Bride by Day

Bride by Day
Rebecca Winters

Whirlwind WeddingsBeauty and the beast?Cynical millionaire Perseus Kostopoulos is no Prince Charming–his Greek-god features are marred by a two-inch scar above his jaw. But Samantha can't help but find her boss attractive, especially when, in return for a simple favor, he offers to grant her three wishes! All she had to do is become his temporary wife….But this is to be a purely practical marriage; Samantha his bride by day alone. Only she hasn't been bought by the promise of wishes. Perseus himself is the prize she seeks…if only he'd make her his wife for real!Who says you can't hurry love?

“Do you, Samantha Telford, take Perseus Kostopoulos to be your wedded husband?” (#uaeaceaca-169f-5b3d-b47e-a0781d81837b)About the Author (#uda6a4cd5-47ad-5781-ae07-67f1f8f94a98)Title Page (#u38c8e6e9-5e60-5023-9c64-07a21f50cecb)CHAPTER ONE (#u52fd5a2c-e9ef-52df-96c9-e0261b792f5d)CHAPTER TWO (#u0ee7905f-82fc-59a4-ba3b-9945ccca38be)CHAPTER THREE (#ud48b0585-d71e-5f19-bb1f-21152dd5c674)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“Do you, Samantha Telford, take Perseus Kostopoulos to be your wedded husband?”

“Yes.” With all my heart, she murmured inwardly. No matter how bogus this wedding might be, she loved Perseus. Her part of the ceremony would not be a lie.

The pressure of his hand seemed to tighten a fraction before the priest asked in a solemn voice, “Do you, Perseus Kostopoulos, take Samantha Telford to be your wedded wife?”

“I do,” came the fervent response. Perseus was such a wonderful actor; he sounded as if the vows actually meant something to him. In the next instant he removed the flower garland from her lace-covered head. A strange smile hovered at the corners of his compelling mouth as he found her left hand and placed a ring with one exquisite teardrop-shaped diamond on her finger.

“Make no mistake, Kyria. We’re married in the eyes of God and the world. I’m your husband now.”

Everybody loves a wedding: they’re romantic and exciting. And in our WHIRLWIND WEDDINGS miniseries we have weddings that are more exciting than most!

WHIRLWIND WEDDINGS is a series that combines the heady romance of a whirlwind courtship with the joy of a wedding—strong heroes, feisty heroines and marriages made not so much in heaven as in a hurry!

Titles in this series are:

REBECCA WINTERS: Rebecca, an American writer and mother of four, is a graduate of the University of Utah. She has also studied at schools in Switzerland and France, including the Sorbonne. Rebecca is currently teaching French and Spanish to junior high school students. Despite her busy schedule, Rebecca always finds time to write. She’s already researching the background for her next Harlequin

romance!

Bride by Day

Rebecca Winters

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CHAPTER ONE

“I’M SAM Telford from Manhatten Office Cleaners. My employer told me you wanted to see me.”

Samantha, who preferred to be called by the shortenend version of her name, had been forced to run all the way from her apartment, and had been caught in the middle of an early May cloudburst. She was dripping wet and didn’t dare sit down on any of the upholstered chairs.

The elegant, middle-aged secretary looked at her with vague disdain. “Are you the person who cleaned this office last night?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re the one. It’s after two o’clock. You were expected in long before now.”

“I was in class all morning. My boss didn’t reach me until I returned to my apartment a little while ago. Obviously something is wrong.”

“You could say that,” came the cryptic reply. “Please, just...stand there for a minute.”

Sam bit her bottom lip. She couldn’t afford to be in trouble, let alone lose her only source of income. Right now she was literally down to her last hundred dollars, and was counting on her next paycheck. At this point she was grateful for her job, and would die before she went begging to her father, a portrait painter of international repute who had never acknowledged her existence as a human being, let alone his daughter.

Through the art department she’d heard rumors that he was living somewhere in Sicily with his latest mistress.

Her jaw hardened. Someday, when she’d made a big success of her own artistic career—and she would if it killed her—she’d present herself to him. That day couldn’t come soon enough for her. She was living for the moment of confrontation, not only because of its shock value alone, but because she couldn’t wait to show him she’d made a success of her life, without him.

He’d gotten away with murder for years. But not forever, she vowed vehemently.

“Ms. Telford? Mr. Kostopoulos will see you now.”

The head man himself?

Sam’s nervousness increased. Kostopoulos Shipping and Export owned the impressive sixty-eight-floor office building located on the Upper West Side in New York City.

Trepidation set in as she walked through the double doors of the office she’d cleaned less than eighteen hours earlier. To her embarrassment, her tennis shoes squished on the marble floor, announcing her entry in no uncertain terms.

Automatically her eyes flicked to the wall. To her relief the Picasso was still there among a grouping of original oils and graphics. For a moment Sam had feared there might have been a theft during the night. It belonged in a museum like the D’Orsay in Paris where the whole world could admire it. Instead, it was part of a private collection only a privileged few would ever be allowed to see.

The simplistic yet charming painting of a pair of hands holding a bouquet of flowers had to be an original, though Sam recognized that it was an unknown version of Picasso’s masterpiece, Petit Fleurs.

She imagined he’d paid a fortune to obtain such a treasure. Most likely there’d been private negotiations between the Marina Picasso family and Mr. Kostopoulos.

In the broad light of day, the room’s clean yet exquisite Hellenic accoutrements deserved a second glance. But her curious gaze fell on the powerfully built male dominating the room. He was structured along the lines of a classic Greek god, and she couldn’t look anywhere else. He was definitely numero uno.

His taut stance and tightened facial muscles led her to believe some very fierce thoughts were running through his mind. She shivered at the possibility those thoughts had anything to do with her.

He stood at the window, totally oblivious to the luxury surrounding him. His right profile was in evidence while he stared at some invisible spot only he could see.

Living in an artist’s world of color as she did, Sam was immediately intrigued by his overly-long black hair. It put her in mind of an inky void no ray of sunlight dared penetrate. She imagined this was the color of darkness before God made the light.

Aquiline features and brows like eagle’s wings made him an arresting figure. But to Sam’s mind, it was the savage two-inch scar along his right jawline which quickened her interest. It appeared to be an old wound which had healed a long time ago, but stood out because he was a man who probably had to shave twice a day.

He didn’t look like a person who feared anything. Quite the opposite in fact. Since he made more money than even most wealthy people probably found decent, why hadn’t the scar been removed through plastic surgery?

Though perfectly groomed and wearing an expensive, hand-tailored gray silk suit, there was a primitive quality about him that hinted at untamed fires burning beneath.

She could well imagine anyone meeting him for the first time would speculate on the scenario which would have marred such an unforgettable male face—the kind of face she would love to sculpt if sculpting were her best medium.

“Come all the way in, Ms. Telford.”

Suddenly Sam became the focus of his unsettling scrutiny. In one sweeping glance his inky black eyes took inventory of her form and feminine attributes, then he scowled. Apparently he found her attire as distasteful as her person.

Her five feet four inches felt very tiny and pathetic standing there in her sopping wet outfit which consisted of nothing more than scruffy jeans and an old denim shirt she hadn’t bothered to tuck in. Decorated with a print from her own handmade blocks, the pattern looked more like black cat’s paws than odd-size circles, but Sam hadn’t been displeased with the result.

Maybe it was her hair the imperious-looking man didn’t seem to like. That morning she’d been in such a hurry to get her final art project to the university on time, she hadn’t been able to find her favorite scarf.

For want of anything else, she’d been reduced to improvise, and had come up with a remnant from one of her originally designed, fishnet chains normally meant to hold hanging flowerpots. She had used it to tie back her thick, yellow-gold hair at the nape. If left unconfined, it flounced like an oversize mop.

“I’m in,” she couldn’t resist commenting because he was obviously trying to intimidate her.

The air crackled with tension. “My secretary said you were the person who cleaned this office last night.”