Greek Bachelors: Buying His Bride: Bought: The Greek's Innocent Virgin / His for a Price / Securing the Greek's Legacy. Julia James
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If she gets bored with nursing she could be a prison governor. Why did you employ her?’
‘I employed her because her credentials are excellent. She tells me you haven’t been eating.’
‘She is a spy,’ Costas grumbled, still holding Chantal’s hands. ‘Yesterday I tipped my medicine into a plant, and she immediately delivered another dose. Obviously she was watching from the bushes.’
Chantal chuckled. ‘So that’s why the garden is looking so good.’
Costas laughed too. Only Angleos wasn’t amused.
‘I’m paying her to make sure you make a full recovery.’
‘If life is going to be this tedious I’m not sure that I want to. Still—’ Costas lifted both Chantal’s hands to his lips and kissed them gallantly. ‘You’re here now, and that changes everything.’
‘Take your hands off my woman,’ Angelos drawled, his expression faintly exasperated as he firmly removed Chantal’s hands from his father’s and enclosed them in a cool, hard grip. ‘It isn’t good for your blood pressure.’
‘You have nothing to fear from me, Angelos.’ His father looked suddenly tired, but the smile lingered in his eyes. ‘The way she was looking at you a moment ago—no one else existed. That is how love should be. A woman in love can be in a crowd of handsome men, but she sees only one of them.’
Realising that it was true, Chantal felt suddenly vulnerable. She’d looked at Angelos. And he’d looked at her. The difference was that Angelos had been acting a part, whereas her reaction had been genuine. For a moment she’d forgotten that none of this was real. Staring into his eyes, she’d been taken straight back to those endless minutes on the dance floor, where their connection had been disturbingly intense and entirely genuine. The attraction between them had been primal and instinctive, undiluted by the complications of identity.
Costas sank into the nearest chair, as if standing was just too much. ‘We haven’t even been officially introduced.’
‘I’m Chantal,’ she said, and then caught the sardonic lift of Angelos’s brows and knew instantly what he was thinking. That she was embarrassed to admit her true identity.
And the irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her. She’d spent her life trying to be someone different, but now that she’d been offered a genuine alias she didn’t want to take it.
She didn’t want to be a woman who took money from a man.
It wasn’t that she aspired to be perfect. Far from it. But that was the one sin she wasn’t prepared to commit.
Maybe if Isabelle had been someone different she would have sat comfortably in her shoes for a few days, but as it was she was beginning to wonder whether her failure to confess her identity had been a mistake.
Costas sat for a moment, his weathered hand clutching the edge of the table.
Angelos stepped closer, a frown in his eyes. ‘Are you unwell?’ There was no missing the sharp anxiety in his voice, and Chantal found herself experiencing the same anxiety.
Costas Zouvelekis looked drained and exhausted, as if almost all of the life had been drained from him. She remembered him as an energetic, good-humoured man, and was shocked that his illness could have wrought such changes in such a short time.
‘I’m fine. Don’t fuss.’ He glared at Angelos, and there was pride in his eyes. Then he said something in Greek, and Chantal knew from the sudden tension in Angelos’s powerful frame that Costas had been talking about her.
‘I’m sure you have family matters you want to discuss, so I’ll just—’
‘You are family.’ Costas gestured to the chair opposite. ‘Sit down, and Maria will fetch you a drink to celebrate the occasion. The day my son finally brings a girl to his real home. Until I saw you in the boat I still couldn’t believe it would happen. You have made me a very, very happy man.’
The nurse stepped out onto the terrace. ‘You should take a nap before dinner, Mr Zouvelekis.’
Costas scowled. ‘Nap? What am I? A baby?’ But he rose to his feet swiftly, as if relieved that someone had suggested it. His gaze softened as he looked at Chantal. ‘I would feel guilty leaving you when you’ve only just arrived, but I’m sure Angelos will find a way of entertaining you in the meantime.’ His saucy wink implied that he knew exactly what form that entertainment was likely to take, but Angelos simply smiled as he strolled forward and helped his father to his feet.
Chantal watched the two of them, envy closing her throat. So it hadn’t been her imagination. Angelos was capable of gentleness. It was there in his eyes when he talked to his father, and it stayed there until his father was safely in the villa and out of sight.
Only then did he turn to her, and the sudden chill in his eyes was a blunt reminder that she was only here because of his love for her father.
‘Chantal?’ His voice heavy with emphasis, Angelos sat back in his chair and contemplated her with ill-concealed mockery in his eyes. ‘Changing the name doesn’t change the person, agape mou. Remember that.’
‘Chantal is my name.’
He smiled and reached for the jug of iced fruit juice that Maria had placed on the table in front of them. ‘I should imagine that it’s useful to have more than one name.’
His contempt for her stung, and she rose to her feet. ‘I think I’ll go and shower and change.’
‘Sit down.’ His voice was so soft that it barely reached her ears, but there was no missing the authority in his tone and she sat in automatic response.
Only afterwards did she wonder why she’d responded without question.
‘Do you expect everyone to obey you?’
‘No. In fact I enjoy being challenged. There is no point in winning if there is no one else in the race.’
It was the sort of remark she’d come to expect of him. He was so confident about everything. So sure of himself. There was no doubt in her mind that this man had never felt out of place in his life. ‘If you’re bored, then please feel free to go and find something more interesting to do,’ she muttered. ‘Don’t feel you have to entertain me. I’ll be perfectly fine on my own.’
In fact she wished he would leave her on her own, because then she could talk some sense into herself. She found him incredibly, impossibly distracting and it was ridiculous to feel this way when he clearly considered the chemistry between them to be nothing short of an inconvenience.
Looking at his dark, luxuriant lashes and his wide, sensuous mouth, she felt the strength ooze from her body. She just wanted him to kiss her.
Those dark eyes locked on hers and the strength of the connection between them was so powerful that it shook her. ‘My father likes you.’
‘And I like him.’ Her mouth was dry and her heart was thumping. ‘He’s an extremely nice man.’
They were talking about his father, but she knew, she just knew, that he was as distracted as she was. The chemistry between them was a living thing, a wild and dangerous force, curling itself around them like a million invisible threads.
Did he want to kiss her, too?
Was he thinking what she was thinking?
As if in answer to her question, Angelos dropped his gaze to her mouth and his eyes darkened. ‘“Nice” is a non-descriptive word that should almost always be substituted with something more specific. What are you trying to say? That’s he’s rich? Quite handsome for his age?’
They were talking, and yet an entirely different conversation was going on between them—one that didn’t involve words. The air vibrated with the force of it, and Chantal’s nerves were strained tight. She didn’t understand what was happening. It wasn’t as if they were