by Sarah Morgan
‘My mother is a romantic,’ Sebastien drawled, turning his attention from the younger members of his family to the older. ‘She dreams only of happy endings.’
There was a clear warning in his eyes and Alesia clamped her lips together, holding back the words that she wanted to speak, reminding herself that she didn’t have to apologise to these people. That she didn’t have to explain herself.
‘I dream of grandchildren,’ his mother confessed, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Alesia. ‘As I’m sure your grandfather does.’
Appalled by his mother’s innocent expectations, Alesia felt a sick feeling build in the pit of her stomach.
Grandchildren.
And that, of course, was the one thing she was never going to be able to provide. She closed her eyes and told herself firmly that it didn’t bother her what the Fiorukis family wanted. She hated them. She hated her grandfather and she hated their stupid feud. In fact she hated everything Greek because it embodied everything that had ruined her mother’s life.
So why was she suddenly struck by conscience?
Sebastien lounged in his seat, watching his new bride through veiled eyes.
He considered himself something of an expert on the avarice of women, but even he was astonished by her almost indecent desire to get her hands on his money.
He was used to women who at least pretended to be interested in something other than his wallet but Alesia, it seemed, couldn’t even be bothered to pretend. It was the only question she’d asked him. The only piece of information it seemed she needed of him. ‘Has the money been transferred to my account?’
Her total desperation shone through. All through the ceremony she’d been pale and anxious, her agitation so palpable that he’d started to wonder whether something was seriously the matter with his bride.
Anyone looking at her would think she needed the money.
He gave a grim smile, knowing full well that ‘need’ was a relative term and to the Philipos heiress need clearly encompassed greed of a magnitude that even he had failed to encounter in the past.
Aware that his mother was still watching them, he tried to find a mutually satisfying topic of conversation and drew a blank. ‘So tell me,’ he breathed sarcastically, relieved that his mother was not skilled in lip-reading, ‘what will be your first purchase with your newfound wealth? A thousand pairs of designer shoes or something bigger? A yacht, maybe? A racehorse or two?’
She lifted her eyes from the contemplation of her untouched plate of food and stared at him blankly. ‘Pardon?’
He frowned down at her, noticing for the first time the dark smudges under her eyes. Clearly she hadn’t slept for nights. Probably worrying that the deal would fall through, he mused.
‘I was asking how you plan to spend my money,’ he repeated, realizing with a flash of surprise that she was paying him not the slightest bit of attention. He almost smiled at the irony of the situation. He was accustomed to employing a variety of skills designed to keep women at a distance and yet the woman he’d just married was having trouble remembering that he existed. ‘I think I should at least know something about my wife.’
‘Oh.’ She frowned as if she were thrown by the question. There was a brief hesitation and something close to panic flashed in her eyes. ‘I—I don’t know yet—I expect I’ll go—shopping?’
Sebastien refrained from pointing out that she truly would have to shop until she dropped if she stood even the faintest chance of spending even a fraction of the money he’d just delivered into her account.
Clearly he wouldn’t be seeing much of his new wife, he mused grimly. To spend that volume of money was going to take a considerable length of time and serious application on her part.
Consumed by an irritation that he didn’t begin to understand, he rose to his feet and extended a hand. ‘Time to earn that money. We’re expected to begin the dancing.’
She stared at him stupidly. ‘Dance? You and I—together?’
He ground his teeth. ‘It’s tradition for man and wife to dance.’ Without giving her time to argue, he hauled her against him and flashed a smile into her shocked face. ‘Time to give the crowd what they’ve been waiting for, pethi mou.’
He strode purposefully on to the dance floor, his arm round her waist in what must have seemed to the wedding guests an affectionate gesture. In fact he was keeping her from running because he knew for a fact that if he released her she would definitely run.
She was staring up at him as if he’d gone completely mad. And perhaps he had, he reflected. After all, he had just married a woman whose values he despised. Hardly the action of a sane man.
‘Smile up at me as if I’m the only man in the world,’ he ordered softly as he stopped in the middle of the dance floor and curved an arm round her waist. ‘We are the focus of attention and I would hate to disappoint our guests.’
‘This is ridiculous.’ Sebastien felt her stiffen, saw her teeth clench. ‘I thought we agreed that we weren’t going to play games. That we were going to be honest with each other.’
‘In private, yes.’ He lowered his face closer to hers so that there was no chance of being overheard. ‘But to the outside world we have to create the right impression. My mother needs to think this marriage is real, the financial markets need to think this marriage is real. So we’re going to make them think it’s real.’
His attention was suddenly caught by her perfectly shaped mouth and for a moment he couldn’t quite remember what was so important about the financial markets. Mesmerized by the soft curve of her lips, Sebastien watched as they parted slightly and a delicate pink tongue darted out nervously.
His whole body tightened in a primitive male response to the gesture of vulnerability.
‘You’re deluding yourself,’ Alesia said shakily, her eyes darkening in consternation. ‘No one looking at us can possibly think this marriage is anything other than a business arrangement.’
Reminding himself that there was nothing vulnerable about a wealthy woman who’d just married someone she clearly loathed, he dragged his eyes from her mouth.
‘Then it’s up to us to prove them wrong.’ Without thinking, he pulled her hard against him in a gesture of pure possession and felt her quiver of shock as her body came into contact with his for the first time.
Awareness exploded between them and Sebastien stopped breathing. Shocked into stillness by the unexpected power of their mutual response. It was as if their bodies had recognized something that both of them had failed to notice. Alesia’s subtle scent oozed over his senses and seduced his mind and body into forgetting everything except the woman in his arms.
Neither of them spoke but he saw her breathing go shallow, watched the pupils dilate in those amazing violet eyes as she acknowledged the throbbing tension in the atmosphere.
He felt her tremble against him and frowned slightly, registering for the first time just how delicate she was. She’d revealed enough of her full cleavage during that first meeting with her grandfather for him to have formed an impression that she was generously built, but now he realized how totally wrong he’d been in that initial assessment. With predictable masculine focus, he’d been seriously distracted. The rest of her was impossibly slender. Fragile.
Still shocked by the power of his response to her, Sebastien curved a hand over the base of her spine in brooding contemplation and gave a wry smile as he acknowledged the eternal weakness of man. His libido was clearly indifferent to the fact that she was a self-confessed gold-digger. But then what was wrong with that? Gold-digger or not, she was incredibly beautiful and he should be rejoicing that his new bride might well prove to have her compensations. Providing they didn’t have to indulge in conversation, the forthcoming night promised to be far from boring.
Since he’d removed her hairclip, her blonde tresses poured down her back in a shiny silken sheet and he found himself resisting the temptation to bury his face in its scented mass.
She tried to pull away bu
t he held her firmly, his gaze faintly mocking as he looked down at her.
‘Amazing is it not,’ he murmured softly, curving her against him as they swayed in time to the music, ‘that our bodies can feel something that our minds tell us not to?’
She planted a hand in the centre of his chest, panic in her eyes as she tried to hold him at a distance. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
He removed her hand in a deliberate movement, pulled her closer still and lowered his head so that his mouth was only inches from hers. Her unexpectedly seductive scent made his head swim. ‘Oh, yes, you do, you know exactly what I’m talking about.’
‘What are you doing? Everyone is staring—’
So was he. He’d never seen eyes such an unusual shade of blue, he mused, his gaze still fixed on her face. The colour of English violets.
‘For a self-confessed gold-digger you are extraordinarily sensitive,’ he murmured in her ear, sliding his other arm round her and pulling her closer still. ‘Why would you care what people think?’
‘I just don’t like being stared at.’
He gave a short laugh. She was an heiress, albeit a ridiculously protected one. ‘Then you’d better get used to it fast, pethi mou. I spend my life being stared at.’
Other couples joined them on the dance floor and Sebastien suddenly realized that she was barely moving in his arms. Instead she was holding on to him tightly as if he were the only solid, dependable thing in her life. As if she were afraid of letting him go.
He frowned down at the blonde head which was only inches away from his chest.
Where did it come from, this vulnerability that flowed from her?
His mouth hardened as he reminded himself forcibly that this marriage had come about because she didn’t have a principled bone in her body. If she seemed vulnerable then it was probably all part of an elaborate act to attract wealthy men. The truth was that she was a ruthless, manipulative woman, who was willing to go to distasteful lengths to swell her already swollen bank account.
‘I’m not letting go,’ he drawled lazily, wondering why she was always so conscious of people staring. Having been on the receiving end of public attention since he’d outgrown the privacy of his pram, it was something he no longer noticed. Surely she was the same? ‘You signed on for this when you agreed to marry for money.’
Her eyes held a hint of reproach. ‘I didn’t sign on for public performances—’
‘You agreed to be my wife,’ he responded smoothly, ‘with all that entails. Do you know what I think, pethi mou? I think you were so blinded by the money you didn’t see the rest of it. I don’t think you thought further than the cash.’
He felt her stiffen.
He could see a tiny pulse beating in her throat, feel the extraordinary tension throbbing from her delicious body and his own body tightened in an instantaneous response that almost made him groan aloud.
How could he ever have thought that the Philipos heiress was cold?
English and reserved though she may be on the surface, there was now no doubt in his mind that she had enough hot-blooded Greek blood in her to ensure that their sex life would be far from boring.
His head bent lower, his mouth so close to hers that they were almost touching. ‘You’ve got what you wanted. The cheque. Now it’s my turn.’
She was staring at him like an animal in a trap. ‘You got what you wanted too—my grandfather’s company.’
‘My father’s company,’ Sebastien corrected her softly, his free hand sliding up her spine and settling on the back of her neck. ‘And that was only part of what I wanted. Now it’s time to help myself to the rest.’
His gaze mocking, he dipped his head with lazy arrogance and claimed the mouth that had been tempting him ever since she’d first set foot on the island, intending to demonstrate to the Philipos heiress just exactly what she’d let herself in for when she’d traded herself for money. Intending to show her that greed had a price.
Her mouth was warm and sweet and his senses exploded, propelling him out of control.
Heat and fire spread through his lower body and he was consumed by a sexual need so powerful that he dragged her closer still in an attempt to satisfy the sudden grinding ache in his loins, but the action simply inflamed him still further.
They were so close that he felt every tiny tremor of her body, felt her shiver as he held her. He saw the shock in her violet eyes before they drifted shut and her fingers curled into the front of his shirt for support.
His last coherent thought was that this wasn’t what he’d planned.
A small part of his brain told him to pull away, to end it now, but her soft, delicious mouth drugged his senses and prevented him from doing anything except help himself to more.
He filled himself with her. The scent of her slithered over him like a suffocating cloak, the blood in his head raged and pounded, clouding thought and reason. Lust ravaged his body as he plunged into a raging heat totally new to him. The fire burned red then gold and he fanned the flames by taking more and more of her.
As if from a distance he heard a soft whimper of shock and desire and that tiny sound was enough to break the sensual spell that she’d wrapped around him.
He dragged his mouth from hers with supreme difficulty, discovering for the first time what it felt like to be completely out of control.
What the hell was he playing at?
He’d always considered himself to be a ruthlessly disciplined man. Whatever the situation, be it provocation or temptation, he never lost control. So why, once his mouth had taken possession of hers, had he suddenly lost all ability to think rationally? In fact he’d stopped thinking altogether, his actions driven by an instinct so raw and primitive that he’d been well past control.
His body still hummed with unfulfilled tension, his nerves sizzled and his manhood ached and throbbed.
The realization that she’d succeeded in affecting him so strongly irritated him in the extreme and he struggled to rationalize his own behaviour. To find some explanation for such an uncharacteristic reaction.
Was it really so surprising? he wondered, surveying her flushed, shocked face with grim concentration.
Whatever else she may be, there was no denying that his new wife was a stunningly beautiful woman who managed to project just the right amount of innocence and vulnerability to tempt a very traditionally minded Greek male.
He wouldn’t be human if he didn’t respond.
And the cure was to take her to bed, he decided with characteristic decisiveness. Women, however beautiful, never held his attention for long. One night, maybe two, would be all it would take to get his fill of her. After that he’d be able to start thinking clearly again and move on.
Decision made, he grabbed Alesia’s wrist and virtually hauled her off the dance floor towards the exit without uttering a word.
And just to be sure that the staring guests were left in no doubt as to how he felt about his new bride, he swept her up into his arms and planted another swift kiss on her shocked mouth.
With a smile at his mother, who was shedding tears of undisguised delight on the arm of his father, he strode out of the garden towards the waiting limousine.
Alesia didn’t wriggle in his arms, didn’t move. It was almost as if she wanted him to take her away from there. Which couldn’t possibly be the case, he reflected grimly, because another thing he knew about women was that the whole point of spend, spend, spend was to allow them to party, party, party.
Her head lay against his shoulder in almost weary resignation and he felt something pull inside him. A feeling which he instantly dismissed with a sharp frown.
She was good, he had to hand it to her. She was already trying to tie him in knots. A less experienced man might have thought that she was glad he was holding her.
Fortunately he knew better—
One night, he promised himself as he dropped her in the seat of the limo as if she was infectious.
He
’d make her pregnant that first night and that would be it.
He wouldn’t have to touch her again.
He could get on with his life and she could get on with spending his money.
CHAPTER FOUR
ALESIA huddled into the leather seat, trying to control the tiny tremors that still attacked her body. Sebastien’s skilled assault on her senses had left her shattered by the discovery that she didn’t know herself at all.
Stunned by her own reaction, she struggled to rationalize what had happened.
Nothing had prepared her for that kiss.
It had been dark, terrifying, exciting and he’d unveiled a part of herself that she hadn’t known existed.
Everything about her felt different.
She wanted to lift her fingers to her lips and see what had changed but she didn’t dare with him seated beside her.
She didn’t want him to know what he’d done to her—
What he’d made her feel—
She closed her eyes and gave a whimper of self-disgust. What an irony. She’d kissed men before and felt nothing. Why was it that the first man to show her what a kiss could mean had to be a man she despised?
‘You can open your eyes now.’ Sebastien sounded bored, as if he’d rather be anywhere than sitting next to her. ‘We’ve left the crowds behind. It’s just you and me. No more pretending.’
Still struggling with the humiliating knowledge that she hadn’t even tried to push him away, Alesia opened her eyes and swallowed hard.
‘Where exactly are we going?’ Her voice was a nervous croak and he gave a grim smile.
‘Somewhere more private. The time has come to take our “business deal” to another level, pethi mou, and for that I do not need an audience.’
How could he speak like that when he clearly wished he were with anyone but her? How could he even be contemplating spending the night with her?
Suddenly she understood the true meaning of the phrase ‘out of the frying-pan into the fire’ and wished they were back at the reception. She’d thought that being in crowds of people was bad but it was nothing compared to being alone with Sebastien Fiorukis. ‘Is it far? I’m very tired—’
