Her Greek Groom: The Tycoon's Mistress / Smokescreen Marriage / His Forbidden Bride

Anyway, if Draco wished to keep his private life to himself, that was his concern. He would have to go on living here after she’d gone…

She sighed. The realisation that her time in Greece was running out was causing her real pain.

I didn’t really want to come here, she thought, grimacing. Now I don’t want to leave.

It was hard to separate one day from another, when all of them were touched with gold. Sometimes they went out on the boat, landing on some quiet beach to swim, and cook the fish they’d caught over a wood fire.

At other times Draco drove the pick-up to the island’s peaceful beauty spots, along the coast, or up into the high bare hills. And at night they danced together.

She was relaxed with him now. They shared a lot of laughter, but they could be quiet together too. When he teased her, she teased back. They had, she thought, become friends—and that was good.

But she couldn’t deny the painful, ecstatic lift of her heart that happened each time he strode into the courtyard of the taverna to find her. Or the sweet, sensual ache that any physical contact with him seemed to evoke.

For much of the time he kept her at a distance, and she knew it. Just sometimes, in the drowsy afternoons, he would draw her into his arms and explore her mouth gently with his. Her hair seemed to entrance him. ‘Like pale silk,’ he would whisper, winding strands round his fingers and carrying them to his lips.

But—so far and no further, it seemed. The merest touch of his lips could ignite her desire, making her burn and melt with longing for the intimacy of his touch, for the consummation that her aroused flesh had been denied, but if he was aware of that, he gave no sign.

Just once, when he’d kissed her goodnight, she’d tried to hold him, pressing herself against him, her lips parting in mute invitation beneath the pressure of his. Longing to spark the passion that she knew lay just beneath the surface.

But he’d gently detached her clinging hands and stepped back, bending his head to drop a kiss on each soft palm before he let her go. And she had walked away up the stairs, knowing that he would not follow.

His control seemed to be total—and yet there were occasional moments when she felt him watching her. Was aware of a strange tension quivering along her nerve-endings, as if her body had somehow discerned the naked hunger in his and was responding to it.

Someone else was watching her too, she thought. Maria. The older woman was still warmly friendly, but once or twice Cressy had caught an anxious glance, or a little worried frown, and she wondered why.

But not too deeply. Her only real concern was the moment when she would see Draco again—would hear his voice and feel his smile touch her own mouth.

And that was all that mattered.

She didn’t realise, of course, how swiftly and how finally things could change.

She woke early that day on Myros, to the bleak realisation that there was just over a week of her holiday left. She sat up in bed, hugging her knees, frowning a little. Maybe this was the time to walk away—while she still could. Before she was in too deep and reduced to begging.

Draco had told her the previous evening that he would come for her just after breakfast.

‘So for once you’re not going to work on your house.’ Cressy had raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m honoured.’ She’d paused. ‘How’s it getting on—the house, I mean?’

He had shrugged. ‘It is almost finished. It has taken longer than I thought.’

She’d been tempted to say, I’d love to see it, simply to test his reaction, but she had remained silent.

When she considered, the house was the least of it. There were so many things she still didn’t know about him, she thought, her frown deepening. He had never spoken of his family, or mentioned friends apart from the crowd at the taverna, and even there he seemed to be treated with a certain respect rather than the usual raucous camaraderie.

But then he was incurious about her background too, she acknowledged.

She knew all kinds of little details about him, of course. She knew that his lashes were long enough to curl on his cheek when he slept. That there was a scar on his thigh, a relic from his boyhood when he’d gashed himself on a rock while swimming.

She was also aware that he could only relax for a certain time before he became restive, and that he secretly preferred her to wear dresses rather than trousers.

There’d been times recently, too, when he’d appeared to retreat so deeply into his own thoughts that it had been impossible for her to reach him, and this had made her feel oddly helpless and a little on edge.

Perhaps he was trying to find a humane way of telling her that it was over and suggesting she went back to Alakos, she thought desolately as she went to her shower.

‘Today we’ll do something different,’ he told her as they walked down to the harbour. ‘There is something I want you to see.’

She felt a little surge of pleasure. Maybe at last she was going to see the mysterious house—or even meet his family.

She said lightly, ‘That sounds intriguing.’

They sailed past their usual beach, heading north.

‘Where are we going?’

‘You have never been all round the island. I think you should.’ Draco gave her the tiller.

‘Oh.’ Cressy masked her disappointment. After a moment, she said slowly, ‘Myros is so lovely, Draco. It’s like part of a different world. I—I shall hate to say goodbye.’

‘So enjoy it while you can,’ he said casually. ‘And don’t run us on to the rocks, pethi mou.’

To the north of the island the coastline became more dramatic, with one high promontory standing out from the rest. And on this jutting headland, clinging to it like a lizard on a rock, was the massive sprawl of a villa, white-walled and roofed in terracotta.

‘My God.’ Cressy shaded her eyes. ‘So that’s what was behind the stone wall. It’s absolutely vast. Who does it belong to?’

‘The head of the Ximenes Corporation.’ His tone was indifferent. ‘You’ve heard of that?’

‘I think so.’ Cressy wrinkled her nose. ‘They’re in shipping, aren’t they?’

‘And banking, and a hotel chain. The founder of the dynasty was called Alexandros. Like his namesake, he wished to conquer the world before he was thirty.’ Draco put his hand over hers to alter the tiller. ‘Do not go too close, agapi mou.’

‘Because intruders aren’t welcome?’ Cressy pulled a face. ‘Poor rich man.’

‘You despise money?’ His sideways glance was curious.

‘On the contrary. I work long hours to earn as much as I can.’

‘And that is important to you?’

‘Well—naturally.’

‘More important than being a woman, perhaps?’

Cressy bit her lip, sudden bewilderment battling with hurt. ‘That’s a cruel thing to say.’

Draco shrugged a shoulder. ‘You are not a child,’ he said. ‘You live in a society where sexual freedom is accepted, and yet you are still a virgin. Why?’

She removed her hand from beneath his. ‘I don’t think it’s any of your concern.’

‘We said we would learn about each other,’ he said. ‘Yet you refuse to answer a simple question. One that would solve the mystery about you. Why won’t you explain?’

‘You dare say that to me?’ She was angry now. ‘You’re the one with the secrets. You tell me nothing about yourself.’

‘You don’t ask.’

‘All right.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Are your parents alive?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘But I have aunts and uncles and a great many cousins. Now, answer my question.’

Cressy hesitated. ‘Perhaps I’m out of touch with today’s morality,’ she said. ‘Or maybe I just haven’t met the right man.’

‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘This great love of which every woman dreams. So, you believe in that.’

I never did before.

Her need for him, her longing, was an aching wound which only he could heal. And it was impossible for him not to know that. So why did he torment her by holding back?

She kept her voice light. ‘We’re all entitled to our dreams.’

‘So, what do you dream of, Cressida mou?’

‘Oh, dreams are like wishes.’ She twisted round, pretending to take a last look at the villa on the headland. ‘If you talk about them, they don’t come true.’

‘Then tell me this,’ he said. ‘Why did you come back here?’

Cressy swallowed. ‘I—I wanted to see more of Myros.’

He sighed impatiently. ‘Must I look into your eyes to know the truth, agapi mou?’

She said, almost inaudibly, ‘And because you asked me…’

‘Even though you knew that I wanted you—what I would ask?’

She swung back, tears stinging her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Is that what you want to hear, Kyrios Draco? That I wanted you so much I came back to offer myself…’ The stumbling words choked into silence.

‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘I—needed to hear that, agapi mou.’

His arm encircled her, drawing her against him. ‘Don’t cry, my golden one—my treasure,’ he whispered against her hair as she buried her face in his shoulder. ‘And don’t be ashamed of what you feel.’

‘How can I help it?’ Her voice was muffled.

‘You imagine I do not want you—because I have been patient?’ His voice sank to a whisper. ‘I have had to force myself to remain cool, but no longer. I have to speak—to tell you everything in my heart.’

He paused. ‘My life is yours, Cressida mou. Be my wife and stay with me for ever. Work beside me each day and lie in my arms at night.’

His body was shaking against hers. As she lifted her head she saw the proud face strangely anxious, the firm mouth incredibly vulnerable.

She put up her hand and touched his cheek, brushing her thumb softly across his lips.

She whispered, ‘I’ll stay…’

He kissed her once, his mouth hard, almost fierce on hers. Telling her beyond doubt how precarious that taut control really was.

‘I must wait for more,’ he told her as he reluctantly released her, his mouth twisting. ‘I want to live with you, my bride, not drown with you.’

She laughed, leaning back in his embrace, the breeze from the sea lifting her hair, happiness warming her like her own private sun.

Lips touching her hair, Draco whispered words of love and need, his voice raw as he switched to his own language.

‘I wish I could understand what you’re saying,’ Cressy sighed, her fingers lightly caressing the strong arm that held her so securely.

‘I will tell you one day.’ There was a smile in his voice. ‘But only when we are married.’

In the hour it took to return to Myros harbour, they also made some practical plans.

It was agreed that Cressy would catch the midday ferry to Alakos, to pack the rest of her things and check out of the Hellenic Imperial. And make a few necessary phone calls, she thought, with a sudden bump of nervousness.

‘I would take you myself,’ Draco said, frowning. ‘But there are things I must do at my house, arrangements I must make.’ He paused. ‘You’ll stay there with me until our marriage, pethi mou? You’ll trust me?’

‘Is that really necessary?’ Flushing slightly, Cressy met his gaze directly. ‘Draco—I love you. I want to belong to you.’

‘And so you will,’ he said gently. ‘In our house, in our bed, on our wedding night. That is how it must be, Cressida mou.’

She shook her head. ‘You have a will of iron, kyrie.’

His gaze caressed her. ‘When you look at me like that, kyria, I have no will at all.’

At the taverna, she went up to collect her things, leaving Draco to talk to Yannis.

As she fastened her travel bag she heard a sound behind her, and looked round to find Maria standing in the doorway.

‘Maria.’ Cressy smiled at her a little shyly. ‘You’ve heard the news? I’m hoping very much that you’ll lend me your wedding dress again.’

‘Kyria Cressida.’ Maria took a step forward, her face troubled. ‘Are you sure about this? Kyrios Draco—how well do you know him?’

‘I know that I love him.’

‘You should take care,’ Maria said quietly. ‘This is not a marriage of equals.’

Cressy bit her lips. ‘I understand what you’re trying to say. That we’ll have to make more adjustments than other couples. But…’

Maria gestured impatiently. ‘That is not what I mean. There are things you do not know.’

Cressy stared at her. ‘What sort of things?’

Yannis shouted Maria’s name from below and she turned to go. ‘I cannot say more. But you must be careful.’ She left Cressy staring after her.

She was quiet as she walked down to the ferry with Draco at her side.

‘Already regrets?’ He smiled at her.

‘No,’ she denied, a little too quickly. She wanted to ask about Maria’s warning, but it needed an oblique approach, and there wasn’t time because people were already boarding the ferry.

He kissed her mouth, and she felt his thumb trace the sign of the cross on her forehead.

‘Come to me soon,’ he whispered. ‘I shall be waiting for you, my beloved.’

As she collected her key from Hotel Reception, Cressy wondered what the deferential concierge would say if he knew she was planning to marry one of his countrymen.

She’d had time to think on the ferry trip, but hadn’t come to any firm conclusions.

Perhaps Maria simply doubted that Draco had sufficient means to support a wife. After all, Cressy had little real idea of what he did for a living, she realised with a touch of unease.

Or had there been something more cynical in her warning? Did Maria suspect that Cressy’s real attraction for Draco was as an affluent tourist?

But I’m not rich, and he knows it, Cressy thought. I’m well paid, but when I stop working that’ll be it. And I’ve still got rent to pay, and bills to settle back in England.

On the other hand even quite modest savings might seem a fortune to an impecunious fisherman.

She found herself remembering the silences—all the times she hadn’t known what he was thinking. And, in spite of herself, began to wonder.

That total certainty about the future—her inner radiance—had taken a jolt, but a few doubts were perfectly natural, surely.

Anyway, she and Draco couldn’t get married immediately, she reminded herself. There were all kinds of legal and religious formalities to be completed first.

And plenty of time for any lingering qualms to be assuaged.

She was halfway through her packing when the telephone rang.

‘Cressy, my dear.’

‘Why, Uncle Bob.’ She sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘What a surprise. I—I was actually planning to call you—’

‘Cressy,’ he interrupted firmly, ‘I’m afraid you must listen carefully. I’ve got bad news.’

Ten minutes later she replaced the receiver. Her face was colourless and she felt deathly cold.

Her wonderful golden dream had gone, to be replaced by bleak and frightening reality. A chilling reminder of exactly who she was. Not some silly, lovesick child swept away by a handsome face, but a woman with a career, duties and obligations. A woman with a life far removed from some half-finished shack on a piece of Mediterranean rock.

Her father was not only ruined, but alone and ill. He might even be dying. Their recent estrangement was suddenly meaningless. She had to go back to England at once.

For a moment Draco’s face seemed to swim in front of her. Gasping, she wrapped her arms round her body. She couldn’t let herself think about him, or the folly of the last ten days. She had quite deliberately to wipe him from her mind, and her memory. There was no place for him in her life now, and never had been outside a crazy dream. He was a luxury she couldn’t afford, she thought, biting her lip until she tasted blood.

As it was, no real harm had been done, and she had to be thankful for that.

It made her wince to think how naive she’d been—how easily she’d been beguiled to near disaster.

Draco had been so clever, using his sexuality to keep her in a torment of frustration and longing. All those kisses, she thought bitterly. The fleeting caresses that had aroused without satisfying.

And all leading to what? Not marriage, she was certain. He was probably bluffing about that. No, he was counting on her walking away once he’d shown her the life she could expect. But not until she’d handed over a hefty payment for his injured feelings, no doubt.

It was fate, she told herself as the plane took off from Athens. Fate intervening to stop her making the most hideous mistake of her life.

She had to see it like that or she’d go mad. She had to block the pain or she’d moan aloud. Had to tell herself that Draco was just a beach boy on the make or she’d mourn him for ever.

And she had her father’s problems to sort out. She had no time for her own.

All very reasoned, Cressy thought now, as she brought her car to a halt in front of the house. Very rational. If only there hadn’t been an unknown factor in her equation. A factor that still seemed to be pursuing her.

Cressy spent most of the afternoon on the telephone and sending e-mails, informing her father’s creditors that she’d be negotiating on his behalf during his stay in hospital. But if she’d hoped for instant response or cooperation, she was disappointed.

She was just reluctantly deciding to call it a day when she heard the sound of a car outside and her uncle appeared, accompanied by Charles Lawrence, her father’s legal adviser.

Sir Robert spoke without preamble. ‘Cressy—have you spoken to the bank?’

She shook her head. ‘They put me off with polite noises. Why—have you heard something?’

‘I was contacted this morning.’ Charles Lawrence was speaking. ‘It’s an extraordinary business, Cressida. They’ve had an offer to pay off the mortgage on this house, and your father’s other debts. Someone’s prepared to—take them over.’

‘Just like that?’ Cressy stared at both men. ‘But that’s impossible.’

Mr Lawrence nodded. ‘So I thought. But I’ve since spoken to the other party, and the offer has been confirmed.’

Cressy mentally reviewed her father’s close friends. There were several millionaires among them, but she wouldn’t have credited any of them with that level of generosity.

She said doubtfully, ‘Is it Dad’s old company—have they put together a rescue package for him?’

‘Nothing like that, I fear. The offer has come from the Standard Trust Bank. They are based in New York, but they’re owned by the Ximenes Corporation. I expect you’ve heard of it.’

‘Yes.’ Her voice sounded odd, suddenly, almost distorted. ‘Yes—it was mentioned to me quite recently.’

‘Well, I don’t understand any of it,’ Sir Robert said bluntly. ‘Who are these people, and what on earth have they to do with James? I wasn’t aware he’d had any dealings with them.’

‘I’m sure he didn’t.’ Charles Lawrence shook his head. ‘It’s a complete mystery, but I hope Cressida may be able to solve it.’ He gave her a bleak smile. ‘It seems they wish to negotiate with you personally, my dear.’

‘Did they give any particular reason?’ Cressy felt hollow as weird, incredible suspicions continued to ferment in her mind.

No, she thought. It’s not true. It can’t be. It’s just an odd coincidence. It has to be—has to…

‘No, but I got the impression that the chairman—a chap called Viannis—is a law unto himself.’ He consulted some notes. ‘He’s staying in London at the Grand Imperial—occupies the penthouse, apparently. You’re to phone for an appointment.’

‘Well, I don’t like the sound of it,’ Sir Robert said restively. ‘You’re James’s solicitor. He should be talking to you.’

‘I suggested as much, but they were adamant. It has to be Cressida. Although she can always refuse,’ he added quickly.

‘No,’ Cressy said. ‘If this Viannis is prepared to throw my father a lifeline, then I’ll talk to him, or anyone. I’ll call tomorrow and fix up a meeting.’

‘Well,’ Sir Robert said dubiously, ‘if you’re quite sure, my dear.’

After their departure Cressy sat for a while, staring into space. Then she rose and went over to the desk and her laptop.

The e-mail icon was waiting for her, as she’d suspected it would be.

Swallowing, she clicked on to the message.

‘Sid,’ she read. ‘I am waiting for you. Come to me.’

And that meant there could no longer be any doubt at all.

‘Oh, God,’ she whispered, her clenched fist pressed against her mouth. ‘What am I going to do?’

CHAPTER SEVEN

AS THE gates closed and the lift began its smooth rush to the penthouse, Cressy drew a deep breath.

Whatever—whoever—was waiting for her, it was essential that she appear composed and in control. She couldn’t afford to let the mask slip for a moment and reveal the turmoil of emotion inside her.

She had dressed carefully for this meeting. Her navy blue suit was immaculate, the skirt cut decorously to the knee. The heavy cream silk blouse buttoned to the throat, and she wore neat navy pumps with a medium heel and carried a briefcase. Her hair had been brushed severely back from her face and confined at the nape of her neck with a gilt clip.

Her make-up had been meticulously applied to cover up the tell-tale signs of another sleepless night.

She looked, she thought, cool and businesslike. She hoped she was going to be treated accordingly.

She thought, not for the first time, her throat tightening uncontrollably, Oh, let him be a stranger. Please—please let me be wrong about this…

She was met on the top floor by a tall blonde man with a transatlantic accent, who greeted her unsmilingly and introduced himself as Paul Nixon, Mr Viannis’s personal assistant.

He led her down the thickly carpeted corridor and knocked at the double doors at the end.

He said, ‘Miss Fielding is here, sir,’ and stood aside to allow Cressy to go in.

The room was full of light. There were huge windows on three sides, permitting panoramic views all over London.

But Cressy was only aware of the tall, dark figure silhouetted against the brightness. For a moment she was scarcely able to breathe, and she halted abruptly, feeling as if a giant fist had clenched in her stomach, all her worst fears finally and inevitably confirmed.

He was very still, but with the tension of a coiled spring. Across the room, his anger reached out and touched her, and she had to fight an impulse to flinch. Or even run…

He said softly, ‘So, you have come to me at last— Cressida, my faithless one.’

There was a note in his voice which sent a shiver between her shoulder blades, but it was vital not to seem afraid.

She lifted her chin. ‘Mr Viannis?’

‘What charming formality.’ The mockery in his tone was savage. ‘You feel it’s appropriate—under the circumstances? After all, how do you address your ex-fiancé—someone you’ve so signally betrayed?’

She said steadily, ‘I came here to negotiate a deal for my father, not indulge in useless recriminations.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘You came here to accept my terms. There is nothing to negotiate.’

She’d hoped to find a stranger and in some ways her wish had been granted, because this wasn’t Draco. This man had never worn scruffy denims or danced in the sunlight. Had never kissed her, or smiled at her with lazy desire. Could never, even for a few breathless moments, have held her naked in his arms.

This man looked thinner—older, she thought, her eyes scanning him with sudden bewilderment. His charcoal suit with its faint pinstripe was exquisitely cut, his tie a paler grey silk.

The tumbled black hair had been tamed and trimmed. And there was no golden light in the dark eyes that met hers. They were cold—impenetrable.

Even his voice was different. Now he spoke with hardly any accent at all.

She thought, How could I not have seen it—the ruthlessness behind the golden sunlit charm?

He walked over to the big desk in the centre of the room and sat down, curtly indicating that she should occupy the chair set at the opposite side.