Christos's Promise. Jane Porter
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and eagerness tangled her emotions. She could do this, she could escape him, it was a matter of being just as smart as him.
Her heart began to pound faster and she felt heat creep beneath her skin. Excitement grew but she dampened her enthusiasm, not wanting to overplay her hand or reveal her true intentions.
She frowned, feigning surprise and shock. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s front page news.”
“There’s no wedding. How can there be a story?”
“Read it for yourself.”
She obliged, skimming the front page story where her father had been quoted as saying he couldn’t confirm or deny reports of the secret wedding, only that he knew that Greek-American shipping tycoon, Christos Pateras, had visited Oinoussai in the past several days and had visited his daughter at the convent. Other sources confirmed that Pateras had been seen in town, while another source mentioned the convent as the secret wedding location.
Her father’s work, no doubt. The puppet and the puppeteer. Incredible. But this time, she was the puppeteer. She was in control.
She crumpled the paper for show. “You and my father make a spectacular team.”
“Your father’s idea, not mine.”
“No one will believe this drivel.”
“Everyone believes it. Media has descended on the harbor. They’re expecting to see the blushing bride and groom board the yacht later this afternoon.”
He looked so damn smug, as if he’d thrown a net around her, trapping her in his scheme. Sorry, she silently apologized, but I win this one. Hands down.
She was going to marry him. And then she’d leave him. He could pick up the pieces. The fall-out with her father wouldn’t be her problem. If Christos Pateras wanted to make deals with her father, then fine, let him experience her father’s wrath firsthand.
Guilt briefly assailed her. Then she ignored the voice of conscience, reminding herself that Christos and her father were the same kind of man. Selfish. Unthinking. Lacking compassion.
Not once during her mother’s horrible last year did her father slow his schedule, put off a meeting, change his travel plans. He never once attended her radiation treatments. Never held her hand during the chemo. Never checked on her at night when she lay huddled with pain and fear.
Her father acted as if nothing bad had happened, ignoring the terminal diagnosis as though it were a spate of bad weather and simply charged ahead with his plans for new ships, new routes, new alliances.
Damn her father, and damn Christos Pateras.
Alysia knew of no fate worse than that of being a Greek tycoon’s wife.
But she hid all this, focusing instead on her goal. Independence. Peace. A life far from the wealthy Greek shipping families. Maybe back to Geneva. Maybe a little house south of London.
“When would we marry?” she asked, her pulse leaping in anticipation.
“Today. We’d marry here, in the chapel, and then sail this afternoon.”
“And just what are your expectations?”
His dark gaze studied her, his expression blank, giving away nothing. “As my wife, you’ll travel with me. When I entertain, you shall perform the duties of the hostess. And for my family functions, we’ll appear together, behaving like a real couple.”
“Versus a business liaison?”
“Precisely.”
“For your parents sake?”
“Right, again.”
He didn’t want to disappoint his parents. She could almost admire him for that. Almost.
But fortunately, she needn’t worry about his family, or his expectations. She wouldn’t be around long enough to fulfill any such duties. If they married today, this afternoon, she was just hours from freedom, hours from starting a new life for herself far from Greece and the influential Lemos name.
“Anything else?” she demanded coldly, conscious that she could never let Christos Pateras know her intentions. Christos might dress fashionably, move with athletic ease and speak eloquently, but underneath the gorgeous veneer he was the same man as her father. And her father, ruthless, critical, unyielding crushed those close to him, destroying family as indiscriminately as he destroyed friends. No one was safe. No one was exempt.
“I expect us to have a normal relationship.” He, too, had become detached, businesslike.
It struck her they’d moved to the negotiation stage. The deal would take place. It was just a matter of formalizing the details. He knew it. She knew it. A bitter taste filled her mouth, but she wouldn’t back down now. “Define normal, if you would.”
“I expect you to be faithful. Loyal. Honest.”
She felt something shift inside of her, another whisper of conscience, but she dismissed it with a small sneer. Men had controlled her all her life. For once she’d take care of herself. “That’s it?”
“Should there be more?”
He was testing her, too. He knew there should be more, would be more. They hadn’t even discussed the physical aspect of the marriage and it loomed there between them, heavy, forbidding.
“This is a marriage of convenience, yes?” She cast a glance at him before looking too quickly away, but she caught the predatory gleam in his eyes. He wasn’t nervous. He seemed to enjoy this.
“Marriages of convenience don’t produce children. I need children.”
Before she could speak, he continued.
“I’ll do my best, Miss Lemos, to ensure you’re satisfied. I want you to be happy. It’s important we’re both fulfilled. Sex is a natural part of life. It should be natural between us.”
Fingers of fear stroked her spine, stirring the fine hairs on her nape, even as blood surged to her face, heating her cheeks, creating a frisson of warmth through her limbs. “We hardly know each other, Mr. Pateras.”
“Which is why I won’t force myself on you. I’m content to wait until some of the newness wears off and we’ve grown more…comfortable with each other before becoming intimate.”
Another surge of heat rushed to her cheeks. His voice had deepened, turning so husky as to hum within her, warm and intimate. For a split second she imagined his body against hers, his mouth against her skin.
The very thought of making love with him made her inhale sharply. Every nerve in her body seemed to be alert, aware of this man and his potent masculinity.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Alysia tried to deny the tingle in her breasts, and the longing to be real again. It’d been forever since she’d felt like a woman.
She wouldn’t look at him. “You’re willing to commit to a loveless marriage?”
“I’m committing to you.”
Oh, to have someone want her, to care for her…
She drew a ragged breath, hope and pain twisting in her heart, seduced by his promise and the warmth in his voice. What would it feel like to be loved by this man?
She drew herself up short. He’d never said anything about love, or wanting her. He wasn’t even committing to her. He was committing to the Lemos house, committing to her father, but not to her. How could she allow herself to daydream? Hadn’t she learned her lesson by now?
This is how Jeremy had broken through her reserve. This is how she’d offered up her heart. Well, she couldn’t, wouldn’t, do it again. Experience had to count for something.
Hardening her emotions, she reminded herself that Christos Pateras did not matter. His promises did not matter.