The Sheikh's Wedding Contract

by Andie Brock

  But when Clio turned to look at him, Zayed knew that his impassioned words had fallen on deaf ears.

  Not that the smile she’d pasted on fooled him for one moment. In fact if she held it much longer it was in danger of cracking and falling like scales from her unnaturally pale skin.

  Neither did her attempt to be lighthearted, as she teased him about his newly acquired royal status and casually probed the depth of his loyalty to Stefan.

  But something about the tilt of her chin, the distant look in her eyes as Zayed persisted in trying to make her see sense, told him that he was wasting his breath. That whatever was going on between Stefan and Clio was just that—between Stefan and Clio.

  ‘He did not force me into anything, Zayed. This was my choice.’

  Clio spoke the words firmly, her cut-glass English accent giving weight to their meaning. She seemed determined that he should understand.

  And he wanted to believe her, really he did. But as he patted the hand that she had reached across to find his, her alabaster-cold touch did nothing to allay his deep-rooted fears about this marriage.

  If nothing else he would make sure that she knew he was there for her, no matter what, and not just him, Rocco and Christian, too, and their wives. That much he could do. They were all as uneasy about this surprise wedding as he was, the little time they had managed to spend with the happy couple the past few days doing little to reassure them.

  ‘You have friends, Clio. Always remember that.’

  He watched as Clio smiled back at him through the bright sheen of tears, his heart full of anguished frustration.

  ‘Clio?’

  Collecting herself, she hid behind the manners of her breeding, choosing to ignore the pointed meaning behind his statement.

  So be it. Zayed squared his shoulders. If this was what Stefan and Clio wanted, he would just have to go along with it. Now it was his turn to paste on the false smile.

  ‘Are you ready for him, Clio?’

  They both turned to look at the bridegroom. Standing tall and proud, he silently commanded the respect of the room. And he stared right back at them.

  ‘I’m ready, Zayed,’ she whispered.

  With a nod of his head the music struck up, and together they moved forward into the room, each step taking them closer and closer to the steely-eyed gaze of Stefan Bianco.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from THE RUTHLESS GREEK’S RETURN by Sharon Kendrick.

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  The Ruthless Greek's Return

  by Sharon Kendrick

  CHAPTER ONE

  SOMETHING WAS DIFFERENT. Jessica felt it the moment she walked into the building. An unmistakable air of excitement and expectation. A rippling sense of change. She felt her throat constrict with something which felt like fear. Because people didn’t like change. Even though it was about the only thing in life you could guarantee, nobody really welcomed it—and she was right up there with all those change-haters, wasn’t she?

  Outwardly the headquarters of the upmarket chain of jewellery stores was the same. Same plush sofas and scented candles and twinkling chandeliers. Same posters of glittering jewels spilled casually onto folds of dark velvet. There were glossy shots of women gazing dreamily at engagement rings, while their impossibly handsome fiancés looked on. There was even a poster of her, leaning reflectively against a sea wall and gazing into the distance, with a chunky platinum watch gleaming against her wrist. Briefly, Jessica’s gaze flicked over it. Anyone looking at that poster would think the woman in the crisp shirt and sleek ponytail inhabited a life which was all neat and sorted. She gave a wry smile. Whoever said the camera never lied had been very misguided.

  Glancing down at her pale leather boots, which had somehow survived the journey from Cornwall without being splashed, she walked over to the desk where the receptionist was wearing a new blouse which displayed her ample cleavage. Jessica blinked. She was sure she could smell furniture polish mingling with the scent of gardenia from the flickering candles. Even the extra-large display of roses sitting on the fancy glass desk looked as if they’d been given a makeover.

  ‘Hi, Suzy,’ said Jessica, bending her head to sniff at one of the roses and finding it completely without fragrance. ‘I have a three o’clock appointment.’

  Suzy glanced down at her computer screen and smiled. ‘So you do. Nice to see you, Jessica.’

  ‘Nice to be here,’ said Jessica, although that bit wasn’t quite true. Her life in the country had claimed her wholesale and she only came to London when she had to. And today it seemed she had to—summoned by an enigmatic email, which had provoked more questions than it had answered and left her feeling slightly confused. Which was why she had abandoned her jeans and sweater and was standing in reception in her city clothes, with the cool smile expected of her. And if inside her heart was aching because Hannah had gone...well, she would soon learn to deal with that. She had dealt with plenty worse.

  Brushing fine droplets of water from her raincoat, she lowered her voice. ‘You don’t happen to know what’s going on?’ she said. ‘Why I received a mystery summons out of the blue, when I’m not due to start shooting the new catalogue until early summer?’

  Suzy started looking from side to side, like someone who had been watching too many spy films. ‘Actually, I do.’ She paused. ‘We have a new boss.’

  Jessica’s smile didn’t slip. ‘Really? First I’ve heard about it.’

  ‘Oh, you wouldn’t have heard anything. Big takeover deal—very hush-hush. The new owner’s Greek. Very Greek. A playboy by all accounts,’ said Suzy succinctly, her eyes suddenly darkening. ‘And very dangerous.’

  Jessica felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, as if someone had just stroked an icy finger over her skin. Hearing someone say Greek shouldn’t produce a reaction, but the stupid thing was that it did, every time. It wasn’t as bad as it used to be, but she could never hear the mention of anything Hellenic without the sudden rush of blood to her heart. She was like one of Pavlov’s dogs, who used to salivate whenever a bell was rung. One of those dumb dogs who expected to be fed and instead were presented with nothing but an empty bowl. And how sad was that? She stared at Suzy and injected a light-hearted note into her voice.

  ‘Really?’ she questioned. ‘You mean dangerous as in swashbuckling?’

  Suzy shook her mop of red curls. ‘I mean dangerous as in oozing sex appeal, and knows it.’ A light flashed on her desk and she clicked the button with a perfectly manicured fingernail. ‘Something which you’re just about to find out for yourself.’

  Jessica thought about Suzy’s words as she rode in the elevator towards the penthouse offices, wishing they could have swopped places. Because the new boss would be completely wasted on her—no matter how hunky he was. She’d met men who’d oozed testosterone and she’d had her fingers burnt. She stared at her reflection in the smoky elevator mirrors. Actually, it had only been one man and she’d had her whole body burnt—her heart and soul completely fried—and as a consequence she steered clear of dangerous men and all the stuff which came with them.

  The elevator stopped and the first thing Jessica noticed was that things were different up here, too. More flowers, but the place was deserted and oddly quiet. She’d expected a small delegation of executives or some sor
t of fanfare, but even the usual rather scary-looking assistant who guarded the inner sanctum was missing. She looked around. The doors to the executive suite were open. She glanced down at her watch. Dead on three. So did she just walk in and announce herself? Or hang around here and wait until someone came out to find her? For a moment she stood there feeling slightly uncertain, when a richly accented voice brushed over her skin like gravel which had been steeped in honey.

  ‘Don’t just stand there, Jess. Come right in. I’ve been waiting for you.’

  Her heart clenched and at first she thought her mind was playing tricks. She told herself that all Mediterranean voices sounded similar and that it couldn’t possibly be him. Because how could she instantly recognise a voice she hadn’t heard for years?

  But she was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

  She walked into the office in the direction of the voice and stopped dead in the centre of the vast room. And even though her brain was sending out frantic and confused messages to her suddenly tightening body, there was no denying the identity of the man behind the desk.

  It was him.

  Loukas Sarantos, framed by the backdrop of a London skyline—looking like the king of all he surveyed. Big, and brooding and in total command. A mocking half-smile curved his lips. His long legs were spread out beneath the desk while his hands were spreadeagled on the expansive surface, as if emphasising that it all belonged to him. With a shock she noted the expensive charcoal suit which hugged his powerful frame and more confusion washed over her. Because Loukas was a bodyguard. A top-notch bodyguard with clothes which made him blend in, not stand out. What was he doing here, dressed like that?

  He had been forbidden to her from the start and it was easy to see why. He could intimidate people with a single glance from those searing black eyes. He was like no one else she’d ever met, nor was ever likely to. He made her want things she hadn’t even realised she wanted—and when he’d given them to her, he’d made her want even more. He was trouble. He was the night to her day. She knew that.

  The room seemed to shift in and out of focus, blurring at the edges before reappearing with a clarity so sharp that it almost hurt her eyes. She wanted the sight of him to leave her cold. For him to be nothing but a distant reminder of another time and another life.

  Some hope.

  He was leaning back in a black leather chair, which gleamed like the thick hair that curled against his neck. But his half-smile held no trace of humour—it was nothing but an icy assessment which seemed to hit her like a chill wind. His eyes bored through her and for a moment Jessica felt as if she was going to faint, and part of her wondered if that might not be a good thing. Because if she crumpled to the floor, wouldn’t that give her a let-out clause? Wouldn’t it force him to ring for medical assistance, so that his potency would be diluted by the presence of other people?

  But the feeling quickly passed and a lifetime of hiding her emotions meant she was able to look around the room with nothing but curiosity on her face and say almost casually, ‘Where’s the assistant who’s usually here?’

  A flicker of irritation passed across his face as he leaned forward. ‘Eight years,’ he said softly. ‘Eight long years since we’ve seen each other—and all you can do is ask me some banal question about a member of staff?’

  His confidence unnerved her almost as much as his appearance, because the brashness of yesteryear seemed to have disappeared—along with the beaten-up leather jacket and faded jeans. Yet even in his made-to-measure suit, he still exuded a carnal sexuality which nothing could disguise. Was that why the almost forgotten aching had started deep inside her? Why she suddenly found herself remembering the burn of his lips pressing down on hers and the impatience of his fingers as he pushed up her little tennis skirt and...and...

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she questioned, only suddenly she didn’t sound quite so calm and she wondered if he’d picked up on that.

  ‘Why don’t you take off your coat and sit down, Jess?’ he suggested silkily. ‘Your face has gone very white.’

  She wanted to tell him that she’d stay standing, but the shock of seeing him again really had affected her equilibrium. And maybe fainting wasn’t such a good idea after all. She would only find herself horizontal—and imagine just how disconcerting it would be to find Loukas bending over her. Bending over her as if he wanted to kiss her...when the reality was that he was looking at her as if she’d recently crawled out from beneath a stone.

  She walked over to the chair he’d indicated and sank down, letting her leather bag slide noiselessly to the ground as she lifted her gaze towards the empty blackness of his. ‘This is a...surprise,’ she said lightly.

  ‘I imagine it must be. Tell me...’ his eyes gleamed ‘...how it felt to walk into the room and realise it was me?’

  She lifted her shoulders as if there were no words to answer that particular question, and even if there were she wasn’t sure she’d want him to hear them. ‘I suppose there must be some sort of...explanation?’

  He looked at her unhelpfully. ‘To what, Jess? Perhaps you could be a little more specific.’

  ‘To you sitting here and behaving as if—’

  That half-smile again. ‘As if I own the place?’

  She swallowed, thinking how arrogant he sounded. ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘Because I do own it,’ he said, suddenly impatient. ‘I’ve bought the company, Jess—I should have thought that much was obvious. I now own every one of the Lulu outlets, in cities and airports and cruise ships all over the world.’

  Shock rippled over her skin. Stay focused, she told herself. You can do it. You were trained in the art of staying focused.

  She kept her voice casual. ‘I didn’t realise—’

  ‘That I was rich enough?’

  ‘Well, there’s that, of course.’ Her smile felt as if it were slicing her face in two. ‘Or that you had an interest in jewellery and watches.’

  Loukas touched the tips of his fingers together and stared into eyes which were the exact colour of aquamarines. As always, not a single strand of her blonde hair was out of place and he remembered that even after the most strenuous sex, it always seemed to fall back into a neat and shiny curtain. He looked at the pink gleam of her lips and something dark and nebulous whispered over his skin. Jessica Cartwright. The one woman he’d never been able to forget. The woman who had unravelled him and then tied him up in knots. His pale and unexpected nemesis. He expelled a slow breath and let his gaze travel over her at a leisurely pace—because surely he had earned the right to study her as he would any other thing of beauty which he’d just purchased.

  As usual, her style was understated. Classy and cool. A streamlined body, which left the observer in no doubt about her athletic background. She’d never been into revealing clothes or heavy make-up—her look had always been scrubbed and fairly natural and that hadn’t changed. He had been attracted to her in a way which had taken him by surprise and he’d never been able to work out why. He noticed how her white shirt hugged those neat little breasts and the subtle gleam of pearls at her ears. With her pale hair pulled back in a ponytail, which emphasised her high cheekbones, he thought how remote she seemed. How untouchable. And it was all a lie. Because behind the false ice-maiden image, wasn’t there a woman as shallow and as grasping as all the others? Someone who would take what they wanted from you and then just leave you—gasping like a fish which had been tossed from the water.

  ‘There’s plenty you don’t know about me.’ His mouth hardened and he felt the delicious rush of blood to his groin. And plenty she was about to find out.

  ‘I don’t understand...’ She shrugged her shoulders and now her aquamarine eyes were wide with question. ‘The last time I saw you, you were a bodyguard. You worked for that Russian oligarch.’ She frowned as if she was trying to remember. ‘Dimitri Makarov. That was his name, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Neh. That was his name.’ Loukas nodded. ‘I was the guy with the gun inside his jacke
t. The guy who knew no fear. The wall of muscle who could smash through a plank with a single blow.’ He paused and flicked her a look because he remembered the way she used to run those long fingers over the hard bulge of his muscles, cooing her satisfaction as she touched his iron-hard flesh. ‘But one day I decided to start using my brains instead of just my brawn. I realised that a life spent protecting others has a very limited timescale and that I needed to look towards the future. And, of course, some women consider such men to be little more than savages—don’t they, Jess?’

  She flinched. He could see the whitening of her knuckles in her lap and her reaction gave him a rush of pleasure. Because he wanted to see her react. He wanted to see her coolness melt and to watch her squirm.

  ‘You know I never said that.’ Her voice was trembling.

  ‘No,’ he agreed grimly. ‘But your father said it and you just stood there and agreed with every damned word, didn’t you, Jess? You were complicit in your silence. The little princess, agreeing with Daddy. Shall I remind you of some of the other things he said?’

  ‘No!’ Her hand had flown to her neck, as if her fingers could disguise the little pulse which was working frantically there.

  ‘He called me a thug. He said I would drag you down to the gutter where I came from, if you stayed with me. Do you remember that, Jess?’

  She shook her head. ‘Wh—why are we sitting here talking about the past?’ she questioned and suddenly her voice didn’t sound so cool. ‘I dated you when I was a teenager and, yes, my father reacted badly when he found out we were...’

  ‘Lovers,’ he put in silkily.

  She swallowed. ‘Lovers,’ she repeated, as if it hurt her to say it. ‘But it all happened such a long time ago and none of it matters any more. I’ve...well, I’ve moved on and I expect you have, too.’