Bought for the Billionaire's Revenge

by Clare Connelly

  ‘The gloves are off, eh?’ Arthur snapped, but there was weariness in his defiance.

  ‘If the gloves were off you would know about it,’ Nikos contradicted. ‘The terms of my helping you are to stay between us. Marnie need never know what we have discussed here. Understood?’

  * * *

  Was it any wonder that, hours later, surrounded by formally dressed party guests, Arthur Kenington stayed as far from Nikos as possible? His concessions that afternoon had been hard-fought and potentially confidence-destroying. Evidently he found the idea of celebrating his birthday with his son-in-law impossible to contemplate.

  Nikos didn’t mind. In fact he barely noticed. Making Arthur eat crow had offered him no satisfaction, and yet he’d thought about the moment for years. How odd that once he’d had the chance to make the man beg for help he’d skated over it and provided assistance on a silver platter instead.

  He considered the matter with Arthur closed. He didn’t intend to think of it again save for one salient point that would require delicate handling. Would Marnie be angry when she discovered the exact nature of his help? Would she resent what he’d done?

  His entire focus shifted to her. He watched her speaking to her parents’ friends with the effortless grace that had first captivated his attention. Holding a glass of Scotch cradled in the palm of his hand, he felt the full force of that long-ago afternoon swarm through him.

  He had come to Kenington Hall reluctantly. Spending time with Anderson and Libby had tended to leave him feeling like a third wheel, and yet Anderson had been so welcoming to him. He had been the one guy at school who hadn’t seen Nikos as an outsider, and Nikos had repaid his friendship with unswerving loyalty. So when Anderson had asked Nikos to tag along he’d put aside his own reticence and travelled to the estate of one of England’s noble families.

  And he’d met Marnie.

  She’d been seventeen and utterly breathtaking.

  ‘Don’t go near the horses. They’re in a foul mood today!’

  She had laughed as she’d torn past him, her long hair flowing behind her, the horse moving too quickly to catch more than a passing glimpse. Yet she’d reminded him of a sort of young Boadicea. Beautiful and strong, striking and confident, full of life and vitality.

  Had he loved her from that moment? He’d certainly been fascinated.

  ‘Hi.’

  Her voice came to him now as if from a long way away. He lifted his head, capturing her in his gaze. But that moment was still around him and before he could question the wisdom of it he smiled at her as though they were back in that time, just Nikos and Marnie, without all the subsequent heartbreak.

  She felt the purity of his look and it rang through her, but she’d been worrying all afternoon and the habit was hard to break. ‘Did you speak to him?’

  He nodded, his stubborn smile still on his features.

  Her hair had caught the sunshine as she’d gone past him that day. It had been like gold. He reached for it now and flicked the ends, bringing his body close to hers. She smelled good. Like apples and desire.

  ‘And...?’ Her eyes skimmed his, but her breath was coming fast and hard, making her breasts lift and fall.

  ‘And what?’ he prompted, wrapping his arms around her waist.

  The band was playing a slow jazz song, the singer crooning gently into the elegant space. The formal dining room was large, and it had been converted into a ballroom for the purpose of tonight. Enormous flower arrangements punctuated the walls at regular intervals.

  ‘Did you...?’ She looked around, conscious of their surroundings.

  ‘Yes?’ he drawled, though he knew where she was going.

  ‘Did you fix it?’

  ‘Well, I couldn’t transfer a hundred million pounds to your father in one afternoon,’ he murmured sardonically, ‘but, yes, agape. He has agreed to accept my help.’

  She let out a whoosh of relief and he studied her features thoughtfully.

  ‘You thought he might refuse? Even now?’

  She shrugged, her shoulders slim and pale. ‘I don’t know. Like I said, he’s stubborn.’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about it any more,’ he said gently.

  ‘I know.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Am I allowed to thank you now?’

  ‘No.’ He drew her closer, so that she could feel the strength of his body.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘My helping him was entirely self-serving. You don’t owe me thanks.’

  She rested her cheek against his chest, listening to the beating of his strong heart. ‘Was he grateful?’ she asked instead, changing tack slightly.

  His laugh was quiet but she felt it rumble through him.

  ‘He was incensed.’

  She grimaced. ‘It wouldn’t have been easy for him to face you, knowing what a mess his interests are in.’

  ‘No,’ Nikos conceded, without feeling the need to point out that Arthur only had himself to blame.

  ‘I don’t care.’ She looked up at him. ‘I’m going to thank you, anyway. How can I not?’

  He stared down at her familiar face and the past blurred with the present. ‘Fine. Then I can tell you how I wish you to express your gratitude.’

  ‘Yes?’ she murmured, her stomach swirling.

  ‘For this night let’s not speak about your family. Nor our past. We have spent a month retracing it and I wonder if we’ll ever understand one another. Tonight I just want to dance with my wife. To kiss her. To feel her body. To be here with her and not think about the reasons we married. Deal?’

  Hope blew open inside her. Surely that spoke of wanting a fresh start—of believing they were worthy of one. She looked at him for a long moment and knew exactly what it was that danced with hope.

  Love.

  Love for him.

  Despite everything he’d done to get her into his life, she felt fierce love burst through her. It was not born of gratitude. Nor circumstances. It was the same love she’d always felt for him, only stronger—because it had been scorched by life, loss and disappointment and still it was there.

  She stood up on tiptoe and pressed her lips lightly to his.

  ‘Deal.’

  The next song was another indistinct jazz tune. The singer’s voice was low and husky and they danced slowly, in the middle of the crowd but aware only of each other. Marnie breathed in time with him, her eyes whispering shut, every fibre of her being in sync with her husband. So that when he stopped dancing and dropped his arms to his sides, capturing one of her hands in the process, and began to move towards the large glass doors, Marnie went with him without question.

  ‘Do you know what I was thinking about today?’ he asked as they emerged to see the moon casting a silver string from the inky sky above.

  ‘Other than the significant hit your finances are about to take?’ she offered with a teasing smile.

  ‘Other than that.’ He guided her along the terrace towards a small courtyard he’d seen earlier that day.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I was remembering the first time I met you.’

  Marnie’s heart was thunder; Nikos was lightning.

  ‘Yes...?’ Her voice was a husk.

  He moved towards a balustrade, reclining against it with an expression that Marnie couldn’t fathom.

  ‘Being back here with you makes it feel like yesterday.’

  And yet it wasn’t. It was far in the past, with no way of recapturing that time. They could only exist in the moment. What they were now had to sustain them. The past would never be enough.

  ‘I thought we weren’t going to talk about our history,’ she said with an uncertain smile.

  ‘You’re right.’

  Marnie closed the distance between them as though a magnetic field was
drawing her to him. She stood in front of him, the moon dancing across her face, a small smile on her lips.

  ‘So let’s talk about now.’ She dared herself to be brave. To look at him with all her hope and want. ‘Do you still think that we’re just about sex?’

  ‘And revenge,’ he murmured, but an answering smile was playing about his lips and it surged her sense of hope higher.

  ‘Of course.’ She copied his expression, her look droll. ‘Well, if it’s meaningless sex you’re after, that’s fine by me.’

  His laugh was warm butter on her frazzled nerves. ‘I’m glad to hear it, Mrs Kyriazis.’

  His fingers traced the bare skin of her arms and she shivered involuntarily. Anticipation trembled inside her. He caught her hand in his and together they walked. Was he leading her? Or the other way around? Marnie couldn’t have said.

  They went to the room that had been hers as a child. In the distance, the sounds of merriment could be heard. Wine glasses chinking, music, conversation. But it was all far away from where they were. Their world was their own, their breathing and needs the only noise.

  She slipped into the room ahead of him, turning around in time to see him click the door shut and press the ancient lock down. His hands were lifting to his tie, loosening it in one movement so that it hung around his neck, a stunning black contrast to the sharp whiteness of his shirt.

  Marnie reached for the zip on her dress, tucked under her arm, but a simple shake of Nikos’s head stilled her.

  ‘Let me,’ he murmured, stalking towards her with a look she couldn’t quite understand.

  His face was set in a mask of something, and that something made her heart hammer in her chest.

  ‘Let me,’ he repeated, though she’d offered no opposition. Was he asking for something else? The air felt heavy with unuttered words, but perhaps they were all inside her.

  She swallowed, the fragile column of her neck shifting with the movement. His fingers at her side were gentle, pulling at the zip so that she felt the slow whisper of cool air against her flesh. Goose bumps rioted across her and she drew in a sharp breath as he lowered the dress with a reverence she hadn’t imagined possible. Standing before him in just a flimsy pair of knickers and heels, she was trembling—almost as though they were about to make love for the first time.

  It was ridiculous. She forced a laugh to break the mood; it didn’t work.

  ‘Something amusing?’ he queried, sliding his hands beneath the elastic of her underpants and cupping her rear.

  It jolted her into a state of hyperawareness. She shook her head but his lips were on hers, stalling any further movement.

  It was a slow kiss—a kiss that deepened as his hands roamed her body, a kiss he didn’t break even as he removed his hands to strip his own clothes away. He stepped out of his shoes, guiding Marnie towards the bed, all small movements, urgent movements, designed to bring them together as quickly as possible.

  They’d kissed in her room before, but they had been different people then. He full of hope and certainty and she so willing to surrender herself to the feelings they shared.

  He pushed the past away. It had haunted him long enough.

  He was making love to his wife—not a figment of his memories. She was a red-blooded woman and she wanted him now.

  His hands glided over her body, feeling every square inch, paving a way for his mouth to follow. His fingers pulled at her nipples while his lips teased the delicate flesh beneath her breasts, breathing warm air and making her back arch with desperate need. He dragged his mouth higher, running his teeth over her décolletage and then meeting her mouth once more.

  There was so much he didn’t understand about them—about himself. So much he would say if he knew how to find the words. Instead he kissed her with all the confusion he had become, the contradictions that now filled him.

  ‘Nikos...’ She groaned.

  Did she understand?

  Was this her way of telling him that she, too, was ready to let the past go? To lay those ghosts to rest once and for all?

  ‘Please...’

  A soft whisper. A sound of need that he would meet again and again for the rest of his life if he had the opportunity.

  He entered her gently but she lifted herself higher, taking him deep and groaning as their bodies were unified once more.

  Transfixed, he watched as she rode her first wave, her body quickly adjusting to his possession and welcoming him with giddy delight. He watched her fly high into the peaks of pleasure, so beautiful against this bed from her childhood.

  And then he was joining her, his body meeting her questions, taking them, answering them, and cresting with her. Her fingers sought his and laced through them. He lifted their arms above her head, kissing away the pleasure-soaked moans that were becoming louder and more insistent. He absorbed them, but he was an echo chamber for them, for those same cries were deep inside him, too.

  He felt her slowly quieten, and her body gradually stopped its fevered trembling so that only the sound of her husky breathing was left. He rolled onto the bed, bringing her with him, cradling her head against his chest. And he stayed like that, holding her, not wanting to speak—finding that he had nothing to say in any event—until her continued silence caused him to realise that she had fallen asleep.

  He shifted a little so that he could look at her.

  And guilt shot a hole in his heart.

  It was Marnie—the Marnie he’d once loved and the Marnie he’d married. How could he think the past didn’t matter? The past was a part of them. Her rejection had turned him into who he was. It had happened, but it was over with.

  She was his Marnie.

  His wife, his lover. Just Marnie.

  Understanding was chased by bitter recrimination, as though he was waking from the depths of a nightmare.

  His eyes slammed shut as acid filled his mouth. Because he’d forced her to marry him. He’d taken away any choice in the matter, skilfully applying just the right pressure to ensure she had no way of saying no.

  And she’d risen to the challenge. She’d done what he’d asked of her. For her father? Or had there been a part of her that had wanted to see whatever it was they had been through to the bitter end?

  The end.

  He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He lifted his finger and traced a line down her arm. In her sleep she smiled. It was a beautiful smile but it might as well have been a spoken accusation.

  What the hell had he done? And why?

  He lay there for hours, his mind spinning over the past, his body refusing to move from the closeness of hers. But eventually, somewhere after midnight, he gave up on sleep and shifted from the bed, taking care not to wake her. He dressed in a pair of boxers and a loose shirt before stepping quietly from the bedroom.

  The house was in darkness, save for a few lamps placed through the hallway.

  In the kitchen, midway through making coffee, he heard a noise and looked towards the door.

  Whether Nikos or Anne Kenington was more surprised would have been difficult to say with certainty. Nikos flicked a glance at his wristwatch. Despite the lateness of the hour Anne was still wearing the same dress she’d been in at the party.

  ‘Late night?’ he murmured, inserting a pod into the machine.

  Anne’s smile was tight. ‘And for you?’

  He shrugged. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  Anne expelled a sigh that could only be described as disapproving and moved farther into the kitchen. Closer, Nikos caught the smell of alcohol on her breath and realised her eyes were a little unfocussed.

  ‘You’re leaving tomorrow?’ she asked.

  He nodded. A shorter visit had seemed like a good idea, and nothing he’d seen since arriving had changed his mind. Except Marnie’s smile. Out of nowhere he saw her
as she’d been in the apple orchard, the sun glinting on her hair, a trickle of sugary fruit juice dribbling down her face, and his gut kicked. If anything, it served as vindication for how he’d handled Arthur’s affairs. Her happiness here was no reason to remain longer.

  ‘Such a short trip,’ Anne murmured as she walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine.

  Nikos watched as she reached into the cupboard and frowned, running her hands over an empty shelf before reaching lower and pulling out a Royal Doulton teacup. She sloshed Chardonnay into it, then placed the bottle on the bench.

  ‘I’d thought you might be here a few days at least.’

  His gaze was narrowed. ‘Would you have liked us to stay longer?’

  Her eyes met his and for a very brief moment he felt a surge of recognition. He’d adored Libby. She had been different from Marnie, but a beautiful person, and she’d faced her illness with such strength and humour. He saw that same resilience in Anne’s eyes—and it surprised him to realise that they must have other similarities, too.

  ‘I suppose not.’ She laughed—a brittle sound that made him sad for her.

  ‘Why?’ he prompted, pulling his coffee cup from the machine and holding it in one hand.

  ‘You’re bad for my husband’s blood pressure.’

  Nikos laughed with true mirth. ‘Am I?’

  ‘He was in quite a mood this afternoon. Some birthday present...’

  Curious, Nikos nodded. ‘Did he tell you what we discussed?’

  Anne’s face was pinched. ‘He gave me an indication,’ she responded with cold civility. ‘I suppose you think I should thank you?’

  Another moment he’d thought he would relish. He shook his head, though, brushing her words away. ‘It was no hardship for me to intervene.’

  ‘I’m surprised you bothered,’ she said quietly, imbibing more of her wine.

  He shrugged. ‘For Marnie...’

  He let the rest of the sentence hang in the air, knowing he couldn’t speak the bald-faced lie now. After all, it had all been for his own selfish gratification. None of this was really for his wife, was it?

  ‘She loves you,’ Anne said, her body so still she might have been carved from stone. ‘She always has.’