by Kate Hewitt
‘You’re...you’re not serious,’ she finally stammered.
‘I assure you, I am.’
‘Why would you want to marry me?’
It was, of course, an excellent question, and one Alex intended to answer truthfully. There would be no games in their marriage, no pretence in what he intended to be an extremely straightforward transaction. ‘Because I don’t have the time to find a more suitable and willing woman—’
‘Wow, thanks.’ The words burst out of her, full of hurt bitterness.
‘And,’ he continued implacably, ‘I need an heir as soon as possible.’
Milly reeled back, hitting the door, her hand fumbling for the knob. ‘Don’t be alarmed,’ Alex said. ‘I’m trying to be truthful. It would be foolish for either of us to pretend, even for a moment, that a marriage between us would be anything more than a business arrangement, one involving courtesy and respect on both sides, of course.’
‘And yet you said an heir...’
‘This would not be a marriage in name only, obviously.’ He still spoke calmly, but images danced through his mind all the same. Skin burnished gold by candlelight, light brown hair loose on bare, freckled shoulders. Absurd, because their marriage would never be like that, and he didn’t even know if she had freckles.
‘Obviously...’ Milly repeated faintly, still looking stunned.
‘And time is rather of the essence, although we can discuss the particulars—assuming you are agreeable.’
‘Agreeable—’ The word came out in a squeak. He’d shocked her, clearly, and she hadn’t even seen his face yet. The thought almost made Alex laugh, except he hadn’t actually found anything funny in months. Twenty-two months, to be precise. ‘Kyrie Santos,’ she said firmly, once she’d recovered her composure. ‘I am not agreeable.’
‘You haven’t even heard the terms.’
‘I don’t need to hear the terms. I’m not in the habit of selling myself.’
‘We’d be married,’ Alex pointed out reasonably. ‘It would hardly be classified as that.’
‘It would be to me.’ She shook her head, a shudder running through her whole body, a visceral reaction of something close to disgust, which caught him on the raw. She hadn’t even seen him yet. ‘I’m sorry, but no. Never.’ She spoke with such vehemence that he was intrigued as well as irritated. It was exceedingly inconvenient for her to refuse.
‘You almost sound as if you’ve had such an offer before,’ he remarked. ‘The way you’re reacting, as if you’re remembering something offensive. As if my proposition recalls another.’
‘Of course it doesn’t!’
‘Of course?’ he queried, arching an eyebrow, the one she could see.
‘Most men are not in the habit of making such propositions,’ Milly said in that same chilly voice of maidenly affront. She donned that voice like a dress—something that could be taken off as needed, a bit of flimsy armour. It made him wonder what she was protecting underneath.
‘Aren’t they?’ he queried. ‘Most marriages are business deals of some kind, Miss James. A negotiation of sorts, no matter what emotional underpinnings they possess.’
‘And yet our marriage would have no emotional underpinning,’ she returned. ‘I don’t even know you. I’ve never met you before today.’
‘That is not out of the ordinary, for situations such as this.’
‘What makes you think I want to get married?’
‘Nothing. Like I said, this would be a business arrangement. And the financial stability is what I think you will find attractive about this proposition.’ He let out a huff of laughter. ‘Nothing else.’
She stayed silent, and Alex turned slightly, wanting to see her face, able to make it out in the dim room only a little. Her eyes were wide, her lips pressed together.
She looked uneasy, but she also looked...torn. Her hand had slipped from the doorknob, and now her fingers were knotted together. As he gazed at her, she nibbled her lip, her eyes darting this way and that. She looked, he realised, as if part of her was tempted or at least intrigued by his offer, but she didn’t want to admit it.
‘Financial stability,’ she finally said. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I would make marriage worth your while.’ He waited, to see if she asked more, but she shook her head.
‘Now that sounds like selling myself, and to a stranger. I think any marriage should have some kind of emotional foundation, if not love.’
He cocked his head. ‘You almost sound cynical.’
‘Cynical—?’
‘As if you don’t really believe what you’re saying,’ he clarified. ‘You want to, but you don’t.’
‘What I believe or don’t believe is of no concern to you, and of no relevance to this conversation,’ she returned sharply. ‘The answer is still no.’
‘Why?’ Alex asked, letting his voice loosen into a lazy drawl. ‘Out of interest?’
‘Why?’ She looked and sounded incredulous, but also up against a wall. Figuratively as well as literally, her back pressed to the door, her chest heaving so he could see the rise and fall of her small breasts. A few wisps of light brown hair had escaped from her normally neat ponytail, framing her heart-shaped face. She was, he decided with some surprise, quite lovely. When he’d made the decision to marry her, her looks had not been part of the equation. She was convenient, suitable, and her lowly position meant he would be able to manage her. That was all he required.
‘Yes, why?’ he reiterated. ‘Why are you not willing even to consider my offer? Not even a single question as to the nature of our arrangement?’
‘You’ve already made the nature quite clear—’
‘You mean sex?’
‘Well, yes,’ she nearly spluttered.
‘You object to having sex with your husband?’
‘I object to marrying someone I don’t feel anything for, someone I don’t even know—’
‘Yet people have been doing that for centuries. Millennia.’
‘Even so...’
‘You told me you weren’t interested in romance.’
‘Not at this point in my life, no.’
‘Or perhaps ever, I believe your words were. So...?’
‘That doesn’t mean I want to marry you.’ She sounded exasperated now. Alex allowed himself a cold little smile.
‘Would five million euros change your thinking?’
Her mouth opened. Closed. And then again. Her eyes wide and as brown and soft as pansies. ‘That’s a lot of money,’ she finally said, her voice faint.
‘Indeed.’ He cocked his head. ‘Would you like to hear the particulars now?’
She bit her lip. ‘You think I’ll change my mind simply because of money? That’s insulting.’
‘Financial stability,’ he reminded her. ‘It’s a powerful incentive.’
‘I’m not some gold-digger.’ The words burst out of her, like an old wound breaking open. Alex wondered at it.
‘I know you’re not.’
‘I won’t sell myself.’
‘So you keep saying, but to think of it that way is distasteful. We are talking marriage, remember. Not being a mistress.’
‘Yet it’s true nevertheless.’
‘Not necessarily. It’s a deal, Miss James. We both get something out of it.’
She shook her head slowly, her eyes still wide. ‘Considering the nature of our conversation, perhaps you should call me Milly.’
Victory loomed closer, elusive but possible. Probable, even. She hadn’t stormed out of the room. She hadn’t slapped his face. She hadn’t seen it, either. They would get to that all in good time. ‘Very well, Milly. Why don’t you take a seat?’
‘All right.’ Milly walked with careful, deliberate steps to one of the leather club chairs in front of his desk and sank into it, ankles n
eatly crossed, hands linked at her waist like a respectable matron. ‘Can we turn the light on?’ she asked. ‘I can barely make you out, and I’ve never actually seen you in person, which seems ridiculous considering the nature of our discussion.’
He tensed, and then made himself relax. ‘I’m averse to light.’
‘You’re not a vampire, are you?’ It was obviously a joke, but she still sounded uncertain.
‘No, most certainly not.’ He turned to face her, angling his head in a way he knew would hide the worst. ‘I’ll turn it on in a moment, perhaps, after we’ve discussed some of the details.’
‘Why me?’ Milly asked bluntly. ‘Why not someone far more suitable?’
‘Because you’re here,’ Alex answered just as bluntly. ‘And you’re happy to remain on this island. And in the six months you’ve been in my employ, you’ve seemed trustworthy and hardworking, or so my man here, Yiannis, tells me.’
‘Yiannis has been reporting on me?’
‘Merely relaying his approval of you.’
‘Oh.’ She sounded surprised. ‘He and his wife are very kind. They’ve been welcoming to me.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he returned smoothly. It was all seeming very promising. She clearly liked living here, and she wanted the money. All that remained was whether she could stomach looking at him—and sharing his bed.
‘And those are your only qualifications for a wife?’ Milly asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Really?’ She sounded cynical again. ‘You don’t care about your wife’s likes or dislikes? Her sense of humour, or her sense of honour? What about what kind of mother she’ll be?’
Alex’s mouth compressed. ‘I don’t have the luxury to care about those things.’ Ezio’s latest escapade had provoked a knee-jerk reaction in him to sort this, and quickly.
Milly was silent, and Alex watched her, noticing the emotions that crossed her face like ripples in water. Indecision, fear, but something else, as well. Something darker...guilt, perhaps, or grief. His proposition had struck a painful chord inside her. He was almost certain of it. ‘And why an heir?’ she asked at last. ‘Isn’t that rather an outdated concept?’
‘It’s a biological one.’
‘Still.’
‘I want to pass my business on to my child.’
‘A son?’
‘Or a daughter. It doesn’t matter.’
She cocked her head, her eyes narrowing as she tried to make him out. ‘Why?’
‘Because if I don’t,’ Alex answered tersely, ‘it passes to my stepbrother, who is likely to run it into the ground in a matter of months.’
‘It’s not like an aristocratic title, is it? Why should it pass to him?’
He drew a quick breath, forcing himself to relax as the memories bombarded him. Christos, looking so pale and weak, one claw-like hand extended towards him. Begging him. And Ezio, drunk in some nightclub, not even bothering to show up, to say goodbye to his flesh-and-blood father. ‘Because my stepfather stipulated it in his will. The business was originally his, and he bequeathed it to me when he died. But he made a provision that if I should die without issue, it passes to my stepbrother.’
‘That all sounds rather archaic.’
Alex inclined his head. ‘Family ties are strong in this country.’
‘Yet it’s your stepfather,’ Milly pointed out. ‘This isn’t about flesh and blood.’
‘He was a father to me more than any other man was,’ Alex answered gruffly. Emotion clutched at his throat, made it hard to speak. ‘And the will is watertight. This is my only option.’
‘What about adoption? Surrogacy?’
‘As I said, time is of the essence. I’m thirty-six, and I want my child to be an adult when I pass the business on. Also, I believe a child should have a mother as well as a father. Family is important to me.’ The words ignited a blaze of pain inside him, and he snuffed it out quickly. Coldly. The only way he knew how, to keep on living.
‘What if I can’t get pregnant?’ Milly asked baldly. ‘There are no guarantees.’
‘You’d need to have a full medical check before we wed.’ He shrugged one shoulder. ‘The rest is up to God.’
‘Would you want other children?’
He almost laughed at that. He knew she certainly wouldn’t, not once she saw him. ‘No, one will suffice. After that I will leave you alone.’
‘Would I have to live on this island for the rest of my life?’
‘You wouldn’t be a prisoner, if that’s what you are implying.’
‘Would we have any kind of...relationship?’ She spoke the word hesitantly, as if probing a sore tooth.
‘We would treat each other with courteous respect, I should hope.’
‘But beyond that?’
He couldn’t keep from recoiling just a little, just as he knew she would once she saw him. ‘Is that something you want?’
‘I... I don’t know.’ She shook her head, her teeth worrying away at her lower lip. ‘This is all so unexpected. I can’t even think straight.’
‘Yet you are considering it?’
‘I shouldn’t.’ She shook her head, expelling her breath in a gusty sigh. ‘I don’t even know why I am, if just a little. The tiniest bit.’ It came out like a warning.
‘The five million, perhaps.’ He kept his voice light, inviting her to see the humour. To share it with him.
She shot him a look of wry amusement, and something small and warm bloomed inside him, something unexpected. When had he last shared a look with another person, even in the dark? ‘Yes, that might have something to do with it.’
‘I don’t hold it against you.’
‘And so you shouldn’t, since you’re the one who offered it. But perhaps I hold it against myself.’ Her words came out sharply; the moment was broken, that small bit of warmth snuffed out.
Alex watched as Milly rose from the chair, pacing the room, rubbing her hands together as if she were cold. ‘No, this can’t work,’ she muttered, mostly to herself. ‘I can’t let myself, not like—’ She broke off, shaking her head. ‘No, I’m sorry. I can’t. I won’t.’ She turned to him resolutely, her look one of both apology and determination. ‘The answer is no, Kyrie Santos,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m sorry. I hope this won’t affect our working relationship.’
Alex stared at her, refusing to betray his irritation and, yes, his disappointment, with so much as a flicker. And he did feel disappointed—more even than he’d expected. He could find someone else. He knew that. Yet her rejection stung, because that was what it was. It felt personal, even though he knew it shouldn’t. And the laughable part was, he hadn’t even turned the light on.
CHAPTER TWO
MILLY COULDN’T SLEEP. She lay tangled in her sheets, staring at the ceiling as moonlight slanted through the shutters of her window and silvered the tile floor of her bedroom. Since the abrupt ending of her conversation with Alexandro Santos this afternoon, when he’d more or less dismissed her from his study after she’d turned down his proposal, her mind had been reeling as she went over every surreal second of the bizarre interview.
I want you to marry me.
How could he have suggested such a thing? And how could she have been so treacherously tempted, even for a moment?
Milly turned over, thumping her pillow in a futile effort to find peace, or at least comfort. Her mind had not stopped zooming off in a dozen different directions since she’d left Alex; she’d kept herself busy, finishing the moussaka she’d been prepping for supper, sweeping the pool area, and paying a few bills, all the while wondering why he’d asked, what would happen now.
Would everything be awkward? Would he find a reason to fire her? She didn’t want to lose this job. She was making three times as much money as she had been translating business documents back in Paris, and she liked the spacious villa
with its beautiful flower-filled garden, the infinity pool, Yiannis and his wife, Marina, stopping by on occasion, the friendly village of Halki a short distance away.
She liked shopping among the quaint market stalls, a wicker basket looped over her arm as she examined lumps of feta cheese floating in brine, plump, red tomatoes, juicy olives.
She liked the little café with its rickety tables overlooking a dusty square where she sometimes sat and had a coffee after doing her shopping. She liked the quiet, starry evenings, the only sound the distant lapping of the waves. She liked the solitude, and feeling safe. She didn’t want to leave here.
So why had she said no to Alex Santos’ marriage proposal?
With a groan of frustration Milly rose from her bed. She wouldn’t sleep now. She slipped on her thin dressing gown and padded softly downstairs to the living area, opening the French windows as quietly as she could. Alex’s bedroom was in the other wing of the house, one she only visited to clean, but she definitely did not want to disturb him now.
Outside the air was pleasantly cool, scented with bougainvillea and orange blossom. Moonlight glinted off the placid surface of the pool, giving it a ghostly feel. Milly wandered over to a wooden chaise and curled up on it, drawing her knees to her chest as she gazed out at the moonlit gardens. She let out a gusty sigh, tension that had been knotting her shoulders since Alex had said stay easing just a little.
She loved the peaceful solitude of this place—after a lifetime of the party or boarding-school scene, the quiet of her own company was a soothing balm, and the villa felt like a home, the first real one she’d ever had.
Five million euros. She couldn’t stop thinking about it, about what she could do with that money. Pay for Anna’s school fees. Pay for her university, buy her a house, keep her safe for ever. Money might not buy happiness, but it certainly helped...and the thought of finally having financial security, for her and for the one person she loved...well, after a lifetime of chaotic uncertainty, it was tempting indeed.
