Chosen by the Greek Tycoon: The Antonakos Marriage / At the Greek Tycoon's Bidding / The Greek's Bridal Purchase

Anton?

She didn’t dare to speak his name aloud, fearing that she might be tempting fate by doing so. That she might turn into reality what she still fervently hoped was just a delusion, a trick of sound combining with her overactive imagination.

‘What the hell?’

The harsh, angry question brought her swinging round, unable to bear the suspense any longer. She had to know.

He was standing on the edge of the pool, hands on hips. The sun was behind him so that she had to squint against it to see his face. But she already knew, and her heart was racing so fast that she was sure it would escape the confines of her chest. Already she couldn’t breathe and her mind was frozen in stunned horror.

Perhaps it was because of that, or perhaps it was the sun dazzling her eyes, but something made her lose her grip, slip and fall. She reached for the rim of the pool, missed, and went under, still gasping for breath.

Water in her ears and eyes, she didn’t hear anything, couldn’t see anything. She went down…down…

There was a flurry nearby. A long body slashed into the water at her side. Strong hands seized her; powerful arms hauled her up to the surface. Before she had time to think, she was dragged to the shallow end of the pool, and supported gently as she gasped and wheezed, struggling to get her breath back.

‘Steady,’ that voice advised her. ‘Breathe deeply.’

She would if she could, Skye told herself, but if anything was guaranteed not to calm her down, it was this.

Now she didn’t have to look into his face to know he was Anton. Even after only one night—that night—she knew this male body so intimately that she could never mistake it. There were the hard, strong bones of the ribcage, the black curling hair that marked a path down the centre of his chest, disappearing under the waistband of the swimming trunks. There was the tiny, crescent shaped scar high up on his collar-bone, almost at the base of his throat. And if there had been any room for doubt, then her nostrils were filled with the scent of his body, musky, intensely male, warmed by the sun and blending with the ozone tang of the pool water.

She didn’t know if it was her intense physical reaction to him or simply the shock of his sudden appearance that made her tremble all over, her legs feeling too weak to support her.

‘Thank you,’ she managed, her voice sounding as if she had been running a marathon.

‘No problem,’ he returned smoothly, though there was a dark thread to his voice that brought her head up sharply, frowning grey eyes meeting the fixed black gaze of his.

He didn’t enlighten her further, but instead half dragged, half carried her to the low stone steps into the pool, swinging her up into his arms and carrying her out onto the tiled edge where he set her down again beside a wooden lounger.

Skye had to bite down hard on her lower lip to keep her mouth closed against the cry of protest as he let her go. In his arms, she had been struggling with a terrible longing, with a weak, dangerous impulse to turn her head into his chest and let it rest there. The need to nestle close into his arms, to put her own hands up around his neck and cling on tight, had almost overwhelmed her. But she had known that such a response was forbidden her. She had forfeited the right to it in the moment that she had closed the door on that hotel room and walked away.

He would never know just how hard she had found it to do that. How much she had longed to stay, but known that it was impossible. She had left a piece of her heart with him, though he would never know it. And as soon as he worked out just why she was here then he wouldn’t even want her near him, let alone keep her in his arms where she longed to be.

Still supporting her with one hand, he snatched up a towel with the other and began to rub her dry. His movements were brisk and impersonal and the one, nervous look she shot at his face made her stomach tie itself into tight, painful knots of apprehension.

The stunning face was tight with control, skin drawn so taut over the forceful bone structure that it was actually white at the corners of his mouth with the effort of not speaking. He was only keeping quiet until she had recovered.

And then?

Just the thought made her shiver again, more violently this time, yelping in discomfort as he increased the pressure of the towel on her sensitised skin.

‘Sighnomi…’

The apology was abstracted and he tossed the towel away, coal-black eyes raking over her from the top of her head, where her wet hair hung in tangled rats’ tails around her face, to the bare pink toes on the white-tiled surface.

But it was when they swung back up to her face that her courage almost failed her completely.

Now it was going to begin, she told herself, swallowing hard.

He’d waited long enough, that cold, set expression said. Now he wanted explanations.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘WE HAVE some talking to do.’

Theo had no idea how he kept control over his voice. The coldly burning rage inside him would keep fighting to get away from his determination to rein it in, and the resulting conflict made his tone brutal and cold as a sword of ice.

He wanted to know just what the hell was going on. How the woman he had last seen in a London hotel room—the woman who had wanted only a one-night stand, no names, no information—had turned up on Helikos, at his father’s house, in his father’s pool.

Though he would be able to think much more clearly if she would just cover up.

‘Don’t you have a wrap or something? Something to put on.’

‘I—I’m not cold.’

‘It’s not your temperature I was thinking of!’

He knew he was glaring ferociously. The look in her eyes and the way that she took an instinctive step backwards, away from him, told him that. But he had been knocked off balance by the discovery of her in the pool and being close to her, like this, only made matters so much worse.

He had thought that his memories of her soft-skinned, naked body were arousing enough—in fact, he had tried to convince himself that he had exaggerated her appeal. No woman, no real, living, breathing woman, could have been as physically appealing as his recollections told him she had been. But those recollections had been nothing but the truth.

Less than the truth, in fact. Because the memories had none of the warm, physical presence of this woman. And though the white swimming costume might be modest when compared with the skimpy bikinis worn by so many on the Greek beaches, its subtle sexuality was doing devastating things to his heart rate and his ability to think. The stretchy material clung to the swell of her breasts and hips, the thin straps revealing the peachy skin and soft curves of her shoulders, while the cutaway shape made her legs seem endlessly elegant. Just to think of those long legs curled around his waist, squeezing tight as she gave herself up to the throes of her orgasm, threatened to blow his mind into tiny, spinning splinters that were impossible to form into any coherent thoughts.

‘We might both be able to talk more rationally if you were more—respectably dressed.’

That softly curved mouth took on a mutinous set that wasn’t quite matched by the fiare of something in her eyes. Not anger, but something wild and defiant, clashing with his dark glare until he almost felt he could see sparks in the air between them.

‘And you think that your clothing is so much more decorous?’ she flashed back, lacing the words with an unexpected sting.

‘Is that a way of saying that you don’t trust yourself to keep your hands off me?’ Theo said scornfully. ‘Because you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t believe you. You had no trouble tearing yourself away from my bed that night…’

‘That night was a mistake and one I’ve regretted ever since.’

‘Not as much as I have, lady. I don’t happen to go in for one-night stands and if I’d known you were going to disappear like that, I’d have had more than second thoughts about the whole situation. And then when I find you swimming in my father’s pool—’

‘I never tried to deceive you in any way. I told you exactly what…’

Her voice died abruptly as she realised just what he had said. All colour fied from her cheeks, leaving her looking white as a ghost.

‘Your father’s—!’

She actually glanced back at the pool and then back to his face, her grey eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

‘Did you say…?’

This couldn’t be real! It couldn’t be happening, Skye thought in desperation. Please let it not be happening. Please let it be a dream—a nightmare from which she could wake.

He couldn’t have said my father’s pool. Because that would make him Cyril’s son. The son of the man she had to marry. The son of the man who held the fate of her whole family in his hands and who could destroy their hope of a future if he chose.