‘Choose your weapon,’ he invited without allowing his eyes to leave the mirror, where his own reflection showed him a man who had changed a lot in the last twenty-four hours. Gone were the harsh lines of cynicism he had watched increase over the previous three years. Now he saw a pretty good-looking guy with a decent pair of shoulders and sexily provoking promise about him.
She did this for him, he acknowledged. This moody woman with the slicked-back wet hair and the sensationally smooth white skin.
She leapt without warning. Dropping the razor into the washbasin, he swung round in time to catch her against his chest. Green eyes glittered, her mouth quivered, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
‘I don’t want to go tonight!’ she cried out plaintively.
She chose her weapon well. Anger he could deal with—a physical attack. But true tears and fear were different things entirely. ‘Don’t cry, agape mou. That isn’t fair.’
‘Can’t we wait a few days before you toss me to the wolves again—please?’ she begged.
The please almost unmanned him. He recovered while carrying her back to the bed. ‘If anyone so much as glances at you wrongly I will strike them down, I promise you.’
‘They can still think what they like about me, Andros!’
Andros; she was the only person to ever get away with calling him that, so when she did it, it turned his senses over, it tied possessive ropes around his heart. Vulnerable, cowardly, beautiful Isobel—the Isobel she let no one else ever see.
With grim intent he sat down on the bed then, as she still clung to him, he rolled them both backwards until they lay on their sides. ‘Do you truly believe that we two are the only ones to regret what happened before?’ he demanded. ‘My mother had to watch me go to pieces. Within the year after you left I left here also and rarely ever came back again.’
‘Where did you go?’ She was diverted. He almost laughed at the irony. He revealed weakness and she suddenly became the strong one! ‘To Spain,’ he replied. ‘To a place called San Estéban. I ran my companies from a stateroom on my yacht and learned to live with myself by pretending Athens didn’t exist.’
‘You should have come to me!’ Her fist made contact with his shoulder. He trapped her beneath him on the bed. Her legs still clung though. She was not letting go of him and she was wearing nothing beneath the T-shirt.
‘I did come to you,’ he growled. ‘Every night in my dreams!’
‘Not good enough.’
‘Then we have a lot of time to make up for,’ he gritted and entered her—no preliminaries. Her cry was one of pleasure because she was ready to receive him. She clutched his head and brought his mouth crashing down onto hers. They rode the hot wind of raging passion. When it was over and he felt his strength return to him he got up as still she clung and walked them both beneath the shower, where he began the whole exhilarating ride all over again.
Getting ready to go out was not easy when he was feeling laid-back and slumberous. Fortunately, Isobel had wisely disappeared to the other bedroom so at least the temptation to forget tonight’s party and remain lost in her was removed—in part. He was all too aware of that soft, pulsing sense of continued possession. He had only to think of her and he could imagine her crawling all over him in her desire to lay claim to every exquisitely receptive inch of his skin.
He grimaced as he retrieved the black jewellery cases from the chest of drawers, then went to find his red-haired tormentor. If she launched another attack on his defences, they would not be going anywhere, he promised his impatient senses.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HE ENTERED the room with a light tap to warn of his arrival. Isobel turned to the mirror to take one last look at herself and could not decide if she liked what she saw.
Nervous fingers fluttered down the short, close-fitting lined straight dress she had chosen to wear. It was made of a misty-jade silk-crêpe that clung sensually to her slender figure without being too obvious—she hoped. Her make-up was light and natural, her kitten-heeled lightweight mules matched the colour of the dress. But had she struck the note she had been striving for, in a different key to the old downright-provocative Isobel, without appearing as if she had conceded anything to the Greek idea of what was good taste?
‘What do you think?’ She begged his opinion while anxiety darkened her eyes and she wished to goodness that she’d worn her hair down—it had not occurred to her before that she liked to use her hair to hide behind and now she felt very exposed.
Leandros didn’t reply, so she turned to gauge his expression, only to go breathlessly still when she found herself looking at a man from any warm-blooded woman’s dreams. He’d discarded the conventional black dinner suit in favour of a white dinner jacket, black silk trousers and a black bow-tie. He looked smooth and dark and so sexually masculine that those tiny muscles inside her that were still gently pulsing from their last stimulation began to gather pace all over again.
His darkly hooded eyes moved over her in a way she recognised only too well. Mine, the look said. ‘Stunning,’ he murmured. ‘Nothing short of perfect.’
So are you, she was going to say, but as he walked towards her she noticed the black velvet jewellery cases in his hand and recognised them instantly.
Nervous fingers feathered the front of her dress again. ‘S-so you got them back,’ she said.
‘The heirlooms?’ His mouth twitched. ‘As you see,’ he confirmed easily.
With the neat flick of a finger he opened the flat case, gave her a few seconds to stare down at the platinum scrolls pierced with glowing emeralds and edged with sparkling diamonds that she had thought so beautiful when first she saw them. But that was before his sister’s scornful, ‘He’s given you those old things? Mother always refused to wear them. Though they are definitely wasted on you,’ had taken their beauty away.
Now those same long fingers were lifting the necklace from its bed of velvet. ‘Turn around,’ he commanded.
‘I…’ Reluctance to so much as touch any of the pieces lying in that case was crawling across her skin. ‘I gave you them back,’ she pointed out edgily. ‘I don’t really want—’
‘It has been a few eventful days filled with many second chances,’ he replied in a light tone filled with sardonic dryness, ‘for here I am, giving them back to you. They will be perfect with this lovely dress, don’t you think?’
Maybe they would. ‘But…’ The necklace sparkled and glittered across the backs of his fingers. She lifted wary eyes to his and instantly felt as if she was drowning in a thick, dark sea of lazy indulgence. Let’s go back to bed, she wanted to say. I feel safe there with you. ‘Don’t you think my wearing them tonight would be like slapping your family in the face with the fact that I am back? M-maybe I will wear them another time.’
‘But you are back,’ he pointed out with devastating simplicity. ‘You are my beautiful wife. I gave these beautiful things to you and I want you to wear them. So turn around…’
She turned around, taking that sudden gleam of determination in his eyes with her. The necklace came to lie against her skin, circling the base of her throat as if it had been specially made to do so.
‘A new beginning for you and I also mean a new beginning for everyone, agape mou,’ he said deeply as she felt the warm press of his lips to her nape.
Then he was gently bringing her round to face him. With a neat flick the matching bracelet arrived around her slender wrist. Her stomach began to dance when he reached up to gently remove the tiny gold studs she was wearing in her ears. She could not believe there was another man alive who knew how to thread the fine hooks, from which there were suspended matching emerald-and diamond-studded scrolls, into the piercing of a woman’s ears without hurting.
He was standing so close—close enough for it to take only the slightest movement from her to close the gap. She stared at the sensual shape of his mouth and wanted badly to kiss it. Her breasts began to ache, her breathing shallowing out to hardly anything at
all.
Flustered by her own crass lack of control around him, she turned away to stare into the mirror again. He was right about the jewellery looking perfect with the dress, she conceded reluctantly.
Her eyes flicked up to catch his in the mirror. He stood a head and the white-covered width of his shoulders taller than she did. She saw dark and light, frailty and strength. They contrasted in every way there was, yet fitted together as if it had always meant to be this way.
‘I still think that wearing these is like a slap in the face to your family,’ she insisted.
Reaching up with a hand, he ran the gentle tip of a finger around the sparkling necklace. ‘I think I am going to enjoy myself not too many hours from now.’
He was talking about sex on a bed draped with his wife wearing nothing but diamonds and emeralds. He was conjuring up enticing visions with which she didn’t need any help to remember for herself. He laid a kiss upon her shoulder; she quivered, he sighed—then stepped away to pick up the other velvet box he had brought into the room with him.
She had forgotten all about it until he flicked up the lid. Her stomach was not the only thing to dance with fine flutters as he took a ring between finger and thumb. Ridding himself of the box, he slid the ring onto her finger until it came to rest against her wedding ring.
‘This stays where it is,’ he said very seriously.
The huge central stone seemed to issue a proclamation as he lifted it to his mouth. The diamonds framing the emerald almost blinded her beneath the overhead light. She might not know much about precious stones but she could recognise quality when she saw it.
‘Who did these belong to—originally, I mean?’ she asked curiously.
A mocking look appeared along with a lazy grin. ‘The emeralds once belonged to a Venezuelan pirate who wore the one in the ring set into his front tooth.’
She laughed; it was irresistible not to at such an outrageous fairy tale. ‘He would have had to have huge teeth!’ she exclaimed.
‘A swashbuckling, dark giant of a man with a black velvet patch worn over one eye,’ he embroidered shamelessly. Then, so unexpectedly it took her breath away, he bent to kiss her full on the mouth.
He stole her lipstick; she didn’t care. He stole her every anxiety about tonight by reminding her of what really mattered. They left the bedroom hand in hand and walked down the stairs, meeting her mother, who was just making her way down the hallway, looking so lovely in her blue dress threaded with silver that her daughter stopped and sighed, ‘Oh, Mum…’
The nerves returned when they turned into the driveway of a mansion house set in beautiful gardens lit to welcome its guests. Isobel’s mother refused the use of her wheelchair, waving it away when their driver attempted to help her into it. Dignity and pride came before common sense tonight, though Silvia could not dismiss her need of her walking frame, no matter how independent she would prefer to be. However she was feeling buoyant and determined to enjoy herself.
Her daughter wished she could find the same motivation. Leandros’s hand resting against her lower spine instilled some reassurance but the line-up of people waiting at the entrance was so daunting that Isobel was glad they were forced to take their time by matching their pace to her mother’s slower steps.
She was introduced to Mr and Mrs Santorini and their daughter Carlotta, who was a lovely thing with dark hair and even darker liquid, smiling eyes. All three welcomed Isobel graciously but they were obviously curious about her, no matter how they tried to hide it. Nikos reminded her of Leandros when she had first met him, before life had got around to honing his handsome face. Nikos’s smile was rueful as he greeted her with a lazy, ‘Happy to see you here, Isobel.’ As he bent to place a kiss on her cheek he added softly, ‘And about time too.’
It was a nice thing for him to say, and helped to ease the next moment when Isobel had to face Leandros’s mother. Thea looked stiff and awkward as she greeted the daughter-in-law who had been such a big disappointment to her. She was kind to Silvia, though, showed a genuine concern about her accident and promised to spend time with her later, catching up on what had happened.
‘See, it wasn’t so bad,’ Leandros said quietly as they moved away.
‘Only because you’d obviously primed them,’ she countered.
The click of his tongue told her she had managed to annoy him. ‘The chip on your shoulder must be very heavy, agape,’ he drawled caustically, and the hand at her spine fell away. Feeling suddenly cast adrift as they stepped into a large reception room, Isobel then had to stand alone to deal with something like a hundred faces turning her way.
Some stared in open surprise, others glanced quickly down and away. Her skin began to prickle as the nerves she had been keeping under tight control broke free. Leandros could prime his family but he could not prime everyone, she noted painfully as the hiss of soft whispers suddenly attacked her burning ears.
It was awful. She felt that old familiar sensation as if she was beginning to shrink. With a lifting of her chin she stopped it from happening. Damn you all, her green eyes flashed.
Like the old times—like the old times, she chanted silently.
Her mother arrived at Leandros’s other side, thankfully drawing some of the attention her way. Silvia, too, stopped to stare in surprise at what was taking place. ‘Are we the star turn, Leandros?’ she asked him. She wasn’t a fool; her mother knew exactly what was going on here.
One of his hands went to cover one of Silvia’s hands where it gripped the walking frame, the other arrived at Isobel’s waist. Then he lifted his dark head to eye the room as a whole, and with a few economical movements he silenced whispers.
It came as a small shock to Isobel to see how much command he seemed to have over such an illustrious assembly. He had not warranted this much respect the last time she’d been here. Their three years apart had given him something extra she could only describe as presence. She had noticed it before in other ways but had not suspected that he could silence tongues with a single lift of his chiselled chin.
People went back to whatever they had been doing before they’d arrived to interrupt. Without uttering a word Leandros guided them towards a low sofa set against the nearest wall to them and quietly invited Silvia to sit. She shook her head. Like mother like daughter, Isobel mused ruefully. Neither of them was going to allow themselves to shrink here.
A waiter appeared to offer them tall flutes of champagne. Beginning to feel just a little bit nauseous, she allowed herself a tiny sip. ‘OK?’ Leandros murmured huskily.
‘Yes,’ she replied but they both knew she wasn’t.
‘I apologise for my earlier remark.’ It was an acknowledgement that the chip-on-the-shoulder taunt had not been fair. ‘I think I should have anticipated this. But, in truth, I did not expect them to be so…’
Rude, she finished for him. And—yes, he should have expected it. But this was no time to jump into a row with him. That would come later, she promised herself.
‘Isobel!’ The call of her name brought her head up and the first genuine smile to widen her mouth. A diversion was coming in the shape of Eve Herakleides, who was bearing down upon them with her daunting giant of a grandfather and another man Isobel presumed must be Eve’s new husband.
‘Oh, this is just too good to be true!’ Eve exclaimed as she arrived in front of them. Suddenly and intentionally, Isobel was sure, friendly, warm faces were surrounding them.
She and Eve shared kisses. Leandros was greeting Eve’s grandfather—his uncle Theron—and introducing Theron to Silvia. Then Eve drew her husband forward and proudly presented him as her gorgeous Englishman. Ethan Hayes grimaced at being described in this way, but his eyes were smiling and his hand made its possessive declaration where it rested on Eve’s slender waist.
Tensions began to ease as shifted they positions to complete introductions all round. Isobel found herself confronted by the great Theron Herakleides, who looked nothing like Leandros’s mother. But then, they ha
d been born several decades apart to different mothers. ‘I am very happy to see you here,’ he announced quite gravely, and bent to make the traditional two-kiss greeting.
Someone else arrived within their select little circle. It was Leandros’s beautiful sister, Chloe, wearing an exquisite long and slinky gown of toreador red that set off her tall, dark, slender beauty to perfection. Her actions were stilted, the greeting she offered Isobel filled with the same awkward coolness as her mother’s had been. Chloe was the youngest of the three Petronades children. All her life she had been adored and doted on by all the Petronades males, which in turn had made her spoiled and selfish, and she resented anyone who threatened to steal some of that adoration away from her.
She’d seen Isobel as one of those people. It still remained to be seen if Nikos’s lovely Carlotta was going to be treated to the same petulant contempt. But, for now, Isobel was prepared to be polite and friendly—just in case Chloe had changed her attitude in the last three years.
Leandros saw his sister differently. Spoiled and selfish though she undoubtedly had been three years ago, she had gone through a very tough time after their father died. She’d worshipped him above all others, and losing him had left a huge gap in her heart that she’d looked to him and Nikos to fill. When he’d married Isobel, Chloe had taken this as yet another devastating loss and had fiercely resented Isobel for being the cause.
Chloe had changed over the last three years though. Grown up, he supposed, and was less of a spoiled little cat. Though he understood that Isobel didn’t know that—which was why he felt her fingers searching for the secure comfort of his hand as Chloe levelled her dark eyes upon her and said, ‘Welcome home, Isobel,’ then concluded the greeting with a kiss to both of Isobel’s cheeks with a very petulant mouth.
He was about to offer a wry smile at this bit of petulance, when something else happened to wipe out all hint of humour. As she drew away Chloe’s gaze flickered down to the jewels flashing at Isobel’s throat and a faint flush was suddenly staining her elegant cheekbones as she looked away in clear discomfort.
Hot-Blooded Husbands Bundle Page 65
