The Greek Tycoon's Bride

The balcony was furnished with a small table and two chairs, and was a riot of colour with masses of white and purple hibiscus and bougainvillaea winding over the wrought iron, and tubs of scarlet geraniums set on the biscuit-coloured tiled floor. The scent was heady and the tiles were so hot they burnt her feet before she flopped down on to one of the chairs with a little sigh of pleasure. This was more like it!

She was wearing a thin, sleeveless summer dress which she now hoisted up to her thighs as she stretched her long legs out to the rays of the sun, letting her head relax back over the edge of the chair as she shut her eyes and let the warmth toast every bit of her. Gorgeous. Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous. It would do Jill the world of good to relax and soak up some sun for a couple of weeks, and it was clear Michael intended to make the most of his unexpected holiday. Perhaps things would work out?

And for herself? She continued to slump motionless in the chair as her thoughts moved on. She’d been in dire need of a break for months, if she was being honest. Although she and Matthew had decided a family wasn’t for them for years, and that they would both put all their energies into their careers and then each other—in that order—it had been different after he had died. She had driven herself at a frantic pace then, and it had somehow become a habit. The rewards had been great, of course, and her job was certainly one in a million and she counted herself incredibly fortunate to be in such a position, but…nevertheless she was worn out. Exhausted. She hadn’t realised just how much until this moment. She felt she could sleep for a week.

She must have fallen into a light doze because when she heard voices below the balcony it was as though she was emerging from thick layers of cotton wool. She opened her heavy lids slowly and moved just as cautiously as she silently straightened in the chair, wincing slightly as her neck muscles gave protest at the awkward position she’d adopted as she slept.

‘Can we come to the pool again tomorrow, Uncle Andreas? Please? Can we?’ Michael’s voice, high with excitement, caused Sophy to peer through the screen of green leaves and flowers which hid her from sight as effectively as a small wall.

Michael was below, his curls wet and dripping and his small body gleaming like a baby eel’s, but it wasn’t her nephew who caused Sophy to become transfixed as her heart almost stopped beating and then raced in a most peculiar way.

Andreas was walking at the side of his small charge and he had clearly been more than a watchful bystander, as his brief—very brief—black trunks and the towel slung casually over one broad male shoulder indicated. His thickly muscled torso was tanned, and the black hair on his chest glistened with droplets of moisture before narrowing to a thin line bisecting his flat belly as it disappeared into the swimming trunks.

There wasn’t a shred of fat anywhere on the hard, lean frame, nor on the powerful thighs or sinewy arms and legs. He was a magnificent male animal in the prime of life, and the easy way he was moving and the total lack of concern at the fact that he was as near naked as he could be showed how comfortable he was with his body.

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