Modern Romance November 2019 Books 1-4. Эбби Грин
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he said unevenly. ‘In fact, there’s a term which is commonly used to describe shoes like those but I don’t think that now is the right time to introduce it into the conversation.’
Predictably, she blushed and Drakon felt a powerful beat of lust, which made him wonder why he’d arranged to meet her here, in one of the most public venues in the city, rather than exploiting the intimacy of his nearby apartment. You know why, he thought grimly. Because she had firmly stated that they weren’t going to have sex until they were married and he was in no doubt that she meant it. Just as he was aware that he was in part responsible for her old-fashioned stance.
He frowned. He’d thought he’d tantalise her by offering her a separate room, thinking that interludes of pleasure would keep her on her toes. More than that, he liked his own space and was used to it because he’d never shared a bedroom full-time with a woman before. He’d thought he would use the opportunity for some extended personal space before things changed once they were married.
Yet Lucy had neatly turned the tables on him by telling him she thought they should wait until after the wedding before being intimate again. He sighed with frustration and anticipation—tinged with a grudging sense of admiration, because he couldn’t think of another woman who would have refused to have sex with him.
And if that was the way she wanted to play it, why not go along with it? He had chosen her because of her pliability but the fact that she was now showing some token resistance made this arranged marriage of theirs seem a little less predictable. In a way, it amused him to let Lucy Phillips think she was calling the shots, because he could have broken her self-imposed sexual embargo any time he wanted. He knew that and he suspected she knew it, too.
The pupils of her eyes were huge and dark and he could sense the sudden tension in her body as she met his gaze, as if silently acknowledging the inexplicable chemistry which was sparking between them. He’d never seen her looking so sleek and so sexy. He’d never imagined she would scrub up this well. The tremble of her lips kick-started something indefinable inside him and a lump rose in his throat. Drakon swallowed, certain that if he reached out to whisper his fingertips over the pulse which fluttered so wildly at the base of her neck, or snaked his hand around her impossibly slender waist, she would do the predictable thing, and melt against him with a hunger which matched his.
But leaving aside the fact they were in a public space, it would be wrong to act on hormonal impulse. He would use restraint because this was too important a deal to jeopardise with sexual impatience. And if he was being honest, wasn’t it turning him on to an unbearable pitch at the thought of being made to wait—he who’d never had to wait for a woman in his life? True, she might be playing games with him—possibly in an attempt to make him fall in love with her—but that certainly wasn’t going to give him any sleepless nights. She would soon discover he was immune to the ruses women employed and was not in the market for ‘love’. All he cared about was that Lucy Phillips was going to make the perfect mother to his adopted son and the exquisite sharpening of his sexual appetite in the meantime was simply a bonus.
Touching his fingers to her back, he guided her towards the Garden Room restaurant. ‘Come on. Let’s go and have lunch.’
They walked along a long corridor, where golden baubles and scarlet ribbons were woven into the seasonal greenery which festooned the walls, and he watched as she looked around and drank it all in.
‘What an amazing hotel,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s enormous!’
‘You’ve never been here before?’
‘Funny you should say that, but no,’ she answered, dead-pan. ‘Five-star hotels aren’t my usual stomping ground on one of my rare visits to the capital. I’ve seen photos of it, obviously.’
‘I thought we could get married here,’ he offered casually.
‘Here?’ she said, coming to an abrupt halt just before they reached the restaurant entrance and nearly losing her balance on the spike-heeled shoes.
‘You really don’t like surprises, do you?’ He put out an arm to steady her. ‘Why shouldn’t we? It’s a very famous wedding venue.’
‘I know it is! Don’t film stars and princes choose it for their nuptials?’
‘I don’t keep tabs on celebrity weddings unless I happen to be a guest at them,’ he drawled. ‘But Zac Constantinides, the owner, is a friend of mine, so he’s given us a date when it was supposed to be shut. As a favour, you understand.’
‘Of course,’ she said faintly.
‘It’s a perfect solution, especially this close to Christmas. So what do you say, Lucy? Apparently, there’s an in-house wedding planner who’ll do most of the donkey work for you.’
Lucy registered his puzzled expression as she hesitated. Was he expecting her to gush her thanks, or swoon about the sumptuousness of the venue, instead of standing there chewing her lip in a state of nervous anxiety? But she was having difficulty getting her head round the idea of someone like her standing up in a place this grand and making her wedding vows.
But what was the alternative? Surely she could overcome her nerves enough to get married in one of the world’s most glamorous venues—especially if she was marrying such a high-profile man. And wouldn’t the wedding co-ordinator take away some of the stress?
‘You had something else in mind?’ he prompted, when still she said nothing.
Lucy shook her head. ‘You don’t mind the fact that it will be a very public wedding?’
‘You think I want to hide the fact away? I’m Greek, Lucy,’ he said simply. ‘And we Greeks like a good party.’
‘Okay,’ she said, speaking as quietly as possible in order to eliminate any telltale tremble of nerves. ‘In that case—why not?’
‘Not the most rapturous reaction I might have hoped for,’ he observed drily. ‘But I suppose it will have to do. Come on. Let’s eat.’
The maître d’ greeted him with easy familiarity as he showed them to a table which offered a perfect view of the winter garden, with its icy fountain and dark red branches of dogwood.
‘Are we celebrating anything in particular today, Mr Konstantinou?’
‘We certainly are. Ask the sommelier to bring my fiancée a glass of Dom Perignon rosé, would you, please, Carlos?’
There was a split-second pause and, when he spoke, Carlos’s voice sounded faintly strangulated. ‘Certainly, sir. And for yourself?’
‘Just water, thanks.’
Lucy waited until they were alone before she spoke. ‘That man looked as if he’d just been hit by a sledgehammer when you described me as your fiancée.’
‘He was probably surprised, neh. I have a reputation which precedes me.’
‘What kind of reputation?’
He gave a wolfish smile. ‘As a man who has never wanted to settle down. A man who was fundamentally opposed to marriage. Maybe I was unconsciously drawing a line in the sand, to demonstrate that, from now on, things are going to be very different.’
Were they? Lucy wondered distractedly. But how different? A glass of champagne was placed in front of her but she stared uninterestedly at the fizzing pink bubbles before lifting her eyes to Drakon. ‘I suppose you’ve brought loads of women to this hotel in the past? Probably to have lunch in this very restaurant before taking them to bed?’
His black gaze was very steady. ‘I’m not going to lie to you, Lucy. I was never promiscuous or indiscriminate but I’m thirty-one, single and, yes, of course I’ve slept with women during that time. Why wouldn’t I? The evidence is everywhere if you care to look for it—because you can find out pretty much anything online.’ He leaned forward, across the starched linen of the tablecloth. ‘But I’m hoping you won’t bother because I’m being perfectly transparent with