Читать книгу The Greek's Bought Bride - Sharon Kendrick - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS JUST a wedding. That was all. Just a few more hours to get through before she could go home. That’s what Tamsyn kept telling herself as she made her way towards the grand throne room, in yet another outfit which Hannah had insisted she wear. She supposed her sister must have secretly had all these clothes made for her before she arrived, but she couldn’t deny that the long, floaty dress suited her. Unlike the dramatic emerald gown she’d worn to the rehearsal dinner last night, this one was a much gentler hue. The soft grey colour of a pigeon’s wing, the bodice and silk-chiffon skirt were sprinkled with tiny crystals which sparkled like stars as she moved.

Tonight, the jewels she’d been loaned were diamonds—some more chandelier drop earrings, along with a priceless choker which blazed like ice fire around her neck. And just like last night, when Tamsyn glanced in the mirror before leaving her suite, she didn’t recognise the image reflected back at her. To the outside world she looked sleek, expensive and polished but inside she felt....disgruntled. And although she hated the reason for her discontentment, she wasn’t deluded enough to deny it. Because wasn’t the truth that her irritation had been caused by Xan Constantinides ignoring her throughout most of the pre-wedding dinner? He’d been laughing and joking in Italian with that stunning woman on his other side and making out like she was invisible. And yes, she had been behaving in a particularly waspish manner beforehand, but even so...

She’d made her escape as soon as the food part of the evening was over. She’d gone back to her suite of rooms and run herself a deep and perfumed bath—then spent most of the night tossing and turning as the image of a man with black hair and cobalt eyes kept haunting her thoughts. More than once she’d awoken to find the tips of her breasts all pointy and aching and a molten heat throbbing between her thighs, causing her to writhe frustratedly between the fine cotton sheets. She’d told herself she needed to pull herself together and put the infuriating Greek right out of her mind, but somehow it wasn’t turning out to be that easy.

The moment she entered the throne room, Xan Constantinides was the first person she saw, despite the fact that the Sheikh was already at the front of the gilded throne room, waiting for his bride. Tamsyn’s heart gave a powerful lurch as she willed her face not to register any emotion.

He looked...

She swallowed against the sudden rawness in her throat. He looked delectable. In a charcoal suit which suited his colouring, he stood taller than any other man there else. Even more disturbing was the fact that he seemed to sense when she entered, because he turned his head and she was caught in that cobalt stare, making her feel as if she was imprisoned there. As if she wanted to be imprisoned there. She willed him not to come up and talk to her and then of course, she wished he would, but Tamsyn told herself to concentrate on the ceremony itself and to fix her eyes on the bride, who was just arriving.

Hannah looked gorgeous, her pregnancy bump a subtle swell and well disguised by her unusual wedding gown of beaten gold. She’d apologised for not making Tamsyn her bridesmaid, explaining that it wasn’t Zahristanian custom to do so. Not that Tamsyn had minded. Marriage had always seemed such an outdated institution to her and one which rarely lasted. More than once she’d wondered why it couldn’t be replaced by something more modern.

Yet she sensed the historical significance of the vows being made, though Hannah’s voice was so low she could barely hear them and the Sheikh looked so stern that Tamsyn was certain he felt as trapped as her sister did. But she clapped and cheered along with the other guests once the couple had been pronounced King and Queen, and she toasted their health in spiced fire-berry juice, as was traditional.

The meal which followed was far more formal than the one they’d eaten last night and Tamsyn told herself she was pleased to sit between the Sultan of Marazad and a representative from the desert kingdom of Maraban. Glad to be miles away from Xan Constantinides and relieved she didn’t have to endure his unsettling presence.

But that was a lie.

All she could think about was the Greek tycoon, and her body seemed determined to reflect her increasingly distracted thoughts. She felt as if her skin had become too tight for her body. As if her senses had suddenly become sensitised. The sound of her heart seemed amplified, its beat a million times more powerful than usual. And there was no respite from these unsettling feelings which made her feel as if she was fighting something deep inside herself. Nowhere she could escape to, because she couldn’t just get up and leave in the middle of a royal wedding. She tried to chat politely to the men on either side and not glance further down the long table to where a Hollywood actress and a female member of the British royal family were giggling like schoolgirls at something Xan was saying.