Greek Tycoon, Wayward Wife

by Sabrina Philips

  ‘Oh!’

  Her internal muscles began to contract around his hardness, but she wanted him to go first. Taking a risk that she could hold on, she wrapped her legs around his back even more tightly and drew him in deeper.

  It was a risk worth taking, because at the exact moment that her muscles clamped around him totally she felt Rion give one final, colossal thrust and cry out his own release.

  And for one single moment there was just stillness. Perfect, silent stillness, accompanied by the most unexpected feeling of liberation.

  Until he spoke.

  ‘Now do you see that we’re driven by exactly the same urges, gineka mou?’ he drawled, depositing her back down on the cold marble floor, the look of unwavering power back on his face.

  But Libby was not about to forget that only moments before it had been none so steady.

  ‘No,’ she said boldly, ‘now I see that my defiance actually turns you on.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘YOUR defiance?’ Rion’s mouth twitched in amusement.

  It had occurred to her the second she’d seen that look of powerlessness on his face. He’d said he wanted her to simply remain in the marital home, implied that all he needed was any woman to play the role of his wife for the duration of his campaign, but when she’d defied him, showed him the kind of independent woman she’d become, it had turned him on. He’d made love to her like never before, as though deep down maybe he did want something from life that had nothing to do with this election, with power or success. And it felt as if she might have just seen the first glimmer of light at the end of a black, black tunnel.

  ‘You don’t think it a little coincidental that your desire just happened to arise at the exact moment I made it clear that I will not allow you to control me?’

  He gave a loud, disparaging laugh. ‘No, gineka mou. I think it was just a question of how long you could go on fighting it.’

  ‘So making love to me right then was all part of your nicely controlled plan, was it? I don’t think so, Rion. I disobeyed you, and even though it frustrated the hell out of you, it aroused you so much…’ She hesitated, still having to remind herself it was true. The sight of his manhood still standing proud just a few feet away from her helped. ‘It aroused you so much that you even missed your precious conference call.’

  He flicked a glance at his watch. ‘So I did.’ He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘But I dare say it will do no harm if word gets about that I missed it because I was busy devoting time to my wife.’

  Libby bit down so hard on her lower lip that she could taste blood. So, even though their lovemaking was the one thing which hadn’t had anything to do with his campaign, he was still going to use it for that purpose rather than admit otherwise.

  Furiously she swiped her skirt and top from the floor and wrenched them on. ‘Well, if that was really what this was all about, why didn’t you say? We could have gone to your office and set up the webcam, so your colleagues could have photographic evidence of just how attentive you are.’

  Rion’s mouth twisted in disgust. ‘Don’t be depraved.’

  ‘No? You think you prefer it when I’m the submissive little wife, do you? Fine, let’s see.’

  She could have done better given half an hour in a charity shop, but fifteen minutes later, as Libby heard him descend the stairs, she was pretty sure she would have the desired effect. On her lower half she was wearing a faded old ankle-length skirt—the one she always kept in the bottom of her suitcase for slipping over her shorts in case an excursion involved going inside a temple or a church where it was necessary to cover her legs—and on her top half she had a brown and orange paisley tunic, which looked quite funky when she wore it with a belt and boots, but was an absolute fashion disaster with the long skirt. Coupled with Eurycleia’s apron, and a strategic splattering of flour on her face, she was pretty sure she had un-sexy subservience written all over her.

  He was talking rapidly in Greek when he entered the living room, head down, phone pressed to his ear. Libby translated. He was apologising for missing the conference call. Quickly she put down the rolling pin she’d just extracted from one of the kitchen drawers and strained to hear whether he really did have the nerve to cite quality time with her as his excuse.

  But just as she was about to find out the rolling pin slid off the edge of the surface and hit the marble floor with an almighty crash.

  Rion’s eyes flew to her instantly, and she abandoned the curse that had been on her lips, morphing it into a polite, whispered apology, which she swiftly replaced with the blithe smile she’d made up her mind to keep plastered to her face for as long as it took her to discover whether that really had been a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, or just a mirage.

  He looked her up and down as if she was insane, swiftly moved in the opposite direction so that she couldn’t hear a damned thing he was saying, and only turned round to face her again once he’d cut the call.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  Libby eased the honey off the spoon and into the mixing bowl with her finger. ‘Oh, you know, the biscuits Eurycleia made were running low, so I thought I’d better make us some more.’ She pretended to scrutinise the recipe she’d found. ‘How about you? Off out?’

  Rion looked down at his fresh white shirt and nodded warily, as if he needed to be careful about what details he gave away in case she followed him again. ‘I have an evening meeting with my team.’

  ‘Well, good luck,’ she said, suppressing the urge to vomit at her own sickly-sweet tone. ‘I’ll still be here when you get home, just the way you like it.’

  ‘Not exactly the way I like it,’ he drawled.

  ‘No?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘No,’ he breathed, and suddenly he came up behind her, removed her right hand from the mixing bowl, placed her finger in his mouth and then slowly began to suck off the honey. ‘I’d prefer it a little more like this.’

  Libby’s whole body was still on fire ten minutes later, long after he’d returned her hand to the bowl with a lingering look and left for his meeting. She shook her head and began stirring the biscuit mixture far more violently than was necessary. This was going to take time, that was all. It was overly optimistic to suppose that the results would be instantaneous if she just acted a little domesticated and looked as if she’d got dressed in the dark. But she had no doubt that he’d soon cease to show any interest in her whatsoever, and be forced to admit that her defiance alone turned him on.

  And then declare that he didn’t want her acting as a caricature of his wife, but to be his wife for real? Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Libby, she remonstrated as she dropped the biscuit rounds haphazardly onto a baking sheet. The best she could hope for was that he’d realise that blackmailing her wasn’t worth the effort, and just sign the divorce papers.

  But as she closed the door of the oven, leaned her back against its warmth and remembered the limitless joy she’d felt back in his arms, she couldn’t stop herself from hoping.

  In the days which followed, almost all of Rion’s time was taken up with the campaign. When he wasn’t attending meetings, or trawling the rest of the province to drum up support, he was on the phone to Delikaris headquarters, checking everything was running smoothly in his absence.

  It gave Libby the perfect opportunity play the bland wife to the letter. She didn’t ask too many questions, nor express too many opinions. She didn’t attempt to accompany him anywhere, and although she quietly continued with her work during the day, she always made sure she was home before he was. She left the fridge well-stocked, the house clean and tidy, and continued to wear the drabbest clothes she could find.

  And it worked.

  Over a week had now passed, and Rion had not made love to her again.

  Yes, on the rare occasions that they’d found themselves in the same room he’d still looked at her as though he wanted to lick honey off more than her finger, but she put it down to a half-hearted effort to continue w
ith the pretence that she was wrong. Admittedly, the ultimate test would have been her waiting in his bed every night, rather than opting for the room next door—out of fear that she wouldn’t be able to help herself—but she’d always passed off her decision as the action of a considerate wife who knew her busy husband needed uninterrupted sleep, whilst leaving her door ajar should he wish to prove her wrong.

  But he hadn’t. Not once. So, whilst he hadn’t yet admitted that she actually left him cold this way, she remained certain that it would only be a matter of time before he did. And, God, she prayed it would be sooner rather than later.

  Because acting this way all the time made her feel as if her wings had been clipped, she justified quickly, not because she was yearning for a repeat performance of that afternoon. Except, to her surprise, she didn’t actually feel as if her wings had been clipped at all. Even though he was out almost as frequently as he had been in the early days of their marriage, it didn’t bother her in the same way that it had done before she’d had her own focus in her work. In fact, she actually quite enjoyed the domesticity, the being in one place rather than finding herself in a different hotel room every night.

  In short, her time here had proved that in the last five years she had successfully taken control of her life to such a degree that she did now feel properly ready to share her life with someone, and she wanted to. Which, she decided, might have just knocked her father naming her Liberty off the top spot of the list of greatest ironies of her life. Because, aside from some amazing sex, everything pointed to the fact that the only thing her husband wanted was world domination.

  She drew in a deep breath, the memory of his lovemaking scorching across her mind again. She needed a distraction. It was too late to go back to work on another potential itinerary, Rion would be home soon, and cleaning would be pointless—the house was already spotless. She looked out of the window. The garden it was, then.

  So she was still playing at it, Rion thought as he stepped out of the back door and spotted her picking figs from the tree behind the old swing seat. For a minute there he thought she’d gone out, given up this ridiculous pretence.

  Didn’t she know he was hot for her whatever she did? If she wanted to try and repel him she could at least try something a bit more drastic, like listing every one of their wedding vows she’d broken. Not that it would have had any greater effect, he thought grimly as he watched her reach up, the loose-fitting top she’d no doubt purposely chosen for its modesty paradoxically exposing her flat stomach, making him hard.

  But it wasn’t his desire she was really trying to deny, was it? Rion clenched his teeth, frustrated that she’d managed to convince herself that it was for so long. If it went on much longer—even though he’d sworn to himself that he’d wait for her to come to him—he might just have to show her it wasn’t. His body—no, her body—was driving him too damned crazy.

  And that frustrated him even more. He was supposed to be taking pleasure in wreaking his revenge, preparing to let her go with her desire half but never fully satiated. But the truth was that intention was slowly slinking away, because he didn’t want to let her go. Coming home to her felt too good, and he was beginning to wonder whether her wistful looks meant she was beginning to feel the same way. He gritted his teeth. No, he knew that was impossible, that it was probably just a plot to win his sympathy, get him to sign sooner or something. Was he forgetting what he’d promised himself? He would never be so gullible again.

  ‘Ripe?’ he said huskily, coming up behind her.

  Libby jumped and let go of the branch, which sprang back, creating a shower of purple which dropped to the floor and exploded red around their feet.

  ‘I didn’t hear you get back,’ she said, almost crossly, then checked herself and sweetened her tone. ‘Yes, they’re ripe. Would you like one?’

  ‘Tempting, but it will keep for now,’ he drawled. ‘I have a meeting with the Mayor this evening, but before I left I just wanted to remind you that it’s his pre-election party tomorrow night.’

  Of course. She’d been so focussed on counting down to the election itself—and the end of their fortnight, which loomed in her mind like an approaching storm—that she’d forgotten. ‘The one you wish me to attend?’

  The one that Stephanos would have a blue fit if she didn’t attend, Rion thought. People had been asking for her at every event since the meeting. And if she could have been trusted there was no doubt that her presence would have had a positive impact. But the fact that the words blackmail or divorce could have dropped from her lips at any time had been too much of a risk. Besides which, just the knowledge that she was waiting at home had been distraction enough, never mind having her by his side all day long. But tomorrow night he had no choice. Not having her there was out of the question. He was just going to have to keep an eye on her. And himself.

  ‘That’s the one. We’re also required to stay at the mayoral residence whilst the election takes place the following day. You will join me?’

  For the first time ever her submissive answer came naturally. A whole evening in which to play meek and mindless, followed by the night spent together? It would be the final test.

  ‘Certainly,’ she said in that sickly sweet voice. ‘Nothing would please me more.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  WHAT to wear had caused her something of a dilemma. The cobbled together, little-woman-at-home look she’d been sporting for the last week had successfully failed to attract his interest. But tonight he wanted her to be the little woman on his arm, and that demanded an evening dress.

  She’d only brought one. In fact, since evenings on Kate’s Escapes tours were invariably smart-casual—save for the rare occasions when she covered the Austrian trip, which took in the opera in Vienna—it was also the only one she owned. It was made of a soft, floaty fabric in an ethereal sort of blue. It was perfectly appropriate for the occasion, but it fitted every inch of her body so closely, had always felt so distinctively ‘her’, that wearing it when she was supposed to be aiming for clichéd felt distinctly inappropriate.

  But it was how you acted, not how you looked, which aroused him that afternoon, she reassured herself as she walked down the stairs, eyes deferentially downcast. But not so downcast that she failed to notice the incredible sight of him in his tux, which sent a powerful ripple of longing beneath her skin.

  ‘So is the Mayor at this pre-election party the same Mayor you wanted me to meet at the theatre that night?’ she asked, swallowing hard as he led the way to the Bugatti.

  Her words interrupted Rion’s thoughts—thoughts which involved rucking up her sexy little dress and arriving very late to meet the Mayor indeed. He forced them from his mind. Tonight, of all nights, he needed to stay focussed.

  He nodded as he held open the car door for her. ‘His name is Georgios Tsamis. Here in Metameikos the role of Mayor is an honorary one rather than one that carries any political power—deservedly bestowed upon Georgios for fighting for his country in the past, and his subsequent work in the local community.’

  Libby threw all her efforts into listening, and not looking at his powerful hands on the steering wheel as he turned the key in the ignition.

  ‘It has always been the tradition that prior to a new election the Mayor holds a party at his residence, for both the candidates and the voters, as a celebration of democracy and to show that he supports whoever the people elect.’

  She nodded her head thoughtfully as they began to zip through the streets towards the new part of Metameikos, daylight just clinging around the edges of the whitewashed villas as the sun began to set. ‘But presumably there is always speculation as to which candidate he favours?’

  Rion was surprised by her political astuteness. ‘Indeed.’

  ‘And he has supported Spyros in previous years?’

  ‘Georgios is a good man, with very traditional values. Unfortunately he is also an extremely poor judge of character and has been oblivious to Spyros’s underhand deali
ngs for years.’

  Libby wanted to retort that maybe he shouldn’t be so quick to complain about a mayor unable to see through people’s guises, but she kept her lips tightly locked together and simply nodded.

  Rion added nothing further, and a tension similar to the one she’d felt the last time they were in the car together seemed to return as the silence stretched out. Which had to be the product of her imagination, Libby decided, because that had been sexual tension, and even if he did keep shooting her sideways glances that looked far from chaste, it couldn’t be that, because she hadn’t been insubordinate in the least.

  Out of the corner of his eye Rion caught her gnawing at her bottom lip with the same frustration that had been eating away at him for days. She wasn’t going to hold out much longer. He could feel it. Could feel her trying to convince herself that the atmosphere between them was in her imagination, and the slow dawning realisation that it was not.

  He smiled as he rolled the car to a halt outside the mayoral residence and gently ran the back of his hand down her bare arm.

  ‘We’re here,’ he breathed, feeling her melt beneath his touch.

  Instantly, a valet came to open the doors of the Bugatti, and Rion went round to her side of the car ready to escort her in.

  She couldn’t fail to notice the irony as Rion handed his keys and a hefty tip to the young man in the red-and-grey uniform. Couldn’t fail to be reminded of back then, when he had been the valet. She dropped her head, the memory of a simpler time, when she’d been convinced that he cared for her, tearing at her heart.

  Rion instantly saw the change in her body language. She’d been on the verge of sinking into him, raising her lips to his and giving in. Then she’d caught sight of the valet and her whole demeanour had changed.