Bridal Bargains

by Michelle Reid

  I wish somebody wanted me like that, she found herself thinking wistfully. ‘And when I decide to go—what happens to Melanie?’

  ‘She goes with you,’ he said—but only after a hesitation that hit a warning button inside her head. ‘So long as you will promise to respect my rights as her legal father, we will agree on an affable arrangement which will suit both of our needs where she is concerned. For Melanie’s sake alone, it has to be her best chance in life, don’t you think?’

  For Melanie’s sake, Claire repeated silently, knowing exactly where she had heard those words before, and not liking the sensation that trickled down her spine at the connection.

  But, despite that nasty sensation, one important thing she did know for sure was that, having once lived in privileged comfort herself—though not anywhere near the style he was offering Melanie here—and having gained tough experience at the poorer end of the scale, Claire knew which end of that scale she preferred to be.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ she heard herself say. ‘For Melanie’s sake.’

  And only wondered as she did so whether this hadn’t been a case of him caving in first, but simply a very astute man knowing exactly when to play his final card.

  ‘Thank you,’ he murmured. ‘I will promise you, Claire, that you will never have cause to regret this decision.’

  But she was already regretting it as early as the next morning when she came down the stairs ready to tell him that she had changed her mind.

  At which point she discovered that Andreas Markopoulou had pulled yet another tactical move on her, by going abroad on business for the next frustratingly long week.

  Melanie, in the meantime, was beginning to bloom with all the tender loving care both Lefka and Althea were ladling upon her. Claire didn’t hear her cry once!

  Secretly she found it hurtful. For, under Claire’s exclusive care, the little girl had hardly ever stopped crying since their mother had died.

  Then, most hurtful of all, was the way her aunt hadn’t once bothered to get in touch with her. Whether that was her aunt’s own indifference or Andreas Markopoulou’s doing she didn’t know. But, knowing Aunt Laura as well as she did, if she’d wanted to contact Claire then she would have done, no matter what her big tycoon boss might say.

  But, as the week slid by, at least her body began to heal; the bump on her temple disappeared altogether and her bruises began to fade. Even her hurt feelings had given way to a dull acceptance—along with her acceptance that she could no more take Melanie away from what she was receiving here than sprout wings and fly.

  So it was that she was sitting in the solarium at the back of the house, gently pushing Melanie’s pram to and fro to rock the baby to sleep, when a voice murmured to one side of her, ‘You look a lot better …’

  She didn’t turn to look at him, but her hand stopped rocking the baby carriage. And her heart gave an excited leap that left her feeling tense and shaky.

  Still, at least her voice was steady when she answered coolly, ‘A week is a long time.’

  ‘Ah …’ He came forward, his footsteps sounding on the quarry-tiled floor beneath his feet. ‘I thought it best to leave you alone to—come to terms with your decision.’

  So he was admitting to a retreat, she noted, and was oddly pacified by that—then even more so when he paused at the pram to bend down and inspect Melanie.

  ‘She’s asleep,’ he whispered. But it was the way he stroked a gentle finger over the baby’s cheek in much the same way that Claire did that touched a warm spot inside her.

  Then, pulling up one of the other cane chairs, he sat down beside her. ‘How is the wrist?’ he enquired.

  ‘Better,’ she told him.

  ‘And the ribs?’

  ‘They don’t hurt when I laugh any more,’ she replied with a grin she turned to offer directly to him.

  Then wished she hadn’t when her heart gave that funny leap again, making the tiny muscles deep in her stomach coil up in reaction. He looked lean and dark and sun-kissed, as if he’d just stepped off a plane from a place where the weather had been a lot pleasanter than it had been here in England.

  She felt a tingling urge to reach out and touch his face just to feel if it was as warm as it appeared to be. ‘Where have you been?’ she asked instead, leaving the less tactile medium of words to assuage her curiosity.

  ‘You sound like a wife,’ he mocked, his dark eyes flickering slightly as he scanned her face where even Claire had noticed the stray-waif look was beginning to fade.

  ‘Not yet,’ she drawled in answer. ‘And for all you know I may have changed my mind.’

  ‘Have you?’

  The urge to prolong his agony and lie almost got the better of her, but in the end she said, ‘No,’ and they were both silent for several minutes. The baby made a snuffling sound and she began rocking the pram again. It was all very—ordinary.

  ‘I’ve been in Greece,’ he announced, answering her earlier question. ‘With my grandmother,’ he added, and though his tone was level Claire knew instinctively that something was wrong.

  ‘She’s worse, isn’t she?’ she said.

  ‘Fading fast,’ he grimaced—then added briskly, ‘So I have set her a task to do to keep her mind occupied. She is planning our wedding as we speak.’

  Startled, Claire straightened in the chair. ‘Our wedding?’ she repeated. ‘But I thought you wanted to present her with a fait accompli!’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘That would not have worked quite so successfully as the story I have now fed her.’

  ‘Which is—what?’ she demanded, only managing to keep her angry voice down in respect of the sleeping Melanie.

  ‘That you are young and very beautiful …’

  Beautiful? Claire stared directly ahead and wondered how he could lie so glibly, because the one thing she wasn’t was beautiful! Passably attractive when at her best, she conceded. But nothing more than that.

  ‘I told her that we had shared a—liaison some time last year,’ he went on. ‘But because of your youth I broke it off, not knowing I was leaving you carrying my child …’

  Lie number two, she counted, and began to see for the first time what mire of deceit she was about to fall into.

  ‘But I could not get you out of my mind—which was why I found it so impossible to agree to marry another woman while I still wanted you. So I went to see you,’ he explained. ‘And as for the rest—’ he shrugged ‘—it tells itself.’

  It certainly did, Claire agreed, seeing herself as this tragic young woman who’d fallen for the big handsome Greek tycoon who was, by the sound of it, not far off his dotage.

  ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘the new slant I have put on our—story—’ he used the word dryly ‘—was done to serve a second purpose …’

  Now what? Claire wondered, feeling the fine hairs on the back of her neck begin to prickle warningly.

  ‘For this way you don’t have to like the fact that you are marrying me,’ he explained. ‘Being the arrogant dictator that everyone seems to think I am—including you—no one is going to question the idea that you have been—coerced into becoming my wife for the sake of our child. Which also means you get your own bedroom without tongues wagging,’ he pointed out. ‘While I must—earn your affections again.’

  ‘And thereby ends the tale when I eventually turn my back on you and walk away,’ Claire finished for him. ‘Not quite the stuff of a romantic novel, is it?’ she mocked.

  ‘Life rarely is,’ he drawled, sounding suddenly so cold that Claire couldn’t believe her ears! With one lightly mocking comment she seemed to have turned him to stone!

  Stiffly, he came to his feet. ‘We leave for Greece in the morning,’ he announced. ‘Now I have some work to do. So if you will excuse me …’ And, with a curt little bow, he was gone!

  What was all that about? Claire found herself wondering in blank bewilderment. And spent the next half an hour trawling over every single word they’d said to each other without c
oming up with a single thing which could have caused that kind of reaction!

  His grandmother: she finally decided to blame it on her. It had to be because he was worried about her.

  But deep down inside she somehow knew that wasn’t true.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THEY flew out to Athens by private charter then transferred to a helicopter for the final leg of the journey. It was all very comfortable, a very trouble-free way to travel in fact.

  Claire was impressed—despite not wanting to be, for she still hadn’t forgiven Andreas for his sudden coldness the day before.

  Melanie was with them, which had surprised her rather. She had expected him to insist that the baby travel with Lefka and her family, who were to close up the London house before catching a later flight. But what really astonished her was the way Andreas took personal responsibility for the baby by seeing to her needs throughout the whole journey.

  He was more relaxed than she had ever seen him before. A bit quiet, maybe, but very attentive. So much so that it was a shame that she was still feeling so annoyed with him, because she suspected that he was doing all of this as a way to make up for his bewildering attitude.

  Yet he hadn’t apologised for it, or explained it. He blew hot and cold on her so swiftly that it seemed to be easier to withdraw and keep herself aloof from him rather than risk having it happen all over again.

  ‘Here, let me help you …’ Cradling the baby in one big arm, he offered Claire the steadying strength of the other to help her negotiate the long step down from the helicopter.

  With one hand out of action and because she was wearing her only good suit today—a summer-blue silk-linen mix with a fitted jacket and skirt that would not allow her much flexibility in her steps—she needed his help, so she couldn’t refuse. But feeling that rock-solid forearm flex beneath her palm had such a disturbing effect on her that she removed her hand just as soon as she could do it.

  But, worse, she knew that he had sensed her reluctance to touch him when she saw his mouth tighten as he turned away to carry Melanie away from the noise of the rotor blades.

  Smothering a heavy sigh, Claire followed more slowly, feeling decidedly at odds with herself and most definitely at odds with him. She hadn’t slept last night for worrying and fretting about this whole crazy situation. Now she felt tired and fed up and …

  ‘Oh,’ she gasped, coming to a surprised standstill at his side as she focused at last on her new surroundings.

  Set in vast formal gardens, the house stood like a statement to all that was right in grace and architectural posture. No one feature had been allowed to dominate. The walls were painted in the softest cream, the woodwork glossy white, and the roof was constructed in flat grey slate rather than the terracotta she would have expected. A first-floor veranda ran right across the front of the house, casting gentle shade onto the terrace below, where the palest blue-cushioned wooden garden furniture waited invitingly.

  Over to one side of the house, she could see a large swimming pool shimmering in the afternoon sunshine, and even spied a second pool under a high domed glass roof attached to the house itself. If there was a road nearby, she could neither see nor hear any evidence of it, but a long straight driveway led off into the distance, lined on either side by tall cypress trees.

  ‘But this is lovely,’ she murmured.

  ‘Praise indeed,’ he drawled with cutting sarcasm. ‘I was beginning to think that nothing was going to please you.’

  With that he turned his back on her again to walk off towards the house. With a small grimace, Claire followed, half allowing him his right to have lost his grasp on all of that quiet patience he had been doling out to her all day.

  He had stepped beneath the shaded end of the terrace before pausing to allow her to catch up with him, his long, lean body making a half turn so he could watch her approach through slightly hooded eyes.

  Glancing up and noticing his scrutiny, Claire felt a self-conscious flush of heat wash through her system and quickly looked away again. What was he seeing when he looked at her like that? she wondered. A very big mistake walking towards him?

  While she saw a tall, dark, very handsome man with cold black eyes, an unsmiling mouth, and a proud tilt to his chiselled chin that seemed to be trying to tell her something.

  Though what that something was, she couldn’t have said. The man was a complete enigma.

  Hot-cold. Soothe-cut. Approach and retreat. She listed these characteristics of his behaviour with a rueful tilt to her unhappy mouth that seemed to further annoy him. He shifted slightly, looking stiffly tense. The baby woke up with a start and gave a small cry. Claire covered the final few yards in a couple of light dancing steps, her mothering instincts alerted without her even being aware of it.

  In the end she wasn’t needed. When he glanced down at the baby to find her eyes were open, all the hardness simply melted clean out of him as he lifted a finger to gently touch the baby’s small, pointed chin.

  But what really took Claire’s breath away was the way Melanie’s sweet little smile appeared. She knows him already! she realised with a shock.

  ‘Hey,’ she complained, peering over his arm so she could look at her sister. ‘Those smiles are supposed to belong to me!’ she scolded.

  As she heard her voice, Melanie’s eyes found her face and stuck firmly to it. ‘That’s better,’ Claire grinned, so engrossed in the baby that, far from being disturbed by his closeness, she didn’t even notice the way she was leaning against Andreas so she could monopolise the baby’s attention.

  If she had, she would have realised how still he had gone. How his hooded eyes had become even more hooded as he settled them on the top of her golden head.

  ‘What a seductive picture,’ a beautifully cultured but coldly sarcastic voice intruded. ‘I wish I had my camera,’ it drawled. ‘Then I could capture the image for posterity and you could hang it on the wall as an example of perfect family harmony …’

  Two heads came up, one dark, one fair, both faces revealing different expressions. Claire’s was startled by this totally unexpected attack; Andreas’s was—resigned.

  ‘Desmona …’ he greeted smoothly. ‘How—nice to see you.’

  But it wasn’t nice. Desmona wasn’t nice and Andreas wasn’t being nice. The warm Greek air had suddenly turned chilly and Claire shivered accordingly as she watched the other woman begin walking towards them along the shaded terrace.

  She was outstandingly beautiful. A tall and willowy silver-blonde in her early thirties, at a guess, whose silver-blue-silk-encased body glided gracefully as she moved. Money, class and a lifetime of believing herself to be special were reflected in that walk, Claire noted.

  Though it was Desmona’s eyes that held her thoroughly captivated. If Andreas’s eyes could remind her of black ice sometimes, then the silver-grey ones looking at her now could have been set in permafrost, and they intimidated enough to have Claire inching backwards in wary retreat.

  The back of her head hit a firmly cushioned shoulder at the same time as an arm curved around her, angling across her rigid back so long, lean brown fingers could rest on her narrow waist. Claire never even considered the idea of moving away from him—not while those silvery eyes were fixed on her anyway.

  Was she family? Did she live here? she wondered curiously.

  I hope not, she prayed, with a small shudder.

  ‘This, Claire,’ Andreas informed her levelly, ‘is my sister-in-law Desmona Markopoulou …’

  Sister-in-law? With a small start, she flashed him a frowning glance. She was sure he had told her that he was the only grandson.

  ‘Widowed sister-in-law.’ It was Desmona herself who unwittingly cleared the puzzle as she came to a smooth stop just in front of them. But Claire didn’t even like the way she said that.

  ‘May I be the first to welcome you to your new home?’ Desmona murmured graciously.

  ‘Thank you,’ Claire politely replied.

  She was offered a
long-fingered, very slender white hand. Claire’s own palm began to tingle in anticipation of having to brush against the other woman’s satin-smooth skin.

  Then the need to touch each other at all was suddenly saved when Claire remembered belatedly that her right hand was in a sling—at about the same moment that Desmona noticed it.

  ‘Oh, you are injured,’ she remarked. Her English was superb, spoken with an accent that was barely noticeable.

  Claire smiled nervously. ‘An accident.’ She didn’t bother to elaborate. ‘So I am afraid I can’t …’ She gave a jerky gesture towards Desmona’s outstretched hand; the hand fluttered a little then dropped.

  Clearly picking up on the tension suddenly surrounding them all, Melanie let out another protesting cry. Desmona’s eyes flicked from Claire to the baby, and in the sudden taut silence which followed something in her expression subtly altered.

  ‘She is like you, Andreas,’ she remarked casually enough, though.

  ‘She is my daughter,’ he answered just as casually. ‘What else would you expect?’

  No reply was forthcoming, but the silence lashed to and fro with the kind of bitter words Claire could sense but not follow.

  Then the silver eyes were shifting back to Claire, and the cold mask, which had slipped slightly, was suddenly back in place as Desmona politely excused herself before walking gracefully away along a formally set pathway that took her around the side of the house.

  ‘Good grief,’ Claire breathed as the air left her body in a single relieved whoosh. ‘What was all that about?’

  For a moment Andreas didn’t answer, his attention thoughtfully fixed on Desmona’s steadily receding figure. Then he surprised Claire with a short, sardonic laugh. ‘You have just met the family choice for my bride,’ he said dryly.

  ‘Your late brother’s wife?’ she gasped, tipping her head back to stare at him in shocked disbelief.

  He was already looking down at her, so their eyes clashed. The surface of her skin began to tingle, her insides along with it. She could feel herself beginning to fall into those devilish black eyes again and couldn’t seem to do a single thing to stop it.