The Greek's Bought Bride

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘I wasn’t,’ she said moodily.

  And you’re Tamsyn, aren’t you?’ he continued, undaunted. ‘Tamsyn Wilson.’

  Behind her unsmiling lips, Tamsyn gritted her teeth. He hadn’t bothered finding out her name before, had he? But now he’d discovered she was related to Hannah, he was behaving very differently She glanced up at where the prospective bride and groom were sitting next to one another on some amazing dais. Hannah was smiling but Tamsyn knew her well enough to see the strain of the occasion on her face—and she was pregnant. And since Hannah had stressed that Xan was engaged in some important business with the Sheikh, then shouldn’t she at least try to be polite to him, at least for the duration of the meal itself?

  ‘Yes,’ she said, as a delicate mango and walnut salad was placed in front of her. ‘That’s my name.’

  ‘So why don’t you tell me something about yourself, Tamsyn Wilson?’

  Picking up a golden fork to half-heartedly push her food around the plate, Tamsyn wondered what the Greek tycoon would say if she told him the truth. That if her parents had been married, her real surname would have been one of the most memorable in the world. But she had never used it. She’d never had the right to use it—not then and certainly not now. She looked into his cobalt eyes and tried to suppress the insane flutter of her heart. ‘What would you like to know?’

  He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘Why don’t we start with the obvious. You say you’re no longer working at the Bluebird Club?’

  ‘I told you—I was sacked.’

  ‘So what are you doing instead?’

  Perhaps if she hadn’t been feeling so out of place then Tamsyn might have engaged in small-talk. She might have skated over her nomadic existence and pretended she was just like every other woman there. But somehow those words wouldn’t come. Maybe Xan Constantinides was too unsettling a presence and those cobalt eyes too deeply penetrating. Because the idea of putting a positive spin on a life which had felt like it was spiralling out of control lately, suddenly seemed too big an ask. Why bother trying to impress someone who was only deigning to speak to her because she was soon to be related to the Sheikh?

  ‘Oh, I have a terribly glamorous life—you wouldn’t believe,’ she said airily. ‘I work in a coffee bar by day and stack supermarket shelves by night.’

  He frowned. ‘Those sound like very long hours.’

  ‘Go straight to the top of the class, Mr Constantinides—they are.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Aren’t you qualified to do anything other than waitress work?’

  She put the golden fork back down on the plate with a clatter, her starter untasted. ‘Actually, no, I’m not. Exams were never really my number one concern when I was at school.’

  ‘So why not retrain to do something else?’ he questioned as he lifted up his own goblet, his steady cobalt gaze surveying her over its jewelled rim. ‘You seem bright enough.’

  Tamsyn nearly laughed out loud and not just because the remark was deeply patronising. That was the trouble with rich people. They had no idea how the world really worked. They’d been cushioned by their wealth and privilege for so long, that they couldn’t put themselves in someone else’s shoes. ‘And who’s going to fund me while I do that?’ she questioned, trying to keep her voice from shaking. ‘When I’ve just had a rent raise from my landlord? And before you tell me to move to somewhere cheaper, I’ve lived in London all my life and can’t imagine going anywhere else. Some problems don’t have easy solutions, I’m afraid. Not unless you’re prepared to throw wads of cash at them, which isn’t an option for most people. Welcome to the real world, Mr Constantinides.’

  Xan wondered if she was aware that her defiant words were causing her chest to heave, making it difficult for him not to stare openly at the silk-covered perfection of her breasts. With an effort he focussed his gaze on his wine glass, twirling the stem between his fingers and watching as the different jewels sparkled in the light from the overhead chandeliers. ‘It’s true I have made a sizeable amount of money,’ he conceded. ‘But that certainly doesn’t guarantee a trouble-free life.’

  ‘You mean like someone forgetting to peel your grapes for you, or your private jet failing to take off on time?’

  ‘That’s a rather predictable response, Tamsyn,’ he mused softly. ‘You know, I’m almost disappointed. I was hoping for something a little more original.’

  ‘Oh, dear,’ she said, pushing out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. ‘The billionaire is disappointed. We can’t have that, can we?’

  He met the hectic glitter of her green gaze and the pooling at his groin increased. Xan shifted in his seat. He had tried to be polite but she was having none of it and he suspected he knew why. Because something was flowing between them. Something powerful. The kind of physical attraction he’d been encountering from women ever since he’d reached puberty though it had never felt like this before. Women didn’t usually glare at him as if he was the devil incarnate, or try to rub him up the wrong way. He suspected that Tamsyn’s supposed dislike of him was masking a much deeper response and that her darkened eyes were telling the real story. A flicker of a smile curved his lips. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. And why not? Why not enjoy one final taste of freedom before destiny beckoned?

  But he didn’t intend spending the entire meal fighting with her and not simply because fighting was a bore. Because he understood the psychology of women only too well. They always wanted what they thought they couldn’t have. She needed to understand that she was in danger of missing out if she continued to be insolent towards him. He would make her wait and make her squirm, so that by the time she came to him she would be so aroused that...

  The pressure at his groin was almost unbearable as, very deliberately, he turned his back on her and began to speak to the Italian heiress to his right.

  CHAPTER THREE

  IT WAS JUST a wedding. That was all. Just a few more hours to get through before she could go home. That’s what Tamsyn kept telling herself as she made her way towards the grand throne room, in yet another outfit which Hannah had insisted she wear. She supposed her sister must have secretly had all these clothes made for her before she arrived, but she couldn’t deny that the long, floaty dress suited her. Unlike the dramatic emerald gown she’d worn to the rehearsal dinner last night, this one was a much gentler hue. The soft grey colour of a pigeon’s wing, the bodice and silk-chiffon skirt were sprinkled with tiny crystals which sparkled like stars as she moved.

  Tonight, the jewels she’d been loaned were diamonds—some more chandelier drop earrings, along with a priceless choker which blazed like ice fire around her neck. And just like last night, when Tamsyn glanced in the mirror before leaving her suite, she didn’t recognise the image reflected back at her. To the outside world she looked sleek, expensive and polished but inside she felt....disgruntled. And although she hated the reason for her discontentment, she wasn’t deluded enough to deny it. Because wasn’t the truth that her irritation had been caused by Xan Constantinides ignoring her throughout most of the pre-wedding dinner? He’d been laughing and joking in Italian with that stunning woman on his other side and making out like she was invisible. And yes, she had been behaving in a particularly waspish manner beforehand, but even so...

  She’d made her escape as soon as the food part of the evening was over. She’d gone back to her suite of rooms and run herself a deep and perfumed bath—then spent most of the night tossing and turning as the image of a man with black hair and cobalt eyes kept haunting her thoughts. More than once she’d awoken to find the tips of her breasts all pointy and aching and a molten heat throbbing between her thighs, causing her to writhe frustratedly between the fine cotton sheets. She’d told herself she needed to pull herself together and put the infuriating Greek right out of her mind, but somehow it wasn’t turning out to be that easy.

  The moment she enter
ed the throne room, Xan Constantinides was the first person she saw, despite the fact that the Sheikh was already at the front of the gilded throne room, waiting for his bride. Tamsyn’s heart gave a powerful lurch as she willed her face not to register any emotion.

  He looked...

  She swallowed against the sudden rawness in her throat. He looked delectable. In a charcoal suit which suited his colouring, he stood taller than any other man there else. Even more disturbing was the fact that he seemed to sense when she entered, because he turned his head and she was caught in that cobalt stare, making her feel as if she was imprisoned there. As if she wanted to be imprisoned there. She willed him not to come up and talk to her and then of course, she wished he would, but Tamsyn told herself to concentrate on the ceremony itself and to fix her eyes on the bride, who was just arriving.

  Hannah looked gorgeous, her pregnancy bump a subtle swell and well disguised by her unusual wedding gown of beaten gold. She’d apologised for not making Tamsyn her bridesmaid, explaining that it wasn’t Zahristanian custom to do so. Not that Tamsyn had minded. Marriage had always seemed such an outdated institution to her and one which rarely lasted. More than once she’d wondered why it couldn’t be replaced by something more modern.

  Yet she sensed the historical significance of the vows being made, though Hannah’s voice was so low she could barely hear them and the Sheikh looked so stern that Tamsyn was certain he felt as trapped as her sister did. But she clapped and cheered along with the other guests once the couple had been pronounced King and Queen, and she toasted their health in spiced fire-berry juice, as was traditional.

  The meal which followed was far more formal than the one they’d eaten last night and Tamsyn told herself she was pleased to sit between the Sultan of Marazad and a representative from the desert kingdom of Maraban. Glad to be miles away from Xan Constantinides and relieved she didn’t have to endure his unsettling presence.

  But that was a lie.

  All she could think about was the Greek tycoon, and her body seemed determined to reflect her increasingly distracted thoughts. She felt as if her skin had become too tight for her body. As if her senses had suddenly become sensitised. The sound of her heart seemed amplified, its beat a million times more powerful than usual. And there was no respite from these unsettling feelings which made her feel as if she was fighting something deep inside herself. Nowhere she could escape to, because she couldn’t just get up and leave in the middle of a royal wedding. She tried to chat politely to the men on either side and not glance further down the long table to where a Hollywood actress and a female member of the British royal family were giggling like schoolgirls at something Xan was saying.

  She wondered how early she could decently leave, especially when a troupe of musicians started playing in the galleried ballroom next door. She knew there would be dancing after dinner because Hannah had told her so, but Tamsyn had no intention of watching couples circling the dance floor and pretending she was fine on her own. Usually, she was—mainly because she had made self-sufficiency into an art form. She never yearned for a partner because that was the only way she knew how to function. If you didn’t yearn for something, you wouldn’t be disappointed—and anyway, relationships were a waste of time. Experience had taught her that.

  Yet tonight she keenly felt the absence of something in her life. Or rather, someone. Maybe it was the inevitable sentimentality conjured up by the wedding vows, or the realisation that Hannah was now married which was making her feel so shockingly alone. Or perhaps it was the just the realisation that there was nothing waiting for her back in England other than a pile of mounting debts.

  Dabbing at her lips with a napkin, she decided to slip away, just like last night. Who would notice her when there were so many important guests present? She rose from her seat and was just bending to retrieve the Dior bag Hannah had insisted on lending her, when she heard a rich voice from behind.

  ‘You’re not leaving?’ came the silky question.

  She didn’t need to turn around to know who was speaking, but prior knowledge offered no protection against her feelings and Tamsyn’s heart was hammering as she straightened up to meet that mocking cobalt stare. He didn’t want to talk to you last night, she reminded herself—so why not continue with that state of affairs and everyone will be happy. She gave him a tight smile. ‘Oh, dear. Nobody was supposed to notice.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  Tamsyn shrugged. Where did he think she was going? ‘Back to my room. Or should I say—to my vast suite of rooms.’

  ‘But the night is young.’

  She opened her eyes very wide. ‘I didn’t think people actually said that kind of thing any more.’

  He raised his brows. ‘You’re implying it’s clichéd?’

  ‘I suspect you’re clever enough to work that one out for yourself, Mr Constantinides.’

  Their gazes clashed in look which made Tamsyn feel almost playful and the desire to flirt was overwhelming. Yet she never flirted—she wasn’t sure she even knew how. She’d always been closed up and defensive because she didn’t particularly like men and she certainly didn’t trust them. So how come she was suddenly playing a game she’d never played before and finding she was comfortable with it? How come she wanted to tease this darkly impressive individual and for him to tease her back? She found herself wanting to stroke her finger over the curving lines of his sensual mouth, and...and...

  And she had to stop this.

  Because this was dangerous. More than dangerous. Tamsyn’s heart clenched with something which felt uncomfortably close to vulnerability, and that scared the hell out of her. ‘I have to go,’ she said.

  ‘Not yet.’ He laid his hand on her arm. ‘I get the distinct feeling that I really need to change your impression of me.’

  Chin lifting, she offered him a belligerent gaze. ‘And why would you want to do that?’

  ‘Call it a peace-making move in honour of your sister’s wedding, if you like. Just a little light-hearted fun, that’s all. And the dancing has only just started,’ he observed. ‘You can’t possibly leave until you’ve had at least one dance.’

  ‘I didn’t think it was obligatory. I wasn’t planning on dancing with anyone.’

  An arrogant smile touched the edges of his lips. ‘Not even with me?’

  ‘Especially not with you.’

  ‘Oh? And why not, agape mou? Don’t you like dancing?’

  His voice had deepened and the throwaway endearment in his native tongue made him even more irresistible. Tamsyn stared into his dark blue eyes. When she was younger she had thrown herself around a dance floor with the rest of them, swaying beneath the flash of lights, to the DJ’s heavy beat. She had shaken her arms in the air and tossed her curls while her skin had glowed and grown hot. But she’d never been asked to dance by a devastatingly handsome man in a fancy ballroom, while wearing a silken dress which pooled around her ankles.

  ‘Because it’s a bad idea,’ she prevaricated.

  ‘Stop fighting it, Tamsyn. You know you want to dance with me,’ he said with silky perception, his hand moving to the small of her back as he propelled her gently towards the dance floor.

  Even then she might have stopped him had Tamsyn not glanced up at the dais and seen the newly married Sheikh looking down on them, with what looked like bemusement in his eyes. Was he surprised she was planning to dance with such an honoured guest as his rich pal? She knew Kulal didn’t like her, just as she didn’t like him. In fact, they’d had an almighty row before the wedding when he’d turned up on her sister’s doorstep. But you had to let bygones be bygones, especially now that he was her new brother-in-law.

  So why not show the Sheikh she could behave with dignity—and prove to herself that she wasn’t a total social misfit? Why shouldn’t she dance with the best-looking man in the room? With a resolute nod of her head, she allowed Xan to lead
her onto the ballroom, pleased there were enough people to ensure they could just blend into the crowd. Just one dance, she told herself. One dance to fulfil her obligations and she could be off.

  But life never quite conformed the way you wanted it to. One dance became two, which then somehow morphed into three, and each dance seemed to propel them closer, so that their bodies felt as if they were glued together. And Xan wasn’t saying anything. Well, neither was she, come to think of it. Tamsyn blamed the loudness of the lilting music but the truth was that she couldn’t think of anything she wanted to say other than something wholly inappropriate.

  Like: I love the way you make me feel when you tighten your arms around my waist like that. Or, could you possibly press yourself a little closer?

  Did he realise that, or did she somehow silently communicate her wishes to him? Because surely there must have been a reason—some defining moment—when Xan Constantinides thought it was perfectly acceptable for him to run his fingertips down her back in a way which even to her inexperienced self, spoke of careless intimacy. For several minutes, she let him do just that and she couldn’t deny how good it felt. She began to shiver each time he made the tantalisingly slow journey from the top of her neck to the base of her spine. Her heart was hammering and the rush of heat to her face echoed the molten heat which was clenching at her sex. Yet far from being disturbed by the sultry desire she was experiencing Tamsyn was aware of an intense feeling of relief. Briefly she closed her eyes as she dipped her forehead to rest on his shoulder as she felt the squirm of excitement. So she wasn’t frigid, after all. She could feel the things other women felt. Sweet heaven—could she feel them! It was as if someone had just flicked a switch and brought her body to life, so that every sinew and fibre was thrilling with the potent power of his proximity.

  She heard him murmur something in her ear, it’s meaning a mystery because it was said in Greek. But then he pushed one thigh hard against hers, as if urging her legs apart and she found her super-susceptible body obeying his silent command. Her knees widened and a sudden thrill of pleasure shot through her as she felt the pressure of his hard thigh pushing against the softness of hers. Her breasts were thrusting insistently at his chest and her knees had become all wobbly and weak. She could feel the rub of her panties over a sudden honeyed slickness and felt an insistent yearning to have him touch her there...to whisper his finger over her most intimate place. To ease that escalating ache which was making her want to squirm with frustration. She swallowed, trying to ignore the heat which was flaring in her cheek—and that was when alarm bells started ringing. What was she doing? After years of being purer than the driven snow, was she really planning to make a slutty spectacle of herself on the dance floor—just because some super-smooth man was pressing all the right buttons?