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She froze where she stood, at the edge of the herb garden, her gaze fixed on the ancient sun dial.
He knew?
“You were married before, when you were still in your teens. He was English, and six years older than you. I believe you met in Paris. Wasn’t he a painter, too?”
She turned her head slowly, wide-eyed, torn between horror and fascination at the details of her past. How much more did he know? What else had he been told?
“I won’t discuss him, or the marriage, with you,” she answered huskily. Marrying Jeremy had been a tragic mistake.
“Your father said he was after your fortune.”
“And you’re not?”
Lights glinted in his dark eyes. It struck her that this man would not be easily managed.
He circled her and she had to tilt her head back to see his expression. Butterflies flitted in her stomach, heightening her anxiety. He was tall, much taller than most men she’d known, and solid, a broad deep chest and muscular arms that filled the sleeves of his suit jacket.
Her nerves were on edge. She felt distinctly at a disadvantage and searched for something, anything, to give her the upperhand—again. “Good Greek men don’t want to be the second husbands.”
“We’ve already established I’m not your traditional Greek man. I do what I want, and I do it my way.”
CHAPTER TWO
IT STRUCK her then, quite hard, that two could play this game. All she had to do was think like a man.
Christos Pateras wanted her to further his ambitions. He was marrying her to accomplish a goal. This wasn’t about love, or emotions. This was a transaction and nothing more.
Why couldn’t she approach the marriage the same way? He wanted her dowry; she wanted independence. He wanted an alliance with the Lemos family; she wanted to escape her father.
Greece might be part of a man’s world but that didn’t mean she had to play by a man’s rules.
She sized him up again, assessing the odds. Tall, strong, ridiculously imposing, he exuded authority. Could she marry him and then slip away?
No more Alysia Lemos, poor little rich girl, but an ordinary woman with ordinary dreams. Like a small house in the country. A vegetable garden. An orchard of apple trees.
She stole a second glance at Christos’s rugged profile, noting the long, straight nose, line of cheek, strong clean-shaven jaw. He looked less ruthless than determined. Assertive, not aggressive. If she ran away from him, what would he do?
Chase her down? She doubted it. He’d have too much pride. He’d probably wait a bit and then quietly annul the marriage. Men like Christos Pateras wouldn’t want to advertise their failure.
He turned, caught her eye, his dark gaze holding hers. “Everyone thinks you’ve already married me.”
“How can that be?” she scoffed.
Opening his coat, he drew a folded newspaper from the breast pocket and handed it to her.
Not certain what she was supposed to find, she unfolded the paper and pressed the creased pages flat. Then the headlines jumped out at her, practically screaming the news. Secret Wedding For Lemos Heir.
Anger, indignation, shock flashed through her one after the other as the headlines blinded her. How could he do it? How could he pull a stunt like this?
And then just as quickly as her anger flared, inspiration struck. For the first time in months she saw an open door. All she had to do was walk through it.
Marry him, and walk away.
It was all in place. The husband, the marriage, the motivation. She just needed to go along with the plans and then leave.
Perfect. Her heart did a strange tattoo.
Maybe too perfect. Christos Pateras didn’t seize control of the Greek shipping industry by luck. He was smart. No, rumor had it that he was brilliant. A brilliant man wouldn’t marry a young woman and then just let her slip away. He’d be prepared. He’d be alert.
She’d have to be very, very careful.
Alarm and eagerness tangled her emotions. She could do this, she could escape him, it was a matter of being just as smart as him.
Her heart began to pound faster and she felt heat creep beneath her skin. Excitement grew but she dampened her enthusiasm, not wanting to overplay her hand or reveal her true intentions.
She frowned, feigning surprise and shock. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s front page news.”
“There’s no wedding. How can there be a story?”
“Read it for yourself.”
She obliged, skimming the front page story where her father had been quoted as saying he couldn’t confirm or deny reports of the secret wedding, only that he knew that Greek-American shipping tycoon, Christos Pateras, had visited Oinoussai in the past several days and had visited his daughter at the convent. Other sources confirmed that Pateras had been seen in town, while another source mentioned the convent as the secret wedding location.
Her father’s work, no doubt. The puppet and the puppeteer. Incredible. But this time, she was the puppeteer. She was in control.
She crumpled the paper for show. “You and my father make a spectacular team.”
“Your father’s idea, not mine.”
“No one will believe this drivel.”
“Everyone believes it. Media has descended on the harbor. They’re expecting to see the blushing bride and groom board the yacht later this afternoon.”
He looked so damn smug, as if he’d thrown a net around her, trapping her in his scheme. Sorry, she silently apologized, but I win this one. Hands down.
She was going to marry him. And then she’d leave him. He could pick up the pieces. The fall-out with her father wouldn’t be her problem. If Christos Pateras wanted to make deals with her father, then fine, let him experience her father’s wrath firsthand.
Guilt briefly assailed her. Then she ignored the voice of conscience, reminding herself that Christos and her father were the same kind of man. Selfish. Unthinking. Lacking compassion.
Not once during her mother’s horrible last year did her father slow his schedule, put off a meeting, change his travel plans. He never once attended her radiation treatments. Never held her hand during the chemo. Never checked on her at night when she lay huddled with pain and fear.
Her father acted as if nothing bad had happened, ignoring the terminal diagnosis as though it were a spate of bad weather and simply charged ahead with his plans for new ships, new routes, new alliances.
Damn her father, and damn Christos Pateras.
Alysia knew of no fate worse than that of being a Greek tycoon’s wife.
But she hid all this, focusing instead on her goal. Independence. Peace. A life far from the wealthy Greek shipping families. Maybe back to Geneva. Maybe a little house south of London.
“When would we marry?” she asked, her pulse leaping in anticipation.
“Today. We’d marry here, in the chapel, and then sail this afternoon.”
“And just what are your expectations?”
His dark gaze studied her, his expression blank, giving away nothing. “As my wife, you’ll travel with me. When I entertain, you shall perform the duties of the hostess. And for my family functions, we’ll appear together, behaving like a real couple.”
“Versus a business liaison?”
“Precisely.”
“For your parents sake?”
“Right, again.”
He didn’t want to disappoint his parents. She could almost admire him for that. Almost.
But fortunately, she needn’t worry about his family, or his expectations. She wouldn’t be around long enough to fulfill any such duties. If they married today, this afternoon, she was just hours from freedom, hours from starting a new life for herself far from Greece and the influential Lemos name.
“Anything else?” she demanded coldly, conscious that she could never let Christos Pateras know her intentions. Christos might dress fashionably, move with athletic ease and speak eloquently, but underneath the gorgeous veneer he was the same man as her father. And her father, ruthless, critical, unyielding crushed those close to him, destroying family as indiscriminately as he destroyed friends. No one was safe. No one was exempt.
“I expect us to have a normal relationship.” He, too, had become detached, businesslike.
It struck her they’d moved to the negotiation stage. The deal would take place. It was just a matter of formalizing the details. He knew it. She knew it. A bitter taste filled her mouth, but she wouldn’t back down now. “Define normal, if you would.”
“I expect you to be faithful. Loyal. Honest.”
She felt something shift inside of her, another whisper of conscience, but she dismissed it with a small sneer. Men had controlled her all her life. For once she’d take care of herself. “That’s it?”
“Should there be more?”
He was testing her, too. He knew there should be more, would be more. They hadn’t even discussed the physical aspect of the marriage and it loomed there between them, heavy, forbidding.
“This is a marriage of convenience, yes?” She cast a glance at him before looking too quickly away, but she caught the predatory gleam in his eyes. He wasn’t nervous. He seemed to enjoy this.
“Marriages of convenience don’t produce children. I need children.”
Before she could speak, he continued.
“I’ll do my best, Miss Lemos, to ensure you’re satisfied. I want you to be happy. It’s important we’re both fulfilled. Sex is a natural part of life. It should be natural between us.”
Fingers of fear stroked her spine, stirring the fine hairs on her nape, even as blood surged to her face, heating her cheeks, creating a frisson of warmth through her limbs. “We hardly know each other, Mr. Pateras.”
“Which is why I won’t force myself on you. I’m content to wait until some of the newness wears off and we’ve grown more…comfortable with each other before becoming intimate.”
Another surge of heat rushed to her cheeks. His voice had deepened, turning so husky as to hum within her, warm and intimate. For a split second she imagined his body against hers, his mouth against her skin.
The very thought of making love with him made her inhale sharply. Every nerve in her body seemed to be alert, aware of this man and his potent masculinity.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Alysia tried to deny the tingle in her breasts, and the longing to be real again. It’d been forever since she’d felt like a woman.
She wouldn’t look at him. “You’re willing to commit to a loveless marriage?”
“I’m committing to you.”
Oh, to have someone want her, to care for her…
She drew a ragged breath, hope and pain twisting in her heart, seduced by his promise and the warmth in his voice. What would it feel like to be loved by this man?
She drew herself up short. He’d never said anything about love, or wanting her. He wasn’t even committing to her. He was committing to the Lemos house, committing to her father, but not to her. How could she allow herself to daydream? Hadn’t she learned her lesson by now?
This is how Jeremy had broken through her reserve. This is how she’d offered up her heart. Well, she couldn’t, wouldn’t, do it again. Experience had to count for something.
Hardening her emotions, she reminded herself that Christos Pateras did not matter. His promises did not matter. The only thing that mattered was escaping the convent and her father’s manipulations. It was what her mother would want for her. It was what her mother had wanted for herself.
Glancing up, her gaze settled on the high, whitewashed wall. All convent windows faced inward, overlooking the herb garden and potted citrus trees. None of the windows faced out, no glimpse of the ocean, no picture of the world left behind…
But she hadn’t left it behind. Her father had ripped it from her just weeks after her mother’s death. There had been no mourning for him. Just business, just money and deals and ships.
A lump filled her throat. For a moment her chest felt raw, tight. “If we are going to do it,” she said after a long painful silence, “let’s not waste time.”
They were married in the briefest of ceremonies in the convent chapel. Rings, exchange of vows, a passionless kiss.
In the back of the limousine, Alysia clenched her hand on her lap, doing her best to ignore the heavy diamond-and-emerald ring weighting her finger. Christos had already told her it wasn’t a family heirloom, three carat diamonds had never been part of his family fortune. No, the ring had been purchased recently, just for her. But she wouldn’t wear it long. By this time tomorrow she’d have it off her finger, left behind on a dresser or bathroom counter, she promised herself.
A strange calm filled her. For the first time in years she felt as if she were in control again, acting instead of reacting, making decisions for herself instead of feeling helpless.
With a swift glance at her new husband, she noted Christos Pateras’s profile, his strong brow creased, a furrow between his dark eyes. He wore his black hair combed straight back, and yet the cowlick at the temple softened the severity of his hard, proud features.
He’d be surprised—no, furious—when he discovered her gone. He didn’t expect her to deceive him. It wouldn’t have crossed his mind. Just like a Greek man to assume everything would go according to his plan.
He sat close to her, too close, and she inched across the seat only to have his hard thigh settle against hers again.
She became fixated on the heat passing from his thigh to hers, panic stirring at the unwelcome intimacy. She wasn’t ready to be touched by him. Wasn’t ready to be touched by anyone.
She scooted closer to the door, pressing herself into the corner, willing herself to shrink in size.
“You’re acting like a virgin,” he drawled, casting a sardonic look in her direction.
She felt like a virgin. Years and years without being touched, not even a kiss, and now this, to sit thigh to thigh with a stranger, a tall, muscular, imposing stranger who wanted her to bear his children.
Stomach heaving, Alysia pressed trembling fingers against her lips. What had she done? How could she have married him? If she didn’t escape him, surely she’d die. Despite her mother’s wisdom, despite the gentle counsel of the sisters, Alysia didn’t want family. No children, no babies. Ever.
She couldn’t ever give Christos Pateras a chance. She wouldn’t let him make a move. No opportunities for seduction. First chance she could, she’d leave.
“Relax,” Christos uttered flatly. “I’m not going to attack you.”
