Книга - The Greek Tycoon’s Unexpected Wife

The Greek Tycoon's Unexpected Wife
Annie West


Stavros Denakis is furious when Tessa Marlowe turns up without warning. Weary and cynical through his experience with women, Stavros suspects the wife he hardly knows is a gold digger–surely she's here to claim her share of the Denakis millions. But Tessa is a temptation that he can't resist….Bedded by her gorgeous Greek husband, Tessa realizes she has fallen in love with him, and longs for their marriage to become real. Only, Stavros, though he may be passionate in private, remains cold in public, and is determined they stay wedded only in name….







IN THE GREEK TYCOON’S BED

They’re dangerously handsome and impossibly wealthy….

They’re used to having it all….

The secluded beaches of their private islands make the perfect setting for red-hot seduction….

These Greek billionaires will stop at nothing to bed their chosen mistresses—women who find themselves powerless to resist being pleasured….

IN THE GREEK TYCOON’S BED

At the mercy of a ruthless

Mediterranean billionaire…


ANNIE WEST spent her formative years on the east coast of Australia. Her family encouraged a love of books, the bush and travel, and she often managed to combine all three. In her teens she spent long afternoons playing tennis with her best friend. Between games, they’d stagger to her friend’s house to recover, and in that house was an unending store of books, all with that distinctive Harlequin logo on the cover. That’s how Annie discovered romance, and she’s been addicted ever since.

Fortunately she found her own real-life romantic hero while studying at university, and married him. At her first job she wrote and amended and redrafted and revised: government plans, letters for cabinet ministers and reports for parliament. All good grounding for a would-be author, especially since, in Annie’s case at least, the first draft is rarely the final.

Then Annie decided to write romance. Her chance came when she took leave to spend time with her children. At the same time she discovered Romance Writers of Australia. Since then she’s been active in RWAus writers’ groups and competitions, attends annual conferences and loves the support she gets from so many other writers. She had short stories and a romance book published in Australia, but it wasn’t until late 2005 that she found the success she sought with Harlequin.

Annie lives with her hero (still the same one after all this time) and her children at Lake Macquarie, north of Sydney. She is always thinking of travel (strictly for research purposes, of course), and in the meantime fantasizes about gorgeous men and their love lives. It’s hard work, but she has no regrets!

Annie loves to hear from readers. You can contact her at www.annie-west.com or write to her at P.O. Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.





The Greek Tycoon’s Unexpected Wife


~ IN THE GREEK TYCOON’S BED ~




Annie West









THE GREEK TYCOON’S UNEXPECTED WIFE


To Tessa.

For taking a chance on me,

for your support, advice and encouragement,

and

for your generosity in sharing your name

for this story!

Thank you.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN




CHAPTER ONE


STAVROS DENAKIS surveyed the crowd spilling out from his villa and permitted himself a single satisfied smile.

The engagement party was perfect. As planned.

It was a superb evening for a celebration. The black velvet of the Aegean sky shone with a lustrous net of stars and a light breeze tempered the heat.

The murmurs and laughter of delighted guests rose above a discreet background of live music. The crates of iced vintage champagne emptied almost as quickly as they were supplied.

Unerringly Stavros located his father’s wheelchair on the flagged terrace nearest the house. The old man wore a rare smile as he chatted with one of his cronies. Even from this distance his renewed vigour was obvious.

Yes. Stavros had made the right decision with tonight’s announcement.

Dispassionately he watched Angela walk down the wide stairs to the second terrace, drawing attention even among the crowd of wealthy, beautiful people. She was poised and elegant, wearing with apparent nonchalance the collar of diamonds he’d given her. There was just enough sway in those sleekly rounded hips to hold a sensual promise. For the right man.

The perfect fiancée.

She joined a cluster of guests who were neither relatives nor close friends. They were business associates.

Angela understood the value of these new associates to his latest expansion. Not indispensable to him: no one was that. But useful, worth time and effort. Already she was charming the group with her beauty and attentive interest.

She had just the right blend of wit and good looks. Of intelligence and sensuality. Of spirit and acquiescence to his wishes.

She would make the perfect wife for the CEO of Denakis International.

‘Kyrie Denakis.’

He swung round to see his head of security approaching.

Stavros registered mild annoyance. There must have been yet another attempted press intrusion. A major one this time, for Petros to bother him with it now.

For weeks his staff had repelled attempts by the paparazzi to find a way into tonight’s celebration. It had even been necessary to enforce a blanket no-fly zone over the island to ensure privacy.

‘Is there a problem?’

A ripple of expression crossed Petros’ features, a fleeting look of unease. That in itself was unique. Immediately Stavros stiffened, alert to the fact that something was most definitely wrong.

‘We have a…situation, kyrie.’

He nodded. That much was obvious.

‘A young woman has arrived.’

What had she done? Broken her neck attempting to scale the perimeter wall? Half-drowned herself trying to swim ashore unseen? Whatever her actions, the results were serious judging by the almost-expression on Petros’ dour features.

‘And?’

‘She is demanding to see you.’

For an instant Stavros felt his eyes widen in astonishment. That anyone should demand to see him. Or that his well-trained staff should not be able to escort a lone female off his premises, no matter how demanding she was. Either eventuality was extraordinary.

His curiosity grew. ‘Who is she?’

‘She refuses to give her name, kyrie.’

Stavros raised an eyebrow. ‘And yet her presence here bothers you? She isn’t Press?’ Intriguing.

‘She says not. No Press card. Not the right attitude either.’

Stavros forbore to query that. His staff were professionals, they knew their business.

‘And…?’ Of course there was more.

‘And she says it’s urgent she sees you, speaks with you privately.’

If he made time for every crank, competitor or journalist who wanted to see him, Stavros would never have privacy. Or time to run the most exclusive fine jewellery enterprise in the world.

The House of Denakis had a generations’ old reputation for magnificent artistic creations, avidly acquired by the wealthiest of the international élite. Its pieces were worn by royalty, if they could afford it. It set the standard to which other houses aspired. Managing it required not only dedication, flair and outstanding business acumen, but also ruthless single-mindedness.

He curbed his impatience as Petros pulled out a palm-sized portable monitor and handed it over. The screen showed a young woman sitting on a straight-backed chair in a bare room. Her back was to the camera but Stavros could see she wore the ubiquitous modern uniform of jeans and a T-shirt. She was slim. Dark hair pinned up on the back of her head.

Her posture caught his attention. She sat straight and alert in her hard seat. But it wasn’t nerves that made her sit so. She didn’t project an aura of apprehension. Instead her bearing seemed almost regal.

He frowned at her air of confidence. Who was she to be so sure of herself after trespassing onto his property? For a moment something about her nagged at his subconscious. Could he know her? Have met her perhaps?

He shrugged. It didn’t matter. She hadn’t been invited so he didn’t intend to see her.

‘Show her off the premises,’ he said as he passed the monitor back. ‘She’s wasting your time.’

But still Petros lingered. He cleared his throat.

Stavros tilted one impatient eyebrow.

‘There’s more, kyrie. You may wish to consider meeting her.’

‘And why would I do that?’

There was no doubting Petros’ discomfort now.

‘She has your ring. With your family seal.’

Stavros froze. He stared into his security chief’s hard features. This wasn’t a con. The ring was distinctive, one of a kind, and Petros had been with the family long enough to know the genuine item when he saw it.

Even though the ring had been missing now for four years.

‘You have it?’ Stavros held out his hand, but Petros shook his head.

‘I’ve seen it, examined it closely. But she has it on a long chain round her neck and refuses to give it up till she sees you. I could have taken it from her but it seemed best to wait and be sure…’

To be sure just who this woman was.

Again Stavros experienced that jab of curiosity. Its intensity disturbed him.

There were no unwelcome surprises in his life. He paid an army of staff very well to ensure just that. Even his professional life followed the anticipated pattern—the pattern he laid out for it. There were challenges, goals and opportunities but, with his formidable business skills, his extreme wealth and above all his determination, success was guaranteed.

His ring.

He took a slow breath as he registered the turmoil of almost-buried emotions.

It was his duty to get the piece back if he could, to pass on to the next generation. It had been ancient when one of his ancestors had worn it into battle during the War of Independence. Old even when an earlier ancestor had travelled to Byzantium seeking the emperor’s favour.

And it held more recent memories too. Of a time he’d rather forget.

Of the only time in his life that he’d failed.

‘Come!’ He turned his back on the noise of his engagement celebration. ‘Show me this woman who claims to have my property.’



Tessa refused to give in to the exhaustion that threatened to swamp her now she’d finally arrived. She pushed her shoulders back, lifted her chin and prepared to wait.

Just a little longer, and then it would be over. Then she could rest.

She surveyed the blank white wall in front of her. The bare table, the empty chair. What was this room used for? It looked like an interrogation cell.

She shivered as a flash of memory burst upon her. Of another small, windowless room. Not so pristine, or so quiet. The paint on those walls had long since peeled away, leaving the slapdash structure of mortar and cheap bricks visible. The floor was gritty underfoot and littered with debris.

And the smell. Her nostrils flared as she remembered.

That room had been rank with the scent of fear. Fear and pain.

Resolutely she turned her mind back to the present. She was half a world away, literally, from that place. And that room no longer existed, had long since been bulldozed into rubble.

The trouble was that memories couldn’t be destroyed as easily as buildings.

She took a deep breath and automatically reached for her talisman on its chain. Its weight was comforting between her breasts. It had seen her through hard times, a promise of hope in times of need and despair.

And now she’d come to give it back. She didn’t need it any more.

It had been a shock to discover its real owner was very much alive. She must have sat, statue-still, for long minutes as she’d stared at the magazine, right into the face of the man who’d haunted her for the last four years. The airport lounge had receded to a peripheral blur as she took in his unmistakable features. His arrogant air of assured power.

‘The golden couple: Stavros Denakis and Angela Christophorou. Will it be wedding rings for two?’ So the caption had run.

The photo above it had shown a glamorous couple entering a nightclub. She was gorgeous, model-chic in a figure-moulding silver dress that revealed a fashionable amount of superb cleavage. And an even more stunning amount of diamond jewellery.

Yet she was overshadowed by the presence of the man beside her, tall and powerfully built, his face severe and not a little intimidating as he stared right into the camera. A man with a purpose. With power. With the sort of magnetism a woman couldn’t ignore.

Tessa swallowed against the lump of emotion that clogged her throat. She still remembered the surprisingly comforting touch of his hand, enclosing hers. The brush of his lips, fleeting but hot, like a brand against her own. The way his charcoal eyes had darkened almost to black as he’d stared down at her.

Amazing that she could remember such minute detail after all this time, even down to the tremor of excitement that had skittered down her spine at his scrutiny.

But then, he was the man who’d saved her life.

Every minute they’d spent together was emblazoned in her mind. Through the intervening years she’d revisited that time so often, drawing strength from the recollection of his formidable will-power, his unhesitating, almost casual acceptance of the need to help her.

The memory of the man himself had been a far more potent talisman than the piece of jewellery he’d left behind.

The sound of footsteps, rapid and purposeful, broke across her thoughts and she stiffened in her seat, preparing herself to face him.

The lock clicked and the door swung open and there he was. Stavros Denakis.

Her eyes widened as she took him in. He was bigger than she remembered, so powerfully built across the shoulders that he filled the doorway. She watched his hand clench white-knuckled on the door knob and his chest expand as he drew in a deep breath.

His face might have been sculpted in stone, the flesh tight over a magnificent bone structure. There was a flash of white as his lips drew back for an instant in an expression of shock. His eyes bored into her, dark and doubting. They narrowed as they swept from her head to her waist—all he could see of her behind the table.

Tessa felt that scrutiny like a physical touch and tilted her chin up, her eyes meeting his.

Recognition flared through her. It wasn’t just the sight of him but the way she responded to his presence—the quickened pulse, the breathless constriction of her chest, the tell-tale quiver of excitement as she looked up at him.

She’d know this man in the dark, blindfolded.

He’d affected her like that the first time they’d met. Why should she be surprised to discover that hadn’t changed?

He strode forward and came to a halt just in front of the small table.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded in English. His voice was deep, a mere whisper, but with the sort of authority that guaranteed an answer.

‘Tessa Marlowe.’ She swallowed against the sudden dryness in her mouth.

He jerked his head up abruptly in clear rejection. For a moment there was silence between them, broken only by the sound of her shallow breathing. Then he leaned forward, planting both fists on the table before her. His head loomed close to hers and she stiffened against the urge to retreat, shrink back in her chair.

She breathed deep, searching for calm. But instead another sensation ricocheted through her. The subtle, tantalising scent of him evoked something unmistakable, a female awareness that circled and curled in on itself, deep in the pit of her belly.

‘Don’t you remember me?’ she whispered, her voice hoarse with stress.

His eyes looked obsidian-black now, slitted and gleaming between long lashes.

There was no recognition there. No welcome. Only doubt. And fury.

‘Who are you?’ he said again.

‘I told you. I’m Tessa Marlowe.’

He slammed his palm against the table. ‘No! Tessa Marlowe died four years ago.’

The air seemed to crackle, the tension between them sucking the oxygen from her lungs.

She’d expected surprise, astonishment, but not this anger that welled from him in waves. The force of it pinned her against the hard back of her seat.

She gathered her strength and spoke, surprised to hear her voice so calm and cool. ‘You’re mistaken. I was injured, unconscious. But that’s all.’

He gazed at her, unblinking. ‘Prove it.’

She fumbled at the neckline of her T-shirt. Drew the familiar chain up till she felt it in her hand: the ring she’d protected and cherished all these years.

For a moment she hesitated, held it close in her clenched fist. Then she dragged it out, holding the chain at full length away from her, its burden resting in her open palm.

He watched her intently, didn’t even blink. A sizzle of energy jagged between them and she wondered why she hadn’t heard the sound of a thunderclap to accompany it.

Then he flicked his eyes from hers and down to the prize she held in her hand.

Released from his thrall, she sagged in her seat, exhausted by the assault this man made on her senses.

She heard the hiss of his indrawn breath and knew that at last he believed.



Stavros stared, unbelieving, at the ring in the centre of her slender palm.

He’d recognise it anywhere, had known it all his life. The heavy circlet of gold, worn but still solid. Its centrepiece engraved in ancient times with tiny, exquisite carvings of a hunter in a chariot facing a lion at bay. It had been designed for use untold generations ago as a seal—the unique identifying mark of a man of power.

And now it was the symbol of his house, the House of Denakis. A stylised version of that chariot, that hunter, graced the doors of Denakis showrooms in Athens, Paris, London, New York, Zurich and Tokyo.

He reached out a hand and touched the engraved surface of it. His finger connected with the warmth of her palm and he watched her tremble.

So, she was nervous after all. With her uptilted chin and her unwavering gaze she gave the appearance of pure confidence.

He focused again on the ring. No doubt about it: it was genuine, and completely out of place on that cheap, low-grade chain.

He frowned. Explanations were required.

Stavros picked up the ring between his fingers, again letting his fingers brush the flesh of her palm. This time she whipped her hand away, leaving him in sole possession of the ring.

He pretended to study it, but his attention was focused on her. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts. The soft sound of her breathing. The warm, soap scent of her, more evocative somehow than the expensive designer perfumes to which he was accustomed.

He let the ring drop, watched the shabby chain fall against her plain T-shirt, between her breasts. Then he raised his eyes again to hers.

Even now, prepared for it, he was stunned by the sight of her. When he’d entered the room he’d thought he’d seen a ghost. Reaction had stopped him in his tracks, churning his stomach.

Tessa Marlowe had died four years ago in an explosion that claimed a dozen lives. He had a copy of her death certificate! Officially she didn’t exist any more. The memory of the day she’d died, of mangled vehicles in that shambles of a street, lived with him still.

And yet, here she was. Alive. The shock of it reverberated down his spine.

Fleetingly he wondered what poor nameless woman had been wrongly identified after the bomb blast. For he knew with a bone-deep certainty that this was Tessa Marlowe. The high, slanted cheekbones, the elegant neck and heart-shaped face. The slight frame. And of course those eyes.

He’d seen green eyes before, but not this pure, unadulterated emerald. He’d only found that shade in the most priceless gems. Collectors would pay a fortune for a stone that colour. It was unique.

This was indeed Tessa Marlowe. She was unmistakable.

Yet she looked different. There was a gravity about her, and something in those bright eyes that hinted she’d seen far more of life than she wanted to. Physically she’d altered as well. She’d been slim the first time he’d seen her. Now she seemed fragile. Yet her lips were soft and well-shaped, an invitation in that lovely face.

Oh, yes, he remembered that mouth. Had dreamed of it for months after their meeting.

‘What are you doing here?’ It emerged from his throat as a growl.

He saw her eyes widen.

What? She thought he’d welcome her after all this time? Accept her presence with no questions or recriminations?

She couldn’t be that naïve. Anyone who tried to make trouble for him lived to regret it.

‘I came to return it. The ring.’ As she spoke she reached for the catch on the chain and opened it. It took an inordinate amount of time for her to slide the ring off and hold it out to him.

Her hand was shaking when she did so.

‘And why are you bringing it back to me now? What possible explanation could you have?’

Her brows drew together in a good imitation of confusion. ‘It’s yours. I know you didn’t intend for me to have it this long. If I’d been able to return it earlier, I would have.’ She thrust her hand out, closer to him.

On a surge of angry energy he reached out and clasped her whole hand in his, curving his fingers right round hers, pressing the heavy ring into her flesh, into his.

‘I’m to believe that it took you this long to contact me? Four whole years?’ His tone was rough, furious, and he felt its effect as her hand quivered in his.

He felt no remorse. This woman deserved no sympathy. She’d deceived him for years.

He refused to acknowledge the temptation she represented as he held her warm, soft flesh against his. His body might respond to her. But he had mastery over such basic instincts.

Whatever her game she’d more than met her match with Stavros Denakis.

‘I don’t believe it,’ he said with heavy emphasis, ignoring the flare of what looked like pain in her eyes. This woman was no innocent, he reminded himself. She was out for all she could get. She’d just found a more intriguing way than most to try cashing in.

‘But it’s true,’ she answered. ‘I found out about you and I had to come.’

Of course she did. She’d found out precisely who he was and immediately come running. Almost unbelievable that she hadn’t worked it out before. But he could understand her decision to locate him once she knew his identity. And the size of his personal fortune.

Her lower lip trembled for an instant, then stilled. She straightened her shoulders and stared straight back at him, the picture of unblemished innocence.

‘I’m sorry if I’ve come at a bad time. It wasn’t my intention.’ She tugged at her hand but he kept it in his. ‘I’ll leave now that you have your property.’

Would she indeed? And no doubt she’d head to the nearest Press agency to sell her story.

Not if he had anything to do with it!

‘I’m afraid not,’ he murmured.

‘But I’m not welcome here. That much is obvious.’

He nodded, acknowledging her point. ‘True. But do you really think I’m so stupid as to leave you to your own devices?’

She opened her mouth, no doubt to protest. He cut her off with a single, abrupt gesture.

‘Enough! I want no more of your pretensions to innocence. You will not leave the estate until I have the whole story from you and we come to some…accommodation about our circumstances.’

‘Accommodation?’ She shook her head, the very picture of bewilderment.

Her dramatic skills had improved in the last four years, he realised. When they’d first met he’d found her amazingly transparent in her thoughts and emotions. Now look at her: an accomplished liar.

‘Of course, an accommodation. The situation requires careful…attention.’ His fingers tightened round hers as he smiled.

‘You surely don’t think I’d have celebrated my betrothal quite so publicly tonight if I’d known I still had a wife?’




CHAPTER TWO


TESSA’S lungs emptied on a whoosh of air as she stared up at him, towering over her. She’d known his engagement was a possibility yet still his announcement shocked her, leaving an inexplicable hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Her reaction was nonsensical. He didn’t have a role in her life. His relationships were no business of hers.

And yet he’d called her his wife.

The idea was preposterous. They both knew the truth: she’d never been that.

Tessa flinched at the travesty of a smile he turned on her. It was feral. His expression had a definite predatory edge that made her wish she were anywhere but here.

She could almost imagine him sinking those strong white teeth into the soft skin at the base of her neck. Either that or wrapping his hands around her there to squeeze the breath out of her.

She looked into his face and for a moment knew fear.

Then logic asserted itself. He might be furious, might even want to hurt her, but Stavros Denakis was a civilised man. His previous actions had surely proved that.

She wondered if he had any idea how tightly he grasped her hand.

‘You’re hurting me,’ she said quietly, staring back into his blazing eyes.

He blinked and released her. Instantly blood throbbed back into her hand and she winced.

There was a thud as the heavy ring dropped and she looked down to see it spinning on the table between them. Above it was her outstretched palm, dwarfed by his. Both bore the deep imprint of the ring. Her hand was trembling and she drew it sharply back into her lap, massaging it against the pins and needles that prickled there.

‘My apologies,’ he said in a toneless voice.

But her mind was already racing, processing the information he’d flung at her in such lashing anger.

‘You’re going to be married?’

‘Amusing, isn’t it?’ Yet there was no humour in that flash of a smile he turned on her. ‘I find myself in the unlikely position of possessing both a wife and a fiancée.’

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment against a sudden swirl of dizziness. What on earth was he talking about? None of this made sense. Not to a brain numbed by shock and far too many wakeful hours.

‘I…don’t know what to say.’

‘Don’t you?’ His deep voice was taunting. ‘You surprise me. I thought you’d have it all worked out. Have you decided on a dollar amount? Or is it euros you prefer?’

‘Euros? I don’t understand what you’re talking about.’ She shook her head and the room spun, the edges of her vision blurring, making her glad she was sitting.

There was definite meaning behind his words. An accusation even. But her mind was too foggy to process it.

She should have stopped to rest in Athens before coming on to find him. Should have taken the time to sleep and eat and recuperate. From South America to the United States—an internal flight there and a lengthy delay due to some engine problem—then the leg to Greece, the chaos of Athens and finding her way by public transport to the port of Piraeus; finally the ferry to this island in the Saronic Gulf…Tessa’s journey had taken forever.

She was exhausted. The shock of discovering him to be alive and the strain of uncertainty had kept her too keyed-up to sleep even through the tedium of flights and airport delays. Now the long hours without rest took their toll.

She grasped the edge of the table with both hands and clung on tight. With an effort she forced back the strange, woozy feeling and stiffened her spine.

Tessa wasn’t up to facing this angry stranger. He wasn’t at all like her recollection of him. Had her treasured memories been a case of rose-tinted glasses?

Perhaps she should have heeded the cowardly inner voice that had urged her to forget what had happened and scurry home to Australia. To leave the past safely buried.

‘Enough!’ His hand thumped, palm down, onto the table and she jumped, eyes widening. ‘I don’t have time for these games. It’s obvious why you’re here. There’s no point prevaricating.’

His dark eyes probed as he thrust his head close to hers across the table. Animosity vibrated from him in waves, a palpable force. He was trying to intimidate her into submission.

And he was doing an excellent job!

Tessa shoved her chair back and got to her feet, thankful for the support of the table. Her knees were absurdly wobbly.

‘Where do you think you’re going? You’re not leaving until I’m finished with you.’

And when would that be? His fury seemed infinite.

‘I’m just putting myself on a more equal footing,’ she replied quietly. She’d learned through bitter experience that a calm demeanour was the safest response to hostility.

His glare didn’t diminish but he stood back a fraction from the table. Even that small distance seemed to lessen the impact of his sparking hostility and she breathed more easily.

‘So how much do you want?’ he demanded.

‘How much what?’

‘Sto Diavolo!’ He rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. ‘I have no patience for this game of yours. Can’t you manage a direct answer to a simple question?’

‘I would if I knew what the question was.’ She raised her palm when he would have spoken. ‘But perhaps it will ease your mind if I tell you I didn’t come here to get anything from you. I only came to return the ring.’

She looked down at the table and the familiar ornament lying on the wood. She blinked. Stupid to feel sentimental about a chunk of jewellery. She didn’t need a good-luck charm any more.

She raised her eyes to his and strove to ignore the sizzle of heat that blasted out at her.

‘There’s one more thing,’ she said, shuffling her feet as a wave of tiredness made her unsteady.

‘Of course there is. At last we come to it.’ There was contempt on his face and a sneer curved his sensual mouth as he crossed his arms over his chest. The action emphasised the power of his body, even in a superbly tailored evening jacket. He radiated sheer masculine force.

She shook her head and then wished she hadn’t, when it took a moment to bring him back into focus.

‘I came to thank you,’ she said and held out her hand to him.

That took him aback. He stared at her as if he’d never shaken hands before.

‘If it hadn’t been for you,’ she continued, ‘I’d be dead. You saved my life.’ Her lips curved in a tentative smile. ‘I never got to thank you for that, but I wanted you to know that I didn’t forget. I owe you so much.’

‘What nonsense is this?’ His brows furrowed heavily and he ignored her gesture. His face grew dark with anger.

Disappointed, Tessa let her arm drop, her stamina seeping away at his abrupt rejection. The nervous energy that had kept her on the move for days bled away in a sudden rush, leaving her weightless and hollow.

She ought to sit, regroup and gather her strength. But his eyes held her spellbound.

‘You have the temerity to come here and spin me such a tale? Do you take me for a fool?’ He stood up straighter, stretching to his full, formidable height. ‘I’m afraid for your sake I’m not that gullible. It takes more than a pretty face to convince me.’

The muscles in Tessa’s abdomen tightened convulsively as if absorbing a physical blow—such was the repressed violence in him. She set her jaw and ignored the sudden glaze of heat behind her eyes.

‘In that case there’s no more to be said.’ Tessa dragged her gaze from his. So he didn’t accept her gratitude. That was his problem, not hers.

What sort of man could be so lacking in charity or trust or even common courtesy?

‘I’ll be on my way, then.’ His face was a blur as she turned quickly to her backpack, propped against the wall. Giddiness rocked her as he stepped close, hemming her in.

‘I said, you won’t leave until we sort this out.’ He glared down at her, nostrils flared and jaw clenched, the epitome of male displeasure.

‘And I’ve said all I intend to say.’ Tessa snapped her teeth shut against the temptation to call him a bullying lout. ‘As far as I’m concerned we’ve covered everything. You’ve got your ring and it’s time for me to leave.’

‘Straight into the waiting arms of the paparazzi? I think not.’

The Press? What would she want with the Press? Tessa had other concerns right now, like where she’d find a bed for the night. She hoped she had enough cash to tide her over. She hadn’t counted on a side-trip to Greece when she’d begun her journey in South America.

It had been a stupid impulse after all.

‘I have no intention of talking to any paparazzi,’ she assured him. ‘So you can stop your fuming and step out of my way.’

Slowly he shook his head and she read the speculation in his dark grey eyes. Speculation and something else she couldn’t put a name to. But it made the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

‘You have no right to keep me here.’ Despite her rising anxiety Tessa’s voice sounded oddly muted, as if it came from a long distance away.

His lips curved up in a sinister smile that sent a shudder rippling down her backbone.

‘What about the right of a husband?’ he murmured. ‘A husband long-deprived of his lovely wife.’

He stepped close, bringing his powerful body flush against hers. His heat radiated into her, searing her through her shabby clothes. But it was the menace in his expression that sucked the breath from her.

‘You’ll find that here in Greece we take the responsibilities, and the rights of a husband very seriously.’

Something sizzled in his eyes, molten hot and arresting. She felt her reaction to it, a feverish trembling, right through her body. That frightened her more than anything else.

‘Then I hope your fiancée knows exactly what she’s getting herself into.’ Tessa angled her chin up and met his eyes, glare for glare. But she had no hope of outfacing him. This man had all the self-confidence of a deity.

‘Enough! This is getting us nowhere.’

‘I couldn’t agree more.’ She sidestepped him and took a single pace towards her luggage. Then two things happened simultaneously: a large hand manacled her elbow and her shaky legs crumpled beneath her.

She heard a rush of incomprehensible invective as the room tilted wildly and his dark eyes—large and disbelieving—swam before her.

She stiffened her knees, bracing herself against the dizziness. But already he was bending, scooping her up in his arms and tucking her tight against his deep chest.

He encompassed her. Those strong arms curved underneath, supporting her. His powerful chest cushioned her. And his eyes…his eyes meshed with hers, lustrous and compelling. She felt as if they looked into her very soul. Everything about him radiated male dominance: from the bunched muscles binding her close to the arrogant jut of his nose. Even the hint of dark shadow on his hard jaw reinforced the impression of primal machismo.

And something else, something unsettling eddied around her, drawing her nerves to attention. It was the scent of his skin, she realised as she gazed at his mask-still features. Like tangy pine and earthy male. Intriguing. Inviting. Tempting.

Blood pulsed loud in her ears as she stared at him. Her heart throbbed heavily, echoing the steady beat she felt deep inside his chest. Her mouth dried as the world shrank to just the two of them. Close, closer…

‘There’s no need for this,’ she whispered, surprised to find her voice so reedy. ‘I can stand.’

She might not have spoken.

‘What have you been doing, starving yourself?’ One large hand splayed across her ribcage, right under her breast. His fingers slid experimentally across her ribs and back again, almost as if he were counting them. He scowled, his brows tilting at a ferocious angle.

‘When did you last eat?’

‘I had something on the plane.’ A cup of coffee and dry crackers somewhere over the Atlantic. Flying still made her nervous and that was all she’d been able to stomach.

She looked into his dark gold face, into his gleaming, furious eyes, and felt a tightening in her chest, as if someone had squeezed her heart.

‘Christos! What did you intend to do? Make a grand entrance and then collapse at my feet in a bid for sympathy?’

Tessa wriggled in his arms, trying to loosen his hold so she could stand on her own feet. But his grip remained firm and unforgiving.

Anger surged through her. He had no cause to treat her like this. She’d only been trying to do the right thing, and she’d come all this way!

So much for the famed Greek hospitality she’d heard about.

‘I have no interest in your sympathy, Mr Denakis.’ She spat out the words, tasting bitter disillusionment on her tongue. ‘I don’t know what your problem is. We don’t have a relationship. We never did. And,’ she cut across him as he opened his mouth to speak, ‘I’m not interested in meeting any journalists.’ She swallowed, trying to moisten her parched mouth. Her sudden burst of energy was fading fast. ‘Now I’d appreciate it if you’d put me down.’

For a moment she saw a hint of puzzlement in his eyes. Then the impression was gone, ousted by the sheer arrogance of his flared nostrils and raised brows as he looked down his impressive, aristocratic nose at her.

‘A fine performance, madam. Truly masterful. But you and I both know it was just that: a performance. We’re bound to each other, until such time as I decide how best to sever the connection.’

He swung round towards the door so quickly that the room blurred around her.

‘We will discuss this somewhere more congenial. I, for one, have no desire to continue this discussion here.’

He looked away and she was left gazing up at the under-side of his sharply angled jaw, the plane of his cheek and his well-shaped ear.

It was like looking at the man she remembered, but through a distorting glaze of anger. Briefly she wondered if Stavros Denakis had an evil twin. Or whether the man she’d met four years ago had been an impostor.

But it was the same man. There could be no mistaking the way her heart accelerated just being close to him, or the hint of longing that tinged her anger.

It was appalling but true: Tessa had never reacted to anyone else this way. Now she discovered that the only man to make her feel so aware was an egotistical, bad-tempered brute!

It was typical of her luck.

‘You find this situation humorous?’ His deep voice rumbled up from his chest, a vibration she felt as well as heard. ‘Believe me, you won’t find it funny by the time I’ve finished with you.’

‘No!’ Tessa gritted her teeth while she searched for a calm tone. ‘I don’t find it at all amusing to be manhandled.’

He stopped in mid-stride and stared down at her. An overhead light haloed his hair, turning him into a dark vengeful angel. His eyes were impenetrable.

‘Is that a threat?’ he asked softly. ‘A hint of harassment litigation to come?’

The suppressed violence in his tone made her shiver. She clenched her hands against the impulse to do something stupid such as try to claw her way out of his unforgiving grip. She knew instinctively that he’d have no compunction about using his superior strength to stop her.

‘I have no interest in a lawsuit. But that doesn’t mean you can ride roughshod over me.’ She snatched a quick breath before her courage faded. ‘Now, I’d be grateful if you’d put me down. I prefer to walk.’

For a long moment he scrutinised her with all the hauteur of a prince surveying some upstart lackey. Tessa felt the blood warm her cheeks, so intense was that survey. And so disapproving.

Then his mouth tilted up at one side in a self-satisfied smirk that disappeared almost before she registered it.

‘You’ll find it easier to do things the way I wish them to be done.’

And then he was stalking down the long corridor again, holding her effortlessly, ignoring everything she’d said.

They passed a series of closed doors and then he swung round a corner, exiting the building under a covered walkway. The soft, balmy night air caressed her skin and she breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing pulse. From somewhere nearby came the sound of people, lots of people, enjoying themselves. Through the jumble of voices she heard a thread of music.

A party. She’d arrived when he was entertaining, and by the sound of it this was no intimate family gathering. That might explain the tension in him when he’d stormed in to confront her.

But nothing could excuse his behaviour since.

Tessa blinked back hot, futile tears at the realisation that the man she’d put on a pedestal for all these years was the sort of arrogant bully she most detested.

How had she got it so wrong?

And why did it matter? After tonight they’d never see each other again.

The walkway ended at another, larger building. He barely slowed his pace to negotiate the door and another corridor. There was no similarity between this architect-designed palace and the utilitarian security block they’d just left. The rooms here were discreetly opulent. Fresh flowers scented the air and there were fine furnishings, artfully placed, designed for both comfort and display. Spacious. Luxurious. The home of a mega-wealthy man.

The magazine had been right after all: Stavros Denakis had more money than she’d ever dreamed of. The divide between them was impossible to breach.

The realisation chilled her and she slumped in his hold.

She’d known from the first that he wasn’t like other men. His absolute self-assurance, his willingness to take charge, his split-second decision-making, even in traumatic circumstances, the power and confidence he radiated…She’d been so grateful for those qualities the day he’d rescued her. But now at last she understood—they were simply the qualities of a man used to command, a man with the riches to buy whatever he wanted.

The knowledge destroyed the last shred of her treasured dreams—the secret romantic image of the man who’d snatched her from the threat of torture and death.

Through four arduous years of hardship she’d fantasised that one day a man like him, a man with those same qualities, might find her. And when they met he wouldn’t act out of necessity, but out of desire. For her.

That old impossible longing to be loved just for herself. It was a wonder she hadn’t grown out of it after all she’d been through.



Stavros strode into the sitting room of a guest suite. The one nearest to his own rooms. He’d keep this troublemaker under close scrutiny until he sorted out a solution to the diabolical mess she’d created.

She lay passive in his arms now, as limp as a doll. No more of those useless struggles.

He’d been relieved to feel her surge of energy as she tried to escape his hold. She looked so fragile, her eyes huge in her delicately moulded face, her body more than slim. But she was surprisingly strong. Not enough to push him away, of course, but enough to reassure him that she wasn’t at death’s door.

That would be an unnecessary complication.

The situation was already fraught enough. The sizzle of connection he felt whenever he met Tessa Marlowe’s green-eyed gaze warned him of added danger. A flicker of heat burned his skin as he inhaled her fresh soap scent. It blazed when he thought about the way her body fitted perfectly in his arms. And it had nothing to do with his righteous fury. It hinted at something much more basic.

Yet he refused to acknowledge any attraction to this cheap, unprincipled opportunist.

The sharp possessive pleasure he experienced, clasping her tight to his chest, feeling her soft hair tease his neck, was an illusion. The product of shock at seeing her again. It couldn’t be anything else.

Nevertheless, the sooner he put some distance between them, the better. For even in her underfed state, Tessa Marlowe had curves in all the right places. Curves that his hands itched to explore.

He lowered her onto a nearby sofa, his movements abrupt. Immediately he straightened and stepped back, furious at the way her scent lingered in his nostrils, feeding the edgy awareness deep inside him. His temperature had climbed a couple of degrees too, a reaction to holding her feminine form so intimately close.

Damnation!

He turned away, picked up the internal phone and snapped out an order for coffee, food and ouzo.

This would take time to sort out. Time he didn’t have. Damn it all, he had his engagement party to attend!

A hot tide of fury roared through him.

How dared she put him in this position?

He swung round to confront her, his lips already forming a stinging rebuke. But the words jammed in his throat.

She was silently weeping, her face angled away from him and her head pressed back against the cushioned seat. There were no tears on her cheeks, but her eyes brimmed with them, glittering crystalline-bright in the lamp-light.

She looked distraught.

Guilt rippled through him but he crushed it instantly.

She was simply a superlative actress, playing the sympathy card. His mind knew it. Even so, the ploy worked.

Unwillingly he recalled the first time he’d seen her. The echo of gunfire in the distance had been a stark contrast to the waiting silence of the tiny, evil-smelling cell. Fear had hung in the air, and despair. She’d had tears in her eyes then too, but she’d blinked them away and scrambled to her feet, adopting a defensive stance that told him all he needed to know about the way she’d been treated.

She’d been desperate, expecting the worst, but ready to fight.

And he’d responded immediately. Not only to the need to rescue her from a dire situation, but more: to her gorgeous face, her tempting body.

No! He refused to go there.

Whatever had happened four years ago, he knew exactly why she was here now. To milk him for all she could get.

He was no gullible fool, to be sucked in by a show of female emotion. She’d underestimated him if she thought he’d dance to her tune just because she shed a few tears.

‘I’m listening,’ he growled, planting his fists on his hips and ignoring the way she flinched at his threatening tone. ‘What is your asking price?’



Tessa blinked back the burning film of tears, berating herself for getting so emotional. The last thing she wanted was to display weakness before this man.

His temper vibrated, almost out of control, between them.

‘There is no price.’ She looked across the room at a bright abstract painting, avoiding his hard stare.

‘My patience is at an end,’ he barked. ‘You will get no more by delaying. In fact, for every minute you keep me waiting, the final settlement will be cut.’

Tessa frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

A flurry of outraged Greek singed her ears and in the next instant a large body invaded her space, crowding her back against the corner of the sofa.

Large hands grabbed hers, yanking her around so that she faced him as he sat beside her. Searing heat surged into her, from his touch, his body, his glittering eyes.

He was furious, grim, dangerous.

And he was the sexiest man she’d ever seen.

Her throat closed in panic.

‘Tell me now,’ he whispered, and the softly menacing tone scared her more than his earlier outrage. ‘Exactly how much will it cost me to be free of you?’

‘I…Nothing,’ she croaked, wondering suddenly if he meant to harm her.

His hands tightened round her wrists. His jaw clenched in a spasm of tension. His eyes burned into hers.

‘I will be free of you, either by annulment or divorce, whatever is faster. And I will pay a reasonable amount to purchase your silence, with a watertight, legally binding agreement.’

Tessa’s eyes widened as she watched his lips move, heard his words. Yet they didn’t make sense. This was crazy!

‘But there’s no need. We were never married!’

‘Sto Diavolo! Of course we were married. Why else would you have my ring? Why else would you be here, angling for my money?’

She shook her head and the room swirled round her. She was almost glad of his tight grip holding her steady.

‘But the man who performed the ceremony—he wasn’t a priest. The ceremony was a sham, a ploy to help me escape.’

His eyes bored into hers and something twisted in the pit of her stomach. For an instant she thought she saw a flicker of doubt in his expression.

But then he was speaking again, slowly, clearly, almost brutally. She fought to catch her breath as his words pounded into her brain.

‘He wasn’t a priest. He was from the local town hall and he was legally empowered to marry us.’ His words were slow, deliberate and unavoidable. ‘Everything was done legally, even the witnesses for the official record.’

Tessa opened her mouth to gasp in some oxygen, to protest. But his words continued: remorseless, fantastic.

‘The marriage was legitimate,’ said Stavros Denakis. There was a bitter twist to his lips, utter distaste in his eyes.

‘We are husband and wife.’




CHAPTER THREE


TESSA’S pulse galloped, loud in the raw silence that echoed with his words. Her hollow stomach cramped.

‘You’re not joking, are you?’ she whispered at last when she found her voice.

The mocking slant of his eyebrows betrayed scorn. That expression of disdain on his hard, aristocratic face made him look like some superior pagan god.

‘I do not joke about such things.’ He leaned back against the leather sofa and crossed his arms over his deep chest. Scepticism and impatience radiated from him.

And still she felt the sizzle of heat where his hands had encircled her skin.

‘Are you sure?’ she was desperate enough to ask. ‘Absolutely sure?’ That day had been so chaotic after all.

‘Your show of astonishment is truly touching,’ he murmured. ‘But don’t keep up the act on my account.’

She winced as his sarcasm flayed her fragile self-possession. The man’s tongue was pure poison.

‘You really believe I would make a mistake about something like that?’ He paused, his eyes narrowing as he scanned her features. ‘I even have the wedding certificate to prove it. Signed, witnessed and legally binding.’

Tessa sank back into the embrace of soft leather, her mind racing.

She was married? Had been married for four years?

She pressed a hand to her chest where a sharp knot of shock bruised her. She was married to him?

‘But why did you use a justice of the peace? It didn’t have to be a real marriage. Just something to…’

‘To get you out of prison?’ No mistaking the sneer in his tone. It matched his frosty eyes and the curl of his lip. His expression was judgemental, dismissive.

‘Any stranger would have done.’ Tessa refused to be cowed. If this was true, this ridiculous situation was his fault, not hers! ‘There was no need actually to marry me!’

‘Believe me,’ he leaned close and the wrath simmering in his eyes forced her back away from him, ‘if there’d been an alternative, any alternative, I would have taken it.’

His gaze held her in a grip so powerful she could barely breathe. She felt as if her ribs were in a vice, constricting the flow of air to her lungs.

‘It may have escaped your notice,’ he said, ‘but a little town the size of San Miguel can be remarkably short of helpful strangers willing to perjure themselves in order to rescue a foreigner from the local gaol.

‘Time was short and I’d already had enough trouble persuading your gaolers to let me see you, let alone permit a wedding on the premises.’

Her head swam and she shut her eyes. She’d walked into a nightmare. If only she hadn’t given in to the compulsion to see him again, the man she’d believed for years had given his life to save hers.

‘It was a real marriage or nothing,’ he continued, his voice like rough velvet against her abraded nerves. ‘As you very well knew.’

Her eyes snapped open. They were back to that again. He was a man of such persistent suspicion. For a fleeting moment Tessa wondered what had made him so distrustful.

‘I knew none of this. Nothing at all until just now.’

She watched the shimmer of disbelief glaze his eyes and his jaw harden impatiently. There was no way she’d ever convince him. He was determined to believe she’d somehow deliberately trapped him into marriage.

If the idea weren’t so fantastic, and so appalling, she’d be laughing her head off. Her snaring some uppity billionaire with an ego the size of South America! As if!

‘Why didn’t you say something at the time?’

‘What?’ He shook his head. ‘You wished me to apologise within earshot of the celebrant and the prison guards that our hasty plans had changed? That we’d have to make do with a real wedding and worry about dissolving the marriage later? You really think they’d have let us proceed?’ His dark brows arched in mock-surprise.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the spinning sensation that accelerated when she met his glare. If she could just sit here alone. Get her breath. In time she’d work something out. She was a survivor. She had years of practice keeping herself alive. A furious Greek tycoon with an ego problem and a marriage certificate were nothing after what she’d been through. Right?

Tessa clenched her fists, trying to dredge up some energy to deal with this situation. But she was exhausted.

‘Here, drink this!’

She opened her eyes to find him leaning over her, filling her vision with his wide shoulders and massive chest. His accusing eyes.

A skitter of sensation scudded down her spine. Trepidation? Anger?

Or something else?

‘No, thank you. I don’t need—’ she spluttered as he pressed a small glass against her lips and a rocket of aniseed fire blasted into her mouth and down her throat.

Her eyes streamed and she gagged.

‘And again.’ His fingers fastened around her chin, tilting it up towards the glass. His hand was warm and easily encompassed her jaw. Against the tempered strength of his hold she felt appallingly vulnerable. Her pulse raced beneath his touch.

She blinked and met his gaze. It was implacable, as relentless as the large hand holding her steady while he tipped another mouthful of liquid between her lips. Heat scorched all the way down to her belly and she shuddered.

‘No more.’ Her voice was a hoarse gasp. ‘What is that stuff?’

‘Ouzo. Fierce but effective. It’s an acquired taste.’

Tessa wondered who’d be desperate enough to acquire it. But he was right. She wasn’t numb any more. Delicious warmth spread through her veins and her stiff muscles relaxed. A strange lassitude invaded her body.

Abruptly he moved away and she almost sighed in relief. She couldn’t think when he loomed like that, vibrating dark impatience and animosity.

‘Here.’ His voice was rough as he pushed a plate into her hand. It was laden with food. She hadn’t even noticed anyone come to the door with a tray.

Could that be caviar on the tiny buttered squares of bread? And there were shrimps, savoury pastries, a whole range of delicacies. She swallowed as her salivary glands kicked into gear.

‘Eat.’ His tone was brusque as he turned away, his stiff back and rigid shoulders eloquent of dismissal.

‘I have things to do, but I’m sure you’ll make yourself at home in my absence.’ No mistaking his sarcasm. ‘Just don’t think about leaving this room. There will be a guard stationed right outside.’ His voice was silky with threat and she shivered, guessing he’d like nothing more than to ‘deal’ with her if she disobeyed him. His anger was so fiercely controlled she imagined he’d welcome an excuse to unleash it.

He didn’t even glance at her as he left. The door closed with a decisive click and Tessa slumped bonelessly into the sofa cushions.

Where did he think she’d go? Did he think she’d prowl through his home? All she wanted was to collect her pack with her passport and the last of her cash, and leave.

But what was the point? They needed to sort out a way to dissolve the marriage—she and Stavros Denakis.

Her mind shied away blindly from the word husband.



Tessa stared out of the window to the formal garden, the panorama of dark sea and cloudless sky. Even the air was balmy, scented with salt and the perfume of orange blossom.

It didn’t seem right that everything should look so peaceful when she was a mass of jangling nerves, raw from the corrosive memories of last night’s confrontation.

Where did that man get off, treating her as though everything were her fault? As if she’d connived to put in him an embarrassing predicament when all she’d wanted was to do the right thing?

She squeezed her eyes shut, appalled at her naïvety. At her spur-of-the-moment impulse, cashing in her airline ticket to Sydney and instead travelling to Greece. As if high-and-mighty Stavros Denakis would be interested in her gratitude after all this time.

She drew in a shuddering breath and blinked to clear her blurred vision, appalled at how near to crying she was. Last night, for the first time in years, hot tears had threatened to fall. Now they stung her eyes again. This weakness after all she’d been through was inexplicable.

Today her actions seemed nothing short of foolish. So what if it had seemed like a sign, like fate, when she’d opened that discarded magazine in the airport lounge and stared straight into the eyes of the man who’d haunted her for four years? The man who’d been at the centre of her secret hopes and dreams as she’d struggled daily against privation and poverty and the temptation to give up hope.

She was no innocent kid. You’d think years of hardship would have taught her there was no point in spinning foolish dreams. Except she hadn’t been able to deny those secret fantasies of him. Those unsettling night-time imaginings that had been her only solace. Dreams of strong arms, of a determined, powerful saviour coming to her aid. Dreams that had left her edgy and burning with a heat that belied the chilly mountain nights.

Tessa clenched her jaw and straightened. No way would the real Stavros Denakis protect her ever again. Not after his fury last night. He must be deeply in love with his fiancée, and enormously protective of her, to view Tessa as any sort of threat.

She breathed deeply, sloughing off a sneaking twinge of self-pity. That would get her nowhere.

She’d spent the morning in a deep, exhausted sleep, waking to a visit from a doctor, organised by her host. As if Stavros Denakis actually cared how she was! He was probably just checking she hadn’t brought some highly contagious disease with her from South America.

Her first instinct had been to refuse to be examined, but the doctor had been persuasive and Tessa just anxious enough about her strangely emotional state to comply. It was a relief to have her fears allayed. She was fine. All she needed was time to recover her strength.

But now it was late afternoon and she’d achieved nothing. She’d better contact the Australian embassy in Athens. They’d help her with the legalities and her return to Sydney. Not that there was anything waiting for her there. But she’d be home, where she’d longed to be for years. She’d have access to her bank account, could start rebuilding her life while the lawyers sorted out a divorce.

Tessa swung round from the window to look for a phone, wondering how difficult it would be to place a call to the embassy when she spoke no Greek.

She stopped dead when she met Stavros Denakis’ storm-grey eyes.

Her lungs seized up as she met his probing gaze, then she lifted her chin and drew in a slow breath, refusing to be daunted by the sight of him.

He stood just inside the room, his shoulders almost as broad as the closed door behind him. She blinked, realising he’d entered without a sound. A shiver of trepidation trickled down her backbone at the knowledge he must have the soundless tread of a predator. Like a jungle jaguar.

It made her feel vulnerable. But she shoved her hands into the pockets of her baggy trousers, resisting the impulse to curve her arms defensively around herself.

His expression was shuttered, totally unreadable. Somehow that was more worrying than the blaze of wrath he’d directed at her last night. Fury and bullying she could stand up to. But what was going on in his mind now?

She wasn’t foolish enough to believe he’d seen the error of his ways and accepted the truth about her intentions. No, there was a waiting stillness about him, as if he were a hunter sizing up his prey, that sent its own wordless message across the humming silence between them.

Yet to her horror, his patent distrust wasn’t enough to prevent the spark of excitement that flared into life deep inside her. He did that to her without even trying.

She’d only ever experienced the sensation with this man: a thrill, a yearning that made her seem a stranger to her own body. It scared the hell out of her.



Stavros watched her eyes widen, the pupils dilating in those green depths, and felt a stab of savage satisfaction. Even from here he sensed her fear, though she stood ramrod-straight, her jaw angled up defiantly.

Good. She deserved to worry about his next move. He’d been tempted to have his staff call the police. They’d keep her locked up while they dealt with the charges. Trespass at least. No doubt they could arrange a few others, perhaps threats of violence or attempted blackmail?

But much as he’d prefer to be rid of her disturbing physical presence, Tessa Marlowe wasn’t going anywhere. If he released her into police custody there was a chance her story would leak to the Press. Some tantalising snippet aimed at persuading him to be generous in his settlement.

No. Ms Marlowe would stay right here where he could keep an eye on her.

He rolled his shoulders, still stiff with the strain of repressed anger that had escalated through the night.

Every congratulatory comment at last evening’s party, every good wish for a fruitful union, had notched the tension in his gut tighter. For the first time in his life he’d felt a fraud, lying to his family, his friends and to the woman he’d decided to take as his wife.

He didn’t like the feeling one iota. Or the sensation of matters being beyond his control. That he, who prided himself on his well-regulated world, should be caught in this preposterous situation, barely one step removed from bigamy—it was untenable!

‘What do you want?’ Her voice was a fraction rough, proof that she wasn’t as calm as she tried to appear.

He paced into the room, ignoring the spike of heat in his bloodstream as he approached her. That was the ultimate insult to his pride and his intelligence. The fact that, even recognising her as a greedy opportunist, he wanted her, with a potent longing that astounded him.

Lust had never been so urgently consuming. He had to fight the raw compulsion to reach out and feel her soft flesh beneath his, lose himself in her.

He, a man of honour. Who had just vowed to marry another woman!

No matter that he’d chosen his fiancée because of her impeccable credentials in meeting his requirements for a wife, hostess and mother of his children. No matter that their emotions weren’t engaged, or that they’d yet to consummate their relationship. He owed her his loyalty.

He’d spent the night coming to terms with the unpalatable fact that it was Tessa Marlowe who stirred his blood, not his fiancée, Angela. He wouldn’t grant this woman the satisfaction of realising it.

‘I’ve come to see if you need anything.’

Her fine brows arched up and the look she sent him could have befitted a supercilious monarch. She really did have attitude.

But they both knew it was a bluff. He had the power to break her if he chose, despite the fact of the marriage contract they’d signed. Money spoke loud and clear. Always. And his sort of wealth could achieve almost anything. She’d do well to remember that.

‘What more could I need when my host is so…generous with his hospitality?’

Despite himself, Stavros felt his mouth kick up at one corner in appreciation of her reckless courage. Obviously, despite the doctor’s concerns, she was fit enough to fight.

He’d come in here expecting to see her languishing at death’s door. Severe physical and mental exhaustion, the doctor had said, plus borderline malnutrition and the after-effects of giardia from drinking tainted water.

For a while there, Stavros had seriously questioned whether he’d misjudged her. But, seeing her now, it seemed clear the doctor had taken her word about the symptoms and been duped by an excellent actress. As for the malnutrition—starving herself in order to get her hands on several million dollars wasn’t out of the question. Unfortunately Stavros had first-hand experience of women unscrupulous enough to do even that. He was long past the age when a sob story and a show of feminine weakness might impress him.



‘Don’t get too comfortable,’ he said abruptly, his deep voice vibrating with disapproval. His straight brows arrowed together and Tessa knew instinctively that he held on to his temper by a thread. ‘You’ll remain just as long as it takes to devise a solution to this problem.’

‘The solution is simple.’ She’d worked out that much already. ‘All we need to do is annul the marriage. There must be grounds for that.’

He stalked closer and immediately the spacious room shrank around them.

‘Non-consummation, perhaps?’

Tessa’s whole body thrummed in reaction as she looked up into those watchful grey eyes. They weren’t cold any more, she suddenly realised. There was more fire than ice in his expression, and a flash of something that made her insides twist.

Tentatively she slid one foot back a fraction, but there was nowhere to go with the window right behind her. He was still a pace away from her but the intensity of his gaze made her feel cornered and way too vulnerable.

‘That’s an option.’ Tessa had to tilt her face higher to look him in the eye.

‘Ah, but that might be difficult to prove. What evidence can we provide?’ One sleek, dark eyebrow winged upwards, emphasising his sardonic expression.

‘I’m sure the authorities would be willing to accept our word for it. After all, we were only together for a couple of hours—’

‘That’s not convincing.’ Slowly he shook his head but his gaze remained fixed on her, riveting her to the spot. ‘A couple of hours are more than enough time to consummate a marriage.’ His voice dropped a notch so the words rolled across her flesh like an echo of distant thunder. Tessa shivered as she watched his eyes narrow and his expression change. There was something dangerous about that glint in his eyes. Something feral.

‘Or are you, perhaps, doubting my virility?’ he added in an undertone.

He didn’t move, didn’t approach, yet she felt him encroach further into her space. Tessa found her hands splaying wide for support on the window ledge behind her.

‘Don’t be absurd! I…’

He did crowd her then. With a single long stride he obliterated the distance between them and his heat blazed, raw and unnerving, against her trembling body.

Tessa’s nostrils flared in response to the spicy, masculine scent of his skin. Her chest heaved as she sucked in a calming breath and she forced her gaze to flick away from the intimidating wall of his chest, mere centimetres from her breasts. A wave of sensation washed through her, a purely feminine awareness. Her nipples puckered and tightened as if with cold. But she wasn’t chilled. Instead her flesh was heating. A wave of fiery warmth spread from her chest up her throat, and Tessa knew that any second now she’d be blushing.

‘Or perhaps it’s a personal demonstration you’re after?’ The words contained a sharp, sarcastic sting.

Automatically Tessa shook her head, horrified at how fast the conversation had got out of hand.

‘No!’ The denial burst from her mouth, strident and appalled.

Reluctantly she focused on his eyes, dark now with unholy anger. Or was it amusement?

She drew in a sharp breath, forcing herself to ignore the graze of her chest against his linen shirt as he leaned closer.

The devil was baiting her! Deliberately toying with her, testing her limits with the unspoken threat of his big body. He wanted her to panic.

‘This has gone far enough.’ She struggled to sound calm, knowing that was the best way to end this torment. ‘I wasn’t questioning your masculinity. I was simply observing that the circumstances of our…wedding would support us when we said it was a marriage in name only.’

There, she sounded reasonable. Only a little breathless.

He scrutinised her as if he could read her every secret in her face.

‘So you believe the circumstances prove we didn’t have sex?’

Her eyes widened. ‘It was hardly the time or the place. A civil war had just broken out around us!’

‘And yet it’s a proven fact that in situations of extreme danger, people find comfort in the sexual act. I believe it can be quite a compulsion.’

Had he leaned closer? Or had she swayed towards him? She couldn’t be that unsteady on her feet.

‘But we didn’t even know each other!’ Any logical person would see that theirs had been a paper formality, not a real marriage.

‘Interesting.’ He spoke unhurriedly and she watched his mouth form the word. Despite her uneasiness there was something almost hypnotic about the way those firm lips moved. ‘So your contention is that strangers don’t have sex? I don’t find that particularly convincing. Or are you arguing that you would never do such a thing?’

Again, that interrogatory tilt of an eyebrow. It reinforced the imposing, dominant angles of his face, reminding her irresistibly of a fallen angel, beautiful and oh-so-dangerous.

Tessa’s hands balled into fists as she repressed the panicky need to try to force him away from her. She knew it would be futile. He was larger, stronger and far nastier than she was. He’d probably enjoy watching her flail against his superior strength. But she wouldn’t give him that cheap satisfaction.

Instead she’d be calm, reasonable, in control. She’d ignore his provocation. No way would she rise to his baiting about her morality.

It was on the tip of her tongue to blurt out that, contrary to his sneering assumption, she could provide the evidence to prove their marriage had never been consummated. It was something she’d far rather avoid. It would be a last resort, but if that was what it took to be free of this man then she’d do it.

In the meantime there was no way she’d reveal anything so personal to Stavros Denakis. She didn’t even want to think about his derision if he realised her experience was so limited. The mood he was in, he wouldn’t believe her.

‘My contention,’ she responded, looking at a point over his shoulder, ‘is that the authorities will have no reason to doubt our story when we explain it to them.’





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