A Deal at the Altar

As Bee slid into the luxury vehicle she was disturbingly conscious of the sheer animal charisma that he exuded from every pore. He was all male in the most primal sense of the word. Smell the testosterone, one of her university friends would have quipped. The faint tang of some expensive masculine cologne flared her nostrils, increasing her awareness. She felt her nipples pinch tight beneath her bra and she went rigid, deeply disconcerted by her pronounced awareness of the sexual charge he put out. Her shielded gaze fell on his lean masculine profile, noting the dark shadow of stubble outlining his angular jaw. He was badly in need of a shave. It was the only sign in his otherwise immaculate appearance that he was nearing the end of his working day rather than embarking on its beginning. Aware that her hair was tossed by the breeze and her raincoat, skirt and knee-high boots were more comfortable than smart, she was stiff and awkward and questioning why because as a rule her sole concern about her appearance was that she be clean and tidy.

As the limousine pulled away from the pavement Sergios flipped shut his laptop and turned his arrogant head to look at her. His frown was immediate. She was a mess in her unfashionable, slightly shabby clothing. Yet she had flawless skin, lovely eyes and thick glossy hair, advantages that most women would have made the effort to enhance. For the first time he wondered why she didn’t bother.

‘To what do I owe the honour?’ Bee enquired, watching him push the laptop away. He had beautiful shapely hands, she registered, and then tensed at that surprising thought.

‘I’m leaving for New York this evening and I would like you to meet my children before I go.’

‘Why?’ Green eyes suddenly wide with confusion, Bee stared back at him. ‘Why do you want me to meet them?’

A very faint smile curled the corners of his wide sensual mouth. ‘Obviously because I’m considering you for the job.’

‘But you can’t be!’ Bee told him in disbelief.

‘I am. Your father played a winning hand sending you to see me,’ Sergios fielded, amused by her astonishment, which was laced with a dismay that almost made him laugh out loud. She was a refreshing woman.

Her well-defined brows pleated and she frowned. ‘I just don’t understand … you could marry anybody!’

‘Don’t underestimate yourself,’ Sergios responded, his thoughts on the enquiries and references he had gathered on her behalf since their last meeting. He had vetted her a good deal more thoroughly than he had vetted her flighty sister, Zara. ‘According to my sources you’re a loyal, devoted daughter and a gifted and committed teacher. I believe that you could offer those children exactly what they need—’

‘Where did you get that information from?’ Bee asked angrily.

‘There are private investigation firms which can offer such details within hours for the right price,’ Sergios fielded with colossal calm. ‘Naturally I checked you out and I was impressed with what I learned about you.’

But I wasn’t seriously offering to marry you, she almost snapped back at him before she thought better of that revealing admission and hastily swallowed it back. After all her father’s threat still hung over her and his financial security was integral to her mother’s support system. Take away that security and life as her mother knew it would be at an end. Suddenly Bee was looking down a long, dark, intimidating tunnel at a future she could no longer predict and accepting that if Sergios Demonides decided that he did want to marry her, she would be in no position to refuse him.

‘If your cousin’s children are disturbed, I have no experience with that sort of problem,’ Bee warned him quietly. ‘I have no experience of raising children either and I’m not a miracle worker.’

‘I don’t believe in miracles, so I’m not expecting one,’ Sergios said very drily, resting sardonic golden eyes on her strained face. ‘There would also be conditions which you would have to fulfil to meet my requirements.’

Bee said nothing. Still reeling in shock at the concept of marrying him, she did not trust herself to speak. As for his expectations, she was convinced they would be high and that he would have a very long list of them. Unhappily for her, Sergios Demonides was unaccustomed to settling for anything less than perfection and the very best in any field. She dug out her phone and rang her mother to warn her that she would be late home. By the time she finished the call the limousine was already filtering down a driveway adorned with silver birch trees just coming into leaf. They drew up outside a detached house large and grand enough to be described as a mansion.

‘My London base.’ Sergios shot her a rapier-eyed glance from level dark eyes. ‘One of your duties as my wife would be taking charge of my various homes and ensuring that the households run smoothly.’

The word ‘wife’, allied to that other word, ‘duties’, sounded horribly nineteenth century to Bee’s ears. ‘Are you a domestic tyrant?’ she enquired.

Sergios sent her a frowning appraisal. ‘Is that a joke?’

‘No, but there is something very Victorian about mentioning the word wife in the same sentence as duties.’

His handsome mouth quirked. ‘You first referred to the role as a job and I prefer to regard it in the same light.’

But Bee very much liked the job she already had and registered in some consternation that she was literally being asked to put her money where her mouth was. She had done what her father had asked her to do without thinking through the likely consequences of success. Now those consequences had well and truly come home to roost with her. As she accompanied Sergios into a sizeable foyer, he issued instructions to the manservant greeting him and escorted Bee into a massive drawing room.

‘Unlike your sister, you’re very quiet,’ he remarked.

‘You’ve taken me by surprise,’ Bee admitted ruefully.

‘You look bewildered. Why?’ Sergios breathed, his bronzed eyes impatient. ‘I have no desire for the usual kind of wife. I don’t want the emotional ties, the demands or the restrictions, but on a practical basis a woman to fulfil that role would be a very useful addition to my life.’

‘Perhaps I just don’t see what’s in it for me—apart from you buying my father’s hotels which would hopefully ensure my mother’s security for the foreseeable future,’ Bee volunteered frankly.

‘If I married you, I would ensure your mother’s security for the rest of her life,’ Sergios extended with quiet carrying emphasis, his dark deep drawl vibrating in the big room. ‘Even if we were to part at a later date you would never have to worry about her care again, nor would she have to look to your father for support. I will personally ensure that your mother has everything she requires, including the very best of medical treatment available to someone with her condition.’

His words engulfed her like a crashing burst of thunder heralding a brighter dawn. Instantly Bee thought of the expensive extras that could improve Emilia Blake’s quality of life. In place of Bee’s home-made efforts, regular professional physiotherapy sessions might be able to strengthen Emilia’s wasted limbs and something might be found to ease the breathing difficulties that sometimes afflicted her. Sergios, Bee appreciated suddenly, was rich enough to make a huge difference to her mother’s life.

A young woman in a nanny uniform entered the room with a baby about eighteen months old in her arms and two small children trailing unenthusiastically in their wake.

‘Thank you. Leave the children with us,’ Sergios instructed.

Set down on the carpet the youngest child instantly began to howl, tears streaming down her little screwed-up face, a toddler of about three years old grabbed hold of Sergios’s trousered leg while the older boy came to a suspicious halt several feet away.

‘It’s all right, pet.’ Bee scooped up the baby and the little girl stopped mid-howl, settling anxious blue eyes on her. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Eleni … and this is Milo,’ Sergios told her, detaching the clinging toddler from his leg with difficulty and giving him a little helpful prod in Bee’s direction as if he was hoping that the child would embrace her instead.

‘And you have to be Paris,’ Bee said to the older boy as she crouched down to greet Milo. ‘My sister Zara told me that you got a new bike for your birthday.’

Paris didn’t smile but he moved closer as Bee sank down on the sofa with the baby girl in her arms. Milo, clearly desperate for attention, clambered up beside her and tried to get on her lap with his sister but there wasn’t enough room. ‘Hello, Milo.’

‘Paris, remember your manners,’ Sergios interposed sternly.

With a scared look, Paris extended a skinny arm to shake hands formally, his eyes slewing evasively away from hers. Bee invited him to sit down beside her and told him that she was a teacher. When she asked him about the school he attended he shot her a frightened look and hurriedly glanced away. It did not take a genius to guess that Paris could be having problems at school. Of the three children, Milo was the most normal, a bundle of toddler energy in need of attention and entertainment.

Paris, however, was tense and troubled while the little girl was very quiet and worryingly unresponsive.

After half an hour Sergios had seen enough to convince him that Beatriz Blake was the woman he needed to smooth out the rough and troublesome places in his life. Her warmth and energy drew the children and she was completely relaxed with them where her sister had been nervous and, while friendly, over-anxious to please. Bee, on the other hand, emanated a calm authority that ensured respect. He called the nanny back to remove the children again.

‘You mentioned conditions …’ Bee reminded him, returning to their earlier conversation and striving to stick to necessary facts. Yet when she tried to accept that she was actually considering marrying the Greek billionaire the idea seemed so remote and unreal and impossible that her thoughts swam in a sea of bemusement.

‘Yes.’ Poised by the window with fading light gleaming over his luxuriant black hair and accenting the hard angles and hollows of his handsome features, Sergios commanded her full attention without even trying. His next words, however, took her very much by surprise.

‘I have a mistress. Melita is not negotiable,’ Sergios informed her coolly. ‘Occasionally I have other interests as well. I am discreet. I do not envisage any headlines about that aspect of my life.’

The level of such candour when she had become accustomed to his cool reserve left Bee reeling in shock. He had a mistress called Melita? Was that a Greek name? Whatever, he was not faithful to his mistress and clearly not a one-woman man. Bee could feel her cheeks inflame as her imagination filled with the kind of colourful images she did not want to have in his vicinity. She lowered her lashes in embarrassment, her rebellious brain still engaged in serving up a creative picture of that lean bronzed body of his entangled with that of a sinuous sexy blonde.

‘I do not expect intimacy with you,’ Sergios spelt out. ‘On the other hand if you decide that you want a child of your own it would be selfish of me to deny you that option—’

‘Well, then, there’s always IVF,’ Bee broke in hurriedly.

‘From what I’ve heard it’s not that reliable.’

Bee was now studying her feet with fixed attention. He had a mistress. He didn’t expect to share a bed with her. But where did that leave her? A wife who wasn’t a wife except in name.

‘What sort of a life am I supposed to lead?’ Bee asked him abruptly, looking up, green eyes glinting like fresh leaves in rain.

‘Meaning?’ Sergios prompted, pleased that she had demonstrated neither annoyance nor interest on the subject of his mistress. But then why should she care what he did? That was exactly the attitude he wanted her to take.

‘Are you expecting me to take lovers as well … discreetly?’ Bee queried, studying him while her colour rose and burned like scalding hot irons on her cheeks and she fought her embarrassment with all her might. It was a fair question, a sensible question and she refused to let prudishness prevent her from asking it.