The Greek Tycoon's Unexpected Wife. Annie West
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of his flared nostrils and raised brows as he looked down his impressive, aristocratic nose at her.
‘A fine performance, madam. Truly masterful. But you and I both know it was just that: a performance. We’re bound to each other, until such time as I decide how best to sever the connection.’
He swung round towards the door so quickly that the room blurred around her.
‘We will discuss this somewhere more congenial. I, for one, have no desire to continue this discussion here.’
He looked away and she was left gazing up at the under-side of his sharply angled jaw, the plane of his cheek and his well-shaped ear.
It was like looking at the man she remembered, but through a distorting glaze of anger. Briefly she wondered if Stavros Denakis had an evil twin. Or whether the man she’d met four years ago had been an impostor.
But it was the same man. There could be no mistaking the way her heart accelerated just being close to him, or the hint of longing that tinged her anger.
It was appalling but true: Tessa had never reacted to anyone else this way. Now she discovered that the only man to make her feel so aware was an egotistical, bad-tempered brute!
It was typical of her luck.
‘You find this situation humorous?’ His deep voice rumbled up from his chest, a vibration she felt as well as heard. ‘Believe me, you won’t find it funny by the time I’ve finished with you.’
‘No!’ Tessa gritted her teeth while she searched for a calm tone. ‘I don’t find it at all amusing to be manhandled.’
He stopped in mid-stride and stared down at her. An overhead light haloed his hair, turning him into a dark vengeful angel. His eyes were impenetrable.
‘Is that a threat?’ he asked softly. ‘A hint of harassment litigation to come?’
The suppressed violence in his tone made her shiver. She clenched her hands against the impulse to do something stupid such as try to claw her way out of his unforgiving grip. She knew instinctively that he’d have no compunction about using his superior strength to stop her.
‘I have no interest in a lawsuit. But that doesn’t mean you can ride roughshod over me.’ She snatched a quick breath before her courage faded. ‘Now, I’d be grateful if you’d put me down. I prefer to walk.’
For a long moment he scrutinised her with all the hauteur of a prince surveying some upstart lackey. Tessa felt the blood warm her cheeks, so intense was that survey. And so disapproving.
Then his mouth tilted up at one side in a self-satisfied smirk that disappeared almost before she registered it.
‘You’ll find it easier to do things the way I wish them to be done.’
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