The Kyriakos Virgin Bride

by Tessa Radley

  “We will talk more tomorrow,” Theos Costas said. He clapped Zac on the shoulder. “Now, my boy, it is time to go dance with your bride.”

  “Hey, Zac, it’s your turn to dance.”

  The call interrupted Pandora from asking what Costas meant by talking more tomorrow. She glanced around and saw two men approaching, grinning widely.

  “Come, Zacharias.”

  Zac threw Pandora a rueful glance. “I was hoping to escape this.”

  “Not a chance.” The taller of the men chuckled, his hawklike features alight with good humour.

  Zac sighed dramatically. “Pandora, meet Tariq and Angelo—more of my cousins.”

  Pandora examined them with interest. Zac had spoken about both men with affection and admiration. When his grandfather, Socrates, had died, each of his three grandsons had inherited a sizeable part of his fortune. As the only son of the only son, Zac had inherited the biggest share. But Tariq and Angelo had been well provided for—as had Zac’s sister.

  Looking from one man to the other, Pandora could discern small similarities. Not only in the family resemblance in the cast of their features but also in the air of command each of the three radiated.

  “Welcome to the family.” It was Angelo who spoke. He had piercing eyes, the colour of the sea, and a crop of golden hair.

  Pandora smiled. “Thank you.”

  Then Tariq took her by the shoulders and bestowed a kiss on each cheek. “Bring your husband and come and visit Zayad.”

  Give us some time alone first,” Zac growled. “We’ll visit in a couple of months.”

  Tariq grinned. “Take your time. Now you better go dance.”

  Zac whisked her off into a large adjoining room where the ensemble was now playing Greek music and guests swayed in seemingly never-ending counterclockwise spirals. At their appearance a shout went up.

  “Zac, here, join in.”

  Dimitri beckoned to them.

  An opening appeared in the hands. Zac pulled Pandora forward. Then they were part of the swaying, shuffling mass. For the first few minutes it was as if she had two left feet, and she struggled to find the steps to the dance, frowning as she watched Zac’s feet beside her. Right step, cross, right foot point to the back, forward, shuffle and a little hop.

  Suddenly the rhythm came, fitting to the strum of the bouzouki on the bandstand. Euphoria swept over her.

  She could do this.

  As Zac moved, her body mirrored his steps. As his arms went back, hers did, too. As he widened the circle, she went with him and the line behind followed. It was heady stuff.

  The music quickened. Zac’s steps quickened. Her feet danced faster and her breath came more rapidly. All around her she could hear a few of the guests singing along in Greek.

  She wished she understood the lyrics.

  Zac’s hand enfolded her right hand, while on the left she linked hands with Dimitri. The person on the other side of him moved forward. Pandora caught the woman’s eye and they exchanged hectic smiles, then Pandora was concentrating on her feet again, taking care not to lose the rhythm.

  The music changed, became softer, slower. She stumbled, Zac’s arm came around her, steadying her, then his hand slid down her arm and took her hand again. Heat shot through her. The steps had changed. A frown pleated her forehead. She bit the tip of her tongue and concentrated furiously.

  “Let the music take you,” Zac murmured. “Relax. Your body must be fluid like the tide in the sea, not stiff like driftwood.”

  Pandora missed the next step.

  His fingers shifted under hers. “Loosen your grip on my hand. You’re trying too hard. Listen to the music, feel it ebb and flow through your body.”

  Pandora concentrated on the plaintive wail of the singer’s voice.

  “She’s singing about her love who went away.” His voice was low. “Each day she waits at the wharf for his boat to return, she is sure he will come back for her.”

  The music caught Pandora up. Loss and grief filled the singer’s voice. Tears thickened the back of Pandora’s throat.

  “That’s right. Now you have it.” Zac sounded triumphant.

  Pandora jerked back to reality.

  She was following the steps. “How on earth did that happen?” she asked, amazed.

  “Greek music comes from the heart. The dancing translates the music. Your body must feel the music.” His gaze held hers. “It is easy. It’s about what you feel. Don’t make it difficult by thinking about technique, about complex things. Just feel the emotion. The joy of love, the pain of betrayal. The steps will follow.”

  A warm flush of accomplishment filled her. The music flowed through her, her feet shifted, her body sequayed forward as she followed Zac.

  Again the music changed.

  The line broke apart.

  Zac tugged her hand. “We’ll sit this one out.” A waiter materialised with a tray of champagne flutes and tall glasses of ice water. “Would you like a drink? Champagne?”

  She was hot and thirsty from the effort of the dancing. “Just water, please.”

  Zac handed her a glass. She sipped, the ice bumping against her top lip. Placing the empty glass on a passing tray, she said, “That was wonderful.”

  “Come, let’s go somewhere cooler.” He guided her, skirting the edge of the room. “You picked up the steps easily.”

  She laughed up at him. “Not easily. You’ll have to teach me more—when we’re alone.” If that ever happened.

  His mouth curved. “Perhaps on our honeymoon, hmm?” He led her through the open French doors. Outside, the night air was warm and stars studded the black velvet sky. Zac reached up and tore off the bow tie and undid the top button of his shirt.

  Her heartbeat picked up. “So we’re going to have a honeymoon? Some time together? Totally alone?”

  “Oh, yes.” He leaned against a pillar and, reaching out, pulled her toward him, his eyes darkening. “Totally alone. I think we deserve it.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I will surprise you. Suffice to say there will be sun, sea and only Georgios and Maria, the couple who look after the villa.”

  Excitement thrummed through her. “I can’t wait. When do we go?”

  “Tomorrow,” Zac’s voice turned husky. “I, too, can’t wait.”

  Inside, the music had stopped.

  There was an instant of simmering silence. She could feel Zac’s gaze, intense, waiting.

  Waiting for her to move. To do something. Say something. She did not know what he expected. So she did what she wanted. She rose on tiptoe, pressed her lips against his…and the fire caught. Zac moaned, his lips parting under hers.

  His mouth was hot and hungry.

  Distantly she could hear the next song starting. She blocked it all out. And concentrated on Zac. On that taunting, teasing mouth that she couldn’t get enough of.

  Then Zac was straightening. “This isn’t the place for this. Anyone could see us. Come.” He tugged her hand.

  “Zac, we can’t just leave,” Pandora protested, casting a frantic glance back inside.

  “Of course we can.” He stopped. His gaze was hot, stripping away thought, leaving nothing but a raw awareness of his strength, his masculinity. Perspiration added a sexy sheen to those sculpted cheekbones and his mouth curved in a wickedly hungry smile. “Why should we stay one more minute when we both want to leave?”

  “Because…” Pandora tried to summon her objections, to search desperately for a reason. But all she could think of was the way the silk shirt clung to his damp body. His body. Staring at the bare slice of skin at his throat, she swallowed, then said halfheartedly, “Because it’s our wedding and we haven’t cut the cake.”

  He shrugged. “The cake can wait. We can cut it at lunch tomorrow. Now come.” Zac gave her hand an impatient tug.

  “Lunch?” She stopped.

  “For my family. To present my bride to them.” He pulled her to him and linked his arms behind her back.


  “Oh.” She’d thought that once tonight was over she’d have Zac to herself. That from tomorrow they’d be alone. On their honeymoon, as he’d promised, without hordes of people and bodyguards. Obviously not. Enfolded in the circle of his arms, she still felt compelled to ask, “I thought we were going on honeymoon?”

  “Afterward.” He shot her a rakish smile, his face close to hers. “Be patient, wife. You haven’t had a chance to meet my family—you told me that yourself. I’ve hogged you to myself for five whole days. But the whole clan are here—it will be a while before they’ll get together again. I thought we’d take the opportunity to let you get to know them a little outside the crush of the wedding.”

  “I see.” Instantly, she felt contrary, confused. She wanted to be alone with Zac. But she also wanted to meet his family, his best friends. She wanted to have a chance to talk with Angelo and Tariq and get to know them better. She wanted to ask Dimitri and Stacy what Zac had been like as a little boy. And she wanted to meet his sister.

  She wanted them to approve of her.

  Zac was quite right. She should meet them. Tomorrow. Nerves started to churn in her stomach. “What if they don’t like me?”

  One hand came forward and tipped her chin up. “How can they not? You’re perfect.” His teeth glittered in the dim light, and she made out the glimmer of steel in his eyes. “Who would dare question my judgement?”

  Her stomach churned some more. Jeez, she was far from perfect. Had Zac set her up on some sort of pedestal? She licked suddenly dry lips. What if his sister hated her? Zac would not tolerate anyone questioning his choice of bride.

  Pandora bit her lip and told herself it would be okay. She was the chosen bride of Zac Kyriakos. His family would accept her or face the consequences. They would love her.

  As Zac did.

  They had to. She’d do her best to make it happen. And what she couldn’t get right, Zac would sort out. She snuggled closer. Sometimes she forgot his power. Sometimes he was simply Zac, the man she adored.

  “Stop worrying, everything will be okay.” His head dipped and his lips met hers. Pandora’s breasts brushed his chest and all her concerns vanished. All she could think of was Zac…his hungry mouth, the strength in the hard arms around her, holding her close, making every atom in her body vibrate with longing.

  He tore his mouth away and drew a gasping breath of air. “Now can we leave?”

  “Yes.” She sighed.

  Two

  Zac strode to the drinks cabinet in the corner of the sitting room that formed part of the master suite and poured himself two fingers of the single malt scotch whisky he preferred. A couple of long, raking strides took him to the window. He stared blindly out, not seeing the city lights in the distance. All he could think about was the disturbing silence in his bedroom. His wife was on the other side of the door behind him. He wondered if she was ready for him.

  His gut tightened.

  He’d been waiting for this moment for three months. He’d been patient. A damned saint.

  Throughout their courtship he hadn’t dared stay in close proximity with his bride-to-be. He’d allowed himself only two fleeting visits, each flight on the Kyriakos Gulfstream jet taking twenty-five hours and necessitating a halfway stop in Los Angeles to refuel. The almost fifty hours he’d spent in the air had taken more time than he’d spent with his fiancée, but it had been worth it. To see her. To touch her.

  Briefly.

  Circumspectly.

  And then he’d jetted off before he’d lost it. Before he pulled her into his arms, onto the wide bed in one of the luxurious wooden cabins he’d occupied at High Ridge Station and ravished her to the full extent of his need. His passion would have stunned her. It had shocked him.

  Zeus, but she was temptation itself with her silky pale hair and wide-set silver eyes and her slight body with narrow wrists and ankles that made her look so delicate.

  But now they were man and wife. All that separated them was a door. He swivelled and stared at the solid wooden door and swallowed.

  He had to take it slowly, had to control the vast sea of desire that seethed inside him. The last thing he wanted was to terrify the wits out of his bride on her wedding night. Because Pandora was an innocent.

  A virgin.

  His virgin bride.

  And now it was his wedding night.

  Zac intended to savour every moment. Never in his thirty-one years had he made love to a virgin. His outdated sense of honour had always demanded that he choose women who knew the score as his lovers.

  But his wife was a different matter.

  He was horrified to discover he was nervous. His hands shook around the glass he held—and telling himself the nerves came from desire, not fear, didn’t help. Zac stared into the amber liquid. He didn’t drink as a rule. Had never been drunk in his life—nor even a little inebriated. He despised people who used their addictions as a crutch.

  But tonight was different….

  Tipping back his head, he downed the scotch and set the glass down. Plucking up his courage—Dutch courage, he thought mordantly—he made for the bedroom door.

  Standing in the centre of Zac’s rich burgundy-and-gold bedroom—her bedroom, too, now—and conscious of the immense bed behind her, Pandora watched as the heavy brass door handle twisted. Something squeezed tight deep inside her. The door opened and Zac stepped through.

  He came to an abrupt standstill.

  He’d showered, she saw at once, and changed his clothes. The close-fitting black pants and oversize white shirt were sexy as hell. She flushed as she realised he was watching her with as much interest as she assessed him. Instantly heat flickered in her belly and her breath caught in the back of her throat.

  “You’re still dressed.” He sounded disappointed. “I thought I’d give you the chance to shower, to—”

  “I need you to undo the buttons down the back,” she rushed to speak. “I didn’t think about arranging for anyone to be here to help me undo them.” And no one had offered. Obviously the dressmaker who’d helped her get ready this morning had thought her bridegroom would relish the task. Just the thought made her flush. Quickly she continued, “I washed my face, but I need to get this gown off.” She’d washed as well as she could, removed her makeup, brushed her teeth. Nothing more to do until the dress was gone.

  “Of course! How stupid of me…I didn’t think.” He came nearer.

  Excitement clamoured inside her. She tried not to shiver. But when he stood in front of her, the little tremors of anticipation started to race across her skin.

  “Turn around,” he whispered, dropping to his knees.

  She needed no second bidding. The ancient silk rustled as she turned. She could hear Zac’s steady breathing behind her, feel her heart start to pound as she waited….

  A whisper of air caressed her ankles as he lifted the hem.

  There was a small pull and she knew the lowest button was free. Little tug after little tug told her of Zac’s successes as he worked his way up from the hem.

  “Zeus, did the original seamstress have to use so many buttons? There must be at least two hundred—and they’re tiny!”

  “There are seventy-five buttons. The dressmaker doing the alterations counted them each time she took the dress off after a fitting. It takes forever to undo—even with a buttonhook.”

  “I dearly hope not.” There was laughter in Zac’s voice…and something else…something dark and sensual that caused her pulse to thrum through her head. “And I don’t see a buttonhook.”

  She struggled to regain her composure. “If this were a fairy tale, you’d have waited one hundred years for this moment.”

  “I think I’ve been waiting my whole life,” he muttered. Then he said, “If this were a fairy tale I wouldn’t need a buttonhook. I’d have my magical trusted sword and I’d be able to slit a line down here—” His voice broke off and he traced a line from the small of her back, down over the curve of her bottom, and Pandora shudd
ered.

  “Then I’d slide that dress off….” His voice trailed away, and she could hear that his breathing had speeded up.

  “But you haven’t got a magical sword, so you’re going to have to do it—”

  “The old-fashioned way. Slowly, taking my time, enjoying the experience,” he murmured, and Pandora gasped as his hand slid up the inside of her calf, to her knee, where it stopped. “A couple more buttons and I’ll be able to touch your thigh.”

  His fingers gave her bare skin a last caress, then slid away. Pandora sighed with disappointment.

  “Don’t worry, yineka mou, there will be lots of touching and stroking. We have the whole night ahead of us…and I’m going to take it very slowly. I promise.”

  “Then I think I might just die of pleasure tonight,” she whispered, breathless from arousal.

  “Aah, wife of mine, do not say such things. I am trying very hard to keep my cool. Don’t melt it or it will all be over before we begin.”

  “I thought we’d already begun.”

  Zac groaned. “Wife, be silent! I need to undo these buttons as quickly as I can and you are distracting me.” His breath caught and his hands stilled. “What the hell is this?”

  “The garter. I wasn’t sure if you followed the custom of throwing it…so I wore one anyway.” Still kneeling behind her, his fingers moved again, soft against her thigh, running under the garter belt. “It’s blue…for the rhyme. You know, Something borrowed, something blue. I thought the dress could pass as something borrowed.” She was babbling now, but she didn’t care. His touch was driving her crazy…and if she didn’t babble, she might just grab that hand…bring it around to her pebble-hard nipples for him to douse the aching.

  But his fingers were retreating, and she could feel the garter sliding down her leg. He lifted her foot, hooked the garter off, then he spun her around, and rose to his full height.