The Greek Bridegroom. Helen Bianchin
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a bag and walked out of his life.
Following the divorce she’d legally reverted to her maiden name, bought an apartment, adopted a beautiful Burmilla kitten whom she’d named Millie, and lived to work.
‘Hi.’ Rebekah summoned a sympathetic smile as she glimpsed the slight air of fatigue evident in Ana’s expression. ‘Late night? Morning sickness?’
‘That bad, huh?’ her sister queried as she crossed to the computer and began cross-checking the day’s orders.
‘Maybe you should listen to Luc and cut down your hours.’
Ana shot her a telling glance. ‘You’re supposed to be on my side.’
Rebekah wrinkled her nose in humour. ‘I am, believe me.’
‘What would I do in that great house all day? Petros is the ultimate manservant.’
The phone rang, and Ana picked up, listened, then handed over the cordless receiver. ‘For you.’
It was the mechanic with word all the van needed was a new battery, which he’d install, and mail her the account.
‘Problems?’
‘The van wouldn’t start.’ She relayed the repercussions, then took the next phone call.
It didn’t get better as the morning wore on. A difficult customer took most of her patience, and another complained bitterly about the cost of florists’ delivery charges.
Food, she needed food. It was almost midday, and the energy boost from juice, coffee and a cereal bar had clearly dissipated.
‘I’ll go pick up a salad sandwich. Then you can take a lunch break.’
Ana glanced up from the computer. ‘I can eat lunch on the run just as well as you.’
‘But you won’t,’ Rebekah said firmly. ‘You’ll buy a magazine, seat yourself at any one of the nearby café’s, and take your time over a latte and something sensible to eat.’
Ana rolled her eyes. ‘Tea,’ she amended with a grimace. ‘And if you begin treating me like a precious pregnant princess, I’ll hit you!’
She laughed, a low, throaty chuckle, and her eyes held a mischievous gleam. ‘Petros?’ she hazarded. The middle-aged manservant had been part of Luc’s household for years, well before she’d first met Ana’s inimitable husband. ‘Does he still refer to you as Ms Dimitriades?’
Ana’s laughter was infectious. ‘He considers anything less would be regarded as undignified.’
She adored her sister, and they’d been the best of friends since she could remember, sharing, caring, close. Ana’s marriage to Luc Dimitriades a year ago had been one of the happiest moments of her life.
‘Luc has made a booking for dinner this evening.’
Ana named the restaurant, and Rebekah’s eyebrows rose a fraction. It numbered as one of the ritziest places in town. ‘We’d like you to join us. Please,’ she added. ‘Two Dimitriades men are too much for one woman to handle.’
Rebekah felt an icy shiver slither the length of her spine, and the nerves in her stomach tightened into a painful ball. Please let her voice give no hint to her inner turmoil. ‘One of Luc’s cousins is in town?’ Amazing she could sound so calm, when her defence mechanism had already moved to alert, and her mind issued the silent scream Please don’t let it be Jace.
‘Yes. Jace arrived yesterday from the States.’
No. The silent scream rose and died in her throat as Jace Dimitriades’ image rose to the fore to taunt her.
Tall, broad shoulders, chiselled features, piercing dark grey eyes, and a mouth to die for.
She had reason to know how it felt to have that mouth possess her own. Even now, a year later, she still retained a vivid memory of Luc and Ana’s wedding, partnered as her sister’s maid of honour with Jace as Luc’s best man. How for several hours she’d been aware of Jace’s close proximity, the touch of his hand at her waist, the brush of his body against her own as they assembled for bridal group photos.
Dancing with him had been a nightmare. Sensual heat spiked her blood and sent it racing through her veins. Sexual chemistry at its most base level.
Hadn’t that been the real reason for her momentary escape onto the terrace within minutes of Luc and Ana taking their leave?
Yet Jace was there, standing close, almost caging her against the terrace railing as she turned to move away.
That had been her mistake, for it brought her much too close to him. The next instant his lips brushed her cheek, then slid to savour her mouth, and in a moment of sheer madness she angled her mouth to his own.
His instant response was devastating.
Shocked didn’t cover it. No one had kissed her quite like that. As if somehow he’d reached down into the depths of her soul, tasted, savoured, with intent to conquer. It left her feeling as if she’d leapt off a high cliff and was in dangerous free fall. Exhilarated by the instinctive knowledge he would catch her…before she hit the ground.
Who was the first to break contact? To this day she couldn’t be sure. All she remembered was something inexplicable in those dark grey eyes, a stillness that held a waiting, watching quality as she went from shock to dismay in a few seconds flat.
Anger kicked in, and she slapped him…hard. Then she walked away, aware that he made no effort to stop her. She rejoined the wedding guests, and smiled until her facial muscles ached.
Afterwards had come the rage…with herself for initiating something so foolish, and with him for indulging it.
Now Jace Dimitriades was back in town, and Ana and Luc expected her to make up a foursome for dinner?
‘No,’ she reiterated aloud.
‘No…you don’t want to.’ Ana’s gaze narrowed as she attempted to analyse her sister’s expression. ‘Or no, you can’t?’
‘Choose whichever one you like.’
Ana appeared to take a deep breath. ‘OK. Are you going to tell me about it, or do I have to drag it out of you?’
‘Neither. Simply accept I decline your invitation.’
‘That won’t wash, and you know it. You haven’t seen Jace since the wedding.’ Her sister’s eyes assumed a speculative gleam. ‘What did he do? Kiss you?’
Oh, my. ‘On what do you base that assumption?’ she managed calmly, and saw Ana’s gaze narrow.
There was a telling silence. ‘It’s not like you to wimp out,’ her sister said at last.
Wimp? ‘Forgive me, but I’m not in the mood to embark on a verbal fencing match with a man who’d enjoy every thrust and parry!’
‘Think of the fun you’ll have in besting him,’ Ana offered persuasively.
Rebekah glimpsed the mischievous challenge in those guileless blue eyes, and her lips curved into a slow smile. ‘You’re wicked.’ Ana grinned. ‘The black Versace halter-neck will be fine.’
A backless creation which didn’t allow for wearing a bra? ‘I haven’t said yes.’
‘We’ll come by and collect you. And drop you home again.’
She could imagine how easily, smoothly Jace could intercede and insist he escort her home in a taxi.
‘If I agree,’ she qualified, shooting Ana a warning glance. ‘I’ll drive my own car.’
‘Brava.’ Ana’s eyes gleamed with humour, and Rebekah shook her head in mock-despair as her sister executed the victory sign.
It was almost seven when Rebekah slid from behind the wheel of her MG and allowed the uniformed