The Pregnant Kavakos Bride

CHAPTER TWO

THE JOURNEY BACK to her home in New Malden passed in a blur as Keeley kept remembering the way Ariston had spoken to her—with a contempt he’d made no attempt to disguise. But that hadn’t stopped her breasts from tightening beneath his arrogant scrutiny, had it? Nor that stupid yearning from whispering over her skin every time she’d looked into the blue blaze of his eyes. And now she was going to have to start forgetting him all over again.

A sudden spring shower emptied itself on her head as she emerged from the train station. The April weather was notoriously unpredictable but she was ill-prepared for the rain and hadn’t packed an umbrella. By the time she let herself into her tiny bedsit she was dripping wet and cold and her fingers were trembling as she shut the door. But instead of doing the sensible thing of stripping off her clothes and boiling the kettle to make tea, she sank into the nearest chair, not caring that her clothes were damp and getting all crumpled. She stared out of the window but the rods of rain spattering onto the rooftops barely registered. Suddenly she was no longer sitting shivering in a small and unremarkable corner of London. Her mind was playing tricks on her and all she could see was a wide silver beach with beautiful mountains rising up in the distance. A paradise of a place. Lasia.

Keeley swallowed, unprepared for the sudden rush of memory which made the past seem so vivid. She remembered her surprise at finding herself on Lasia—a private island owned by the powerful Kavakos family, with whom she’d had no connection. She’d been staying on nearby Andros with her mother who had spent the holiday complaining about her recent divorce from Keeley’s father and washing her woes away with too many glasses of retsina.

But Ariston’s own father had been one of those men who were dazzled by celebrity—even B-list celebrity—and when he’d heard that the actress and her teenage daughter were so close, had insisted they join him on his exclusive island home to continue their holiday. Keeley had been reluctant to gatecrash someone else’s house party but her mother had been overjoyed at the free upgrade, her social antennae quivering in the presence of so many rich and powerful men. She had layered on extra layers of ‘war paint’ and crammed her body into a bikini which was much too brief for a woman her age.

But Keeley had wanted none of the party scene because it bored her. Despite her relatively tender years, she’d had her fill of the decadent parties her mother had dragged her to since she’d been old enough to walk. At eighteen, she just tried to stay in the background because that was where she felt safest. Over the years her mother’s sustained girlishness had contributed to her becoming an out and out tomboy, despite her very bothersome and very feminine curves. She remembered being overjoyed to meet the sporty Pavlos, with whom she’d hit it off immediately. The Greek teenager had taught her how to snorkel in the crystal bays and taken her hiking in the blue-green mountains. Physical attraction hadn’t come into it because, like many children brought up by a licentious parent, Keeley had been something of a prude. She’d never felt a single whisper of desire and the thought of sex had been mildly disgusting. She and Pavlos had been like brother and sister—growing brown as berries as they explored the island paradise which had felt like their own miniature kingdom.

But then one morning his older brother Ariston had arrived in a silvery-white boat, looking like some kind of god at its helm, with his tousled black hair, tawny skin and eyes which matched the colour of the dark sea. Keeley remembered watching him from the beach, her heart crashing in an unfamiliar way. She remembered her mouth growing dry as he jumped onto the sand, the fine silver grains spraying up around his bronzed calves like Christmas glitter. Later, she’d been introduced to him but had remained so self-conscious in his presence that she’d barely been able to look him in the eye. Not so all the other women at the house party. She’d cringed at the way her mother had flirted with him—even asking him to rub suncream into her shoulders. Keeley remembered his barely perceptible shudder as he delegated the task to a female member of staff, and her mother’s pout when he did so.

And then had come the night of the party—the impressive party to which the Greek Defence Minister had been invited. Keeley remembered the febrile atmosphere and Ariston’s disapproving face as people started getting more and more drunk. Remembered wondering where her mother had disappeared to—only to discover that she’d been caught making out with the minister’s driver, her blonde head bobbing up and down on the back seat of the official car as she administered oral sex to a man half her age. Someone had even filmed them doing it. And that was when all hell had broken loose.

Keeley had fled down to the beach, too choked with shame to be able to face anyone, too scared to read the disgust in their expressions and wanting nothing but to be left alone. But Ariston had come after her and had found her crying. His words had been surprisingly soft. Almost gentle. He’d put his arms around her, and it had felt like heaven. Was it because her mother never showed physical affection and her father had been too old to pick her up when she was little which had caused Keeley to misconstrue what was happening, so she mistook comfort for something else? Was that why the desire which had been absent from her life now shot through her like a flame, making her behave in a way she’d never behaved before?

It had been so powerful, that feeling. Like a primitive hunger which had to be fed. Pressing her body against Ariston’s, she’d risen up on tiptoe as her trembling mouth sought his. After a moment he had responded and that response had been everything she could have dreamed of. For a few minutes the feeling had intensified as his lips had pressed down urgently against hers. She’d felt his tongue nudging against her mouth and she’d opened her mouth in silent invitation. And then his fingers had been on her quivering breasts, impatiently fingering her nipples into peaking points before guiding her hand towards his trousers. There had been no shyness on her part, just a glorious realisation of the power of her own sexuality—and his. She remembered the ragged groan he’d made as she’d touched him there. The way she’d marvelled at the hard ridge pushing against his trousers as, greedily, she had run her fingertips over it. Passion had swamped shyness and she’d been so consumed by it that she suspected she would have let him do whatever he wanted, right there and then on the silvery sand—until suddenly he had thrust her away from him with a look on his shadowed face which she would remember as long as she lived.

‘You little...tramp,’ he’d said, his voice shaking with rage and disgust. ‘Like mother, like daughter. Two filthy little tramps.’

She’d never realised until that moment how badly rejection could hurt. Just like she hadn’t realised how someone could make you feel so cheap. She remembered the shame which flooded through her as she vowed never to put herself in that position again. She would never allow herself to be rejected again. But her own pain had been quickly superseded by what had happened when they’d returned to England and her mother’s lifestyle had finally caught up with her—and in one way and another they’d been paying the price ever since.

She pushed the bitter memories away because her hair was still damp and she had now started to shiver so Keeley forced herself to get up and to go into the cramped bathroom, where the miserable jet of tepid water trickling from the shower did little to warm her chilled skin. But the brisk rub of a rough towel helped and so did the big mug of tea she made herself afterwards. She’d just put on her uniform when there was a knock on the door and she frowned. Her social circle was tiny because of the hours she worked, but even so she didn’t often invite people here. She didn’t want people coming in and judging her. Wondering how the only daughter of a wealthy man and an actress whose face had graced cinema screens in a series of low-budget vampire movies should have ended up living in such drastically reduced circumstances.

A louder knock sounded and she pulled open the door, her curiosity dying on her lips when she saw who was standing there. Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked into the blaze of Ariston’s eyes and she gripped the door handle, hard. His black hair was wet and plastered to his head and his coat was spattered with raindrops. She knew she should tell him to get lost before slamming the door shut in his face but the powerful impact of his presence made her hesitate just as the siren tug of her body betrayed her yet again. Because he was just so damned gorgeous...with his muscular physique and that classical Greek face with the tiny bump midway down his nose.

‘What are you doing here?’ she said coldly. ‘Did you think of a few more insults you’d forgotten to ram home?’

His lips curved into an odd kind of smile. ‘I think you left...this.’

She stared down at the cream shawl he was holding, her heart automatically contracting. It was an old wrap which had belonged to her mother—a soft, cashmere drift of a thing embroidered with tiny pink flowers and green leaves. These days it was faded and worn, but it reminded her of the woman her mother used to be and a lump rose in her throat as she lifted her gaze to his.

‘How did you find out where I live?’ she questioned gruffly.

‘It wasn’t difficult. You signed the visitors’ book at the gallery, remember?’

‘But you didn’t have to bring it yourself. Couldn’t you have asked one of your minions to do it?’

‘I could. But there are some things I prefer not to delegate.’ He met her eyes. ‘And besides, I don’t think we’ve quite finished our conversation, do you?’

She supposed they hadn’t and that somehow there seemed to be a lot which had been left unsaid. And maybe it was better that way. Yet something was stopping her from closing the door on him. She told herself he had gone out of his way to bring her mum’s shawl back to her and he was very wet. Did he sense her hesitation? Was that why he took a step forward?

‘So aren’t you going to ask me inside?’ he persisted softly.

‘Suit yourself,’ she said carelessly, but her heart was thumping like a crazy thing as she walked back into the little bedsit and heard him shut the door to follow her. And when she turned round and saw him standing there—so powerful and masculine—her breasts grew hot and heavy with desire. Why him? she thought despairingly. Why should Ariston Kavakos be the only man who should make her feel so insanely alive? Her smile was tight. ‘Though if you’re going to try to justify your ridiculously controlling behaviour, I wouldn’t bother.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ he questioned silkily.

‘It means that you turn up and suddenly send your brother away to sea—just to get him away from me. Isn’t that a little desperate?’

His lips hardened. ‘Like I told you. He already has a girlfriend. A young woman of Greek origin who has just qualified as a doctor and is light years away from someone like you. And if you must know, the business in the Gulf is both urgent and legitimate—you flatter yourself if you think I’d manufacture some kind of catastrophe just to remove him from your company. But I’m not going to lie. I can’t deny I’m happy he’s gone.’

She felt the sting of his words yet she could almost understand his concern—even though it was misplaced—because the contrast between her and Pavlos’s girlfriend couldn’t have been greater. She could imagine how Ariston must see it, in that simplistic and chauvinistic way of his. The qualified professional doctor versus someone with barely an exam to her name. If he’d gone about it differently—if he’d asked her nicely—then Keeley might have done what he wanted her to do. She might have given him her word that she’d never see Pavlos again—which was probably true in any case. But he wasn’t asking, was he? He was telling. And it wasn’t so much the contempt in his eyes which was making her angry—it was the total lack of respect. As if she meant nothing. As if her feelings counted for nothing. As if she was to spend the rest of her life paying for one youthful mistake. She tilted her chin upwards. ‘If you think you can tell me what to do, then you’re wrong,’ she said. ‘Very, very wrong.’

Ariston stiffened because her defiance was turning him on and that was the last thing he wanted. He’d come here ostensibly to return the shawl she’d left behind and yet part of him had wanted to see her again, even though he’d convinced himself he was only looking out for his brother’s welfare. In the car he had briefly buried his nose in the soft cashmere and smelt Keeley’s faint and flowery perfume. He’d wondered whether she had deliberately left it behind to get his brother to come running after her when he arrived back in England. Had that been her not so subtle plan? Did she sense a softness in his younger sibling and a susceptibility to her blonde sexiness which could override what seemed to be a perfect relationship with his long-term girlfriend?

He remembered how close she and Pavlos had been on that holiday, how they used to run around together all the time. People said the past had powerful and sentimental tentacles and she’d known his brother when he was young and impressionable. Long before he’d reached the age of twenty-five and come into the massive trust fund which had changed people’s attitude towards him, because wealth always did. Mightn’t Pavlos read more into his date with the sexy blonde than there really was and forget the safe and settled future which was carefully laid out for him? What if Keeley Turner realised that a fortune was there for the taking if she just went about it the right way?

He glanced around her home, more surprised by her environment than he could remember being surprised by anything in a long time. Because this wasn’t just a low standard of living—this was breadline living. He’d imagined peacock feathers and glittery necklaces draped over mirrors. Walls dripping with old photos depicting her mother’s rather tawdry fame, but there was nothing other than neatness and an almost bland utilitarianism. The most overriding feature was one of cleanliness. His mouth hardened. Was that simply a clever ploy to illustrate what a good little homemaker she could be, if only some big and powerful man would take her away from all this and give her the opportunity?

He’d been doing his best not to stare at her because staring only increased his desire and a man could think more clearly when his blood wasn’t heated by lust. But now he looked at her dispassionately and for the first time he registered that she was wearing some kind of uniform. He frowned. Surely she wasn’t a nurse? He took in a shapeless navy dress edged by a paler blue piping and then noticed a small badge depicting a bright, cartoon sun and what looked like a chicken drumstick underneath the words ‘Super Save’. No. His mouth twisted. Definitely not a nurse.

‘You work in a shop?’ he demanded.

He could see the indecision which fretworked her brow, before she gave him another defiant tilt of her chin which made her lips look utterly kissable.

‘Yes, I work in a shop,’ she said.

‘Why?’

‘Why not?’ she questioned angrily. ‘Somebody has to. How else do you think all the shelves get stacked with new produce? Or, let me guess—you never actually do your own shopping?’

‘You’re a shelf-stacker?’ he asked incredulously.

Keeley drew in a deep breath. If it had been anyone else she might have blurted out the truth about her mother and all the other dark stuff which had led her to having to leave so many jobs that, in the end, Super Save supermarket had been her unlikely saviour. She might have explained that she was doing her best to make up for all those lost, gypsy-like years by studying hard whenever she had a spare moment and was doing an online course in bookkeeping and business studies. She might even have plunged the very depths of her own despair and conveyed the sense of hopelessness she felt when she visited her mother every week. When she saw how the once vibrant features had become an unmoving mask while those china-blue eyes stared unseeingly into the distance. When, no matter how many times she prayed for a different outcome, her mother failed to recognise the young woman she had given birth to.

Briefly Keeley closed her eyes as she remembered the awkward conversation she’d had last week with the care-home manager. How she’d been informed that costs were spiralling and they were going to have to put the fees up and that there was only so much that the welfare state could do. And when she’d tried to protest about her mum being moved to that horrible great cavern of a place which was not only cheaper but miles away, she had been met with a shrugging response and been told that nobody could argue with economics.

But why imagine that Ariston Kavakos would have anything other than a cold and unfeeling heart? As if he would even care about her problems. The controlling billionaire clearly wanted to think the worst about her and she doubted whether coming out with her own particular sob story would change his mind. Suddenly she felt sorry for Pavlos. How awful to have a brother who was so determined to orchestrate your life that you weren’t allowed the personal freedom to make your own friends. Why, the sexy Greek billionaire standing in front of her was nothing more than a raging megalomaniac!

‘Yes, I’m a shelf-stacker,’ she said quietly. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

Ariston wanted to say that the only problem he had was with her. With her inherent sensuality, which managed to transcend even the ugly outfit she was wearing. Or maybe it was because he’d seen her in a swimsuit, with the sopping wet fabric clinging to every feminine curve. Maybe it was because he knew what a killer body lay beneath the oversized uniform which was making him aroused. Yet it was a shock to discover just how humble her circumstances were. As a gold-digger she clearly wasn’t as effective as her mother had been or she wouldn’t have ended up in a crummy apartment, working unsociable hours in a supermarket.

In his mind he began to do rapid calculations. She was obviously broke and therefore easy to manipulate, but he also sensed that she presented an unknown kind of danger. If it hadn’t been for Pavlos he would have fought the infuriating desire to kiss her and just walked away, consigning her to history. He would have phoned the sizzling supermodel he’d taken to the photographic exhibition and demanded she drop everything. Especially her panties. He swallowed, because the equally infuriating reality was that the model seemed instantly forgettable when he compared her to Keeley Turner in her unflattering uniform. Was it the fire spitting from her green eyes and the indignant tremble of those lips which made him want to dominate and subdue her? Or because he wanted to protect his brother from someone like her? He’d sent Pavlos off to sea to deal with a crew in revolt—but as soon as the situation was resolved he would return. And who was to say what the two of them might get up to if his back was turned? He couldn’t keep them apart—no matter how powerful he was. Mightn’t her ethereal blonde beauty tempt his brother into straying, despite the lovely young woman waiting for him in Melbourne?

Suddenly his thoughts took on a completely different direction as a solution came out of nowhere. A solution of such satisfying simplicity that it almost took his breath away. Because weren’t men territorial above all else—especially Kavakos men? He and Pavlos hadn’t been brought up to share—not their toys, nor their thoughts, and certainly not their women. The age difference between them had guaranteed that just as much as the bleak and unsettled circumstances of their childhood. So what if he seduced her before his brother got a chance? Pavlos certainly wouldn’t be interested in one of his cast-offs—so wouldn’t that effectively remove her from his brother’s life for good?

Ariston swallowed. And sex might succeed in eradicating her from his mind, once and for all. Because hadn’t she been like a low-grade fever all these years—a fever which still flared up from time to time? She was the only woman he’d ever kissed and not had sex with and perhaps it was his need for perfection and completion which demanded he remedy that aching omission.

He looked around her shabby home. At the thin curtains at the window which looked out over a rainy street and the threadbare rug on the floor. And suddenly he realised it could be easy. It always was with women, when you brought up the subject of cash. His mouth hardened with bitter recall as he remembered the monetary transaction which had defined and condemned him when he had been nothing more than a boy. ‘Do you need money?’ he questioned softly. ‘I rather think you do, koukla mou.’

‘You’re offering me money to stay away from your brother? Seriously?’ She stared at him. ‘Isn’t that what’s known as blackmail?’

‘Actually, I’m offering you money to come and work for me. More money than you could have ever dreamed of.’

‘You mean you have your own supermarket?’ she questioned sarcastically. ‘And need your very own shelf-stacker?’