Married to a Mistress

by Lynne Graham

  ‘Oh, hell…you’re afraid of heights,’ a lazy drawl murmured.

  A pair of hands closed with firm reassurance round her whip-taut shoulders and eased her back from the parapet and the view that had made her stomach lurch to her soles. ‘I didn’t think of that. Though I suppose I could keep you standing out here and persuade you to agree to just about anything. Sometimes it’s such a challenge to be an honourable man.’

  Shielding her from the source of her mindless terror with his big powerful frame, Angelos propelled her back indoors at speed. Appalled by the attack of panic which had thrown her off balance, Maxie broke free of him then, on legs shaking like cotton wool pins, and bit out accusingly, ‘What would you know about honour?’

  ‘The Greek male can be extremely sensitive on that subject. Think before you speak,’ Angelos murmured in chilling warning.

  Maxie stared at him in surprise. Angelos stared levelly back at her, black eyes terrifyingly cold.

  And it tore her apart just at that moment to learn that she couldn’t bear him to look at her like that As if she was just anybody, as if she was nobody, as if he didn’t care whether she lived or died.

  ‘You get more nervy every time I see you,’ Angelos remarked with cruel candour. ‘Paler, thinner too. I thought you were pretty tough, but you’re not so tough under sustained pressure. Your stress level is beginning to show.’

  Colour sprang into Maxie’s cheeks, highlighting the feverish look in her gaze. ‘You’re such a bastard sometimes,’ she breathed unevenly.

  ‘And within itself, that’s strange. I’ve never been like this with a woman before. There are times when I aim to hurt you and I shock myself,’ Angelos confided, without any perceptible remorse.

  Yet he still looked so unbelievably good to her, and that terrified her. She couldn’t drag her attention from that lean, strong face, no matter how hard she tried. She couldn’t forget what that silky black hair had felt like beneath her fingertips. She couldn’t stop herself noticing that he was wearing what had inexplicably become the colour she liked best on him. Silver-grey, the suit a spectacular fit for that magnificent physique. And how had she forgotten the way that vibrant aura of raw energy compelled and fascinated her? Cast into deeper shock by the raging torrent of her own frantic thoughts, Maxie felt an intense sense of her own vulnerability engulf her in an alarming wave.

  ‘Relax…I’ve got a decent proposal to put on the table before lunch,’ Angelos purred, strolling soundlessly forwards to curve a confident arm round her rigid spine and guide her across the hall into a dining-room. ‘Trust me…I think you’ll feel like you’ve won the National Lottery.’

  ‘Why won’t you just leave me alone?’ Maxie whispered, taking in the table exquisitely set for two, the waiting trolley that indicated they were not to be disturbed.

  ‘Because you don’t want me to. Even the way you just looked at me…’ Angelos vented a soft husky laugh of very masculine appreciation. ‘You really can’t look at me like that and expect me to throw in the towel.’

  ‘How did I look?’

  ‘Probably much the same way that I look at you,’ he conceded, uncorking a bottle of champagne with a loud pop and allowing the golden liquid to foam expertly down into two fluted glasses. ‘With hunger and hostility and resentment. I am about to wipe out the last two for ever.’

  Angelos slotted the moisture-beaded glass between her taut fingers. Absorbing her incomprehension, he dealt her a slashing smile. ‘The rumour that Angelos Petronides cannot compromise is a complete falsehood. I excell at seeing both points of view and a period of reflection soon clarified the entire problem. The solution is very simple.’

  Maxie frowned uneasily. ‘I don’t know what you’re driving at…’

  ‘What is marriage? Solely a legal agreement.’ Angelos shrugged with careless elegance but she was chilled by that definition. ‘Once I recognised that basic truth, I saw with clarity. I’ll make a deal with you now that suits us both. You sign a prenuptial contract and I will marry you…’

  ‘S-say that again,’ Maxie stammered, convinced she was hallucinating.

  Angelos rested satisfied eyes on her stunned expression. ‘The one drawback will be that you won’t get the public kudos of being my wife. We will live apart much of the time. When I’m in London and I want you here, you will stay in this apartment. I own this entire building. You can have it all to yourself, complete with a full complement of staff and security. The only place we will share the same roof will be on my island in Greece. How am I doing?’

  Maxie’s hand was shaking so badly, champagne was slopping onto the thick, ankle-deep carpet. Was he actually asking her to marry him? Had she got that right or imagined it? And, if she was correct and hadn’t misunderstood, why was he talking about them living apart? And what had that bit been concerning ‘public kudos’? Her brain was in a hopelessly confused state of freefall.

  Angelos took her glass away and set it aside with his own. He pressed her gently down onto the sofa behind her and crouched down at her level to scan her bewildered face.

  ‘If a marriage licence is what it takes to make you feel secure and bring you to my bed, it would be petty to deny you,’ Angelos informed her smoothly. ‘But, since our relationship will obviously not last for ever, it will be a private arrangement between you and I alone.’

  Maxie stopped breathing and simply closed her eyes. He had hurt her before but never as badly as this. Was her reputation really that bad? In his eyes, it evidently was, she registered sickly. He didn’t want to be seen with her. He didn’t want to be linked with her. He would go through the motions of marrying her only so long as it was a ‘private arrangement’. And a temporary one.

  Cool, strong hands snapped round her straining fingers as she began to move them in an effort to jump upright. ‘No…think about it, don’t fly off the handle,’ Angelos warned steadily. ‘It’s a fair, realistic, what-you-see-is-what-you-get offer—’

  ‘A mockery!’ Maxie contradicted fiercely.

  And that had to be the most awful moment imaginable to realise that she was very probably in love with Angelos. It was without doubt her lowest hour. Devastated to suspect just how and why he had come to possess this power to tear her to emotional shreds, Maxie was shorn of her usual fire.

  ‘Be reasonable. How do I bring Leland’s former mistress into my family and demand that they accept her as my wife?’ Angelos enquired with the disorientating cool of someone saying the most reasonable, rational things and expecting a fair and understanding hearing. ‘Some things one just does not do. How can I expect my family to respect me if I do something I would kill any one of them for doing? The family look to me to set an example.’

  Maxie still hadn’t opened her eyes, but she knew at that instant how a woman went off the rails and killed. There was so much pain inside her and so much rage—at her, at him—she didn’t honestly know how she could contain it. Mistress within a marriage that nobody would ever know about because she was too scandalous and shameful a woman to deserve or indeed expect acceptance within the lofty Petronides clan…that was what he was offering.

  ‘I feel sick…’ Maxie muttered raggedly.

  ‘No, you do not feel sick,’ Angelos informed her with resolute emphasis.

  ‘I…feel…sick!’

  ‘The cloakroom is across the hall.’ Angelos withdrew his strong hands from hers in a stark demonstration of disapproval. Only when he did so did she realise how tightly she had been holding onto him for support. The inconsistency of such behaviour in the midst of so devastating a dialogue appalled her. ‘I didn’t expect you to be so difficult about this. I can appreciate that you’re a little disappointed with the boundaries I’m setting, but when all is said and done, it is still a marriage proposal!’

  ‘Is it?’ Maxie queried involuntarily, and then, not trusting herself to say anything more, she finally, mercifully made it into the sanctuary of the cloakroom.

  She locked the door and lurched in front of a g
iant mirror that reflected a frightening stranger with the shocked staring eyes of tragedy, pallid cheeks and a horribly wobbly mouth. You do not love that swine—do you hear me? she mouthed with menace at the alien weak creature in the reflection. The only thing you’re in love with is his body! She knew as much about love as a fourteen-year-old with a crush! And she could not imagine where that insane impulsive idea that she might love such a unreconstructed pig could’ve come from…it could only have been a reaction to overwhelming shock.

  She wanted to scream and cry and break things and she knew she couldn’t, so she hugged herself tight instead and paced the floor. As there was a great deal of floor available, in spite of the fact it was only a cloakroom, that was not a problem.

  He’s prepared to give you a whole blasted building to yourself. But then he does like his own space. He’s prepared to do virtually anything to get you into bed except own up to you in public. Love and hate. Two sides of the same coin. A cliché but the brief, terrifying spasm of that anguished love feeling had now been wholly obliterated by loathing and a desire to hit back and hurt that was ferocious.

  A marriage proposal? A bitter laugh erupted from Maxie. Angelos was still planning to use her, still viewing her as a live toy to be acquired at any cost for his bedroom. And evidently her reluctance had sent what he was prepared to pay for that pleasure right through the roof! Grimacing, she could not help thinking about the two men before Angelos who had most influenced her life. Her father and Leland. For once she thought about her father without sentimentality…

  Russ had gambled away her earnings and finally abandoned her, leaving her to work off his debts. Leland had stolen three years of her life and destroyed her reputation. How often had she sworn since never to allow any man to use her for his own ends again?

  Like a bolt from the blue an infinitely more ego-boosting scenario flashed into Maxie’s mind. She froze as the heady concept of turning the tables occurred to her. What if she were to do the using this time around?

  Didn’t she require a husband to inherit a share of her godmother’s estate? When she had heard that news, she had taken disappointment on the chin. She had not foreseen the remotest possibility of a husband on the horizon, and the concept of looking for one with the sole object of collecting that inheritance had made her cringe.

  Only no longer did Maxie feel so nice in her notions. Angelos had done that to her. He was a corrupting influence and no mistake. He had distressed her, humiliated her, harassed her, not to mention committed the ultimate sin of taking the holy bond of matrimony and twisting it into a sad, dirty joke.

  Angelos saw her as an ambitious, money-grabbing bimbo without morals. No doubt he despised what he saw. He probably even despised his own obsessive hunger to possess her. The marriage, if it could be called such, wouldn’t last five minutes beyond the onset of his boredom.

  But what if she were to take the opportunity to turn apparent humiliation into triumph? She could break free of everything that had ruined her life in recent years. That debt to Angelos, a career and a life she hated, Angelos himself. If she had the courage of her convictions, she could have it all. Yes, she really could. She could marry him and walk out on him six months later. She pictured herself breezily throwing Angelos a cheque and telling him no, she didn’t need his money, she now had her own. She looked back in the mirror and saw a killer bimbo with a brain and not a hint of tears in her eyes any more.

  Maxie was surprised to find Angelos waiting in the hall when she emerged.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he enquired, as if he really cared.

  Her lip wanted to curl but she controlled it. The rat An extraordinarily handsome rat, but a rat all the same.

  ‘I was working out my conditions of acceptance.’ Maxie flashed him a bright smile of challenge.

  Angelos tensed.

  ‘I’ll need to be sure I will feel like a Lottery winner at the end of this private arrangement,’ she told him for good measure.

  Angelos frowned darkly. ‘My lawyer will deal with such things. Do you have to be so crude?’

  Crude? My goodness, hadn’t he got sensitive all of a sudden? He didn’t want to be forced to dwell on the actual cost of acquiring her. And even if she didn’t go for the whole package, and indeed considered herself insulted beyond belief, it was quite a hefty cost on his terms, Maxie conceded grudgingly. A marriage licence as the ultimate assurance of financial security—the lifestyle of a very wealthy woman and no doubt a very generous final settlement at the end of the day.

  Mulling over those points, Maxie decided that he certainly couldn’t accuse her of coming cheap, but she was entranced to realise that Angelos had no desire to be reminded of that unlovely fact. Just like everybody else, it seemed, Angelos Petronides preferred to believe that he was wanted for himself. She stored up that unexpected Achilles’ heel for future reference.

  Maxie widened her beautiful eyes at his words. ‘I thought you admired the upfront approach?’

  ‘I brought you here to celebrate a sane and sensible agreement, not to stage another argument.’

  With that declaration, heated black eyes watched her flick her spectacular mane of golden hair over her slim shoulders and stayed to linger on her exquisite face. As his intent appraisal slowly arrowed down over the deep shadowy vee of her neckline, Maxie stiffened. At an almost pained pace of ever-deepening lust, his appreciative gaze wandered on down to take in the full effect of her slim hips and incredibly long legs. ‘No, definitely not to have another argument,’ Angelos repeated rather hoarsely.

  ‘If your idea of celebration encompasses what I think it might, I’m afraid no can do.’ Maxie swept up her glass of champagne with an apologetic smile pasted on her lips and drank deep before continuing at a fast rate of knots, ‘I’ll share your bed on our wedding night, but not one single second, minute, hour or day before. I suggest that we have lunch—’

  ‘Lunch?’ Angelos repeated flatly.

  ‘We might as well do lunch because we are not about to do anything else,’ Maxie informed him dulcetly.

  ‘Theos…come here,’ Angelos groaned. He hauled her resisting frozen length into his arms. ‘Why are you always so set on punishing me?’ He gave her a frustrated little shake, black eyes blazing over her mutinous expression. ‘Why do you always feel the need to top everything I do and turn every encounter into a fight? That is not a womanly trait. Why cannot you just one time give me the response I expect?’

  ‘I suppose I do it because I don’t like you,’ Maxie admitted, with the kind of impulsive sincerity that was indisputably convincing.

  In an abrupt movement, Angelos’s powerful arms dropped from her again. He actually looked shocked. ‘What do you mean you don’t like me?’ he grated incredulously. ‘What sort of a thing is that to say to man who has just asked you to marry him?’

  ‘I wrote two whole pages on the subject last week…all the things I don’t like…but why should you let that bother you? You’re not interested in what goes on inside my head…all you require is an available body!’

  ‘You’re overwrought, so I won’t make an issue of that judgement.’ Angelos frowned down into her beautiful face with the suggestion of grim self-restraint. ‘Let’s have lunch.’

  As she sat down at the table Maxie murmured sweetly, ‘One more little question. Are you planning to generously share yourself between Natalie Cibaud and me?’

  Angelos glared at her for a startled second. ‘Are you out of your mind?’

  ‘That’s not an answer—’

  Angelos flung aside his napkin, black eyes glittering hard and bright as diamonds. ‘Of course I do not intend to conduct a liaison with another woman while I am with you,’ he intoned in a charged undertone.

  Relaxing infinitesimally, Maxie said flatly, ‘So when will the big event be taking place?’

  ‘The wedding? As soon as possible. It will be very private.’

  ‘I think it is so sweet that you had not a single doubt that I would say yes.’ Maxie s
tabbed an orange segment with vicious force.

  ‘If you want me to take you to bed to close that waspish mouth, you’re going the right way.’

  Looking up, Maxie clashed with gleaming black eyes full of warning. She swallowed convulsively and coloured, annoyed that she was unable to control her own fierce need to attack him.

  ‘You told me yourself that the one offer you would settle for is marriage. I have delivered…stop using me as target practice.’

  Maxie tried to eat then, but she couldn’t. All appetite had ebbed, so she tried to make conversation, but it seemed rather too late for that. Angelos now exuded brooding dissatisfaction. She saw that she had already sinned. He had expected to pour a couple of glasses of champagne down her throat and sweep her triumphantly off to bed. She felt numb, for once wonderfully untouched by Angelos’s incredibly powerful sexual presence.

  ‘Are you aware that all those rumours about you and I have actually relaunched my career?’ she murmured stiffly.

  ‘Today was your swansong. I don’t want you prancing down a catwalk half-naked and I don’t want you working either,’ Angelos framed succinctly.

  ‘Oh,’ Maxie almost whispered, because it took so much effort not to scream.

  ‘Be sensible…naturally I want you to be available when I’m free.’

  ‘Like a harem slave—’

  ‘Maxie…’ Angelos growled.

  ‘Look, I’ve got a ripping headache,’ Maxie confessed abruptly and, pushing her plate away, stood up. ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘This will be your home in London soon,’ he reminded her drily.

  ‘I don’t like weird pictures and cold tiled floors and dirty great empty rooms with ugly geometric furniture…I don’t want to live in a building with about ten empty floors below me!’ Maxie flung, her voice rising shrilly.