Greek Bachelors: Buying His Bride. Julia James
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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 flirting. In fact, the words they were exchanging were barely civil.
‘I’m trying to say that he’s kind and approachable.’ The heat around them rose to stifling proportions and her heart thumped uncomfortably. The atmosphere made her feel so jumpy that she was about to stand up in an attempt to disturb the tension when Maria walked onto the terrace and quietly informed Angelos that he was needed on the phone.
Her words shattered the explosive atmosphere and achieved what neither of them had managed to achieve by themselves.
With a sharply indrawn breath, Angelos rose to his feet. ‘It will be the Athens office.’ He looked at Chantal, but his glance was brief, as if he didn’t trust himself to look for longer. ‘This is going to take a while. Maria will show you to your room.’
CHANTAL watched as he walked away from her, hating herself for feeling regret at his departure. What was it about him that was so irresistibly attractive? He was breathtakingly handsome, of course, but it couldn’t be just that, could it? Perhaps it was his strength—that aura of power that clung to him—or perhaps it was something else entirely.
It didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that she was helplessly, hopelessly attracted to him and it didn’t make any difference that their relationship had been doomed from the start.
Their mutual desire was awkward, she admitted silently, finally turning her head and studying the still, glass-like surface of the pool. Confusing. He didn’t want to feel it because Isabelle clearly wasn’t the sort of woman who drew his admiration. She didn’t want to feel it because he wasn’t the sort of man she could ever get involved with.
Suddenly aware that Maria was waiting patiently to escort her into the villa, Chantal rose quickly and followed her down a different path and into a fabulous bedroom suite that opened directly onto the pool terrace. It was light and airy, decorated entirely in white, and brightened by touches of deep blue. Colourful oil paintings adorned the walls and a large rug softened the floor. It was tasteful and understated, and as she glanced through an open door into a spacious, marble bathroom Chantal tried not to look over-awed.
If this was a guest bedroom, she couldn’t begin to imagine what the master suite was like—and if Angelos Zouvelekis thought this was living ‘simply’ then she could only feel relieved that she wouldn’t be exposed to any of the other aspects of his life.
But she already knew that their lives were as different as it was possible to be. He had wealth and he had family. She had neither. And as for possessions—
She turned and glanced at her one small case, which now stood in the middle of the room. It was a forlorn reminder of the fundamental differences in their lives.
What was she doing here?
Maria was watching her, her expression sympathetic, as if she sensed Chantal’s growing misery.
‘I will help you unpack,’ she volunteered, but Chantal shook her head vigorously, her face burning with embarrassment at the thought of this woman seeing her lack of belongings.
She waited for Maria to leave, then opened the case herself and stared at the few outfits she’d brought with her.
Two dresses, a skirt, a pair of shorts, a few cheap tops and a swimming costume.
That was it. Nothing glamorous. Nothing that suited a few hedonistic weeks with a billionaire.
She didn’t belong here.
What arrogance had made her think her presence would have any effect on his father’s recovery? It was inevitable that Costas Zouvelekis would discover that their relationship wasn’t real and once he discovered the truth everything would be worse.
She should never have come.
And she should never have used that ticket to the ball.
Pretending was one thing; actually trying to live a life that wasn’t hers was dangerous and delusional.
But what could she do? For the time being, at least, she was trapped here and she had to make the best of it.
She fingered one of the dresses, wondering whether she could adapt it in some way. Or perhaps she didn’t need to. Angelos had said that there was no dressing up on the island, so hopefully what she’d brought with her would be fine. She just had a sinking feeling that her idea of simple and his weren’t going to coincide.
Hot and uncomfortable after her journey, she was just contemplating a shower when a faint breeze blew through the window. Walking across to the open doors, Chantal stared at the pool glistening in the afternoon sunlight. The water looked cool and inviting, and she couldn’t think of a reason why she shouldn’t swim.
Angelos was working and Costas was resting, so no one would be watching her. And by the time Angelos returned from making his next million she would be back in her room.
In fact, if she was very clever, it might be possible to avoid him for the entire fortnight. If Angelos worked during the day then their paths would only cross at mealtimes.
Angelos completed the last of his phone calls and ran a hand over his face in mounting frustration.
It was clear that his presence was needed in Athens. Ordinarily he would have taken a helicopter back to the city for a few days, but he didn’t feel comfortable leaving until he was satisfied that his father was making a good recovery. Nor did he want to leave the older man with a woman less than half his age—especially when the woman in question fulfilled his father’s definition of female perfection and was known to favour older men.
Just thinking about her made his stress levels soar to dangerous heights and he rose to his feet with a soft curse, rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension that had been mounting since he’d picked her up from the streets of Paris.
His body was humming with unfulfilled desire and he suppressed it ruthlessly.
What he needed was exercise: a hard, demanding physical workout that would use up some of his excess energy and take his mind off his ravenous libido. A hundred laps of the pool would be nowhere near as mentally and physically invigorating as truly satisfying sex, but it was the only thing on offer so it would have to do.
He flicked off the computer, found a pair of swimming shorts and strolled out onto the terrace, flexing the muscles of his shoulders in readiness.
So focused was he on his own needs that he felt a flare of irritation when he heard a soft splash coming from the pool and realised that someone else had shared his idea.
It couldn’t be his father, because he was