The Greek's Virgin Bride

by Julia James

  'For now you must put your mind to where we shall live. For the moment I propose my apartment in Athens, but I would prefer, I admit, a more permanent property. We can have a house in London, of course, for when you want to be with your English relatives, and I suggest we buy a villa on one of the islands as well, where we can relax in private.'

  'Fine,' said Andrea. The issue was academic; it didn't matter what she said.

  Tonight, she thought, over dinner, or perhaps, better still, in the hotel suite, where I don't have to worry about waiters hov­ering or other diners looking us over, I can tell him the truth about me. That will put an end to this farce.

  Nikos gave up. He had done his best to be civil, but enough was enough. He felt rough. He had been working like crazy ever since Old Man Coustakis had dangled the prospect of a takeover in front of him. Mergers and acquisitions didn't hap­pen overnight—-the planning and preparation involved was im­mense. On top of that he still had to keep Vassilis Inc. rolling along, even while he was gearing it up to ingest the much larger Coustakis Industries. It had not, he thought grimly, been the best time to have to go off wooing a bride! Nevertheless he had found the time to squire Andrea around, knowing that be­ing seen prominently in public with her was all part of con­vincing the Athens business community—and beyond—of the reality of his intentions towards Coustakis Industries.

  But for all the evenings spent taking Andrea out he was still no closer to seeing anything more of her than the closed, con­trolled surface she presented to him. There was certainly a deal of English blood in her, all right, he thought, exasperated. All that cool, calm, collected front she insisted on—polite, but dis­tant. The only time he'd seen any trace of enthusiasm in her had been the other evening at the concert—then her eyes had shone like glossy chestnuts in autumn, and a vitality had filled her usually deadpan expression, catching at him. For a moment, he recalled, as he had looked down at her something had moved in her eyes....

  But that had been the only moment. Maybe he had just imag­ined it anyway. Certainly the only way he was guaranteed to get a reaction from her was by reminding her, as he took such satisfaction in doing, of just how fragile that English sang-froid of hers really was! Of how a single touch could set her thrum­ming with sexual awareness of him. That was the only currency she responded to! However much she tried to suppress her responsiveness to him.

  He looked across at her. She was still staring out of the window, ignoring him. Well, let her! It gave him the oppor­tunity to look her over. Catalogue, in his discerning mind, all her sensual charms—from the generous fullness of her mouth to the richness of her breasts, the long line of her legs...

  He felt himself relax for the first time that day. It was done. Today had set the seal on his long, long ascent from the rough streets of Athens to the pinnacle of his achievements.

  And he knew exactly how to celebrate.

  He closed his eyes and gave himself to the pleasure of con­templating just how good it would be to have the woman beside him beneath him.

  ‘Where the hell are we?'

  Andrea's voice was sharp.

  'Piraeus,' replied Nikos. 'The port of Athens.'

  'The what?’

  "The port of Athens,' Nikos repeated. 'Where we embark.'

  'Embark?'

  Nikos looked across at her. Now what was she making a fuss about?

  Andrea gazed wildly out of the window. She had been pay­ing no attention to their journey from her grandfather's villa, deliberately diverting her mind from what she had just done by thinking about what would be involved in moving Kim out to Spain as soon as possible. But instead of drawing up outside some five-star hotel in the middle of Athens, whence she could easily take a taxi to the airport the following morning, the car had stopped on what she could now see was a quayside, along­side what seemed to be a huge, gleaming vessel.

  The chauffeur opened her door and stood back to let her get out. Stiffly, aware that her legs had suddenly started to ache again with unexpected tension, Andrea climbed out and looked around her.

  There was a vessel moored at the quayside all right. Absolutely huge. Vast. Stretching like a gleaming monster from bow to stern. A wide gangplank faced her.

  'Come,' said Nikos.

  He took her arm.

  'I'm not going aboard that! What the hell is it?'

  His mouth tightened. Hadn't Yiorgos even bothered to tell his granddaughter about his latest spending spree?

  'It's your grandfather's new toy,' he told her. 'He's lent it to us for our honeymoon.'

  Andrea stared. 'I thought we were going to spend the night in Athens. At a hotel.'

  'What for?' countered Nikos. 'We might as well set sail as soon as possible.'

  'I'm not going on that thing!'

  Her face was set. Aware, as she was blissfully not, of the highly interested if superficially indifferent attention not only of the chauffeur but of the crewmen at the foot of the gang­plank, Nikos impelled her forward. He was not about to have his brand-new bride balk him.

  She stumbled slightly, and with a sudden gesture Nikos swept her up into his arms. She gave a small shriek, but Nikos only gave a victor's laugh.

  'I'm carrying you over the threshold.' He grinned down at her, as much for the sake of his audience as himself, and plunged up the gangplank.

  Short of screaming blue murder, Andrea had no option but to let herself be carried aboard the monstrous vessel. She was too terrified to struggle in case they both landed in the murky water lapping beneath the gangplank.

  Nikos set her down on the deck and said something in Greek to the man standing there. Hurriedly she smoothed down her jacket and tried to regain her composure. Then Nikos was in­troducing her.

  'This is Captain Petrachos, Andrea mow,' he said smoothly.

  Andrea took in a smartly dressed middle-aged man in an immaculate white naval uniform, with a lot of rings around his cuffs and gold epaulettes, sporting a trim, nautical beard.

  'Welcome aboard, Kyria Vassilis. I hope you have a very enjoyable voyage.'

  'Thank you,' she murmured in a strangled voice. It wouldn't be an enjoyable voyage, she thought wildly, it would be a very short one!

  'If you're both ready, I'll get her underway.'

  'Thank you,' said Nikos. He held out a hand to Andrea. 'Come, let us explore.'

  His fingers closed around hers, tighter than was strictly nec­essary. Meekly, Andrea went off with him. She was rearranging her thoughts as quickly as possible. OK, so she had assumed— rashly so, it seemed!—that they would spend the first night of their honeymoon at some luxury hotel in the middle of Athens. Instead they were launching out on this floating private liner! Well, she thought grimly, so what? Her ludicrous marriage

  could come to a speedy and ignominious end here as well as anywhere else! They'd be docked right back here again before tomorrow morning.

  Despite her best intentions to remain indifferent to her oh-so-temporary accommodation, Andrea found her eyes widening automatically as Nikos conducted her around the boat.

  It was opulent beyond belief! Everywhere she looked there was rare wood panelling, silk, velvet and leather upholstery, gold and silver fittings, cashmere, suede and skins on floors and walls, inlays and gilding all around. A fortune must have been paid to fit out the interior, let alone the cost of the massive yacht itself, thought Andrea.

  As they were shown round by an oh-so-attentive chief stew­ard, Andrea felt increasingly oppressed. What had Nikos called it? Her grandfather's latest toy...

  On the upper deck, she watched the mainland of Greece slip away behind them as the yacht nosed out towards the open sea. Meanwhile Nikos watched the wind billow through Andrea's exquisite hair. Her face was set. Clearly she was still in a mood. Nikos's expression hardened. Just how spoilt was this woman? he thought. Here she was, aboard a yacht that was the last word in extravagance, and she still wasn't happy! He thought back to the days of his childhood, so long ago, when he had been a no-hope
street kid. No pampered upbringing for him! He had got here, to the deck of a luxury yacht, as head of one of Europe's largest companies, Coustakis Industries, by his own efforts.

  And now he was married to Yiorgos Coustakis's grand­daughter.

  Well, he had better make the most of it...

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Champagne beaded in Andrea's glass, fizzing gently. She took another sip. Across the table from her, Nikos did likewise. They were in the dining room—a vast expanse dominated by a huge ebony table, lavishly set with crystal and gold. A suf­focating smell of lilies permeated the atmosphere, emanating from the banks of bouquets all around the room. Above their heads a vast chandelier shed its light upon them. Four uni­formed stewards stood in a line to one side, ready to do the slightest thing that the honeymoon couple required of them. Deep below the steady thrum of the vessel's motor was the only indication that they were actually on board a boat—the windows were obliterated by vast swathes of black velvet, tas-selled in gold, reflecting the gold and black patterning in the deep, soft carpet under Andrea's feet.

  She picked at her food. It had probably cost a fortune, just like everything else around her.

  'You would prefer something else?' Nikos broke the op­pressive silence.

  'No, thank you. I'm simply not hungry.' Andrea's voice sounded more clipped than she intended, but civility was hard to project right now. Her whole body felt as if it had been tied into an excruciatingly tight knot.

  You 've got to tell him! End. this farce right now.1 Then you can go to bed—alone!—and the yacht can start heading back to port.

  She wished she had managed to talk to Nikos earlier. She should have stopped him leaving her alone on the deck, when he, with nothing more than a brief, 'There are a few matters I must attend to—excuse me,' disappeared into the interior. But he had not reappeared until a short while ago. In the meantime a stewardess had politely enquired when she would like dinner served, and when she would like to change for it. Helplessly, Andrea had gone along with her, telling her to refer to Mr Vassilis re the timing of dinner.

  My, what a good little Greek wife I sound! she had thought. Deferring to my husband right from the start!

  Husband—the word echoed in her brain.

  I'm in shock, she thought, as her fork lifted mechanically to her mouth. I never really believed this would happen. I blanked it out, focussed only on the money for Kim. But it's real; it happened. I married Nikos Vassilis today and he's sitting op­posite me, and I still haven't told him that this is going to be the shortest marriage in history!

  So tell him now!

  I should send away the crew, she thought—get rid of them all. Then simply open my mouth and tell him Fm leaving in the morning.

  Instead, she found her mind wandering off. What on earth did all those stewards think? she wondered. A pair of newly-weds eating in stony silence? Did they think anything? Did they care? Were they even human? Their faces were totally expressionless. She had a sudden vision of them being an­droids, like something out of science fiction, and had to sup­press a hysterical laugh. Quickly she snapped her mind onto something else.

  Like who on earth had been in charge of the interior design of this place? They should be taken out and shot, she thought viciously. To spend such money for such atrocious results seemed like a criminal offence. The decor was hideous, just hideous!

  Nikos looked across at her. Her eyes were working around the room disdainfully. Was she picking out flaws, signs of cheapness? he wondered sourly. He glanced down at her plate. She had stopped eating.

  With sudden decision Nikos pushed his plate away from him. He was in no mood to eat. No mood to go on sitting here, with a row of statues like a silent Greek chorus witnessing his bride display her feelings about marrying him.

  He got to his feet. Andrea started, and looked up at him.

  'Come.'

  He held out a hand to her. His mouth was a thin line.

  She hesitated a fraction. There was something about him that unnerved her, but at the same time she, too, felt an overpow­ering urge to get out of this oppressive room. And after all she needed to speak privately with him, so she might as well go with Mm.

  As he headed towards the door one of the stewards was there before him, attentively opening it. Andrea hurried after Nikos in the same tight green evening dress she'd worn her first night in Greece as he strode along the wide, thickly carpeted corridor. He flung open a door at the end and held it for her.

  She went inside.

  It was their bedroom.

  Mahogany panelled the room from floor to ceiling, and in the middle a gigantic bed, swathed in gold silk, held centre stage. Ornate gold light fittings marched around the room. She dragged her eyes away.

  Do it—do it now!

  'I've got something to tell you.'

  Andrea's voice sounded high-pitched and clipped.

  'How remarkable. My silent bride deigns to speak.'

  His sarcasm cut at her. She lifted her chin.

  'You might as well know,' she said, 'I'm going back to England tomorrow. I'm filing for divorce.'

  Nikos stared at her, completely stilled. The grey of his eyes was like cold, hard slate. Andrea felt her hands clench at her sides. Her legs had started to ache, sensing the tension in the rest of her body.

  'You are mistaken.'

  The brief, bald sentence was quietly spoken, but the nape of Andrea's neck crawled.

  'I'm not staying with you!' The pitch of her voice had risen.

  'And may I be permitted to ask—' the icy softness cut slivers of flesh from her '—what has led you to make this...unexpected announcement?'

  Somehow she managed to stand her ground.

  "I should have thought it was obvious! Your sole purpose in marrying me was to clear the way to get hold of my grandfa­ther's company. Now you've done that you don't need to stay married to me for a second longer!'

  'An interesting analysis, but fatally flawed,' he returned.

  'Why?' she demanded.

  'Because,' said Nikos in that same soft voice which now, instead of cutting slivers from her, had somehow, she did not know how, started to send shivers of a quite different nature quivering down her arms, 'you happen to possess charms beyond your possession of Yiorgos Coustakis's DNA. Charms,' he went on—and now the shivers spread from her arms across her breasts, her flanks, 'that I fully intend to enjoy.'

  He took a step towards her, the expression in his eyes mak­ing it totally, absolutely clear just what charms he had in mind.

  She jerked backwards.

  'Stay away!'

  He stopped again. 'Don't give me orders, pethi mou. You'll find I don't respond well to them!'

  The edge in his voice, steel beneath the velvet, was a warn­ing.

  It was also a trip point.

  'If you're after sex go and phone for one of your mistresses!' she flung at him.

  He stopped dead.

  'My what?'

  'You heard me—your mistresses! You're running two that the whole world knows about and God knows how many more besides! Go and phone for one of them if you're feeling horny. But don't damn well come near me!'

  His eyes were like splinters.

  'And just how, may I ask, did you come by this informa­tion?'

  b'Oh, I got a full briefing from my grandfather! It was part of his pre-wedding lecture to me not to kick up a fuss about you still having sex with other women. An obedient Greek wife—' she let the sarcasm flow into her voice '—doesn't make a scene over such trifles as her husband's mistresses!'

  Comprehension flooded Nikos's expression, masked by an­ger. Not at Andrea, but at her wretched grandfather. So that was why the girl had done nothing but sulk all day! Thanks, Yiorgos, for another big favour you've done me! Screwing up my marriage before I even get started on it!

  'Right,' he began, 'we'll get a few things clear, I think. Firstly, yes, of course I have had liaisons with other women— I was free to do so and I did! But—
' he held up his hand 4—I have not set eyes on another woman since the day I met you.'

  His assurance left Andrea less than impressed.

  'So you just dumped them, did you? Charming!'

  Nikos shut his eyes briefly, then opened them. 'My relation­ships with both women are—were—what you might call "open",' he said. 'Xanthe Palloupis has several other rich lov­ers who help keep her in the style she fully intends to hold on to for as long as her looks last, and Esme Vandersee—'

  'Esme Vandersee? The supermodel?' Andrea's voice cut in incredulously. 'She's one of the world's most beautiful women!'