll let you walk away?’

  Pride, together with an innate sense of self-preservation, was responsible for the steadiness of her voice. ‘There is nothing you can do to stop me.’

  He stood looking at her for what seemed an age, and the breath caught in her throat, seeming to formulate into a lump which made it impossible for her to swallow.

  Dark eyes hardened with frightening anger, and for one heart-stopping moment she thought he was going to shake her.

  ‘Have your time alone, if that’s what you think you need.’ His voice was controlled, yet as hard as tensile steel. ‘However, if you intend opting out of our impending marriage, then you must be the one to tell Jonathan and rescind all the arrangements.’

  Lexi closed her eyes against the compelling sight of him, then slowly opened them again, aware of a primeval instinct for survival as she became trapped in the prison of his penetrating gaze.

  ‘That amounts to emotional blackmail,’ she said shakily.

  ‘I’ll use any tool I can.’

  ‘Why?’

  A faint, slightly cruel smile curved from the edge of his mouth. ‘You think you have all the answers. Work it out for yourself.’

  Without a further word he turned and walked to the door, opened it, then pulled it closed behind him.

  Lexi lifted her hand in an involuntary gesture as her subconscious mind sought to call him back, then she shook her head and gazed sightlessly around the room.

  Crossing her arms, she hugged them tightly against her breasts. Never before had she felt quite so frighteningly alone, bereft, and, with an aching sense of loss so acute it took every ounce of effort to walk to the door, she attached the safety chain, activated the alarm system, then made her way to bed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE PORT DOUGLAS resort was aptly named Mirage, for that was how it appeared after an hour’s drive from Cairns along a road that alternately hugged the coastal foreshore then swung inwards to weave its way through dense rainforest.

  The heat hit Lexi the moment she stepped out from the air-conditioned limousine, the high humidity of a tropical wet season making the air seem heavy and stultifying, and tiny beads of sweat began to dew on her skin in the brief few minutes it took for her to pay the driver.

  Her reserved suite was cool, decorated in pale muted shades that were visually restful, and as soon as she was alone she headed for the bathroom and stripped off her clothes.

  A leisurely shower proved refreshing, and she selected shorts and a sleeveless top before extracting a bottle of pineapple juice from the refrigerator.

  It was deliciously icy, and, sipping it slowly, she moved to the large sliding glass doors to view the lush sculptured grounds bounded by enormous palms, and, beyond, the wide expanse of ocean.

  She should rest, she thought, have a quiet evening meal, and follow it with an early night, so that she would be ready to sparkle beneath the all-revealing eye of the camera first thing in the morning. Except that she felt impossibly restless, and she prowled round the suite, then crossed to the phone in a determined bid to ring Jonathan and tell him of her safe arrival.

  Georg’s name wasn’t even mentioned, much to her relief, and after she’d replaced the receiver she stood staring at the telephone in brooding silence.

  A discreet rap at the door provided an interruption, and she accepted the long slim cellophaned box from the delivery-man. As soon as she was alone she hurriedly tore open the accompanying envelope, only to discover that the fl
owers were from the management, welcoming her to the hotel.

  A wry smile tugged at her mouth. Why shouldn’t they make a token gesture? The publicity from this shoot would arouse tremendous interest in the resort.

  And she desperately tried to ignore an inner voice taunting unmercifully that she should even dare hope Georg might have despatched a floral tribute.

  Dear heaven, why was she so contrary? If the roses had come from Georg she probably would have given them to one of the staff. And why should he send her anything when she’d virtually walked out on him?

  She clenched her hands, then winced as the stone from her engagement ring dug into her finger. And that was another thing, she thought wretchedly as she adjusted the ring so that it rested squarely. She should have taken the ring off and given it back to him before she left Sydney. Except that she hadn’t, and she began to wonder why.

  Damn. There were no easy answers, and she was darned if she was to embark on a fact-and-find soul-searching mission now.

  She’d come here for a reason: to work, and to follow it with a few extra days of relaxation. And that was exactly what she intended to do. Georg, and every facet of her involvement with him, could be successfully put on hold.

  But it wasn’t that easy. At least work presented few difficulties. The cameraman was easy to work with, and the clothes were superb. It was afterwards, when she was alone, that the problems began, for with so much time on her hands she began to pursue a path of destructive introspection.

  The days were bad enough, but the nights were worse, for then she lay awake, aware with each passing hour of a deep, aching sense of loss.

  When she finally did manage to fall asleep her dreams were vivid and heart-rendingly graphic. Inevitably she came sharply awake to discover that Georg’s presence was a figment of a fertile imagination, and reality was an empty bed.

  To spend so much time alone was detrimental, Lexi decided, and in a desperate need to fill her days she embarked on every recommended tour available.

  She made friends with a few fellow guests, joining them for dinner on two occasions, and she spoke to her father by phone every day.

  However, the one call she wanted, more than any other, never came, and somehow she was unable to summon sufficient courage to make the call herself.

  Why didn’t Georg ring? she agonised at least a dozen times every day. Had he decided, after all, to believe all those hateful things she’d flung at him in temper? Perhaps he had used this last week for a bit of introspection of his own.

  Oh, lord, it would be terribly ironic if he opted to call the wedding off, just when extensive self-analysis of her emotions revealed she’d fallen irretrievably in love with him. For there could be no doubt it was love.

  There was only one way to find out, and with new-found resolve she rang the airline, booked the next flight south, then packed her bag and checked out of the hotel.

  Lexi arrived in Sydney, collected her holdall, then hired a taxi to take her to Darling Point, where she retrieved her mail and took the lift up to her apartment.

  The answering-machine held a variety of messages, and she played the tape as she sifted through her mail.

  One of the first things she must do was ring Jonathan, she thought, for she didn’t want to cause him any anxiety should he phone the Port Douglas resort only to be told she’d already left.

  ‘Come visit me this evening,’ her father bade her after they’d exchanged a preliminary greeting. ‘Bring Georg.’ She almost heard the laughter in his voice as he teased, ‘I won’t expect you to stay long.’

  Oh, heavens, how did she get of that? ‘Georg doesn’t know I’m back yet,’ she responded lightly. ‘Can I take a raincheck, and make it tomorrow night? I’ll ring you in the morning.’

  As soon as she’d concluded the call she depressed the reset button and dialled Georg’s number before she had time to give the action any thought. If she hesitated she’d never summon the necessary courage.

  But he wasn’t at the restaurant, nor was he in his office.

  ‘Would you care to leave a message?’

  She hesitated for all of five seconds. ‘No, I’ll ring back.’

  Fool, she accorded the instant she replaced the receiver. It would have been much simpler if she’d left her name. Except that then she would be the one waiting with bated breath for the phone to ring, and if he didn’t call she’d be totally shattered. At least this way the ball was still in her court.

  Or was it? Somehow she couldn’t help thinking he was playing a very shrewd game, deliberately allowing her to think she had her freedom, while all the time aware she could never truly be free of him.

  At five o’clock she emerged from the shower, and after completing her toilette she took painstaking care with her appearance, choosing the expensive lace-edged silk teddy Georg had bid impossibly highly for to wear beneath a cream silk ensemble of culottes, matching top and jacket.

  Make-up was deliberately subtle, with emphasis on her eyes and mouth, and she caught her hair up in an elaborate chignon from which she teased free a few wispy tendrils for effect.

  The end result was startling, as she had intended, and without pause for thought she collected a clutch-bag, her car-keys, then stepped out from the apartment without so much as a backward glance.

  Halfway to Georg’s apartment she decided she was quite mad. For all she knew, he could be at the restaurant, or dining with Alex and Samantha. He could be in any one of a dozen places, and least of all was he likely to be home.

  Yet she had to start somewhere, she decided as she parked the car and walked towards the elegantly designed foyer of his exclusive apartment block.

  Depressing the appropriate intercom buzzer, she waited anxiously for a response.

  ‘Carla. Who is there, please?’

  ‘Lexi,’ she relayed into the microphone. ‘Lexi Harrison.’

  ‘Mr Georg is not here. You want to come up?’

  Relief washed over her. ‘Please.’

  The buzzer sounded, and the security door slid open. Three minutes later Lexi walked out from the lift into the penthouse lobby.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ Carla greeted her in accented English within seconds of Lexi’s pressing the doorbell. ‘You are lucky I am still here. Tonight I am late in leaving.’ A broad grin creased her attractive matronly features, and her eyes sparkled. ‘You wait here for Mr Georg?’

  ‘Yes.’ Lexi preceded the housekeeper into the lounge and sank into one of the soft leather chairs. ‘Is he going to be long?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ An eloquent shrug lifted broad capable shoulders. ‘He ring before and tell me he cook for himself tonight. You want I should get you something? A drink, maybe? I can fix you a snack.’

  ‘No,’ Lexi refused with a kindly smile. ‘Thanks all the same; I’ll be fine. You go.’

  ‘You sure? It’s no trouble.’

  ‘Sure,’ Lexi assured her, touched by the older woman’s concern.

  As soon as she was alone she rose to her feet and crossed to the huge glass window where she stood staring sightlessly out at the view.

  The harbour glistened against a backdrop of city buildings and clear azure sky. A tugboat bustled importantly out to meet an incoming liner, and two ferries passed each other as they forged in opposite directions to their different destinations. Houses and apartment blocks dotted the foreshore, with trees and landscaped gardens covering numerous hills rising high from the sea.

  In midsummer, with the advantage of daylight saving, there was still evidence of a heat haze lingering in the air, and it would be several hours before dusk would provide a gradually darkening shroud. Then the city would come alive with a galaxy of light, myriad pinpricks of electricity providing a veritable fairyland to complement the brilliantly flashing neon from city buildings.

  It was a similar view to the one Lexi enjoyed from her own apartment, and she had become so accustomed to the visual beauty’s being on constant display that it failed to register as sh
e became lost in contemplation.

  Would Georg be pleased to see her? Her features paled at the thought that he might not. Dear lord in heaven! How was she supposed to live without him? Oh, why did she have to suffer such a conflict of emotions? she cursed helplessly.

  The faint sound of a key being turned in the lock momentarily froze her limbs, then she slowly swung round to face the door.

  One glance at Georg’s tall dark-suited frame was sufficient for the nerves in her stomach to begin a painful somersault, and she stood in mesmerised silence as he entered the room.

  Her eyes flew to his face, seeing the dark set of his jaw, the broad chiselled cheekbones assembled into an unfathomable mask.

  Everything she wanted to say remained locked in her throat, and she simply stood still as he carefully closed the door behind him.

  Then he turned towards her, and she nearly died at the hard implacability evident.

  ‘Lexi.’

  His voice was a cynical world-weary drawl, and she drew a deep calming breath in defence against the agonising shaft of pain that ripped through her body.

  ‘Hello, Georg,’ she greeted him quietly, her eyes wide and clear as he moved further into the room. ‘Carla let me in.’

  He paused, surveying her with detached inscrutability for what seemed an age, then crossed to the drinks cabinet. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  Lexi doubted she’d be able to lift the glass to her lips without spilling its contents, and if she so much as swallowed anything she’d choke! ‘No—thanks,’ she added with extreme politeness, watching as he selected a glass, added ice, a measure of whisky and a generous splash of soda before turning to face her.

  ‘When did you get back?’

  ‘This afternoon.’

  He moved across to where she stood. ‘You could have phoned.’

  ‘I rang the office, but you weren’t in.’

  ‘A message would have reached me.’

  The deep drawling voice sent goose-pimples scudding over the surface of her skin, and she had to steel herself against actually shivering. A spark of defiance lifted her chin and tilted it fractionally. ‘You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?’