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

‘Oh!’

The unexpected answer was such a relief that all the tension left Skye in a sudden rush so that she sagged against the nearest chair like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The release from tension was so great that her head was spinning with it and she was totally unable to think of anything beyond the feeling of elation that rushed through her like a flood tide.

‘Oh, thank you!’ She gasped. ‘Thank you! Thank…’

The words shrivelled on her lips as her vision cleared and she caught the way he was looking at her. She saw the dark frown that drew his black brows together, the cold, assessing glance from those jet eyes, and suddenly knew she had made a terrible mistake.

‘You…’

‘I’m not going to tell my father anything,’ Theo stated icily. ‘I think that’s your responsibility.’

‘What?’

Skye had been swallowing a sip of water as he spoke and she knew a moment of real horror as her throat seemed to close around the drink, threatening to choke her. It was only with a struggle that she managed to regain control, and gulp it down. But even then her voice on the question was shrill and raw, as if her vocal cords were still tightly twisted.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I know you heard what I said.’

Theo levered himself away from the wall and moved into the adjoining sitting room, flinging himself down into a chair and leaning back, stretching out long legs on the wooden floor in front of him.

‘And I’m damn sure you understood it. So why ask for an explanation? You know this is what you have to do.’

‘But—yes, of course I understand, but…’

Theo’s sigh was a masterpiece—a perfect blend of irritation, impatience and a ruthless control and his eyes were cold as ice floes as he turned them on her.

‘You weren’t thinking of doing anything else?’

‘But I can’t!’

Nightmare visions of the disastrous consequences that would follow if she did as Theo expected filled Skye’s thoughts, leaving her shaking and fighting back tears.

Her whole world would fall apart. No, there would be no world for her if that was to happen. Her family would be destroyed—her father in prison…her mother…

‘I won’t do it! I can’t!’

‘You don’t have any alternative,’ Theo stated with unyielding brutality. ‘Either you tell him or I do.’

Skye closed her eyes against the fear that crawled along her spine. He didn’t know what he was asking. But she couldn’t tell him. She had given her word to Cyril that she would never reveal to anyone the real reason for their marriage, and if she broke it then her father would be in trouble—but her mother would be the one who would suffer.

‘Please don’t do this,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’

‘So what would you prefer I did?’ Theo enquired with dark cynicism. ‘Let my father live a lie—and live one myself by watching him marry you? Dance at your wedding?’

The acid on the words was so savage she felt it would strip the skin from her bones. She wanted to run—to take to her heels and flee, never looking back. But the time for that was long gone; if, indeed, she had ever had a chance. She only had one hope of salvaging anything for her family from this; though even that was impossible if Theo carried out his threat.

‘I’m not asking that.’

Putting down her glass with a hand that shook so much she barely avoided dropping it right onto the wooden floor, she moved to his side, perching herself on the arm of the chair and looking deep into his dark, closed face.

‘But please don’t do this, Theo.’

Something flickered in the blackness of his eyes but, whatever it was, it was definitely not a sign of any weakening or even any concession.

Instead, he regarded her with his face still set in that cold, stony expression, rejection of her plea radiating from him like a force. Talking to him was like banging her head hard against a rough, unyielding wall. It hurt—and it was clearly having very little effect.

But she still had to try.

‘I’m begging you.’

Impulsively she reached forward, grabbed at both his hands, holding them in her own, willing him to listen.

‘Please, Theo.’

Was this the man who had come to her rescue on that night in London? The man who had held her so warmly, who had kissed her so gently. The man who had made love to her so passionately and so wonderfully. Could he even be the same man?

But inside he must remember—inside he must surely still feel…

His face was just inches away from hers now. She could feel his breath on her cheek, sense the sudden change in his heart rate under the worn navy cotton of his tee shirt. As she watched she saw him snatch an uneven breath, saw his tongue sneak out and, very briefly, touch the sensual lips that, she suddenly realised, were surprisingly dry.

So he wasn’t as armoured against her as she had thought! And she most definitely wasn’t immune to him. Sitting this close to him, feeling the warmth of his body, knowing the scent of his skin, she felt the deep, primal hunger beating an erotic pulse through her bloodstream.

And the hunger that he seemed to spark in her just by existing was back, gnawing at her inside, scrambling her thoughts into chaos…

‘Theos! Ochi! Damn you to hell—ochi! No!’

Hard hands clamped around her arms, bruising as they lifted her, wrenched her away from him. She hadn’t realised that she had leaned so close and she was still stumbling mentally through the shocking confusion, not knowing what was happening to her, not understanding, when he stood up abruptly and forcefully.

‘What do you think I am?’

It was a savage roar, one that brought her head up fast—only to drop her gaze just as quickly when she saw the black rage that burned in his face. His height and strength were impressive enough when she was able to face him, standing upright, but now, when his full height towered over her, he was awe-inspiring and more than a little terrifying.

‘Theo…’ she began tentatively, her voice breaking on his name, but she wasn’t sure if he even heard her; and the black blaze of his eyes in the strong-boned face shrivelled any other words in her mouth.

‘What do you think I am?’ he demanded again, low and savage, making her shrink back against the chair, wishing she could become invisible, or disappear. ‘I may not have been on the best of terms with my father over the past years—but do you think I would betray him with you?’

‘No—no—I never meant…’ Skye tried to interject, horrified at the way he had misinterpreted her actions, seeing an attempt at seduction in the way she had been unable to hide her feelings. But he ignored her in his rage and swept on heedlessly.

‘How low do you think I would stoop? How far would you lower yourself to get what you want?’

‘I never—’

‘No?’

A violent, angry gesture dismissed her weak attempt at a protest, almost as if he were throwing her words right out the window.

‘Then what the hell was all that? “Oh, please, Theo…please…’”