The Greek's Bought Bride

Xan nodded as suddenly it all made sense. The reason why she had been dressed down and out of place on the flight over. The reason why a cocktail waitress was hobnobbing with one of the most powerful royal families in the world. Wilson. Of course. The bride’s sister. The bride who had trapped his friend into marriage by getting pregnant. Xan gave a short laugh. How the redhead must have been laughing to herself when he’d made the—very understandable—assumption that she was here on a working trip. Was she enjoying the fact that he’d made such a fundamental mistake? He watched as she walked straight past him, ignoring him completely, her glorious fiery head held high in the air. And he felt the corresponding roar of his blood in response.

It was a long time since Xan could remember the minutes passing so slowly and never had he been so comprehensively ignored by the person he most wanted to speak to. He’d never had to work to get a woman to join him—usually the briefest of glances would send them scuttling over with an eagerness which was sometimes enough to kill his desire stone-dead. But Tamsyn Wilson wasn’t playing ball. He watched her dip her glorious red head to the side as the Sheikh introduced her to a group of people and he saw the automatic light of interest in the men’s eyes. He thought about infiltrating the group and commandeering her for himself, but instinct told him such a plan would be foolish. Only a quick glance at the seating plan yielded up the satisfying information that once again, they were seated next to each other. Xan’s lips curved into a smile of anticipation. Far better to have her captive at his side and then...

Then what?

He hadn’t yet gone that far in his imagination, but the increased pound of blood at his groin gave him a very good idea of how he intended the evening to end. And why not? His formal courtship of Sofia had not yet started. Was it not better to indulge his desires and rid himself of them? To eradicate all restlessness before finally settling down?

The distinctive sound of the trumpet-like mizmar broke into the chatter as servants began guiding the guests towards the galleried dining room, where the gleam of the dazzling long table and the perfume of countless roses awaited them. Xan stood beside the vacant chair next to his, watching the redhead approach without any kind of smile on her face, the defiant spark of her eyes the only acknowledgement she had seen him.

In stony silence she came to stand beside him.

‘So,’ he said softly as the faint drift of her scent washed over his skin and it became clear she wasn’t planning to greet him with any kind of rapturous joy. ‘We meet again.’

Her expression was cool. ‘It would seem so.’

‘Would you care to sit down?’

She gave a sarcastic elevation of her eyebrows. ‘Since the alternative is eating on the hoof, I suppose the answer must be yes.’

Her insolence was turning him on almost as much as the slender curve of her breasts beneath her exquisite green silk dress. Xan pulled out her chair, her mulish look indicating that such display of chivalry was unnecessary but as she lowered her bottom onto the carved golden seat his blood pressure rocketed once more. As he guided the chair back in, his fingers briefly brushed against her narrow shoulders and he had to resist the urge to let them rest there and to massage away the undeniable tension he could feel.

‘You didn’t tell me you were the bride’s sister,’ he said, as he sat down beside her.

‘You didn’t ask.’ She turned to him, her eyes full of an emerald light which tonight seemed almost unworldly. ‘You just assumed I was here to work, didn’t you? To ferry drinks around and wait at table. That someone like me couldn’t possibly be one of the guests.’

‘Was that such a crazy assumption to make, given the circumstances?’ he mused. ‘Last time I saw you that’s exactly what you were doing. You made no mention of your connection with the bride and you have to admit, you didn’t exactly blend in with the other guests on the plane. At least,’ he amended softly. ‘Not until now.’

‘Now that my sister has given me the dress she secretly had made for me?’ she demanded hotly. ‘Or forced me to wear a necklace I’m terrified is going to fall off and deplete the royal coffers by several million quid, is that what you mean?’

Xan found himself having to bite back a smile. ‘You cannot deny that you look very different tonight.’

Tamsyn picked up a jewel-encrusted goblet and sipped at the cold fizzy water it contained. No, she wasn’t going to deny she looked different but beneath her fine new trappings—she felt exactly the same. Like someone who never fitted in—not anywhere. And tonight the sensation of being out of place was even more acute than usual. It wasn’t just that everyone here was richer than her and seemed happy in their own skins, her disorientation was compounded by the unfamiliar feelings which were ripping through her like a spring tide. Feelings which were hard to define and even harder to understand. She wondered why she was feeling such a powerful desire for the man beside her, even though he was the most arrogant person she’d ever met. She wondered why her skin had felt as if it were on fire when his fingertips had brushed against her shoulder blades. Or why, beneath this fancy dress which Hannah had foisted on her—the tips of her breasts were as raw as if someone had been rubbing them with sandpaper.

Remember how he looked down his nose at you when you were boarding the flight. Remember how upset that ravishing blonde had been when he’d been cold-heartedly dumping her in the cocktail bar.

Yet right now it was difficult to think about anything other than the smile which was softening the edges of his lips and making her wonder what it would be like to be kissed by Xan Constantinides. Her gaze twitched to his long olive fingers and once again her throat constricted with an unfamiliar surge of lust. Because she didn’t do desire. It was yet another side of her character which made it hard for her to fit in. It was her own private and horrible little secret—or rather, it was one of them—that despite all the fiery promise of her looks, she was about as responsive as a piece of wood. Hadn’t she been told that by men deeply unhappy that she wouldn’t ‘put out’, until she’d stopped going out with men altogether because life was easier that way?

‘No, I’m not going to deny I look different tonight,’ she said. ‘Which is why I assume you’re talking to me, which you clearly didn’t want to do when you thought I was nothing but a lowly waitress. Or was it the sight of my canvas tennis shoes which made you decide I wasn’t worthy of your time?’

He looked as if he was about to contest the point before seeming to change his mind and subjecting her to a smile of such intensity that Tamsyn’s heart felt as if it was going to burst right out of her chest.

‘Look, why don’t we wipe the slate clean and start again?’ he suggested smoothly, extending his hand with practised ease. ‘I’m Xan Constantinides. Short for Alexandros, in case you were wondering.’

‘I wasn’t,’ she said moodily.

And you’re Tamsyn, aren’t you?’ he continued, undaunted. ‘Tamsyn Wilson.’

Behind her unsmiling lips, Tamsyn gritted her teeth. He hadn’t bothered finding out her name before, had he? But now he’d discovered she was related to Hannah, he was behaving very differently She glanced up at where the prospective bride and groom were sitting next to one another on some amazing dais. Hannah was smiling but Tamsyn knew her well enough to see the strain of the occasion on her face—and she was pregnant. And since Hannah had stressed that Xan was engaged in some important business with the Sheikh, then shouldn’t she at least try to be polite to him, at least for the duration of the meal itself?

‘Yes,’ she said, as a delicate mango and walnut salad was placed in front of her. ‘That’s my name.’

‘So why don’t you tell me something about yourself, Tamsyn Wilson?’

Picking up a golden fork to half-heartedly push her food around the plate, Tamsyn wondered what the Greek tycoon would say if she told him the truth. That if her parents had been married, her real surname would have been one of the most memorable in the world. But she had never used it. She’d never had the right to use it—not then and certainly not now. She looked into his cobalt eyes and tried to suppress the insane flutter of her heart. ‘What would you like to know?’

He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘Why don’t we start with the obvious. You say you’re no longer working at the Bluebird Club?’

‘I told you—I was sacked.’

‘So what are you doing instead?’

Perhaps if she hadn’t been feeling so out of place then Tamsyn might have engaged in small-talk. She might have skated over her nomadic existence and pretended she was just like every other woman there. But somehow those words wouldn’t come. Maybe Xan Constantinides was too unsettling a presence and those cobalt eyes too deeply penetrating. Because the idea of putting a positive spin on a life which had felt like it was spiralling out of control lately, suddenly seemed too big an ask. Why bother trying to impress someone who was only deigning to speak to her because she was soon to be related to the Sheikh?

‘Oh, I have a terribly glamorous life—you wouldn’t believe,’ she said airily. ‘I work in a coffee bar by day and stack supermarket shelves by night.’

He frowned. ‘Those sound like very long hours.’

‘Go straight to the top of the class, Mr Constantinides—they are.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Aren’t you qualified to do anything other than waitress work?’

She put the golden fork back down on the plate with a clatter, her starter untasted. ‘Actually, no, I’m not. Exams were never really my number one concern when I was at school.’

‘So why not retrain to do something else?’ he questioned as he lifted up his own goblet, his steady cobalt gaze surveying her over its jewelled rim. ‘You seem bright enough.’

Tamsyn nearly laughed out loud and not just because the remark was deeply patronising. That was the trouble with rich people. They had no idea how the world really worked. They’d been cushioned by their wealth and privilege for so long, that they couldn’t put themselves in someone else’s shoes. ‘And who’s going to fund me while I do that?’ she questioned, trying to keep her voice from shaking. ‘When I’ve just had a rent raise from my landlord? And before you tell me to move to somewhere cheaper, I’ve lived in London all my life and can’t imagine going anywhere else. Some problems don’t have easy solutions, I’m afraid. Not unless you’re prepared to throw wads of cash at them, which isn’t an option for most people. Welcome to the real world, Mr Constantinides.’

Xan wondered if she was aware that her defiant words were causing her chest to heave, making it difficult for him not to stare openly at the silk-covered perfection of her breasts. With an effort he focussed his gaze on his wine glass, twirling the stem between his fingers and watching as the different jewels sparkled in the light from the overhead chandeliers. ‘It’s true I have made a sizeable amount of money,’ he conceded. ‘But that certainly doesn’t guarantee a trouble-free life.’

‘You mean like someone forgetting to peel your grapes for you, or your private jet failing to take off on time?’

‘That’s a rather predictable response, Tamsyn,’ he mused softly. ‘You know, I’m almost disappointed. I was hoping for something a little more original.’

‘Oh, dear,’ she said, pushing out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. ‘The billionaire is disappointed. We can’t have that, can we?’

He met the hectic glitter of her green gaze and the pooling at his groin increased. Xan shifted in his seat. He had tried to be polite but she was having none of it and he suspected he knew why. Because something was flowing between them. Something powerful. The kind of physical attraction he’d been encountering from women ever since he’d reached puberty though it had never felt like this before. Women didn’t usually glare at him as if he was the devil incarnate, or try to rub him up the wrong way. He suspected that Tamsyn’s supposed dislike of him was masking a much deeper response and that her darkened eyes were telling the real story. A flicker of a smile curved his lips. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. And why not? Why not enjoy one final taste of freedom before destiny beckoned?

But he didn’t intend spending the entire meal fighting with her and not simply because fighting was a bore. Because he understood the psychology of women only too well. They always wanted what they thought they couldn’t have. She needed to understand that she was in danger of missing out if she continued to be insolent towards him. He would make her wait and make her squirm, so that by the time she came to him she would be so aroused that...

The pressure at his groin was almost unbearable as, very deliberately, he turned his back on her and began to speak to the Italian heiress to his right.

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.

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