Bought for the Billionaire's Revenge

by Clare Connelly

  ‘Are you going to have any more?’ he prompted, reaching for the second-last.

  She shook her head. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  He placed his fork down and stared at her. ‘Your father has asked us to return to England for his birthday.’

  Marnie nodded thoughtfully. ‘He doesn’t like to do much, but Mum generally twists his arm into a small party.’

  His expression was guarded. ‘Would you like to travel home again so soon?’

  Home.

  The word was one syllable that throbbed with an enormous weight of meaning. She reached for the last scallop, despite having just given up her claim to it. She needed to distract herself and to hide her face as she unpacked the impact that single word was having.

  Home.

  Other than here.

  Home.

  Not here. Not in his home.

  She blinked and shook her head a tiny bit, pushing the thoughts away. ‘I’d like to see them,’ she said cautiously. ‘But it is soon. I didn’t really imagine that we’d go to England again yet.’

  Her family complicated matters. What hope did Nikos and she have of forming any kind of relationship with her parents and his antipathy towards them in the foreground?

  ‘You want to refuse?’

  She toyed with her ring, turning it round her finger. ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘No. You didn’t say anything,’ he drawled, the words lightly teasing.

  But Marnie was not in the mood to be teased.

  ‘God, Nikos, you’re impossible.’

  He laughed throatily, the sound doing something strange to her fractured nerves.

  ‘I am honestly asking what you would like. It occurred to me that I would have more success persuading your father to be reasonable if we were to meet in person.’

  The tears he’d brought to the surface were closer now, and she had to dig her nails into her palms to stop from weakening and letting her eyes become moist.

  Out of habit, she hardened her expression, creating an air of nonchalance when she tilted her face to his. ‘You’d do that?’

  His eyes glittered in his handsome face. ‘You’d be content if I didn’t?’

  Damn it. She was being careless. Slowly she shook her head from side to side, her eyes not quite meeting his. ‘You told me you’d sort it out. It’s the only reason I married you, remember?’

  ‘Good. Honesty is so much better than role-play.’

  She cleared her throat and focussed her gaze on the view. What she’d just said hadn’t been honesty, but she let it slide. ‘Fine. We’ll go back for a weekend. In a month.’

  And in the back of her mind she really did hope that their difficulties might have been resolved by then. There had been a time when they were so comfortable together. Was it so unlikely to believe they might return to that footing?

  She looked at the man opposite, her heart turning over in her chest.

  So familiar.

  So foreign.

  She knew him intimately, and yet she didn’t.

  He was a stranger, and yet her husband.

  The dichotomies kept flowing through her mind, thick and fast.

  ‘You are staring, Mrs Kyriazis, in a way that makes me want to peel that dress from your body and claim you here and now.’

  She started, her pulse shearing her skin. ‘I was just thinking...’ Her voice was thick with the desire he could so easily evoke. ‘So much has happened in six years. You’re my husband, and at one time I would have said I knew you better than anyone. But I don’t know you at all now.’

  ‘You know me,’ he responded, standing up swiftly and reaching for her plate.

  She watched as he cleared the table, her mind overflowing with questions.

  ‘When we were together, you only had aspirations in finance. How did you do all this so fast?’

  He sent her a look of impatience. ‘When someone tells you that you will never amount to anything, that you are not worth a damn, it is rather motivating.’

  Her father’s words mortified her. ‘He shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘No.’ His eyes glittered. ‘But that is what you people are like. Do you really believe that the blood in your veins is of more value than mine simply because you can trace your lineage back thousands of years and I am not able to do so?’

  ‘Don’t do that.’ She followed him into the kitchen. ‘Don’t tar me with the same brush.’ A frown drew her brows together. ‘I don’t really understand why my dad spoke like that to you. He’s not—’

  ‘Of course he is,’ Nikos interrupted. He tamped down on his temper with effort, stacking the plates neatly into the dishwasher.

  He worked with a finesse that made her wonder if he did this simple domestic act often. Though incongruous, it made sense. Nikos hadn’t been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He’d grown up poor. He’d presumably shouldered his fair share of domestic duties for most of his life.

  ‘Whatever you’re about to say, make no mistake. He is.’

  ‘Anyway...’ She made an effort to salvage the situation. ‘I understand why you might have felt you had to prove something. But how did you do this?’

  His eyes skimmed her face. ‘In the same way I won a scholarship to Eton and then Cambridge. I worked a thousand times harder than anyone else. I always have. I don’t sleep much, agape, because I work.’

  Admiration soared through her. ‘I think you’ve done something very impressive,’ she said quietly.

  He propped himself against a bench. ‘Your turn. Why did you do all this?’ He gestured around the kitchen.

  Because I missed you. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.

  ‘It’s our honeymoon, isn’t it?’

  His lips lifted in a half-smile. ‘If you say so.’

  The rejection hurt, but she didn’t show it. ‘Why don’t you sit down? I’ll get the main course.’

  He crossed the kitchen so that he stood right in front of her, without touching. Goose bumps littered her exposed flesh.

  ‘I have a better idea.’

  She lifted her eyes to his face slowly. Breathing was suddenly difficult. He overwhelmed every single sense in her body. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Let’s have a break between courses.’ His smile was tight. ‘I do not usually eat so early.’

  ‘Oh...’

  He’d upset her. He squashed the urge to apologise. ‘It is a...ritual I have. I swim as soon as I return from the office. I find it rids me of the day.’ He reached down and linked his fingers. ‘Join me.’

  A command or a question?

  An order or an invitation?

  Whatever the case, she found herself nodding. ‘Okay. I’ll just go and get changed.’

  His laugh was throaty. ‘Why?’

  Her eyes were wide. She watched as he began slowly to unbutton his shirt until the sides were separated. He pushed it off his arms, then stepped out of his trousers. In just his boxers, he reached over and lifted her hand to his lips.

  His kiss breathed butterflies into her veins. She stifled a moan and then pulled at her hand. It was a necessary tool. She felt around for her zip, and when she couldn’t immediately catch it he reached behind her and loosened it, sliding it slowly, seductively, teasingly down her spine.

  She shivered as his fingers lingered, taunting the flesh at the small of her back. She lifted her gaze to his face again, searching for something there. Kindness? Affection? She saw only lust. Pure and simple.

  It was better than nothing.

  With a small exhalation she stepped backwards. ‘I’ll just need a minute.’ She took another step backwards to underscore her resolve. ‘I’ll meet you in there.’

  He shrugged indolently and strode across the tiles with that almo
st feral power that seemed to emanate from his frame. She watched him go, greedily waiting to see him dive into the water. His muscles rippled as he speared through the air then beneath its surface. She held her breath unconsciously until he stood at the other end. His dark hair was slicked to his head like an animal’s pelt.

  She moved quickly up the stairs and into their bedroom. The sight of her face that had confronted her after swimming earlier that day was hauntingly close to the surface. She didn’t want to turn into a panda again. She lathered her hands with soap and washed at her face until every hint of make-up was removed, then changed into a swimsuit with a low-cut vee at the front and delicate beading in the fabric. It was elegant and inviting.

  He was swimming laps when she emerged, his strong body pulling powerfully through the water, each bronzed arm worthy of its own sculpture. He was naked. His boxers had been discarded and she could see his whole body as he cut through the water.

  She swallowed huskily, her eyes tracing his progress from where she stood at the edge of the pool. A warm breeze drifted past, lifting her hair. She tucked it behind her ears and approached the edge. He turned underwater, his stroke not breaking the surface.

  With a smile, she dived in, pulling up beside him. Underwater, their faces were illuminated by the green lights embedded in the side of the pool. He turned to her. Their eyes locked and Marnie almost lost her rhythm, so fierce was the tumble of awareness that accosted her body.

  But she quickly regained her focus, racing him to the end and touching the rounded edge of the pool just as he did. She laughed when they both lifted onto their feet, the thrill of adrenalin and the rush of endorphins pumping through her body.

  He stared at her with a sense of confusion.

  Her laugh.

  That beautiful laugh.

  It was as if she’d burst through the cracks in his memory, slowly infiltrating him with what she’d once meant to him.

  It wasn’t only the musical sound, it was her face. Wiped of make-up, radiating happiness, with a little bit of honey in her complexion from the day she’d spent outdoors.

  He swallowed and turned to the view, his face unyielding in profile.

  ‘I haven’t swum like this in years,’ she confided easily, blissfully unaware of the hurricane of feelings that was besieging him.

  His smile lacked warmth. He pinned her with eyes that she couldn’t read. A sense of loss wiped the smile from her own features and she spun away, kicking to the opposite side of the pool and propping herself against it. The coping was still warm from the day’s heat, despite the lateness of the hour and the coldness of his look.

  The sense that her husband—the man she’d married and had once loved—despised her, made her heart hurt in her chest. She turned slowly to see him walking through the water towards her, his gaze pinned to hers.

  He was going to kiss her. The fine pulse at the base of her throat was hammering wildly in expectation, and yet every sensible thread of her mind was telling her to step backwards and talk to him.

  What did it mean that she had such a small understanding of everything that made him tick except his desire for her?

  ‘Nikos,’ she said softly, her eyes silently imploring him to help her make sense of it all.

  He caught her hips underwater, pulling her the final distance to meet him. Their bodies melded as one. She drew her lip between her teeth, ignoring the warning voice in her mind as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her fingers teased the wet hair at his nape.

  ‘I know.’

  Her breath hitched in her throat. She wasn’t alone. This maelstrom of need after six long years was as unsettling for him as it was her.

  Good.

  For now that would have to be enough.

  His kiss was a claim. It was a seal of their union. She kissed him back fiercely, her tongue clashing with his, her body wrapping around his beneath the water. The feeling of his arousal between her legs, straining at the fabric of her swimsuit, with the warmth of the pool water surrounding them was almost too much to bear.

  Impatience crested inside her, bubbling out of control.

  She made a sound into his mouth as she pushed back a little, her fingers toying with the straps of her swimsuit. They were saturated, and stuck to her body like a second skin; it didn’t help that her hands were unsteady.

  He had no such difficulty.

  With total confidence he slid the straps down her arms, revealing her breasts. The dusk light bathed her, spreading gold and peach over her flesh. He continued to push the fabric away, and Marnie lifted her legs to make it easier.

  Naked in the water with him, she had a blinding sense that she might actually die if they didn’t make love. If something were to happen to change his mind she wasn’t sure she could recover. Her desperation for him would have terrified her if she’d had any mental space left with which to process it.

  He pulled her back towards him, settling her legs around his waist. His eyes showed strain as he paused, his hard cock nestled between her legs without yet invading her womanhood.

  ‘You have not been sore today?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘You must tell me...’

  Groaning, she repositioned herself, startling him by thrusting down on his length and taking him deep inside her core. Relief spread through her body, weakening and strengthening her in yet another contradictory sensation. He held her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh, his lips seeking hers. His tongue was harsh in her mouth, echoing the movements of his body as he made her completely his.

  Her orgasm burst over her swiftly; there was no time to prepare.

  The entire day had been a kind of torturous foreplay for Marnie. Memories of their night together had tormented her, driving her body to fever pitch, so that the tiniest things—such as the feeling of the apron as she’d wrapped it around her over-sensitised nipples—had almost driven her over the edge.

  Nikos watched as she crested the wave, her face a thousand little nerve endings vibrating with pleasure. The answering swelling in his heart was not something he wished to acknowledge.

  Telling himself it was simply relief that they’d found themselves to be sexually compatible, he pushed deeper into her, drifting his fingers lower to cup the neat softness of her buttocks. He dragged his lips down her throat, flicking his tongue against the pulse-point that was frantically trying to move blood through her body, then lower still to her breasts. They were lapped by the water, and he had to lift her a little to take one into his mouth. The second he did she cried out, tilting her wet head back into the water so that her hair, no longer braided, fell like a dark curtain.

  He moved one hand to tangle in its lengths, holding her head there while he plundered her core in an insatiable rhythm.

  His own control was slipping. Her muscles, so moist and tight, were squeezing him as her pleasure spiralled, and when he felt her tremble and knew she was about to crest the wave again he went with her, holding her close, mirroring her movements until they were both panting, drenched in sweat and pool water, satisfaction emanating from every pore.

  Their coming together had been as intense as it had essential. But it was just a prelude to the slow exploration he had been distracted by thinking of all day. To the myriad ways he wanted to torment and delight her.

  Satiated, Marnie slowly relaxed, her body reassuring her that nothing bad could eventuate when such uncontainable desire abounded.

  It was only then that she remembered the fish in the oven. It would be burned to a crisp.

  Well, if that was the only casualty of this desire then she could live with it.

  * * *

  In the small hours of the morning, their naked limbs tangled with crisp white sheets, bodies sheened in post-coital perspiration and satisfaction, sleep fogging around the edges of their tab
leau, Marnie shifted a little, tilting her head to observe her husband.

  His eyes were shut, his breathing heavy.

  ‘How can you call this a pretence?’ she whispered—to herself more than anything.

  Without opening his eyes, he said thickly, ‘This is just great sex, Marnie. Do not confuse it with anything more substantive or you will be hurt.’

  He rolled over, his broad, muscled back turned to her, his heart apparently closed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A FORTNIGHT HAD passed and his words were still sharp in her brain, like shards of glass that made her weep blood whenever she ran the fingertip of her mind over them.

  ‘This is just great sex... Do not confuse it with anything more substantive...’

  Her coffee-coloured eyes were flecked with gold as they drifted over the view from the window. For her office she’d chosen a room far away from the pool, their bedroom and the kitchen—that was to say far from any of the rooms that distracted her with what Nikos and she had shared there.

  It was a small room, but she didn’t need a lot of space, and it afforded an outlook of the city, rather than the ocean. In the distance she could see the Acropolis, bathed in early-evening light, and the buildings of the city sprawled almost like a child’s model.

  Though she took solace and inspiration from the outlook, this was not why she’d chosen this particular spot from which to work. From her seat she could see the curve of Nikos’s driveway. The second his car thrummed through the gates she knew. And then she had the maximum time to prepare herself for his arrival, to gather the facade she had perfected around her slender shoulders. A facade that was essential when faced with her husband.

  They shared meals and polite conversation. They were unstintingly civil. But there was a torrent of emotions swirling hatefully beneath all their appropriate conversations. Only when they came together at night did she find an outlet for her rampant emotions. Sex. Passionate, all-consuming sex that explained everything. She was addicted to him. To his body and to the way he made her feel.