The Santorini Bride

“Just making us a snack, she said,” Agnetta answered, turning to smile in the direction of the kitchen.

Theo turned, too, and was treated to the sight of Martha Antonides giving him a brilliant smile and waggling her fingers at him in a little wave.

If he could have killed her with a look, she’d have keeled over dead.

Instead she dared to sashay toward them, still all smiles, carrying a tray with bread and oil and canapes and olives.

“I knew you’d be thrilled to have company.” She met his gaze with a challenging one of her own as she held out the plate to Agnetta and Cassie. “It was so sweet of your mother to think of you here by yourself, with so much room available—and hospitality being the cornerstone of Greek culture.”

“Is it?” Theo’s tone was deadly. “I thought war was.”

Her expression grew suddenly wary, but almost immediately she seemed to regain her equilibrium.

“Both, I think,” she said, aiming a cheery smile at both Cassie and Agnetta. “Battling with your friends is almost as much fun as battling with your enemies, don’t you think?”

“I expect we’re going to find out.” Theo swept the plate from her hands and thrust it into Agnetta’s. “If I may have a word with you, Ms. Antonides?”

“I don’t think—”

“You don’t need to,” he informed her as he spun her into his arms, pulling her hard against him and moving her toward the bedroom.

“Mr. Savas! I’m not—”

“That’s what you think,” he cut her off. And as she began to protest again, he shut her up the only way he knew how.

He pressed his lips to hers, backed her down the short hall and into his bedroom where he kicked the door shut behind them and met her furious gaze with a satisfied smile. “All’s fair in love and war, sweetheart.”

CHAPTER TWO

“WHAT DO you think you’re doing?” Martha shoved away from him, her eyes wide and blazing with fury, her gaze flicking around her parents’ bedroom, looking anywhere, at anything—but him!

But while it had always been her parents’ bedroom, it wasn’t theirs any longer. That was obvious.

It was spartan, totally masculine, with stark white walls and sleek dark furniture, the only adornment two poster-size black-and-white photos of sailboats cutting through rough seas. The sort of room a man like Theo Savas would feel at home in. Clearly the room now belonged to the man who was glaring at her just as angrily as she was glaring at him.

“More to the point, Ms. Antonides,” he said through his teeth, “what the hell were you doing opening up my house to strangers?”

“They weren’t strangers to you,” Martha argued. She was still trying to catch her breath and calm her heart, which was slamming against the wall of her chest. She was also trying not to lick her lips, which were still throbbing from the press of his mouth. Despite her attempts to quell them or ignore them, her hormones were doing odd and completely unexpected things she’d never experienced before—certainly not when Julian had kissed her.

Good Lord! Even her ears seemed to be ringing. She mustered every ounce of sanity she could find.

“The girl—Cassandra—said your mother sent them. She said she was an old friend.” And from the look of things they could both be a good deal more as well. Did Theo Savas take lovers two at a time?

“To you they were strangers,” Theo bit out. “And they should have stayed that way. You know damn well I don’t want anyone here! I told you—”

“I know what you told me,” Martha said sharply. “But these weren’t groupies. They’re friends of your mother! If you don’t want them here, fine. Throw them out. Who cares? Just go out there and tell them to leave.”

Theo ground his teeth. “I can’t. And you know it.”

Martha raised her brows. “I do? Why?”

“Because you have a Greek mother, too. One that you don’t want to know you’re here. Am I right?” He gave her a knowing look.

Martha shrugged irritably. “That’s not the same.”

“It is the same. They meddle, mothers do. They think they know what’s best.” He cracked his knuckles and paced around the room.

Martha watched him curiously. “So…what’s best for you, according to your mother?” she asked at last.

He cracked his knuckles again. “A wife,” he muttered at last.

Martha grinned.

“It’s not funny.”

She wiped a hand over her mouth, taking the smile with it. “Of course not,” she intoned solemnly. But a corner of her mouth twitched anyway at the thought of Theo running scared of his mother’s machinations.

“She thinks it will get the groupies off my back if she provides me with other choices.” He scowled. “She’s wrong. Especially she’s wrong about that one.”

“Which one?” Martha didn’t think he’d looked particularly happy to see either of them.

“Agnetta.” Theo fairly spat the name.

“Ah.” Yes, there had been a bit of animosity on his part when he’d spied her, and Agnetta had definitely been the one who’d been startled to see her here. She’d demanded to know who Martha was the minute she’d opened the door to the pair of them.

“I take it you two have a history,” Martha said mildly now.

Not that she wanted to know it. But it was obvious from the unfinished sentences that Agnetta had left dangling, and the suspicious way she’d studied Martha ever since she’d arrived. Contrarily Martha had done no more than tell them her name. But while Cassandra had been eager and open, Agnetta had been more wary. She’d also dropped the words dear Theo into the conversation at least half a dozen times.

Martha couldn’t imagine anyone called Theo “dear” to his face. Not even his mother.

Now dear Theo ground his teeth. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his canvas shorts. “It wasn’t a…history. It was brief. And it’s over.”

“Not to her apparently.” Martha stated the obvious.

Theo slammed his hand against the wall. “You could have said I wasn’t coming back.”

“Well, you were. You told me you were. How did I know what you wanted me to do?”

“You knew I didn’t want anyone here!”

“Yep, I knew that. And you were such a jerk to me, I thought it would serve you right.” Martha gave him a cheerful grin.

He jammed his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “Thanks.” His tone was bitter. “Damn it,” he muttered and hunched his shoulders, then straightened and raked both hands through his salt-stiffened hair.

He was a gorgeous specimen of manhood, Martha thought, still remembering—albeit reluctantly—what it had felt like to have his lips on hers. No wet soppy kisses from Theo Savas.

Not like the ones she’d had from Julian, that was for sure.