“This is what I want you to say to me, from now on.”
“But …”
He pulled out of her, his dark eyes glinting as he stared stubbornly at his wife. His own desire was obvious. His cheeks were dark beneath his tan and his arousal was rock hard. And yet he stayed away from her as though it were as easy for him as anything in the world.
“Alex, fuck me,” she mumbled, too torn up by her desire to refuse. A time would come to untangle the damage his words had caused. But it was not then.
He thrust into her once more, hard and Sophie cried out as she felt an orgasm bursting upon her soul. It was fierce and hot, and it made her whole body convulse. Alex waited until her breathing slowed, and then he reached forward and unhooked the belt.
With a monumental effort, he pulled away from his wife and stood. He didn’t look at her as he walked across the room and scooped up his clothes. He pulled his shorts on, but it was agony to do so. The fabric against his sensitive arousal made him want to take her back in his arms until he exploded.
But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing that he was just as crazy for her as she was for him. Hurt at her duplicity was a force that he found easier to process as rage; betrayal was better expressed as cold resentment.
Sophie sat up and rubbed her wrists. They were pink from the belt. Her insides were quivering and now, satiated by the release of such a tremendous orgasm, she sat in stone-cold shock.
What the hell had just happened?
“Alex …”
He was buttoning up his shirt, his back to her. His pants followed suit. Then, patiently, his face calm and certainly without emotion, he turned to face her. “Yes?”
Sophie hadn’t realised she was crying until a tear splashed down onto her naked thigh.
“I can’t believe that just happened.”
“Oh?” He arched a dark brow. “You did not want it?”
“I … I wanted you …”
“And you got me,” he shrugged insolently. “Is there any food?”
“Food?” She felt a bubble of rage in her chest. “What the hell? Don’t you think you owe me an apology?” She stood her voice shaking and her body trembling. But now, it was from fury, not lust.
“For what, Sophie?” He asked wearily, as though she were boring him. “For fucking you as you kept demanding me to do?”
“Don’t!” She stormed over to him, her body tense. “You made me say that. I wanted my husband to make love to me. I wanted you. I’ve missed you.” Her heart was twisting painfully in her chest. “I wanted you. I love you,” she whispered, her words haunted.
“And I love fucking you,” he said with a drawl. “Food?”
Sophie stared at him, her mind shuffling in a strange way. Everything he’d ever said. Everything he’d promised her. Why had he married her?
Her blue eyes examined him for a long time, trying to find some semblance of the man she knew. But in his place was this hard-hearted, rude megalomaniac.
“Go to hell,” she said finally and stormed away from him. Only where could she go? Not to their room, with its beautiful flower arrangements and the scent of hope and passion in the air. She went up another level, and selected a guest room at random. Two of the towelling robes that hung in each room were against the door. She wrapped one around her shaking frame and went to lie down. Only a moment later, nausea and shock combined in her gut and she had to bolt to the ensuite. She vomited until there was nothing left in her stomach and then she crawled back to bed, hot, cold, shocked and miserable.
What had happened to her husband?
And what was she going to do?
* * *
All night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Flashes of memory scorched his brain, and kept him from sleeping.
He had decided, whilst in Athens, that he hated his wife. That he hated her for what she’d done to his sister, and what she obviously intended to continue doing to her. He hated her, and he had wanted to hurt her, perhaps in the same way Sophie had hurt Helena.
And yet it had made him feel ill to treat her with such contempt and disrespect. She might not deserve any better, and yet it sat like a knife in his gut that he’d behaved in such a fashion. He rolled over and stared at her empty side of the bed. It smelled like her. Sweet and soft.
He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, but that was worse. Then he saw her face. The depth of emotion she was able to convey with one look was almost too much to bear. The betrayal and bewilderment might as well have been spelled out for him.
He rolled the other way, but his eyes landed on the stunning arrangement of flowers she’d put beside the bed. He imagined her forming this collection of wildflowers into a bouquet. She would have hummed as she did it, in her slightly off-key voice. Her hands would have moved deftly, as she created this sculpture in the vase. Bright, fragrant and spiked, they were, in many ways, symbolic of his wife’s traits.
Then just … don’t do or say anything yet. Not until I work out what to do about Helena. This would be so much easier if we could meet in the kitchen for one of our late night sessions, wouldn’t it?
Alex thwomped his fist into his pillow.
I’ll try to get over and see you all soon. Perhaps when Alex is travelling next.
She hadn’t gone to him, though. Alex had checked in with Alena every day, and made enquiries of his wife. When Alena had offered to get Mrs Petrides, Alex had employed his most indulgent tone and insisted that she not be disturbed.
But, nonetheless, his wife was evidently planning to continue the affair.
That, and only that, was what he needed to hold onto.
He stood with a sound of frustration, giving up altogether on the idea of sleep. He began to walk towards the door and then thought better of it. He retraced his steps angrily and lifted the vase of flowers. One of the bougainvillea stalks grazed his forearm with a sharp needle. Blood seeped out slowly.
He ground his teeth together as he carried the flowers out of the villa and dumped them in the garden beside the front door.
It was a cathartic act, and afterwards, he made a pot of coffee and settled to his desk. Work, the act of concentrating on problems he could easily solve, always calmed him.
And so he worked, hoping that eventually, calmness would come.
Chapter 6
Hunger, finally, drove her from the guest room. Still wrapped in the robe, with a face that was ashen and eyes that were red, she padded downstairs slowly and silently. Perhaps, if she was very lucky, her husband would be gone.
She did not wish to – and felt she could not – face him yet.
Her luck, though, had deserted her. Alex was in the kitchen, dressed casually, staring out of the window at the rolling ocean. Sophie froze in the doorway, and began to step backwards.
Hungry or not, she couldn’t do it.
Only he heard her and spun around, his face a dark mask of feeling before he smoothed it away. Sophie’s throat worked overtime as she tried to bring moisture back to her mouth. Her traitorous body frothed with desire. She dropped her eyes away and moved to the opposite side of the kitchen. It was large; she could avoid him, even while being in the same room.
“Sophie.” She stared at the kitchen bench as though it were suddenly the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.
“Sophie,” his word was a haunting reminder of how things had once been for them.
She swallowed but her throat was lined with razors. Nothing brought relief from the pain.
And what could he say, anyway? She bit down on her lower lip and shook her head slowly. “I just came down to get something to eat,” her words were a husk. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I can’t talk to you yet. I don’t know what to say.”
He was right behind her. She felt him before he spoke. He put his hands lightly on her shoulders and that now-familiar frisson of need began to bubble in her gut.
She couldn’t tell if she turned to face him with reluctance or anticipation, only tha
t she did spin in his arms. His face, at least, reflected some of her trepidation. He scanned her features with slow, deliberate curiosity and then wrapped his hands around her wrists. He lifted them and subjected them to the same steady study.
“Did I hurt you?”
Yes, she wanted to shout. Her heart had been smashed into a billion tiny pieces. But she knew that wasn’t what he meant. She dropped her eyes and shook her head. The truth was, she’d never been more intensely satisfied than that night, and that terrified her.
“Sophie,” it was a plea, torn from his body.
She lifted her eyes to his face again, uncertainty making her slow to speak.
“Are you looking for me to say that it doesn’t matter? Or to somehow absolve you for what happened last night?”
He closed his eyes briefly. “No.”
“Good.” She pulled her wrists away and turned her back to him. She was starving, but the idea of staying in the kitchen was anathema to her. She pulled a banana from the fruit bowl and side-stepped away from him. “I don’t know what happened, and I have nothing I can say to you right now.”
He watched her move towards the door, and the words he’d been thinking all night were locked in his mind. I was angry because you are cheating on me. Because you and Eric are involved and Helena and I deserve better. But he couldn’t say them. Pride and resentment held him quiet.
And so, when she was almost out of the kitchen he said instead, “I am leaving again today.”
Only the fact that she stopped walking showed that Sophie had heard him. She nodded without turning back. “Okay.” He suspected tears had softened the word. He swore softly under his breath and dragged a hand through his hair. She was taking the piece of fruit and walking out of the villa, toward the terrace that overlooked the sea. Too late he thought of the flowers he’d discarded in the middle of the night.
They were there, and of course she saw them. The flowers lay in scattered disarray by the door. From the shade of the decked area, her eyes kept drifting to them. They were a perfect symbol of the strangely broken state they found themselves in. A graphic representation of her dashed hopes and ridiculous-seeming enthusiasm.
But was it so ridiculous? Married for a week, and separated for nights, she had missed him with an entirely appropriate intensity. They had parted with warmth; they had married out of love. So what had happened?
The more Sophie thought about it, the more she realised that she was missing something incredibly important. People didn’t just switch their emotions like that. It wasn’t possible.
She thought back to all the beautiful memories she had of their early acquaintance and a smile touched her lips. He did love her. Their marriage was founded on the kind of heart-scoring intensity that made it brightly real and overpowering.
The hateful flowers were mocking her. She moved further from the house, down the steep side garden that led to the ocean. A large rock was beneath a tree; she sat on it so that she could brood in comfort.
For Alex to have reverberated with such cold anger the night before must surely have meant that something had happened.
But what?
For the life of her, Sophie couldn’t imagine … until she could. Realisation dawned with the most sublimely perfect clarity that she startled.
He knew about Helena.
She dropped her head forward and gasped.
He knew about Helena, and what was more, she’d bet her last penny that he knew she and Eric had kept it from him.
Sophie stood abruptly and walked quickly back towards the house.
“Alex?” She almost ran down the hallway, and with each step she took, she became more and more convinced that she was right.
“Alex?” She stood very still and waited to hear noise. But the house was silent. Only Alena, out washing the walls near the pool, was moving in the midst of apparent calm. Sophie moved to her on autopilot. “Excuse me, Alena, have you seen Mr Petrides.”
“No, I’m sorry, ma’am,” she responded in broken English.
“Damn it.” She spun around and planted her hands on the hips. She surveyed the house from between shuttered eyes.
Had he already left? She moved back into the house and checked the bedroom they’d shared. The bed was made. Her eyes were drawn to his empty bedside table and she thought again of the beautiful arrangement she’d left there. The gift he’d discarded.
Because he had been upset! Angry! Hurt!
Yes!
He had discovered something whilst interviewing the nanny. Perhaps he’d spoken to Helena, or Eric. Something had happened; it was as clear to her as the diamond she wore on her ring finger.
She ran upstairs again, into the room she’d used the night before and lifted her phone. A little red number called her attention to her messages and she opened them, her heart in her throat with the hope that she’d find Alex had already messaged to explain.
But it wasn’t Alex. It was a number she didn’t recognise.
“I’m here! Only I don’t know where in Corfu you are. Send me the address.”
She frowned, and was about to delete it without replying when the same number began to show on her screen as a call. Impatient, she answered with a gruff, “Yes?”
“Well, that’s no way to greet your sister.”
Sophie felt tears spring to her eyes at the welcome sound of Olivia’s voice.
“You’re here? In Greece?”
“I’m in Kerkyra. I found a bar not too far from the airport. This place is amazing. I could get lost in ancient laneways very happily.”
Sophie thought despondently of the exploration she hadn’t done. The island had been beckoning, and she’d been too wrapped up first in Alex, and then in desolation, to do any of it justice.
“I’ll come to you,” she decided instantly. “Only I’ve got no idea how the hell to get to the town, so you’d better make yourself comfortable.”
“Can’t my new brother-in-law drive you?”
“Alex?” Sophie’s heartbeat accelerated. “He could, but he’s … away working.”
“Already? Some honeymoon.”
Sophie’s cheeks flushed. “He’s busy, Liv.”
“I know, I know. The price you pay for marrying a tycoon, ha?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” She dug her toe into the carpet.
“Well? Hurry up. I’ll order you a champagne.”
“Oh… I’ll be driving …”
“Pish. Hurry up. I miss you!”
Sophie laughed. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have arranged everything.”
She could practically hear Liv’s careless shrug. “I got a deal on a last minute flight. I hope it’s okay?”
“Okay. It’s bloody fantastic. I’ll see you soon.”
She moved quickly back to the bedroom and pulled a colourful dress off a hanger. It was a gorgeous shade of peach and turquoise and flattered her skin tones and eyes. The dress was simple cotton, strapless so that it ran straight across the top of her cleavage, hugged her to the waist and then flared in a short skirt to inches above her knees. It was perfect for the warm weather they’d been enjoying. Sophie slipped a pair of wedge-heeled sandals onto her feet and tidied her hair, then moved through the house.
The problem, of course, was that she had no idea where the cars were, and nor did she know who kept the keys. “Alena?” She emerged almost apologetically back to the pool.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Please, call me Sophie.” She said with a smile. “My sister has come to the island, and I’d like to go and collect her. Only I’ve no clue where the garage is.”
“Ah!” Alena’s face broke out into the most genuine smile Sophie had seen her employ since coming to the island. “That eez wonderful. But ‘Arry will drive you.”
“No, no, I don’t want to disturb him.”
“Mr Petrides ‘as asked ‘im to ‘elp you.”
“Oh.” She nodded awkwardly. “If it’s no trouble then.”
; Sophie hadn’t yet met Alena’s husband but she knew he busied himself in the gardens and with the fleet of vehicles Alex kept on Corfu. When Alena appeared with him a few moments later, Sophie saw he was a short, round man with a twinkling gaze and kindly expression.
“It’s an honour,” he said, in native English.
“Likewise.”
“Alena says you would like to go to town?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “To Kerkyra. My sister’s there,” she finished lamely.
“My wife said. Are you ready?”
“Now? Yes. Yes I am.” She was suddenly desperate to see Olivia. Her sister could surely make everything seem better.
“Then let’s go.”
Sophie fell into step beside him as he made his way along the courtyard towards a long, low barn. He pressed a button in his pocket and the gate slid open to reveal seven sports cars. Sophie counted them to be certain. They were each immaculate and prestigious. There were several with unpronounceable names she’d never even heard of.
He caught her looking at the row of cars and grinned. “Do you have a preference?”
She shook her head quickly.
“We’ll take the Alfa. You’ll like it. Fast and elegant.” He opened the front passenger door for her. “It is one of Mr Petrides’s favourites.”
“Great.” She swallowed back the painful discomfort at the reference to her husband. “You’re from England?”
“Sure am, ma’am. Up north way.”
“Please, please, I beg you, stop calling me ma’am.” She already felt like a weird imposter. The confidence that she belonged in Alex’s life and home had rapidly evaporated.
“Mr Petrides prefers a degree of formality …”
“Perhaps he does, but I can assure you, I don’t.” The engine purred to life and Harry steered it down the narrow drive with admirable expertise. “I’m Sophie. I’m Australian. We’re not at all formal, really.”
“Very well, ma’am.”
She burst out laughing. It was hopeless. Better to accept her lot in life now that she was married to the all-powerful Alessandros Petrides.
“How far is town?”
Billionaire Brides: An Anthology Page 27
