The Greek Tycoon's Unexpected Wife

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.