The Greek's Bought Bride

It occurred to Tamsyn he didn’t have a clue who she was. That he had no idea it was the Sheikh himself who’d got her sister fired, or that after Saturday’s glittering ceremony he would be her new brother-in-law. To Xan Constantinides, she was just a judgmental cocktail waitress who couldn’t hold a job down and he probably thought it ran in the family. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t know her,’ she said truthfully, because Hannah had confided that she hadn’t yet met any of her Sheikh fiancé’s friends and was absolutely terrified, because they were all so high-powered.

Their conversation was halted by a smiling stewardess with a clipboard and as she was given her seat number, Tamsyn turned back to Xan Constantinides with a forced smile.

‘Nice talking to you,’ she said sarcastically and saw his navy eyes darken. ‘Enjoy the flight.’

Her heart was still pounding as she took her seat on the aircraft and picked up the book she’d so been so looking forward to—a crime thriller set in the Australian outback—which she’d hope would pass away the hours during the long journey to Zahristan’s capital city of Ashkhazar. But it was difficult to concentrate on the rather lurid plot, when all she could think about was the powerful Greek who’d managed to have such a potent effect on her. She tried to sleep, and failed. She stared out of the window at the passing clouds which looked like thick fields of cotton wool. She attempted to tuck into the variety of delicious foodstuffs which were placed before her, but her appetite seemed to have deserted her. She was just thinking gloomily about the days of celebration ahead of her, when that gravelled molasses voice broke into her thoughts.

‘I suppose you’ll be working as soon as we get there?’

Tamsyn looked up to see that Xan Constantinides had stopped in the aisle right beside her seat and was deigning to speak to her. She looked up to meet that distracting cobalt stare. ‘Working?’ she echoed in confusion.

‘I’m assuming that’s why you’re here,’ he murmured.

Suddenly Tamsyn understood. He thought she was here to act as a waitress at the royal wedding!

Well, why wouldn’t he think that? She certainly wasn’t dressed like the other women on the flight, with their discreet flashes of gold jewellery which probably cost a fortune and their studiedly casual designer outfits. Her sister had tried to insist on buying her some new clothes before the wedding, but Tamsyn had stubbornly refused. Because hadn’t Hannah helped her out too many times in the past—and hadn’t she vowed she was going to go it alone from now on?

‘Just because you’re going to marry a rich man, doesn’t mean I have to accept his charity,’ she remembered responding proudly. ‘Thanks all the same, but I’ll wear what’s already in my wardrobe.’

Was that why Xan Constantinides was so certain she was a member of staff rather than a wedding guest? Because she was wearing old sneakers rather than those fancy shoes with the red soles which everyone else seemed to be sporting? Suddenly, Tamsyn thought she could have a bit of fun with this and liven up a wedding she was dreading. Wouldn’t it be priceless to have the Greek tycoon patronise her—before he discovered her connection to the royal house of Al Diya?

She met his scrutiny with a bashful shrug. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘An event like this pays very well and they wanted to have some British serving staff among the Zahirstanians. You know, to make sure the English-speaking guests felt at home.’

He nodded. ‘Good of them to fly you out in style.’

Tamsyn bit back an indignant laugh. Any minute now and he would start asking her if she’d ever been on an airplane before! She reached out and gave the plush leather of the armrest a quick squeeze, as if it was the chubby cheek of a particularly attractive little baby. ‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘Let’s hope I don’t get too used to all this luxury before I go back to my poverty-stricken existence.’

‘Let’s hope not.’ His smile was brief and dismissive—the smiling equivalent of a yawn—as if he had already grown bored with her. His gaze drifted towards the curvy bottom of one of the stewardesses, as if already he was miles away. ‘And now, if you don’t mind—I have work to do.’

Tamsyn opened her mouth to say that he was the one who had started the conversation, but something made her shut it again, as he continued his journey up the aisle of the plane. And she wasn’t the only person looking at him—every female on the plane seemed to be following his sexy progress towards the front of the aircraft. Resentfully, Tamsyn found herself noting the powerful set of his shoulders and the way thick, dark tendrils of hair curled around the back of his neck. She thought she’d never seen a man who was quite so sure of himself. He seemed to inject the air around him with a strange and potent energy and she resented the effect he seemed to have on her without even trying.

An unfamiliar shiver whispered its way down her spine and she clenched her hands into tense little fists as the plane soared through the sky on its way to the desert kingdom.

CHAPTER TWO

TAMSYN STOOD IN the centre of the huge room, her head spinning as she gazed around her in amazement. She’d known that her sister’s fiancé owned an actual palace which she was going to be staying for the forthcoming wedding celebrations, but the reality of being here was so far outside her experience that for a moment she felt as if she were dreaming.

Drinking in her surroundings, she craned her neck to look up at the high ceiling which was vaulted and gilded with gold. She didn’t think she’d ever seen so much gold! Soft drapes fell from the floor-to-ceiling windows which overlooked surprisingly green and lush gardens—surprising, because this was, after all, a desert country. Her bed was huge and closer to the ground than she was used to and it was covered with rich brocade and velvet cushions. And everywhere she looked she could see flowers. Big, claret-coloured and sunset-hued roses crammed into what looked like solid gold vases. Their heavy scent vied with the incense which was burning softly in one corner, in a container which seemed to be studded with genuine rubies and emeralds. As for the bathroom, Tamsyn swallowed. The bathroom was something else—exceeding the standards of every upmarket hotel she’d ever worked in—and she’d worked in quite a few. She spent several minutes running her fingertips over the fluffy bathrobe and eying up the gleaming glass bottles of bath oil and perfume, wondering if she’d be able to take some of them home with her.

She had sent away the servant who had hovered around after her arrival, because just the thought of having a servant had made her feel uncomfortable, since that felt like her natural role. She’d thought she would be alone until she was summoned to the pre-wedding dinner, but a knock at the door interrupted her reverie and Tamsyn went to answer it, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the woman who was standing there. She was wearing beautiful silk robes of sapphire blue, which flowed to the ground like a waterfall. Her shiny hair was covered in some gauzy veil of silver and the sparkling earrings which dangled from her earlobes echoed the aquamarine brilliance of her eyes. Tamsyn stood in shocked silence, realising that for a few seconds she hadn’t recognised her own sister!

‘Hannah,’ she breathed. ‘Is that really you?’

Hannah came in and closed the door behind her, before enveloping Tamsyn in a crushing bear hug. ‘Of course it’s me—who did you think it was?’

Tamsyn gave a mystified shake of her head. ‘I can’t believe it. You look so different. Like...like a real-life queen.’

A wry smile touched her sister’s lips. ‘Well, that’s kind of appropriate, seeing as of Saturday that’s exactly what I’m going to be.’

Tamsyn stilled. Was she imagining the strained quality in Hannah’s voice or the faint shadows around her eyes? ‘You don’t have to go through with it, you know,’ she said instantly, but her sister shook her head.

‘I’m afraid I do. I can’t back out of it now and I don’t want to. I have to do this—for the sake of the baby.’

At the mention of the baby, Tamsyn’s gaze swivelled to her sister’s belly. She supposed that most people might not even have guessed Hannah was pregnant—she looked more like someone who’d just come back from holiday having been a bit too liberal with the hotel buffet. But she knew Hannah better than anyone. Hannah who had acted more like a mother than a big sister when they were growing up. They had shared a mother who had given them up when they’d been very young—but they each had different fathers.

Just the thought of fathers made an acrid taste rise up in Tamsyn’s throat because her own had been a waster in every which way. She tried her best not to judge all men by his miserable standards, but sometimes it was difficult. But then, life was difficult, wasn’t it? Everyone knew that. These days she understood why Hannah had kept her in the dark about her parentage for so long, though she had been bitter and angry about it for a long time. But now was not the time to rake up the perceived sins of the past. She was here, not because she wanted to be—but because she was determined to support her beloved sister—the only family she had left in the world.

‘So what’s it like living with a sheikh? Is Kulal treating you properly?’ she demanded.

Hannah shot a nervous glance in the direction of the door as if she was afraid someone might be standing outside, listening.

‘He is.’ The Princess-in-waiting forced a smile. ‘How was your flight?’

Tamsyn hesitated, thinking it would probably be unwise to offload onto her pregnant sister on the eve of her wedding. No need to mention that she’d met Xan Constantinides once before and certainly no need to mention that she’d tipped a drink over him. ‘Very comfortable,’ she said. She saw Hannah frown—as if she hadn’t been expecting such polite diplomacy so she injected her next remark with just the right amount of carelessness. ‘I bumped into some Greek tycoon in the queue.’

‘Xan Constantinides?’

‘That’s him.’ Tamsyn paused and then, despite her best intentions, she couldn’t resist her next comment. ‘He’s pretty full of himself, isn’t he?’

Hannah shrugged. ‘Why wouldn’t he be? He made billions at an early age and is built like a Greek god. Apparently women fall at his feet like ninepins and I guess those kind of things can go to a man’s head. And of course, he’s never been married—which makes him a bit of a target for predatory women. Never even got close, so Kulal tells me.’ She frowned. ‘You didn’t...you didn’t fall for him did you, Tamsyn?’

‘Oh, please!’ Tamsyn manufactured a disbelieving snort. ‘I don’t go for men with egos the size of Mars.’

‘And you didn’t fall out with him, I hope?’ continued Hannah nervously.

‘Oh, come on, Han. As if I could be bothered!’ Tamsyn gave an airy shrug. ‘Why, I barely exchanged two words with the man.’

‘Good. Because Kulal is very fond of him and they’re in the middle of some hugely important business deal together.’ Hannah smoothed down her silky robes, the movement drawing attention to her massive diamond engagement ring which glittered on her finger like a constellation of stars. ‘But that’s enough about Xan. I thought we could discuss your wardrobe.’

‘My wardrobe?’ Tamsyn’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘What about it?’

There was a pause, during which Hannah seemed to be choosing her words with care. ‘Tammy, what are you planning to wear to the rehearsal dinner tonight?’

Tamsyn had been waiting for this. Bad enough that Hannah seemed to have morphed into someone completely different—ever since the arrogant Sheikh had swept into her life and carried her off to his desert kingdom. Why, she barely recognised the elegant creature who stood before her as the same person who had once made beds for a living as a chambermaid at the Granchester Hotel. But that didn’t mean she had to do the same, did it?

‘I’ve got a very nice dress I bought down the market,’ she said. ‘I’m going to wear that. And how many times do I have to tell you not to call me Tammy?’

‘Tamsyn, you can’t. You can’t wear some dress you’ve bought down the market to a royal wedding!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because...because....’ Distractedly Hannah began to pace around the vast suite, her silken robes swishing against the floor as she moved. ‘Well, the guest list is pretty daunting, if you want the truth. Even to me. Especially to me,’ she added, on a whisper.

‘I’m not daunted by other people’s wealth,’ said Tamsyn proudly.

‘I know you’re not—and there’s no reason you should be. It’s just...’

‘Just what? Come on, Hannah—spit it out.’

Hannah drew to a halt beside Tamsyn’s open suitcase, shooting a quick glance inside before sucking in a big breath which failed to hide her instinctive grimace. ‘You can’t wear any old thing,’ she said gently, as she turned to look at her sister. ‘Not to a function as important as this. It’s my wedding and you’re my sister. I’m the bride and the groom just happens to be a desert king. People are going to be looking at you, you know—especially as you’re the only family I’ve got.’

Tamsyn’s first instinct was to say she didn’t care what other people thought. And if she fancied wearing her canvas sneakers beneath the dress she’d picked up for a bargain price—then that’s exactly what she would do. But something about Hannah’s anxious face tugged at a conscience she would prefer not to have. Suddenly she recognised that any defiance in the clothes department might reflect badly, not necessarily on her—but on her sister. And hadn’t Hannah always done so much for her? Cared for and protected her during those deprived days of their fractured childhood...didn’t she owe her for that?

‘I don’t have any fancy clothes,’ she mumbled, feeling once again like the little girl who’d been mocked in the school playground because there was nothing in her lunchbox but a few scraps of bread and jam. You’re poor, the other children used to taunt—and Tamsyn had been too ashamed to admit that her foster father had spent all his money on gambling and womanising and her foster mother had been too weak to object. Her education had suffered as a consequence and she’d left school without qualifications, which didn’t exactly make her a big player in the job stakes. Money remained tight for Tamsyn and what little money she did have she certainly wasn’t going to waste on an expensive dress she’d only get to wear once. ‘I’m not stupid, Hannah,’ she said huffily. ‘I’m not planning to let you down. I’ll make the best of what I have, just like I’ve always done.’

‘I know you will. And when you bother to pull out all the stops you can look amazing. But this is different. I don’t want you and I to stick out any more than we already are. So let me give you something to wear, Tamsyn. Something beautiful—the like of which you will never have worn before.’ There was a pause. ‘Please.’

Tamsyn had vowed she wasn’t going to accept any more of Hannah’s charity, no matter how scared she was about the future. Her latest job in a café paid only peanuts and in the meantime her overdraft was getting steadily bigger. The latest blow had been the recent rent raise on her crummy little apartment, leaving her wondering how on earth she was going to pay it.

She thought about the glamourous women she had travelled over with on the Sheikh’s private plane and wondered what glorious surprises they would be pulling out of their suitcases for the glittering dinner tonight. And then she thought about a pair of cobalt eyes and the way they had trained themselves on her. She’d seen the way the Greek’s gaze had focussed in on her scruffy tennis shoes and the disdainful curve of his lips in response. Was it that which made her suddenly decide to take up her sister’s offer? To dress up for the party so that she might fit in, for once in her life?

‘Okay. You can find me something to wear, if you like,’ she said, casting a doubtful glance at Hannah’s covered head. ‘But I’m definitely not wearing a veil.’

* * *

Peering into the silvered surface of the antique mirror, Xan gave his tie a final unwanted tug. Raking his fingers back through the raven disarray of his hair he did his best to stifle a yawn as he deliberated on how he was going to get through the long evening ahead.

He hated these affairs with a passion and part of him felt deeply sorry for his royal friend, for being forced to marry some gold-digging little chambermaid from England. Contemptuously, his lips curved into their habitual line of disapproval. How could Kulal—a desert king renowned for an extensive list of sophisticated lovers—have fallen for the oldest trick in the book? There had been no official announcement but you wouldn’t need to be a mathematician to work out that a hasty wedding arranged between one of the region’s most exalted sheikhs and an unknown commoner—was bound to end up with a baby a few months down the line. Had the chambermaid deliberately trapped him, he mused? And if so, how could his friend bear the thought of that deception for all those long years which lay ahead?

He thought of his own marital destiny and not for the first time, began to see that it could have much to commend it, because Sofia was sweet and undemanding. He couldn’t imagine her ever trying to trap him by falling pregnant—probably because he doubted she would ever consent to sex before marriage. His mouth hardened for it was many months since he had seen his unofficial fiancée and he knew he couldn’t keep putting it off their arranged marriage indefinitely. Up until now it had been a private and completely confidential agreement between two families, but the longer he stalled, the more likely that the press would get hold of it and have a field day with it. His jaw clenched. He would set in motion the formal courtship when he flew out of here after the weekend, with a wedding pencilled in for the middle of next year.

But for now he was still technically a free man and unwillingly his thoughts turned to lust, for it had been a while since he had enjoyed a woman in his bed.

He was discreet about his relationships—for obvious reasons—and nobody outside their immediate families knew he had been promised to a beautiful young Greek girl. His recent sexual abstinence had certainly not been caused by a lack of opportunity—but because he had become jaded and bored by the attentions of predatory women on the make.

He scowled at his reflection before turning away. The press didn’t help his endeavours to maintain a low profile and he cursed the obsession which made certain newspapers speculate about when he intended to tie the knot. Wasn’t it such careless speculation which caused women to pursue him, as if they were hunting down some particularly elusive quarry? Didn’t they realise that the chase was the thing which fired up a man’s blood? Xan’s mouth flattened. At least, that was what he had been told—for he had never had to pursue a woman. They came after him in their droves, like dedicated ants flocking to a spoonful of spilled honey. Some he enjoyed and others he discarded—but he made it plain to each and every one that there was no point in wishing for any kind of future with him, though he never explained why. And wasn’t the truth that he enjoyed the protective barriers which his long-term engagement placed around him? It kept women at a safe distance and that was the way he liked it.

A servant came to fetch him to take him to the pre-wedding dinner and Xan quickly became aware of the excitement in the air as the wedding grew closer. Tall, burning flames lit the courtyard and in the distance he could hear the low beat of unfamiliar music which only added to the febrile build of atmosphere. Through wide corridors scented with jasmine and gardenia and lit with gold and silver candles, he followed the silent servant—taking his place at last in some inordinately grand ballroom, which he hadn’t seen on his last visit.

He had visited Zahristan once before, when Kulal had taken him out to the desert to see the state-of-the-art solar panels which the country’s scientists had designed, and in whose manufacture Xan had invested a great deal of money. He had combined the work trip with some serious riding on the most magnificent stallion he’d ever mounted and then he and the Sheikh had camped beneath the blinding brilliance of the stars in an opulent Bedouin tent. Xan remembered thinking that his powerful royal friend had the world at his fingertips—yet now he was being forced into a corner, trapped into a relationship he did not really want.

And wasn’t exactly the same thing happening to him? Briefly Xan thought about the Greek girl with dark eyes who was everything a man could possibly desire. No. He was walking into his future with his eyes open. Not for him the lottery of chance or ignorance. There would be no skeletons emerging from the closet of Sofia, for she was someone he had known all her life. She was pure and beautiful and... His mouth hardened as he allowed the unwanted thought to flit into his mind.

The chemistry would come later.

Most of the other guests were already assembled in the huge gilded ballroom, which led into a banqueting hall almost as vast. Beneath chandeliers which glittered like shoals of priceless diamonds, women paraded in their finery, the men beside them wearing dark suits, desert robes or uniform. For some reason Xan found himself looking round for the redheaded waitress but couldn’t see her anywhere and he wondered if she was somewhere deep in the palace kitchens, loading up her tray. Instead, he accepted a drink from someone else—a sharp-sweet cocktail containing fire-berry juice and drank it silently as they awaited the arrival of the royal couple.

At last, a single musician stepped forward to play a fanfare on the traditional mizmar, heralding the arrival of the Sheikh and his bride-to-be and there was a murmur of expectation as the couple paused in the open doorway of the ballroom and all heads turned in their direction.

And then he saw her.

Xan’s fingers tightened around his drink so tightly that for a moment he was afraid that the delicate glass might shatter. He expelled a long, low breath as his disbelieving gaze settled on the feisty redhead who was following behind the royal couple as if it was her every right to do so.

His eyes narrowed. No sawn-off jeans and canvas shoes tonight. She was wearing an exquisite dress of emerald silk which matched the brilliance of her eyes and looked as if had been made just for her. The design was simple and in many ways modest, but it accentuated her body in a way which her sexy cocktail waitress uniform had failed to do. In that rather obvious black satin ensemble she had looked more like a little girl playing dress-up, while tonight she looked like a woman. Xan swallowed. A very sensual woman. Her lustrous red curls had been caught back, displaying dazzling diamond and emerald earrings which brushed the sides of her long neck. He felt the pooling of blood at his groin and suddenly she turned her head to look directly at him—as if some sixth sense had told her he was staring. A faint flicker of triumph illuminated her extraordinary eyes before, very deliberately, she turned her back on him and began chatting to a tall man in some sort of military uniform who seemed to be devouring her with his hungry gaze.

Xan felt the hard beat of a pulse at his temple. He had imagined her gliding around between the guests with a tray of drinks in her hand and this sudden unexpected elevation of status left him feeling confused. If she wasn’t a waitress, then who the hell was she? He found himself dipping his head to speak to the blonde woman beside him who had been slowly edging herself closer in a way which was boringly predictable.

‘Who is that woman in green?’ he questioned silkily. ‘The one who entered with the Sheikh and his fiancée.’

The blonde gave a discernible pout of disappointment followed by a slight shrug. ‘Her? Her name is Tamsyn,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Tamsyn Wilson. She’s the sister of the bride.’