Читать книгу Modern Romance August 2018 Books 1-4 Collection - Мишель Смарт, Tara Pammi - Страница 18

CHAPTER EIGHT

SOMEHOW THE FLOWERS woven into her hair stayed in place, even though the sea breeze was whipping wildly all around her. Tamsyn guessed that was one of the benefits of marrying a billionaire—that he could afford to pay a top hairdresser to tame his prospective wife’s unruly curls into an elaborate style which had miraculously stayed put all day. She clutched the railings of Xan’s luxury yacht as it skimmed through the sapphire waters, trying to get her head around the fact that she was now the Greek tycoon’s wife, and that the shiny golden ring which glinted on her finger was for real.

Well, as real as a fake wedding would allow.

Determined not to let herself be led like a lamb to the slaughter on her wedding day, she’d stated her terms before the ceremony, insisting she didn’t want a big fuss—opting instead for something low-key and pared down. She thought it would have felt cheap to put on a big public show which meant nothing, and there was no way she could have made hollow vows in a place of worship. Most important of all, she didn’t want Hannah hearing about the marriage until it was over, just in case she decided to do something dramatic like arriving in a flurry of royal pomp to try and talk her out of it.

But keeping their nuptials quiet seemed to have appealed to Xan as well and in a quiet moment he’d admitted that he had no stomach for weddings in general and his own in particular.

‘The details will be posted in the local town hall which is a requirement by law,’ he said. ‘But since the mayor is a friend, our privacy will be respected and there’s no way word will get out to the press. At least, not until I am ready to issue a statement.’ A hard glimmer of a smile had followed. ‘And it adds a little passionate authenticity to our whirlwind romance if we keep it all very hush-hush don’t you think, agape mou?

What Tamsyn thought wasn’t really here nor there. It bothered her that Xan seemed to be almost relishing the clandestine nature of the wedding, until she forced herself to remember that most men enjoyed secrecy. This was nothing but an elaborate game to Xan, she reminded herself, and since they weren’t planning to be married for very long, what was the point in objecting?

‘We will have a big party straight after the honeymoon,’ Xan had informed her the day after she’d accepted his proposal, when he had turned up unexpectedly at her tiny bedsit, his lips curving with distaste as he looked around, before announcing that from then on she would be staying at the Granchester until the wedding. ‘A big, lavish party to which we will invite family and close friends, and announce that we are man and wife.’

‘And Sofia?’ Tamsyn’s voice had asked, wondering how the Greek woman who had been Xan’s bride intended would take the sudden news. ‘When are you planning to tell her?’

‘I will phone her after the ceremony, once I’ve spoken to my father.’

Something about the obvious omission made her tentatively ask the question. ‘And what about...your mother?’

She had never seen his face so expressionless. As if it had been wiped clean of all feeling—his features looking as if they had been hewn from some dark and impenetrable marble. ‘My mother died a decade ago.’

‘Oh, Xan, I’m sorry.’

It had been an instinctive condolence on her part but he hadn’t wanted it, cutting short the conversation with a cool determination she had come to recognise as Xan’s way of doing things. And in a way she could understand his reluctance to talk. She didn’t want to him delving into her past, did she? Didn’t want him probing her own areas of painful memory. Why rake all that up, when this was a relationship which was never intended to last?

‘But do you think Sofia will be upset?’ she had persisted. ‘The last thing I want is to cause another woman pain.’

His mouth had hardened. ‘Let’s hope not. Maybe she will have realised that she’s better off without a man like me,’ he’d added, his voice growing harsh. ‘A man who cannot give her the love she deserves.’

Recalling those words, it was difficult for Tamsyn not to conclude that he considered her somehow unworthy of those things. In Xan’s mind she was greedy and acquisitive. He thought of her as a gold-digger, just like her sister—she knew that. And although it wasn’t necessary for him to have a high opinion of her, she couldn’t deny it hurt that he thought so little of her.

They had married in a tiny ceremony outside Athens earlier that day—without fuss or fanfare, just two anonymous witnesses plucked from the street and a single photographer, who had captured the event for posterity. It was the first time she’d seen Xan smile all day.

‘It will be no hardship to lose the obnoxious tag of “Greece’s most eligible bachelor”,’ he had drawled, those thick, dark lashes shuttering the cobalt brilliance of his eyes. ‘At least in future I might just be left alone to get on with my life and to live it as I please.’

His words had been arrogant enough to make Tamsyn bristle, but she’d bitten back her sarcastic response, deciding that having a stand-up fight right before the ceremony might not be the best way of portraying marital harmony. Instead, she’d concentrated on her appearance, determined to play her own part with aplomb. She’d chosen an extremely short white wedding dress in diaphanous layers of silk-chiffon which came to mid-thigh and defined the shape of her legs beneath. It was pretty and delicate as well as being slightly daring, but that was exactly what she wanted. She wanted people to look at her and tut. To remark that she really was an outrageous choice of bride for the Greek tycoon because that would pave the way for their speedy divorce.

What she hadn’t banked on was Xan’s reaction when he saw her walking towards him clutching a scented bunch of white flowers. He had looked her up and down as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, his gaze lingering on her bare legs and a little muscle flickering at his temple. And when she’d enquired—a little anxiously—if the short dress was emphasising the freckles on her thighs, he had given her an odd kind of smile before shaking his head and guiding her towards the car waiting to take them to Piraeus.

‘Not at all, agape mou.’ His denial had been husky and the little muscle had still been flickering at his temple. ‘Not at all.’

And now she and her new husband were skimming over the sapphire sea towards the Peloponnese peninsula, because Xan had told her the best way to see his home for the first time was from the water. Almost as if was a real honeymoon and he was trying to impress her!

She’d never been on a yacht before—just ferries—most memorably a day-trip to Calais when she’d been just seventeen. But Xan’s sleek craft was worlds away from the lumbering ferry which had moved through the water with all the grace of a giant tractor. This boat gleamed silvery-white in the spring sunshine. It drew the eye of every passing yacht—especially with Xan at the helm. He had swapped his dark wedding suit for a pair of faded denims and a white T-shirt which emphasised the contrasting gleam of his olive skin. The muscles in his arms bunched as he did impressive-looking things to the billowing sails and his raven-dark hair rippled in the Aegean breeze. With an effort, Tamsyn tried to concentrate on the horizon, trying to prevent her gaze from sliding to his powerful body as he tugged on a rope—as she wondered how difficult it was going to be to resist him during the fortnight’s honeymoon which lay ahead.

‘Tamsyn! Look over there.’

Over the white noise whoosh of the sea, Xan’s voice broke into her thoughts and Tamsyn glanced up to follow the direction of his gaze. She hadn’t really thought about what she might find at the end of her journey but now her heart contracted with something like yearning as suddenly she understood the meaning of the word paradise.

Xan’s home was situated on a strip of land surrounded on three sides by the sea, like a green finger dipping into pot of blue water. A large, elevated modern house glinted in the bright sunshine of the spring morning but there were other buildings occupying the sprawling estate too, which made her realise just how vast it was. Outside seating areas with wicker chairs and tables and a long veranda, festooned with bright flowers and green climbers. In the distance was the seductive glitter of a sapphire swimming pool which blended into the ocean beyond, and impossibly smooth, emerald lawns sloping down a private beach, where a curve of sugar-white sand tempted the eye. Tamsyn watched as Xan expertly brought the yacht skimming into the small harbour where two fishermen were waiting, greeting him affectionately as they helped him anchor the boat.

Still in her wedding heels, Tamsyn consented to being lifted onto the sand by her new husband, which she supposed only added to the supposed romance of their arrival. And despite trying to convince herself that the gesture was functional rather than emotional, that didn’t stop her skin from shivering in response when he briefly held her in his powerful arms. Did her eyes darken or some other barely visible response communicate itself to him? Was that why there was a speculative narrowing of his eyes? Tamsyn stiffened. Just because she felt desire, didn’t mean she was going to act on it, did it? Even if it was difficult to shake the memories of just how good it had been between them...

‘Let’s go up to the house,’ he said, indicating a steep flight of stone steps, before casting a doubtful look at her towering white heels. ‘Think you can manage to walk in those, or would you like me to carry you?’

‘I think I can manage,’ she said, seeing the answering smile which curved his lips.

‘I thought you might say that,’ he commented drily.

But by the time they reached the top of the steps with Tamsyn panting slightly, Xan caught hold of her hand, lacing his fingers in hers as they began to walk towards the lawn.

She shot him a questioning glance, hating the sudden thrill of her hand as it was enclosed in the warmth of his. ‘Xan?’ she said breathlessly.

‘My housekeeper is watching from the house,’ he said. ‘And I know how disappointed she would be if she thought we were anything other than a pair of deliriously happy newlyweds.’

His housekeeper was watching.

Well, what had she expected? That he had been suddenly overcome with emotion? Tamsyn tried to pull away but he stayed her with the feather-light circling of his thumb and instead she found herself shivering in response. What was the matter with her? Was she so starved of physical affection that even a tiny stroke could reduce her to such a state of longing? Maybe she was. Or maybe gestures like that mimicked real closeness and made her realise with a sudden shock just what she’d never had. No mother to cuddle her. No father to bounce her on his knee. Nobody except Hannah who back then had only ever given her the occasional half-hearted hug, because it was kind of embarrassing to cuddle your kid sister.

So remember why you’re here, she told herself fiercely. Remember why you’re doing this. Not for love, or scraps of affection, but for money. Money for Hannah—the only person who’d ever really been there for her.

But it was easy to forget reality when the housekeeper was standing in the doorway watching them approach, her face creased with pleasure as she clapped her gnarled hands together in delight. The greeting she gave Xan was a surprise—Tamsyn hadn’t expected the tycoon to consent to being embraced so fervently by his elderly housekeeper. But neither was she prepared for the crushing embrace to which she was subjected afterwards and for a moment she stood, stiff as a board before gradually relaxing into the woman’s cushioned flesh. And wasn’t she secretly glad of that brief opportunity to compose herself and the chance to blink away the tears which had inexplicably sprung to her eyes.

‘Tamsyn, this is Manalena,’ Xan was saying as the woman relinquished her hold at last. ‘Who has been with the family for a very long time.’

‘Kalispera!’ beamed Manalena, mimicking a rocking movement with her arms. ‘I have known Kyrios Xan since he was a baby.’

It was difficult to imagine this towering man as a baby, thought Tamsyn. To picture him small and helpless and vulnerable. ‘And was he a good baby?’ she asked, with a smile.

Manalena gave a shake of her greying head. ‘He never sleep and when he was a little boy, he never sit still. He is still like that now, and I am very happy he find a wife at last.’

Tamsyn remembered Xan telling her that his engagement to Sofia had been a private matter and for that she was grateful. Imagine if his staff regarded her as some kind of usurper and resented her, making her sense of isolation even more pronounced. She wondered how the housekeeper would feel if she knew the truth behind their whirlwind wedding and that Tamsyn was not the genuine and loving bride she must have hoped for. A flicker of discomfort washed over her as she glanced up at Xan while Manalena spoke to him in a torrent of rapid and babbled Greek.

‘Manalena has just been explaining that a special wedding breakfast has been prepared for us,’ he translated. ‘She is also complaining that this morning a member of my staff arrived from Athens and is getting under her feet.’

As if on cue, a sleek brunette emerged from the house, talking excitedly into a cellphone, before quickly terminating the call. Slim and sophisticated, it was impossible to know exactly how old she was, though Tamsyn would have guessed mid to late thirties. Shiny shoulder-length hair swung in a raven arc around her chin and her linen trousers and pristine cream blouse made her appear the very definition of cool. In her too-short wedding dress with the flowers beginning to wilt in her windswept curls, Tamsyn felt inferior in comparison, even though the woman was smiling at her in a friendly manner.

‘Hello! You must be Tamsyn,’ she said, her perfect English tinged with a fetching Greek accent. ‘I’m Elena and I’m very pleased to meet you and to offer my congratulations.’

‘Elena is my personal assistant from the Athens office,’ explained Xan. ‘She’s been overseeing all the wedding party preparations.’

‘I hope everything will be to your satisfaction,’ said Elena quickly. ‘Xan gave me carte blanche to make decisions about food and drink and decorations, so I did. I would have communicated with you directly except—’

‘I told Elena you were busy winding up your life in England,’ said Xan, meeting Tamsyn’s eyes with a bland look.

Tamsyn forced a smile because what could she say? That packing up her few miserable possessions had taken about five minutes and she might have welcomed having a little input into her own wedding party, rather than sitting around in the unfamiliar luxury of the Granchester Hotel, wondering what on earth she had let herself in for. Xan had given her a credit card and told her to buy an entire new wardrobe, one befitting the wife of a Greek tycoon. And although Tamsyn had half-heartedly done as he’d asked, she’d bought only what was strictly necessary, obsessively keeping all the receipts so that they could be included in a final tally when the divorce settlement came through.

Perhaps Xan had drafted Elena because he was afraid his new wife might prove incapable of choosing a sophisticated menu for their wedding party, despite holding her own that night they’d dined together at the Granchester. Or maybe he was worried she might let slip the true nature of their whirlwind romance—although he didn’t seem to be doing anything to bolster the false fairytale himself. He wasn’t exactly acting like a man who’d been swept away by passion, was he? She doubted whether that brief hand-holding exhibition would have convinced his housekeeper—or anyone else—that this marriage was for real.

‘I’m very grateful for your help,’ she told Elena brightly. ‘For a start, I don’t speak any Greek.’

‘Well no, not yet,’ said Elena with a friendly grin. ‘But you will. Like your new husband, it isn’t easy—but it’s certainly possible to master.’

‘I think you should kiss goodbye to your bonus, Elena,’ said Xan mildly, propelling Tamsyn forward with the brief caress of his fingers. ‘Come and meet the rest of the staff.’

The rest of the staff? Exactly how many people did he have working for him? Suddenly Tamsyn felt daunted by the line of workers who were waiting to meet her. Silently, she repeated their names before saying them out loud, terrified she would forget them before wondering why she was so anxious to please. There was Rhea the cook and pretty young Gia, who was in charge of the cleaning. A part-time driver named Panos, and Orestes the gardener, whose wife Karme helped Gia in the house when the need arose.

Tamsyn said hello to them all, using the few words of Greek she’d managed to learn before leaving England, but once again she felt faintly uneasy about deceiving these people who obviously adored her Greek husband and wanted the best for him.

Once again Manalena said something in Greek and Xan nodded, before glancing briefly at his watch.

‘The meal is almost ready, but there are a couple of phone calls I need to make first,’ he said. ‘Manalena will show you where to freshen up and I’ll meet you downstairs in the dining room in ten minutes.’

Feeling as if she’d been dismissed, Tamsyn followed the housekeeper up a sweeping staircase to the first floor, wondering how Xan was expecting to maintain the image of doting bridegroom if he couldn’t even be bother to show her to the bathroom himself! Yet she couldn’t deny a feeling of relief, that she would be spared the intimate reality of their shared marital space for at least a little while longer.

She walked down a wide and airy corridor, past walls covered with dramatic seascapes, until at last Manalena halted in front of a set of double doors. ‘This is your room,’ said Manalena, a note of pride creeping into her voice as she pushed open one of the doors.

Tamsyn walked into a room of breathtaking splendour with views right over the water, so that sunlight danced in an ever-moving lightshow over the pale walls. On the dressing table she could see the a pair of gold cufflinks set with sapphires which perfectly matched her new husband’s eyes. Xan’s room, she thought. And now hers, too. Her throat constricted. If it had belonged to anyone else she would have walked straight over to the window and feasted her eyes on the dark swell of the sea, but her attention was caught by something else. By the vast bed, on whose snowy covers someone had scattered pink rose petals—dozens of them—their scented splendour seeming to mock her. Another reminder of a romance which wasn’t real, she reminded herself, trying to erase the stupid sense of wistfulness which was clenching at her heart. Yet what could she do other than smile at the faithful housekeeper who stood anxiously in front of her, obviously awaiting her verdict on the honeymoon suite.

‘It looks very beautiful, Manalena,’ she said softly. ‘Efkaristo.’

Looking gratified, Manalena beamed and nodded. ‘I wait for you outside.’

Alone at last, Tamsyn kicked off her high-heeled shoes and wiggled her newly liberated toes. And even though she could have happily thrown herself onto the bed and tried to blot out what was coming next, she freshened up in the lavish bathroom, helping herself from a selection of costly bath products which had obviously been acquired for the new bride. Pulling the wilting flowers from her hair, she raked a brush through her hair, gradually removing the tangles until it fell in a thick and vibrant curtain all the way down to her waist. She eyed the spindly wedding shoes doubtfully and decided against putting them back on. With a final tug at her short dress, she went back downstairs with Manalena, where Xan was waiting for her in the dining room.

And Tamsyn could do nothing about the overwhelming rush of desire which pulsed over her. It seemed incongruous to see the Greek tycoon standing there, still in his sailing clothes, his cobalt eyes darkening with unmistakable appreciation as he surveyed her. Her heart began to thunder as she realised that this powerful man was now her husband.

And she needed to keep it together. Not let desire weaken her. To remember that this was nothing but an elaborate ruse. A business transaction, that was all.

‘You don’t look much like a bridegroom,’ she commented lightly, in a vain attempt to defuse the sudden tension which seemed to have accompanied her into the room.

His gaze raked over her, lingering on the filmy white dress and focussing last on her bare feet whose toenails were painted a shimmering iridescent silver. ‘Whereas you look exactly like a bride, agape mou,’ he said unevenly. ‘If a somewhat unconventional one.’

‘Wasn’t that the whole idea?’ she questioned acidly.

Xan couldn’t quite bring himself to answer, because he wasn’t sure where his head had been when he’d asked Tamsyn Wilson to marry him. Had he thought she would be easily manipulated? That her humble status and the knowledge he was paying her a great deal of money, would give him the upper hand? Yes, he had. Guilty on all counts.

Pulling out a chair for her, he felt the silkiness of her loose curls brushing tantalisingly against his hand and his groin hardened. He hadn’t believed her when she’d told him there was to be no sex, but her distant behaviour since they’d made their deal, had convinced him that she’d meant every word she said. He’d tried convincing himself that he wouldn’t find it too much of a problem—and that three months enforced celibacy was easily doable. What he had failed to take into account was just how entrancing he would continue to find her, or that her stubbornness would act as an aching kind of aphrodisiac. His mouth hardened. He should have picked a bride from the type of woman with which he was familiar. The type who would jump when he snapped his fingers. Who would do whatever he asked of them, and do it with gratitude and pleasure. Not some feisty woman who seemed determined to oppose him every step of the way.

He poured two glasses of vintage champagne and handed her one, his throat drying with lust as their eyes met over the rims of the fine crystal. Suddenly he wished he’d told Manalena that they would eat something light on the balcony of his bedroom, so that he could have had Tamsyn all to himself. To test just how strong her resolve was. Too late, he thought grimly, knowing how much trouble his cook would have gone to.

But his expression betrayed none of his disquiet as he raised his glass to hers. ‘So. What shall we drink to, Tamsyn?’ he questioned.

For a moment she looked uncertain—like a small creature who’d strayed too far from her natural habitat. She stared down at the fizzing wine before lifting her gaze and chinking her crystal glass against his.

‘To money, of course,’ she said defiantly. ‘That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Money and land.’

And all that flippancy was back—the defiant tilt of her chin just daring him to challenge her, when ironically—all it made him want to do was kiss her.