A Bride at His Bidding

by Michelle Smart

  Rising from her seat, she gently removed her hand from his hold and palmed his cheek so she stood over him, the tip of her nose almost touching his.

  Her pretty fingers caressed his cheek and, Theos, his skin revelled in the sensation, little sparks firing through the rest of him, heating him like a gently firing furnace.

  She moved her hand to thread through his hair. ‘I don’t desire you,’ she whispered, her lips so close to his that if he made a sudden movement they would fuse together, her sweet breath warm on him. ‘I don’t want you. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to do this...’

  The plump lips he’d stared at for hours imagining their feel and taste brushed against his in the whisper of a kiss.

  For a moment Andreas did nothing but close his eyes and savour what might possibly be the most erotic moment of his life.

  Her lips pressed a little more to his, still not fused, tentative but breathing him in, sweet yet sensuous, his loins, already charged, responding as his blood thickened and all his senses sprang to life.

  Right at the moment he sensed her nerve failing her, he hooked an arm around her waist and jerked her to him. As he pulled her onto his lap she gave a tiny gasp and he took ruthless advantage of it, sweeping his tongue into her mouth and holding her tightly, primal lust surging through him. Her lips were softer than a pillow and moulded to his perfectly as he deepened the kiss, savouring her taste and the shape of her body pressed so compactly to his, the furnace heating his blood fired to a roar.

  Her hands clasped at his skull, her fingers massaging into him, her mouth moving with his own as if they had fused into one entity.

  She fitted perfectly into him, he thought dimly, sweeping a hand over her back and then round to stroke her stomach, which pulled in with a spasm at his touch, a moan so faint it could have been the breeze vibrating from her. He slid his hand up and rubbed his thumb on the underside of her breast, felt its softness through the fabric of her dress, but before he could touch any more she jolted and dragged her mouth from his.

  Her fingers still clasping his skull, her breathing erratic, kiss-bruised lips parted, she gazed at him with confused heavy-lidded eyes before whipping her hands away and scrambling off his lap.

  Looking anywhere but at him, she ran her hands through her hair and straightened her dress.

  Andreas swallowed and took in air, the aching weight in his groin making it hard to think let alone speak. Only the heaviness of their breaths and the beats of his thundering heart cut through the stillness of the night.

  When she looked at him again some semblance of composure had returned that would have fooled him if her voice didn’t sound so breathy when she said, ‘See? If I desired you I wouldn’t be able to walk away from that.’

  Then she turned and walked away from him to the French doors, her head high, her back magnificently straight. Only the tiny missteps she took showed she was as affected by what they had just shared as he.

  ‘Next time, matia mou,’ he called after her, his own voice hoarse, ‘you will not be able to walk away.’

  She didn’t look back. ‘There won’t be a next time.’

  ‘Do you want to put money on that?’

  She didn’t answer.

  A moment later she had disappeared into his house.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CARRIE LAY FULLY dressed and wide awake under the covers of the narrow bed, kicking herself for not finding another room to sleep in, one far away from Andreas. If she weren’t so afraid of bumping into him on the landing she would move to another room now. She didn’t need to stay in this one any more. He was hardly going to fire her.

  She laughed into her pillow, a maniacal sound that she immediately smothered.

  If she’d heard that noise from anyone else she would assume they were mad.

  Was she mad? Had all the glorious sun that had shone on her these past two days infected her mind and driven her out of it?

  It was as good an explanation as anything, she supposed, to justify her behaviour.

  Twenty minutes after crawling under the bedsheets and she still couldn’t get her head around what had possessed her to play with fire like that.

  She’d wanted to prove a point to him and wipe that smug grin off his face but it had gone too far. She had gone too far.

  His touch...it had scorched her. She could still feel the imprint of his lips on hers and had to stop herself from rubbing her fingers over them. And she could still feel the contours of his body pressed against her. Her blood still felt fizzy, an ache in her loins she’d never known before.

  Her brain burned just to remember it. It burned to remember the effort it had taken to walk away. They had been the hardest steps she’d ever taken, fighting her own yearning body.

  Her first kiss.

  She gritted her teeth and wished she were in a place where she could scream her frustration. She shouldn’t be reliving their kiss, she should be trying to think of ways to get out of marrying him.

  Marriage! To him!

  And he was deadly serious about it too.

  Violet was his trump card. If it were only Carrie’s future at stake she would tell him to stuff it and take her chances. She’d been prepared to lose her job and her freedom before she’d embarked on investigating him, but that recording had changed everything. Andreas was too well known and her professional name too renown for that recording not to be dynamite to the tabloid press. Andreas would probably deliver a copy of it to them himself or upload it onto social media if she refused to go ahead with his plan, and then the whole world would hear him talk of how her sister had tried to seduce him and her affair with James and all those other awful things.

  She screwed her eyes tight shut, fighting the fresh panic clawing at her chest.

  That recording must never find its way into the public domain. Violet’s recovery was too fragile and nebulous to cope with that. She didn’t want her sister to have an excuse to dive back into the horrid, seedy world that had almost killed her.

  A sliver of hazy light filtered the gap in the heavy curtains. Night was fading, the sun was rising and Andreas still hadn’t come to bed.

  Rubbing her hand over her forehead, she rolled over so her back was to the door.

  What was the point in moving rooms? she thought as hot tears prickled her eyes. She would be sharing a roof with him for the next six months.

  She was trapped.

  * * *

  Andreas stepped onto the veranda and breathed in the hot salty air, trying to clear the last of his lethargy away.

  Going to bed after the sun had risen had not been conducive for a decent sleep but he’d thought it safer to wait until he could comfortably walk before putting himself an unlocked door’s distance from Carrie.

  He’d dreamed of her, hot lusty dreams as disturbing as they had been erotic, waking to the taste of her kisses on his tongue. He hardly ever remembered his dreams but these were still vivid, playing like a reel in his mind.

  The real kisses they’d shared were still vivid in his mind too. He smiled to remember the little stumble she’d made when she’d walked away from him, her nonchalant charade not fooling either of them.

  She wanted him. It had been there in the heat of her kisses and the heat from her flesh.

  She really thought she could resist the attraction for the six months they would be married?

  He’d known her for mere days but knew, as he knew his own name, that Carrie would resist until her stubborn little feet got sore.

  It was more than mere stubbornness. When she set herself on a path it needed a bulldozer to steer her off it. Look at her work, the powerful men she had exposed, the focus and dedication it had taken to infiltrate their organisations and find the evidence needed to expose them.

  And then there was her unflinching support for her sister and her stubborn refusal to accept the truth about what had happened those years ago when she knew—and he was certain that deep down she did know—that he spoke the truth.

&nb
sp; She’d believed him to be the friend of a monster, a thought that darkened his mood. Carrie had believed him capable of setting up a teenage girl with drugs. She believed him to be the same as the men she’d described who didn’t think twice about stamping on lesser mortals if they got in their way.

  There were many men in his circles who did behave like that, men who believed their wealth and position in society gave them free rein to do exactly as they pleased and generally they were right. Society turned a blind eye unless irrefutable evidence of the kind that tenacious journalists like Carrie produced meant action had to be taken.

  She believed he was just like them. She believed he’d become seduced by the trappings of his wealth and lost his soul.

  He inhaled even more deeply and closed his eyes, letting the burst of anger flow into his lungs and then expelling it out of his body.

  His father had held onto his anger at the business rivals who had used such cruel tactics to destroy his business and it had put him in hospital with a failing heart. Deal with the root cause of the anger, punish those that needed it and move on—that was Andreas’s way.

  Carrie had held onto her hatred towards him for three years. She’d bided her time, taken out James first and then had decided the time was right to strike at him.

  He took much satisfaction in knowing he’d cut her off at the head and foiled her plans. Marrying her ensured his business and reputation would be safe. And what were six months? As he’d told Carrie, he’d already waited fifteen years for his freedom so a few extra weeks were nothing.

  At least those months would be eventful, something he’d not had the luxury of allowing his life to be since he’d left his Greek Island of Gaios for the adventure that was America. He’d planned out his whole life: work hard and play hard at university then work hard and play hard as he built a financial business for himself and then, and only after he’d enjoyed everything life had to offer, find someone to settle down with.

  Of those three goals only the first had been achieved and he looked back on his university days with nostalgia.

  No sooner had he graduated than he’d discovered the dire mess his parents were in.

  Movement behind him made him turn. A member of his staff had brought him a tray of food, a light mezze to sustain him, the time being closer to lunch than breakfast and the sun already burning hot.

  ‘Have you seen Carrie?’ he asked. He’d knocked on her door before leaving his bedroom and, when there had been no answer, had taken a quick look and found her room empty, her bed neatly made.

  A shake of the head. ‘Do you want me to look for her?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Let me know when she turns up.’

  She couldn’t have gone far, he assured himself. He kept just one car here, in an outhouse and for emergency purposes only, and there was only one road off the peninsular. It would be impossible to take his car or his speedboat without someone seeing or hearing.

  Pouring his coffee first, he was helping himself to melon and yogurt when he caught a glimpse of a figure walking along the beach in his direction.

  The tightness he hadn’t noticed in his chest loosened.

  He watched her while he ate as, step by step, she came into clearer focus, the memory of their kiss playing in his mind all over again.

  ‘Good morning, matia mou,’ he said when she reached the table. ‘Have you eaten?’

  She shook her head, her eyes hidden behind the designer shades he’d bought her. They were the only things he could see that she was wearing that he’d provided her with. Today, in temperatures already in the high-twenties and guaranteed to rise much higher, Carrie wore the outfit he’d interviewed her in, her cashmere jumper and grey trousers, which she’d rolled up to lay mid-calf. Her feet were bare.

  ‘Coffee?’ he asked, reaching for the pot.

  There was a tiny hesitation before she nodded and sat down in the seat furthest from him. ‘I didn’t think you knew how to pour coffee.’

  ‘Now that my minion has been upgraded to fiancée I thought I should reacquaint myself with the simple tasks I have always done for myself. And for the record, I have never expected a proper employee to perform the slavish chores I got you to do. I’m no man-child.’

  He poured the coffee, added a splash of milk and one spoonful of sugar, and pushed the cup over to her.

  ‘Thank you.’ A tiny smile played on her lips. ‘I didn’t realise you’d paid attention to how I take my coffee.’

  ‘I pay attention to everything, matia mou, especially with you.’

  She tilted her head to look up at the sky then gathered her hair together and tied it into a knot without using any kind of device to hold it in place.

  ‘Feeling hot, are you?’ he asked drily. ‘Maybe you should consider changing into clothing more suited to the weather.’

  She took her cup and cradled it in both hands. ‘Now I’m no longer your minion I can wear what I like, and what I like to wear are clothes that don’t expose all my flesh.’

  ‘Afraid you will drive me wild with desire?’

  ‘You’re putting words in my mouth,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘I have managed to keep my hands to myself since we arrived here and you have had plenty of flesh on display.’ As he spoke he helped himself to a fresh bread roll and cut into it. A delicious yeasty aroma was released, a smell almost as good as Carrie’s scent, and he inhaled it greedily. ‘After all, you were the one to kiss me, matia mou. Do you need to cloak yourself to resist me?’

  The knuckles holding her cup had turned white. ‘I kissed you to prove a point. It meant nothing to me.’

  ‘And you proved it very well. If I’d had any doubt that you desire me, your kiss dispelled it.’

  ‘The fact I walked away proves I felt nothing.’

  Digging his knife into a pot, he slathered jam over his roll. ‘It proves that you have mastered the art of walking. For the avoidance of doubt, I am prepared to be used by you whenever you want to prove that you don’t desire me. Any time at all. Day or night.’ Then he bit into his roll.

  Carrie fought hands that wanted to shake and put the cup to her mouth to drink her coffee, closing her mind to the vivid images playing in her mind of being in his arms and the hunger of his mouth on hers.

  After three hours of sleep she’d woken from dreams already fading into haziness but which her body ached to recapture. Then everything that had passed between them had come back to her in one huge rush, all the words, their kiss...

  She’d jumped out of bed, dug her own clothes, which had been laundered by Andreas’s staff, out of the wardrobe and put them on as a form of armour. Then she had escaped to walk on the beach, desperate to exercise the ache deep inside out of her system and clear her mind. It had all been pointless. She could cover herself from head to toe in sackcloth and she would still feel naked before him. She could walk a thousand miles and her stomach would still flip over when she looked into those piercing light brown eyes.

  And he seemed to know it.

  Putting the cup back on the table, she strove to compose herself, a difficult task when she felt as if she were sitting in a sauna, the heat from the sun and her body’s reaction to merely sitting and talking to Andreas combining together to be almost unendurable. But endure she would. He had the upper hand over her life now but she wouldn’t allow him to have the upper hand over her emotions and feelings too. ‘I don’t need to prove anything to you.’

  He swallowed his food. ‘You have six months to convince yourself of that. For now, you should eat something. We will be leaving soon.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Back to London.’

  Thank God for that.

  It would get better when they were back there, she assured herself, when cold drizzle and concrete greeted her rather than brilliant blue skies and palm trees.

  London was her home. Her territory. It was where she belonged.

  She hid her relief to ask, ‘What happened to your holiday?�
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  ‘We have wheels to set in motion, matia mou...a wedding to prepare.’

  ‘You said we wouldn’t announce our engagement until your cousin’s wedding.’

  ‘We still need to arrange our own and you need to return to work and inform your colleagues that the tip-off you had been given about me is completely unfounded and that you are so convinced of my innocence that you have fallen madly in love with me.’

  She scoffed.

  He laughed loudly. ‘I’m sure faking mad, passionate love will not be a problem for such an accomplished actress as yourself.’ Getting to his feet, he stretched his back. ‘I’m going to have a swim in the pool before we leave. Can I tempt you to strip off those clothes that are making you so uncomfortable to join me?’

  ‘I can’t think of anything less tempting.’

  He shrugged and whipped off his T-shirt, the movement sending a wave of his cologne into her senses. The sun shone down on his bare torso, his toned and oh-so-masculine physique seeming to shimmer under it.

  Tiny pulses set off low inside her as she remembered just how good it had felt to be held so tightly against that body...

  Moisture filled her mouth and she fisted her hands against her thighs while striving to keep her features neutral, fighting the fresh hunger uncoiling itself inside her.

  For a long moment he stared at her. A smile played on the lips that had kissed her so thoroughly, before he placed his T-shirt on the back of his chair. ‘Are you sure you’re not tempted?’

  ‘Very sure.’ But she wished her voice sounded more convincing and that she was the only one to have heard the husky rasp that had come into it.

  His eyes gleaming, he hunched over to whisper into her ear, ‘Your mouth says one thing, matia mou, but your eyes say another. I know which I believe.’

  The sensation of his warm breath against her skin was all too fleeting for no sooner had he spoken than he was striding away from her.