The Greek's Virgin Bride

by Julia James

  'This conversation,' said Andrea, her voice as tight as a drawn bowstring as she tamped down the fury that filled her as she heard this vile man speak so of her mother, 'is pointless. I am leaving for London. Be so good as to order a car to take me to the airport.'

  Yiorgos Coustakis's dark face suffused with colour.

  'You are going nowhere! You will stay in your room until the morning of your wedding if you take that attitude with me! I will be master in my own house!' His fist slammed down on to the bedcovering. 'And if it takes something more than in­carceration to bring you to heel, then so be it! A good beating will turn you docile!'

  Andrea paled. A memory of those two expressionless secu­rity staff sprang into her mind. Fear stabbed at her. He saw it, and smiled. Her blood chilled as she saw him.

  'Hah! Do you think I wouldn't? I thrashed your father with my belt often enough! He soon learnt obedience!' His face darkened. 'Until he met the whore who gave you birth! Then he defied me! I sent him packing! He would have got not a penny from me—if he hadn't smashed himself to pieces in his hurry to get back between the slut's legs!'

  She felt the horror of it as if it had been yesterday. Her father, terrorised and abused by this foul man who had caused such misery, and then, just when happiness was at last within his reach, to have it all snatched from him—even his life.

  'You vile, vile man...'she whispered. 'You're not fit to live.'

  The dark, soulless eyes scorched through her. 'Get out, be­fore I take my belt to you myself! I will not be defied by you— or anyone!'

  'Oh, I'm going,' said Andrea. 'If I have to walk into Athens on foot, I'm going!'

  His face contorted.

  'You will not be allowed to step foot outside this house until Nikos Vassilis takes you off my hands!'

  She shook her head. 'You are mistaken. I am leaving—to­day.'

  'From inside a locked room? I think not!'

  Andrea looked at him steadily. Now was the time to make things clear to him.

  'That,' she said, her eyes like stones, 'would be unwise. You see, if I don't make a certain phone call every night, the British embassy in Athens will be alerted that I am being held against my will. You will not, I am sure, wish to be charged with imprisoning me! Let alone invite the feast me press will make of it!'

  The effect of her words was visible. He spat something at her in Greek. She smiled scornfully.

  His face contorted. 'And if I make you make that phone call?'

  The threat was open—and quite plain to understand.

  'Oh, that would be unwise too. You see—' she smiled un­pleasantly, hiding the shudder that had gone through her at his words '—if that should happen then I might give the wrong code word during the conversation...'

  As if a shutter had dropped, her grandfather's face suddenly became completely unreadable. There was nothing there—none of the fury and temper that had been blazing from him a mo­ment ago.

  'Tell me,' he said suddenly, 'if you please, just why is it that you are so averse to the prospect of marrying Nikos Vassilis?'

  His change of tack took her aback. Then she rallied. 'Is that a serious question? It's too absurd to be worth asking!'

  'Why? Is he not a fine man to look at? He would make a handsome husband, ne? His reputation with your sex, I under­stand—' his voice became sly '—is spectacular! Women flock to him, and not just because of his money!'

  'Money?' Andrea caught at the word. 'He's a fortune-hunter! He admitted as much.'

  Yiorgos Coustakis gave a harsh laugh. 'He seeks to net a greater fortune, that is all! Do you imagine I would entrust my empire to someone untried and untested? Nikos Vassilis has his own fortune—he will not waste mine by incompetence and mismanagement!'

  She frowned, trying to take in this turnabout. Her grandfather went on. 'Vassilis Inc is capitalised at over rive hundred million euros! He's been after a merger with Coustakis Industries for the last eighteen months—he's an ambitious man, and now, finally, I have decided to let him realise his ambitions.' His voice hardened. 'But I've driven the price higher—he has to marry you before I sign the deal.'

  Andrea's brain was racing, trying to make sense of what she was hearing.

  'Why?' she said bluntly. 'You've denied my existence for twenty-five years, ever since your goons forced my mother to the airport and shoved her on a plane back to England!'

  Nothing showed in his face, not a trace of regret or shame, as she related the way Yiorgos Coustakis had disposed of the woman who had dared to tell him she was pregnant by his dead son.

  'Why?' Yiorgos Coustakis echoed. 'Because you carry my blood. You and no one else. I have no choice but to use you, tainted though your blood is. When you marry Nikos Vassilis he will guard my fortune, and my blood will pass through you to your son. He will be my heir. I have had to wait two gen­erations, but I shall have my heir!'

  There was a fierceness of possession in his eyes that even his inscrutable expression could not disguise.

  So, thought Andrea, as his words sank in, this is what it's all about. I am the vessel for his posterity. Revulsion filled her. Yiorgos Coustakis was nearing the end of his misbegotten life and he wanted the only immortality he could find.

  She looked at him. He had everything money could buy, but as a human being he was worthless. He had no kindness in him, no compassion, no gentleness, no feeling for anyone ex­cept himself. He had treated his own son like a possession to be beaten into obedience, and her mother had been instantly condemned as a gold-digger trying to get at his precious money!

  And now, twenty-five years later, she was standing in front of him, knowing that she was the only person in the world who could give him what he wanted. The final thing he wanted.

  The memory of Tony's voice echoed in her mind. Look, if he does want you for something, then if he doesn 't want you to refuse he's going to have to do something you want.

  And there was something she wanted. Something she had travelled over a thousand miles to get—the money for her mother that was not just her escape to the sun but her reparation as well. Justice. Finally.

  Her grandfather's eyes were resting on her. Seeing her as a tool to be used. Nothing more. Her heart hardened. Well, tools had to be paid for.

  Five minutes ago she had wanted nothing except to shake the dust of her grandfather's house from her feet. Now she wanted to get what she came for.

  Money.

  His shoulders relaxed into the pillow as he read her mind.

  'So,' he said, 'tell me—what price do you set on opening your legs to Nikos Vassilis with a ring on your finger to keep you respectable?'

  The sneer in his voice was irrelevant. So was the insult and the crudity. Everything about him was irrelevant—except the money he would pay her. Her heart was hard, like stone all the way through. Somewhere in the back of her mind a memory was flickering—the memory of being held in strong arms, her body on fire with soft, seductive flame...

  She thrust it away. That kiss had been nothing to do with her. Nikos Vassilis had kissed her because she was the gateway to Coustakis Industries. No other reason. She just hadn't real­ised it at the time. Now that she did she must not read anything more into it. Nothing.

  'Five hundred thousand pounds,' she announced crisply. 'Sterling. Paid into a bank account in London of my choosing, in my name—Andrea Fraser.'

  She gave her mother's surname—her name—deliberately. She was no Coustakis. Never had been. Never would be.

  His laugh was derisive. 'You set a high price on yourself for the daughter of a penniless slut!'

  Nothing showed in her face. She would not allow it.

  'You need me. So you'll pay for me. That's all.'

  A flash of fury showed in his eyes. 'Do you think that as the wife of Nikos Vassilis you will live the life of a pauper? You will live in a luxury you can hardly dream of! You should be grateful, grateful—on your knees that I have plucked you out of your slum to live such a life as I am offering you!'
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br />   'Five hundred thousand.' Her voice was implacable. She needed that much to clear the last of Kim's debts, buy her a decent apartment in Spain, and have enough left over to invest safely for an income for her mother to live on, albeit modestly, for the rest of her life. 'Or I go back to London today.'

  Dark eyes bored into hers. She could see the hatred in them. The loathing that this tool he wanted to use was daring to defy him. But defy him she would—she had something he wanted, and he would have to pay for it. Just as Tony had said.

  But he would not go down easily.

  'You get not a penny until you are married.'

  She laughed scornfully. "There will be no marriage,' she said as her eyes narrowed, 'unless I am paid.'

  Even as she spoke her mind was splintering in two. What was she doing here? What was she thinking of, selling herself like this? She must be mad! Quite mad!

  But then the other side of her mind slammed back. This was no time for scruples, no time for doubts! It was now or never— this was her one and only chance to get reparation for Kim. She would do whatever it took! And agreeing to marry a total stranger was what it was going to take.

  A stranger who can melt your bones in a single embrace? Oh, be careful—be careful of what you are doing!

  Compunction flashed at her. She was standing here, negoti­ating a price to marry Nikos Vassilis as if she were doing nothing more than haggling over a CD at a car-boot sale! How low was she stooping?

  Then her heart hardened again. And hadn't Nikos Vassilis stood in front of Yiorgos Coustakis and negotiated a price to get hold of Coustakis Industries? A price that included mar­riage to a woman he'd never set eyes on? What kind of man did that?

  No, she need feel no shame, no compunction. The man who had kissed her last night deserved no more regard than did her grandfather!

  For one long, last moment she held her grandfather's eyes, refusing to back down. It was too important to even think of giving in. At last, after what seemed like an eternity of chal­lenge, he suddenly snarled, 'On your wedding morning—and not till then! Now, get out!'

  CHAPTER SIX

  Nikos sat in his boardroom, lounging back in his leather chair at the head of the table, listening to his directors droning on about the impact of the merger with Coustakis Industries. He wasn't listening. Wasn't paying the slightest attention. His heart was stormy.

  What the hell kind of woman had he agreed to marry? A raging hell-cat! A spoilt brat of a pampered princess! An ill-mannered, ill-tempered, badly behaved harpy who threw tan­trums and hysterics at the drop of a hat! A true Coustakis!

  His jaw tightened. The last thing on earth he needed was a wife who took after Yiorgos Coustakis!

  A splinter of grudging admiration stabbed him. The girl hadn't flinched from confronting Old Man Coustakis. She'd just stormed in there and laid in to him!

  A smile almost curved his mouth at the recollection. Theos, but it had been a sight to see. Someone giving as good as they got from that vicious brute whose ugly reputation made most people walk on tiptoes around him, from house servants to business associates. Even he trod carefully around the old bar­racuda! At least until Coustakis Industries was his to run.

  The smile turned to a frown. For all that, however, it was not behaviour to condone. Certainly not in the woman who would be Mrs Nikos Vassilis. It was unthinkable that his wife should behave like that—for whatever reason!

  The frown deepened—but from a different cause this time. Had the girl truly not known of her grandfather's marriage plans for her? It was typical of Yiorgos Coustakis not to bother himself with trivial details such as telling his granddaughter what husband he had chosen for her. In which case, Nikos knew he had to acknowledge, the girl had a right to object to having been kept in the dark about such an important matter. True, her reaction had been wildly over the top, but in the first immediate shock of the news it was understandable that she should be affronted at her grandfather's typically high-handed behaviour in keeping her ignorant of her future.

  An image flashed in his mind. Yiorgos Coustakis slashing his hand down across Andrea's cheek. Nikos straightened sud­denly in his chair. Anger clenched at him. Theos, but the old man was a brute! Who cared if he was from a generation that thought nothing of beating children? Who cared if his grand­daughter had provoked him by yelling like a harridan in front of the man he had chosen for her husband? No man ever hit a woman. Ever.

  Revulsion filled him. Whilst he would never dream of raising his fist to a man of Yiorgos's age, the memory of him hitting his granddaughter burned.

  I've got to get her out of there!

  A surge of emotion swept through him—not anger with that brute of an old man. Something he had never felt about any woman before. A fierce, urgent burst of protect:veness.

  Abruptly he lifted a hand, cutting off whatever his sales di­rector was saying.

  'Gentlemen, my apologies, but I must leave you. Please con­tinue with the meeting.'

  Ten minutes later he was in his Ferrari and nosing through the impossibly jammed streets of Athens. Heading out of town.

  Andrea sat out on the terrace overlooking the ornate gardens that spread like an embroidered skirt around her grandfather's opulent villa. Her heart was heavy—but resolved. The final scene with her grandfather replayed itself over and over again hi her head. Was she insane, even to contemplate going along with what he wanted? This wasn't just some kind of trivial business contract she had agreed to—this was marriagel

  The enormity of what she committed herself to overwhelmed her, making it seem almost unreal. So much had happened so quickly! Less than two days ago she had been at home, in her own drab but familiar world. Now she was sitting on a sun­drenched terrace beneath a Mediterranean sun—about to marry a complete stranger!

  Panic rose in her throat and she fought it down.

  It's not a real marriagel It's just a wedding ceremony. That's all. The day after the wedding I'll he on a plane to London! My 'husband' will be glad to see the back of me!

  And I'll have half a million pounds waiting for me in the bank!

  She and Kim could be in Spain, house-hunting, in a month!

  The warm sun poured down on her, bathing her legs stretched out in front of her. They had been aching since last night—wearing high heels was never a good idea—and the strain and tension of the past day and a half was telling. Gently she stretched and eased them, rubbing her hands lightly along her thighs in a careful massage.

  The warmth did them good, she knew. Living in Spain would help. She would get work there, enough to keep Kim and herself, so that Kim could take life easy at last. Spain was full of Brits now; she was bound to be able to get some kind of job, even if she didn't speak Spanish yet.

  I'll invite Tony and Linda for a holiday she thought happily. They'd been so good to her; it would be great to give some­thing back. She'd had to phone Tony from her room, just a short while ago, telling him she was staying after all. It had taken quite a lot to convince him she really meant it, that one of her grandfather's bully-boys hadn't been twisting her arm to say so!

  Cold filled her. Her grandfather was unspeakable—her every worst fear about him was deserved! He really would have thought it perfectly acceptable to keep her a prisoner here and force her into marrying that man!

  That man—

  Memory leapt in her throat. It was here, on this terrace, that she had first laid eyes on him, not twenty-four hours ago. Here, beneath the beguiling stars, that he had slid her into his arms and kissed her...

  I'm going to marry him...

  A shaft of pure excitement sliced through her. She felt a quickening inside herself. That man, that drop-dead, fabulous-looking, breathtaking man, whose touch had set fire to her, melting her very being into him, Nikos Vassilis, was going to be her husband...

  Reality hit like a cold douche. Of course he wasn't going to be her husband! Not for more than a day! All he was to her was her passport to Spain with her mother, nothing more
!

  And all I am to him is his passport to my grandfather's money!

  Her lips pressed together. What kind of man was he that would even think of marrying a woman he'd never laid eyes on just to get hold of an even bigger fortune than he yet had? That he wasn't even a fortune-hunter somehow made it worse! Being poor herself, she knew how tempting it must be to think that you could claw your way out of poverty the easy way. But if Nikos Vassilis was already rich, had already made his pile, then why did he want even more? If his company really was worth five hundred million euros then a fraction of what he already possessed would have kept her and Kim in luxury by their standards!