The Greek's Bought Bride

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Is there anything you want which I can give you?’ he drawled lazily.

  ‘Xan,’ she said shakily.

  ‘Neh?’ he replied, as he stripped the tiny yellow bikini from her body and the sight of her naked in the sunshine made his blood roar. Tearing off his trunks with impatient hands, he parted her thighs and pushed deep inside her and she gasped as her hips lifted up to meet the hard slam of his. Never had she felt so hot or wet or deep and Xan could do nothing to stop the thoughts which flooded into his head as he drove into her. In a couple of days time he would be in his office in Athens, with back-to-back meetings and conference calls. He wouldn’t see Tamsyn until he got home in the evening—probably not before eight at the earliest—because he always worked late. Was it that which made this seem so poignant? The sense of something ending which somehow increased the intensity, making his climax explode at exactly the same time as hers, which had never happened to them before.

  They lay there afterwards, resting in the shade of rocky outcrop and for a moment he thought she was asleep. But no. He heard her sigh as, her eyes concealed by her shades, she stared up at the sky above.

  ‘Was that good?’ he questioned, with sleepy satisfaction.

  ‘It’s always good.’

  ‘I don’t know how you do it.’ He gave another yawn. ‘But every time I have you, I just want you all over again.’

  ‘It’s because you know it’s only temporary,’ she said lightly.

  ‘Maybe.’

  Tamsyn heard the sound of his breathing deepening and a quick glance at his supine form told her he’d fallen asleep. Reluctantly she dragged her gaze away from all the unleashed power of his magnificent body and stared out to sea. Out on the horizon was nothing but a deep slash of dark sapphire water and in front of it, the sugar-white grains of sand. The air was still and warm and fragrant and her body felt utterly satiated by Xan’s sublime lovemaking. She wished she could capture that moment and keep it in a bottle.

  But she couldn’t.

  She couldn’t hold onto any of this. It was slipping through her fingers just like the fine sand on which she lay. She’d agreed to a three-month marriage but now she could see that her decision to put a time limit on their union might have been too hasty. Even reckless. How could she possibly endure another ten weeks of pretending that her feelings for Xan hadn’t changed—when she was putty in his hands after a mere fortnight together?

  Behind her dark glasses, Tamsyn blinked away the incipient threat of tears. She’d been told by men in the past that she was cold and frigid. That behind her vibrant exterior was nothing but ice—and she had believed it, because nobody before Xan had ever made her melt. But Xan had. How could she not grow closer to a man when he was inside her and they were staring deep into each other’s eyes? When she became unsure where he began and she ended—as if they were both parts of the same body. That was when wishful thinking found an opportunity to creep into her mind and take root there. Started making her long for things which were never going to happen.

  Because none of this was real, she reminded herself. They were just playing make-believe. Her Greek husband had embraced the physical, but his emotional barriers remained firmly in place. And so did hers, if she was being honest. Because otherwise, why hadn’t she just come out and told him about her dad?

  She swallowed. She’d never discussed her father, not even with Hannah. Especially not with Hannah—not after what had happened. Perhaps if she’d fallen in love with someone kind and approachable, she might have opened up her heart to him. But Xan wasn’t that man. His lovemaking might be completely fulfilling—but that didn’t detract from his hard and critical side.

  He’d married her to get himself out of a tight corner.

  An unsuitable wild-child bride he just happened to be sexually compatible with.

  And the longer she stayed with him, the more vulnerable she made her already damaged heart.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘SO WHAT’S ALL this about?’ questioned Xan softly.

  Tamsyn didn’t immediately look up from the mirror. She was going to need her best smile to get through the next few hours, so maybe she’d better practice composing her face accordingly. Straightening up, she slowly turned to face her husband, stupidly gratified by the instant desire she could read in his eyes. And she wasn’t supposed to be feeling gratified. She was supposed to be distancing herself from the charismatic Greek billionaire, not revelling in the physical power she could still—unbelievably—wield over him.

  ‘What’s what all about?’ she murmured absently.

  ‘Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Tamsyn,’ he said, treating her to another assessing look. ‘I’m just wondering why the sudden dramatic change of image for tonight’s party.’

  ‘Could you be a little more specific, Xan? What exactly are your objections?’

  Objections? Xan’s throat dried to dust. Who said anything about objections? It just wasn’t what he’d been expecting, that was all. His wife was wearing a white dress—as befitting a new bride just freshly back from honeymoon—but the outfit was a world away from the flirty mini which had barely covered her bottom on the day they’d wed. This concoction was made from a rich, heavy silk which moulded every curve of her delicious body yet fell decorously to the knee. Her hair had been coiled into an elaborate style, the lustrous curls tamed and gleaming like silken flames, with only a few strands left dangling, drawing attention to the swan-like length of her neck. The strappy silver sandals which gleamed against her bare feet were the only frivolous thing about her tonight, but even they exuded a certain class and style. This was a Tamsyn he’d never seen before. Sophisticated. Elegant—and the very opposite of unsuitable.

  ‘It doesn’t look like you,’ he observed unevenly. ‘This isn’t the edgy little redhead I know.’

  A flash of colour flared into her cheeks. ‘So you don’t like it?’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘Tamsyn, you could wear sackcloth and I’d still want to rip it from your body. I’m just not sure what has prompted this sudden transformation.’

  She wound a strand of hair around her forefinger, so that when she let it go, it sprang into a perfect little ringlet which brushed against her neck. He suddenly thought how slim she looked—and how breakable.

  ‘I’m a chameleon,’ she said flippantly. ‘Didn’t you know? I can be whatever people want me to be and tonight I’ve gone for the sleek and understated look.’

  His mouth twitched. ‘Any particular reason why?’

  She shrugged. ‘I’ve seen the guest list.’

  He raised his brows. ‘And?’

  ‘And it was exactly as I could have predicted.’ She tilted her chin defensively, her eyes momentarily uncertain, as if deciding whether or not to tell him. ‘Rich people. Well-connected people. The current darling of the Greek cinema who just happens to be bringing two hulking great bodyguards with her. An international politician or two—including a man they’re describing as the frontrunner candidate for the next-but-one US Presidential election.’

  ‘What do you want me to say? I’ve known Brett since I was at college and to me he’s just someone I learnt to play tennis with at Harvard.’ He raised his brows. ‘I offered to fly your friends over and put them up in a local hotel, but you refused.’

  Tamsyn bit her lip. It was true, she had refused. Was that because she’d been terrified one of them might see past all the trappings and pick up on the heartache which was building inside her, minute by minute? Or because she was determined to keep her old enemy—pity—at arm’s length? She wanted to remember this night as you might remember a particularly beautiful rainbow, or sunset—something amazing but short-lived.

  Her sister wasn’t coming either, citing a busy royal diary which was planned weeks in advance and didn’t allow for last-minute invitations to rushed weddings. But Tamsyn had detecte
d a strong sense of disapproval in Hannah’s reply as well as disbelief that she’d actually tied the knot with Xan Constantinides. Tamsyn had wanted to write and tell her she was doing this mainly for her, but her sister suddenly seemed a very long way away.

  ‘Those are the kind of people I associate with, Tamsyn,’ continued Xan quietly. ‘You knew that.’

  ‘Yes. But it’s one thing knowing something and another thing facing them all for the first and probably only time—and that includes meeting your father. I’ve realised I don’t want to turn myself into some sort of spectacle—some caricature of a tart, who people can poke fun at and laugh about behind their back. I’ve realised I don’t want to be unsuitable. Not tonight. If I do that it’s going to make this evening even more of an ordeal.’ She expelled a sigh. ‘If you want to know the truth, I’m beginning to wish I’d never agreed to throw the wretched party in the first place.’

  He gave an odd kind of laugh. ‘Well, just for the record, so do I and if people weren’t already on their way from halfway across the globe, I’d consider cancelling it. But we can’t. Which means we just have to get through it and make the best of it.’ An unwilling kind of admiration sparked in the depths of his dark blue eyes. ‘And just for the record, it’s a very beautiful dress. You look every inch the suitable bride.’

  Trying not to be swayed by his soft praise, Tamsyn smoothed down the silk-satin bodice of the outfit she’d ordered online from a store in Athens and which Elena had smuggled in yesterday. It had given her a ridiculous amount of pleasure to see herself looking like the kind of bride she’d never thought she could be, but in the end—her clothes were irrelevant. All she wanted was for tonight to be over, so she could start thinking about her future.

  She watched him walk over to the open windows of their terrace, thinking how much she was going to miss this. And him. She could hear the chink of glasses from out on the lawn as waiters began loading up their trays and in the distance, could see a long line of approaching headlights travelling along the coastal road. Her eyes ran over Xan’s powerful physique, trying to commit it to memory. The snowy white dinner jacket which contrasted vividly with the close-fitting dark trousers. She loved the way those coal-black tendrils of hair brushed against the collar of his shirt, reminding her that he looked as much at home on a sailing boat as he did a boardroom. But as he turned around she quickly wiped her face clear of emotion—eradicating all the yearning, so she was able to meet his cobalt gaze with nothing more telling than a look of cool enquiry.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said abruptly.

  Xan felt the adrenalin pumping through his body as he took Tamsyn’s hand and led her out into the garden, where burning flames lined the paths and fairy-lights were strung from the trees. The huge swimming pool had been illuminated with floating lights, which gleamed in the turquoise water like surreal water lilies and the front of the house had been floodlit in soft colours of rose and blue. He told himself it was pride in his beautiful home which was making him feel so pumped-up tonight, but it was more than that. He looked at the woman by his side, thinking that Tamsyn had never looked lovelier. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  Easily visible in her white gown, he watched men turning to stare at her, just as they had once done at Kulal’s palace. Back then he remembered feeling nothing but a destabilising lust but now that had been overridden by a primitive satisfaction that she belonged to him and only him. His mouth hardened. But she didn’t, did she? Not really. She was his only for a little while longer and he needed to accept that soon she would be free, because that was what the plan had always been. Free for other men to pursue and to benefit from all that shining sexual promise which he had awoken. A powerful surge of jealousy coursed through him, even though jealousy had never been his thing. He told himself that the feeling would soon pass. That he’d never relied on a woman before and didn’t intend to start now. His life had been fine before Tamsyn Wilson had fallen into it like some wayward star, and that state of affairs would resume once they’d split.

  Slightly mollified by his own reasoning, he introduced her to a number of guests and she responded with a charm which was contagious. Everyone wanted to talk to her and she instantly hit it off with a European princess, herself a former wild-child, and he could hear the two of them giggling together. Soon she was deep in conversation with a sultan she’d met at her sister’s wedding, and several other desert princes moved to join in with the conversation, so that very quickly she was at the centre of a significant power hub. At one point she looked up at him and he raised his glass in mocking salute, as if to silently remind her that her fears of blending in had been groundless. But something in the gesture made her eyes grow dark. He saw her bite her lip and a few moments later she murmured to him that she needed to speak to Elena, and slipped away.

  Xan accepted a glass of champagne and looked around. A group of musicians were playing traditional Greek music and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Salvatore di Luca had arrived, with the requisite glamorous blonde hanging from his arm like a glittering accessory. But there was still no sign of his father.

  He took a sip of his drink. Was the old man worried that Sofia’s father would refuse to sell him the island after all—and would that be enough to make him cut Xan from his life for ever? His lips hardened into a humourless smile. What exquisite irony that would be—if an island coveted because of its precious links with his ancestors, should be the cause of alienating his father from his only son.

  He looked around again, his eyes scanning the crowded lawn with dissatisfaction as he realised he was looking in vain for his wife. Xan scowled as he handed his half-drunk glass of champagne to a passing waiter, the memory of emerald eyes and fiery curls an image he couldn’t seem to shift from his mind.

  It was all about sex, he reassured himself heatedly. Nothing but sex.

  * * *

  Tamsyn melted into the shadows, trying to gather her thoughts together. Yes, the party was loads easier than she’d imagined—but it was still stressful, which was why she had sought a moment of quiet refuge at the darkened side of the house, at the top of a gentle sloping incline, which gave a fabulous view of the glittering estate. Carefully smoothing down the rich silk of her dress, she sat down on a bench—tempted to kick off her silver sandals but knowing if she did so, she would be reluctant to put them on again. And tonight there would be no barefoot bride, looking like she’d wandered in from a nearby rock festival.

  She sat back against the wooden bench and sighed. It had been strangely gratifying that Xan’s friends had seemed genuinely happy to meet her. Was that because she had taken charge of her own destiny, so that for once she actually felt as if she fitted in—in a way she’d never done before? Even at Hannah’s wedding she’d worn her fancy gowns with a distinct air of resentment—probably because she’d been forced to wear them. But tonight she was revelling in the fact that she looked like a bride her husband could be proud of. She’d felt like a grown up and sophisticated version of the newest member of the Constantinides family. And weren’t those thoughts dangerous?

  A few times she’d found herself beguiled by the elusive possibility of something which could never happen, not in a million years. Of a life here, with Xan. A proper married life together—with a brood of babies and a golden future. And a shared love? Yes. Oh, yes. That was the ultimate dream. But Xan didn’t want that. He’d told her so enough times. He didn’t do love and he was okay with that. So she needed to be okay with it, too.

  A sudden lump constricted her throat as she found herself thinking about her mother. About the paperwork which had been discovered after her death. Her mother had been a foolish dreamer, too—and where had it got her? All those stupid poems she’d written. And the letter addressed to her—the daughter she had abandoned. She mustn’t forget that. The letter which Hannah had only shown Tamsyn a long while afterwards, which had told her something it might have been better
not to have known. Something which for a long time had made her feel rotten to the core—and still could, if she wasn’t careful.

  She could see the powerful beam of headlights tracking along the road towards the house and from her secluded vantage point, could sense the excited bustle of the guests as a huge car drew to a halt and a man got out. Even from this distance, from the few photographs she’d seen of him, Tamsyn recognised the distinctive curved features of Andreas, Xan’s father. She watched as Xan moved purposefully towards the car, but you didn’t need to be a body language expert to notice the coolness between the two men. After a brief and business-like handshake, they began to walk towards the house, making no attempt to join the party.

  Tamsyn sat on the bench, filled with indecision. She ought to go and meet him. Hadn’t that been part of the deal? Her heart was pounding as she moved through the shadows towards the back of the vast house, away from the main party which was mostly happening poolside. For a moment she stood in silence, until she located the sound of voices which were coming from behind the closed doors of Xan’s study. Tamsyn frowned. Xan and presumably Andreas were angrily talking over each other, the volume of their discussion getting louder and louder until she heard someone rasp out a curse. She meant to take a deep breath. To knock politely and walk in, but then she heard her own name and it halted her right in her tracks. Tamsyn froze. She almost wished they were speaking in Greek so she wouldn’t understand what they were saying, but Xan had told her that after winning his American scholarship, English had been the language he and his father had conversed in, the older man refusing to be outdone by his fluent son.

  ‘You know what kind of a woman she is?’ came the ragged accusation. ‘When you rang to tell me you’d married her, I had her investigated and discovered she’s a nobody who can’t even hold a job down. And she looks like a slut in every photo I’ve seen of her!’