Bride Behind The Billion-Dollar Veil (Crazy Rich Greek Weddings Book 2) Page 8

  Alice’s expression showed surprise as she looked at him, so he stroked her side, and slowly she smiled, turning back to Kosta. ‘I understand your concerns about my husband, Mr Carinedes. But it’s important to remember that newspapers will write a story about just about anything.’

  Kosta considered this for a moment. ‘That is true, m’dear. Very true.’

  They were quiet for a moment, and Thanos had to bite back an impulse to ask the older man when he intended to sign the company over to him—surely his last objection had been dealt with?

  ‘You’re having a honeymoon?’ Kosta asked, and Thanos could tell he’d surprised Alice when he nodded in the affirmative.

  ‘That is the norm, is it not?’ Thanos prompted.

  ‘Of course. Where will you go?’

  Thanos turned to Alice, a smile on his face. ‘It’s a surprise, for my bride.’

  ‘Ah.’ This appeared to please the old man. He clapped his hands together and offered the first genuine smile Thanos had seen from him in a long time. ‘Well, when it’s over, why don’t you two join me in Port D’Angelo for an evening?’

  ‘Port D’Angelo?’ Alice prompted.

  ‘A small town on the southern coast of Kalatheros—my home is there. Come—see the ocean, eat galaktoboureko and drink wine. I would enjoy getting to know you better, Alice.’

  Thanos smiled, but he read the subtext. This would be a test. A ‘throwing down of the gauntlet’ to make sure their marriage was the real deal. He couldn’t blame the older man for taking the precaution. The circumstances were highly suspicious—and with good reason.

  ‘Fine.’ Alice’s smile was completely relaxed. She was clearly an excellent actress—better even than he’d suspected. ‘I’d like that. Thanos?’

  ‘We’ll come as soon as we can,’ Thanos murmured.

  ‘Shall we say a week?’

  ‘A week?’ Thanos balked at that, for no reason he could think of. ‘Make it three.’

  Beside him Alice stiffened, and lifted her face to his. ‘Don’t be silly, Thanos. A week is fine.’ Her smile was encouraging, and he couldn’t have said why but he felt annoyed. Impatient.

  ‘Good,’ Kosta rolled on, their acquiescence now apparently something he took for granted. But he sobered, his expression growing serious as he looked up at Thanos. ‘She is your family now. All that you do is for her.’

  * * *

  The wedding dress on Alice had been bad enough. But it was somehow so much worse when he stepped into the luxurious bathroom of the hotel penthouse to see it carefully arranged over a coat hanger, suspended from the gold frame of the shower screen.

  He ran his fingers over the lace bodice, as he’d been aching to do all day, his gut tightening with memories of how Alice had looked in the dress. And imagining how she looked out of it.

  He stifled a groan, washing his face and unbuttoning his own shirt, discarding it considerably less carefully, in a pile on the floor. He braced his palms on the marble counter and stared at his reflection, a haunted look in his eyes as he noted the detail of the gold band on his wedding finger.

  He was married.

  And it didn’t matter that it was just a sham, he felt a panicking constriction in his chest, rising to his throat, making breathing momentarily difficult.

  Married.

  Just as he’d sworn he’d never be.

  He swept his eyes shut for a moment, inhaling, exhaling, ignoring the panic, focussing on the end result of this.

  Petó. The company that would be his.

  It didn’t matter that he’d got way more than he’d bargained for with Alice Smart. It didn’t matter that he’d suggested this when he’d thought her efficiency outstripped any other quality she possessed, when he’d thought she’d be a convenient bride—convenient in that he’d barely notice she was around.

  How wrong he’d been!

  He was noticing her, noticing her in all the ways he didn’t want to.

  The brief kiss at the nightclub had been bad, but he’d been able to tame it. The kiss at their wedding? It had pulled at every single one of his senses and even now his body was on fire, wanting to know how that kiss would end if they gave it free rein.

  A noise from beyond the bathroom had him moving to the door, and when he stepped out, it was to see Alice in the kitchen, filling a kettle with water.

  And desire throbbed low in his abdomen, refusing to be quelled. Because the wedding dress had been impressive, but even now, with her face wiped of make-up, her dark hair loose around her face, dressed in a simple T-shirt and pants that looked to be stretchy yoga tights, she was working her way into his mind, so he couldn’t look away, and couldn’t think of anything else.

  He must have made a noise without realising it, because she lifted her face, her eyes locking to his in surprise, her lips parting a little.

  ‘I didn’t know you were in here.’

  The kiss had been fascinating.

  He hadn’t expected such a depth of response from her, nor had he expected to want her in a way that had robbed him of any common sense.

  Thanos stood on a precipice now. Common sense and safety were on one side, and on the other, something far more dangerous and infinitely more pleasing.

  ‘I...’ A furrow developed between her brows. ‘I thought I’d go to bed. With a cup of tea. And a book.’ Her breath moved quickly, her chest lifting with each huff, so her nipples strained against the flimsy cotton material of her shirt and he wondered what she’d feel like. If he reached his hands out and curved them over her breasts...

  He banished the thought from his mind and waited for her to make her tea and leave.

  Except she didn’t. She poured the water into a cup and stayed right where she was, her eyes roaming his face slowly, hungrily, as though she too was reluctant to put distance and sleep between them. As if this day—their wedding day—was somehow magical and apart from regular time.

  ‘So...’ She let the word hang between them, a little puff of air, a question, an answer, an invitation.

  ‘So.’ His smile was slow to spread across his face.

  ‘A honeymoon?’ she prompted, lifting her tea to her lips and sipping it, cupping it with both hands. Her wedding ring shone like a beacon of light.

  ‘Isn’t that traditional?’

  ‘For real couples,’ she said with a note to her voice that could have been wistful, and could have been teasing.

  ‘This has to look like a real marriage,’ he reminded her. ‘The world will expect us to be revelling in our “happy couple” life.’

  She pulled a face, and pushed up from the bench at the same time, coming around to stand beside him. ‘You don’t really seem like someone who’d care what the world thinks.’

  His laugh was just a harsh sound of agreement. ‘Generally I don’t.’ He didn’t add that more often than not he lived to defy expectations, not to meet them.

  ‘So this is all for Kosta’s sake?’

  He tilted his head towards hers, unable to explain why he wanted to deny that. He fought the temptation, and nodded instead. ‘Yes, agape.’

  ‘This company—’

  ‘Petó.’

  She nodded. ‘It obviously means a lot to you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you have lots of other companies.’

  ‘This was my grandfather’s.’

  She tilted her head to the side, a gesture he now knew to mean she was considering something. Only it put sensible thought right out of his mind, so all he could do was look at the delicate curve of her neck, the creaminess of her skin. Desire kicked up a notch and he felt as though the air between them were crackling with heat and fire.

  He had to fight it.

  Didn’t he?

  ‘He had a lot of businesses?’

  ‘Yes. But not like Petó.’

/>   ‘Why not?’

  ‘It was his favourite.’ He made light of the question, lifting a hand and rubbing it across the back of his neck. ‘It was his father’s before him. When I first came to live with Dion, it was our grandfather who spent time with us. With me.’ His voice deepened on the admission. ‘I think perhaps he saw what no one else did.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  He forced a smile to his face to compensate for the maudlin response. ‘I was alone. Completely alone. And terrified.’

  ‘You?’ she teased, but she was faking it too, he could tell. Sympathy softened her eyes, and she lifted a hand to his chest, so he drew in a deep breath as she pressed her palm over his heart. ‘Surely you were never afraid of anything?’

  ‘Only a fool lives without fear,’ he commented softly.

  She bit down on her lip. ‘That’s very true.’

  He lifted his hand, laying it over hers, his eyes locked to hers, daring her to say something, to do something, to pull away and put a stop to this. She didn’t.

  His heart was pounding, slamming against his ribs, and the pull of his desire refused to be ignored. He pushed his body up, just enough to bring them into contact, and with his spare hand he removed her teacup, reaching behind him and placing it on the bench.

  ‘You were going to bed,’ he said quietly, not sure if he was suggesting she leave, or angling for an invitation to join her.

  She nodded, her eyes locked to his. ‘I know.’ And she lifted up onto the tips of her toes once more, her body—so soft with gentle curves in all the most fascinating places—pressing against him so he wanted to lift her up and lay her down on the kitchen bench, to take her then and there. Except that felt completely wrong, even more so than just wanting to take her to bed.

  Hadn’t he sworn this wouldn’t be a real marriage?

  And it still wouldn’t be. Even if they were to succumb to this, they both knew what was on offer—and, more importantly, what wasn’t.

  This was a business relationship, first and foremost. Nothing that happened between them would alter the parameters of that.

  ‘How did your grandfather help you?’

  The question surprised him. He ignored it, at first. He no longer wanted to think about his family. Nor to talk about them. All his focus was on this moment, and the woman pressed against him.

  A voice from the back of his mind was shouting at him to put an end to this, but it was being swamped by other, more desirable inclinations. Inclinations that were so much easier and more pleasurable to obey.

  Her hand ran across his naked chest and he closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply, breathing in her fragrance, the sweetness of it, the innocence, and his gut rolled.

  ‘Thanos?’

  He didn’t know if she was prompting him about her earlier question, or asking him what the hell was happening.

  He jerked his eyes open and stared down at her, and a roll of something like dissatisfaction went through him, a roll of betrayal, because it hadn’t been supposed to happen like this. Their wedding was meant to be rational and sensible—their marriage easy to control. They’d both said as much when they’d agreed to enter into this.

  Now? He wanted to shift the goalposts, and he needed her to agree to that.

  ‘I know we said this would be a business arrangement...’ He curved his hands around her hips, lifting her shirt a little so he could feel her bare flesh. Her eyes swept shut, her lashes forming two perfect, dark crescents against the creamy pale of her cheeks.

  ‘We did.’ Her words were so throaty they were almost impossible to discern.

  He lifted a hand to her cheek, holding it in his palm, staring down at her.

  ‘This doesn’t feel businesslike.’

  He padded his thumb to her lip, anguish torturing him, the wait an agony. ‘I have no interest in relationships.’

  Her eyes flared a little wider, but she was still. Watchful. Listening.

  ‘I don’t ever lie about that. I do not believe in leading anyone on.’

  She nodded, swallowing, darting her tongue out to lick the corner of her mouth. His arousal strained hard against his pants.

  ‘Nothing that happens between us will change what I want from you. Our marriage is a construct to enable me to buy a company that I consider to be my birthright. That’s all.’

  She nodded slowly and made no effort to move away from him.

  ‘But, agape mou, I am full of longing for you, and all I can think about is making you mine. Just for this night. Just once.’

  A strangled noise escaped her throat, a sound of acquiescence, he thought, but he needed to be sure. He dropped his hands to his sides, holding his body completely still, his nostrils flaring with the strength of his breathing as he stared at her, waiting, impatient, desperately hungry. ‘Tell me you understand,’ he commanded. ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Tell me you want what I want.’

  Silence crackled between them, and he waited, each second like a torturous beat in time that was hammering against him.

  ‘I want...’ She paused, and he had no idea if she was intentionally torturing him, or if it was by accident, but, either way, he felt impatience burst through him like a physical force, strong enough to threaten the very fabric of his soul. ‘This one night,’ she continued shakily, and before he could respond she lifted a finger to his lips, keeping him silent. ‘One night, no strings, no questions, no promises.’

  And if those limitations sounded a little bit sad, the brightness of her smile contradicted that sentiment. She dropped her hand and looked up at Thanos as though he were everything she’d been waiting for.

  And for that night, he really, really wanted to be.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HIS HANDS ON her body were gentle, roaming her flesh slowly, so slowly, feeling every little bit of her. Her arms, where his touch sparked a torrent of nerve endings and goosebumps, her shoulders, his fingers splayed wide, his thumbs moving to the base of her neck, his eyes locked to hers, always watching, examining, seeing the way she responded.

  Reading her, as though she were a book. And she stood there, looking up at him, her eyes huge in her face, her expression stricken—not with panic, so much as a sense of wild longing, and surprise that she could feel that. Surprise that he could invoke that.

  She’d thought Clinton had inured her to sexual attraction.

  She’d thought she’d learned how stupid it was to let your body guide you like this.

  But standing there with Thanos Stathakis lifting her shirt higher up her body, she felt only relief.

  ‘You’re trembling.’ His hands grazed her sides, the fabric soft against her oversensitive skin.

  ‘I know.’ She nodded, and when he pushed her shirt over her breasts, his palms grazing the sensitive flesh of her nipples, she moaned softly, the feeling like nothing she’d ever known before.

  He pushed it over her head and dropped it to the floor at their feet then returned his hands to her breasts, cupping them lightly while dropping his head, his lips seeking hers, kissing her with a slow inquiry.

  It was like lighting a fuse.

  Desire exploded inside Alice, a spark igniting to a firework, so she was pushing up onto the bench, sitting against it, her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands desperately running over his chest and back, seeking skin, needing to feel it beneath her fingertips, to feel him beneath her.

  ‘I didn’t expect this.’ She kissed the admission into his mouth, wondering in the back of her mind if it was true. Hadn’t she looked at Thanos from that first morning and felt a kick of longing? Still, their wedding was supposed to be a means to an end—and not this end.

  In response he kissed her harder, his mouth crushing hers, his fingers weaving through her hair, cupping her scalp, holding her in place for his total domination, his body weight easing her back, so she was lying on
the cold marble bench top, his hair-roughened torso a torture against her sensitive nipples. She arched her back, lifting her hips in a silent, age-old invitation, and he laid a line of kisses from her lips to her throat, flicking her décolletage with his tongue, so she moaned into the night air, the word ‘please’ tripping out of her mouth again and again.

  Ancient, primal urges drove her and she answered their call, her body wild, her breathing ragged. She dug her heels into his back, drawing him closer to her feminine heart, and his hands dropped to the yoga pants she wore, pushing inside the elastic and cupping her bottom,. He lifted her, pulling her from the bench, so she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him as he carried her through the palatial lounge towards a large leather ottoman.

  It was jet black outside the windows—vineyards rolled away from the hotel and in the distance there was the ocean, waves relentlessly pounding against the shoreline, just as need was slashing against her heart, demanding she answer it.

  He removed her pants quickly, easily, and dispensed with his own while he stood above her, his chest moving hard and fast as he came down over her, his eyes glittering in his handsome face. But the separation was too much to bear. She pushed up on her elbows, her body lifting to find his, her eyes seeking, looking, hunting, her hands pulling for him.

  There was no room for self-consciousness, no room for doubt, no room for worrying about how she’d feel in the morning. A fire was raging out of control and the only way to put it out was to indulge it completely. His hands on her thighs were strong, insistent, spreading her legs wider, his arousal poised to take her, and she held her breath, desire arcing inside her in a kind of mania.

  Her nails scraped down his back, urging him forward, and he laughed gruffly, but it was a sound that was as deranged as she felt.

  She bucked her hips as he thrust into her—and it was not a possession of slow, lazy intent; this was a sheer, blinding thrust of need, hard and desperate. He drove into her and she cried out because it was everything she’d ever thought she could want in life.