The Greek's Bought Bride

She gave him her innocence...

He’ll give her his ring!

Tamsyn lost her innocence in a spectacularly sensual night with a Greek billionaire. She didn’t expect to see notorious playboy Xan again, until he proposes a marriage of convenience! It’s hard to refuse when he’s promising incredible wealth, and her pregnant sister desperately needs support, but Xan is dangerously addictive... If Tamsyn isn’t careful, she could lose herself to the Greek—for good!

“Sharon Kendrick’s classic marriage-of-convenience story is a must-read. Sassy, sexy and sumptuous—I loved it!” —USA TODAY bestselling author Lynne Graham

SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition by describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring often stubborn but always to die for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…

Also by Sharon Kendrick

The Billionaire’s Defiant Acquisition

Crowned for the Prince’s Heir

Di Sione’s Virgin Mistress

A Royal Vow of Convenience

Secrets of a Billionaire’s Mistress

The Sheikh’s Bought Wife

The Pregnant Kavakos Bride

The Italian’s Christmas Secret

Bound to the Sicilian’s Bed

Crowned for the Sheikh’s Baby

The Bond of Billionaires miniseries

Claimed for Makarov’s Baby

The Sheikh’s Christmas Conquest

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Greek’s Bought Bride

Sharon Kendrick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07235-9

THE GREEK’S BOUGHT BRIDE

© 2018 Sharon Kendrick

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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This book is dedicated to the greatly loved

Sara Craven (Annie Ashurst),

whose talent, humour and sharp wit are much missed.

And if you want a masterclass in writing romance

read Comparative Strangers (and prepare to tingle…).

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

HE RECOGNISED HER straight away, though it took him a moment to remember why. Xan Constantinides gazed at the tiny redhead whose thick curls were tumbling over her shoulders and a flicker of something between desire and anger whispered across his skin. But he welcomed the distraction—however temporary—which allowed him to forget the promise he had made so long ago. Was it the wedding of one of his oldest friends which had pushed the unavoidable into prominence, or just the march of time itself? Because it was easy to believe that nothing would change. You acted as if the fast days weren’t spinning into years. And then suddenly there it was—the future—and with it all those expectations...

A marriage he had agreed to.

A destiny he had always been determined to honour.

But there was no point in thinking about it now, not with a packed weekend lying ahead of him. Friendship and a valuable business partnership dictated he must attend the wedding of his friend the Sheikh, even though he usually avoided such events like the plague.

Xan returned his attention to the redhead. She was sitting on her own in the small terminal of the private airfield, waiting to board the luxury flight, the fiery disarray of her hair marking her out from the other women. Her clothes marked her out too and not simply because they were a far cry from the skimpy little cocktail dress she’d been wearing last time he’d seen her—an outfit which had sent his imagination soaring into overdrive, as it had obviously been intended to do.

Xan slanted her an assessing glance. Today there was no tight black satin Basque or skyscraper heels, nor fishnet stockings which had encased the most delicious pair of legs he had ever seen. No. She had taken the word casual and elevated it to a whole new level. Along with a pair of tennis shoes, she was wearing cut-off jeans which displayed her pale, freckled ankles and a plain green T-shirt which echoed the cat-like magnificence of her emerald eyes.

It was the eyes he remembered most. And the slender figure which had failed to fill out the curved dimensions of her skimpy uniform, unlike her over-endowed waitress colleagues who had been bursting out of theirs. And the way she had spilt the Old-Fashioned cocktail all over the table as she bent to serve him. The dripping concoction had caught his trouser leg—icy liquid spreading slowly over his thigh. He remembered flinching and the woman he’d been with snatching up her napkin to blot at it with attentive concern, even though he’d been in the middle of telling her that their relationship was over.

Xan’s lips flattened. The redheaded waitress had straightened up and mouthed an apology but the defiant glint in her green eyes had suggested the sentiment wasn’t genuine. For a moment he had found himself wondering if it had been a gesture of deliberate clumsiness on her part—but surely nobody would be that stupid?

Would they?

And now here she was in the most unexpected of places—waiting to board a luxury flight to the wedding of Sheikh Kulal Al Diya to the unknown Englishwoman, Hannah Wilson. Idly, Xan switched his cellphone to airplane mode as the redhead began to scrabble around inside an oversized bag which looked as if it had seen better days. Was she also a guest at the glittering royal marriage? His lips curved with something like contempt. Hardly. She was much more likely to have been hired to work at what was being described as the most glitzy wedding the desert region had seen for a decade. And in a country which demanded the most modest of dress codes, it was unlikely that she would be showing as much of her body as last time.

Pity.

Sliding the phone into his pocket, he allowed himself the faintest smile as she glanced up to notice him staring at her and a spark of something powerful passed between them. A full-blooded spark of sexual desire which fizzled almost tangibly in the air. Her magnificent eyes widened with disbelief. He saw the automatic thrust of her nipples against the thin T-shirt and his groin tightened in response.

Sometimes, Xan thought, with a frisson of anticipation, sometimes fate handed you something you hadn’t even realised you wanted.

* * *

It was him.

It was definitely him.

What were the chances?

Somehow Tamsyn managed to stop her jaw from dropping—but only just. She’d been expecting the great and the good to be gathered together here at this small airport, ready to board the royal flight which would whisk them to Zahristan, but she hadn’t really been paying attention to the other guests as they were all being guided into the small departure lounge. She’d only just got her head around the incredible fact that her sister Hannah was about to marry a desert king and would soon become a real-life queen. And even though Hannah was pregnant with the Sheikh’s baby and such an unlikely union made sense on so many levels, Tamsyn hadn’t quite managed to contain her disgust at the proposed nuptials. Because in her opinion, the man her sister was marrying was arrogant and domineering—and it seemed he chose his friends on the same basis.

She stole another sneaky look at the Greek billionaire who was lolling against a sofa on the other side of the small terminal, his exquisitely cut suit doing nothing to disguise the magnificence of his muscular body. Xan Constantinides. An unforgettable name for an unforgettable man. But would he remember her?

Tamsyn offered up a silent prayer. Please don’t let him remember her.

After all, it was months and months ago and only the briefest of encounters. She bit the inside of her lip. Oh, why had she decided to send out a message of sisterly solitude to the woman the tycoon had been in the process of dumping in the swish bar where she’d been working? At least until her employment had come to a swift but wholly predictable termination...

She’d noticed Xan Constantinides from the moment he’d walked into the twinkly cocktail bar. To be fair, everyone had noticed him—he was that kind of man. Charismatic and radiating power, he seemed oblivious to the stir of interest his appearance had created. Ellie, one of the other waitresses and Tamsyn’s best friend, had confided that he was a mega-rich property tycoon who had recently been voted Greece’s most eligible bachelor.

But Tamsyn hadn’t really been listening to the breathless account of his bank balance or his record of bedding beautiful women before callously disposing of them. His physical presence made his wealth seem almost insignificant and she surprised herself by staring at him for longer than was strictly professional, because she wasn’t usually the sort of cocktail waitress who ogled the better-looking male customers. And there had never been a customer quite as good looking as this one. She remembered blinking as she registered a physique which suggested he could easily go several rounds in the boxing ring and emerge looking as if he’d done nothing more strenuous than get out of bed. When you teamed a body like that with sinfully dark hair, dark-fringed eyes the colour of cobalt and a pair of lips which were both sensual and cruel—you ended up with a man who exuded a particular type of danger. And Tamsyn had always been very sensitive to danger. It was a quality which had hovered in the background during her troubled childhood like an invisible cosh—just waiting to bang you over the head if you weren’t careful. Which was why she avoided it like the plague.

She remembered feeling slightly wobbly on her high-heeled shoes as she’d walked over to where the Greek tycoon had been sitting with the most beautiful blonde Tamsyn had ever seen, when she heard the woman give an unmistakable sniff.

‘Please, Xan,’ she was saying softly, her voice trembling. ‘Don’t do this. You must know how much I love you.’

‘But I don’t do love. I told you that right from the start,’ he’d drawled unequivocally. ‘I explained what my terms were. I said I wouldn’t change my mind and I haven’t. Why do women refuse to accept what is staring them in the face?’

Tamsyn found the interchange infuriating. Terms? He was talking as if he was discussing some kind of business deal, rather than a relationship—as if his lovely companion was an object rather than a person. All she could think was that a woman didn’t just come out and tell a man they loved them, not without a certain degree of encouragement. Her irritation had intensified while she’d waited for the barman to mix two Old-fashioned cocktails and when she’d returned she had noticed Xan Constantinides watching her. She wasn’t sure which had annoyed her more—the fact that he was regarding her with the lazy assessment of someone who’d just been shown a shiny car and was deciding whether or not he’d like to give it a spin—or the fact that her body had responded to that arrogant scrutiny in ways which she didn’t like.

She remembered the peculiar melting sensation low in her belly and the distracting tingle of her breasts pushing against the too-skimpy top of her uniform. She remembered being acutely aware of those cobalt eyes being trained on her, uncaring of the woman beside him who was trying very hard not to cry. And Tamsyn had felt a kick of anger. Men. They were all the same. They took and they took and they never gave back—not unless they were forced into a corner. Even then they usually found some way of getting out of it. No wonder she deliberately kept them at arm’s length. With an encouraging smile she’d handed the woman her drink, but as she lifted the Greek’s cocktail from the tray, Tamsyn had met a gaze full of sensual mockery.

She told herself afterwards that she hadn’t deliberately angled the glass so that it sloshed all over the table and started to seep onto one taut thigh, but she couldn’t deny her satisfaction when he recoiled slightly, before the blonde leapt into action with her napkin.

She was sacked soon afterwards. The bar manager told her it was a culmination of things, and spilling a drink over one of their most valued customers had been the final straw. Apparently she wasn’t suited to work which required a level of sustained calm, and she reacted in a way which was inappropriate. Secretly she’d wondered whether Xan Constantinides had got her fired. Whether he was yet another powerful man throwing his weight around and getting the world to jump when he ordered it to. Just like she wondered if he would remember her now.

Please don’t let him remember her now.

‘Would all passengers please begin boarding? The royal aircraft will be departing for Zahristan in approximately thirty minutes.’

Obeying the honeyed instruction sounding over the Tannoy, Tamsyn bent to pick up her rucksack as she rose to her feet. Didn’t matter if he remembered her because he was nothing to her. She was on this trip for one reason and that was to support Hannah on her wedding day, no matter how big her misgivings about her choice of groom. Because, despite having tried to persuade her big sister not to go through with such a fundamentally unsuitable marriage—her words had fallen on deaf ears. Either Hannah hadn’t wanted to listen, or she hadn’t dared—probably because she was carrying the desert King’s baby and there was all that stuff about him needing a legitimate heir. Tamsyn sighed as she rose to her feet. She had done everything she could to influence her sister but now she must accept the inevitable. She would pick up the pieces if necessary and be there for her—just as Hannah had always been there for her.

Hooking her bag over her shoulder, she trooped behind the other passengers—many of whom seemed to know each other—thinking this was like no journey she’d ever been on, with none of that pre-flight tension which usually made everyone so uptight. But then she’d always flown budget before—with that feeling of being herded onto the aircraft like wildebeest on the Serengeti, followed by a futile attempt to claim a few inches of space in the overhead locker. Not so on this flight. The glossy attendants looked like models and were unfailingly polite to all the passengers, as they gestured them forward.

And suddenly Tamsyn heard the sound of a deeply accented voice behind her. Rich and resonant, it sounded like grit being stirred into a bowlful of molasses. She felt her throat dry. She’d heard it once when it had cursed aloud in Greek before asking her what the hell she was playing at. It had made her spine tingle then and it was making it tingle now as the powerful Greek tycoon moved to stand beside her.

Tamsyn stared up into a pair of cold blue eyes and wished her heart would stop crashing against her ribcage. Just like she wished her nipples would cease from hardening so conspicuously against her cheap T-shirt. But her senses were refusing to obey her as Xan Constantinides dominated her field of vision, his presence imprinting itself on her consciousness in a way she could have done without.

She noticed how softly his olive skin gleamed beneath the pristine cuffs of his snowy shirt. And that he carried with him a faint scent of sandalwood, underpinned with the much more potent scent of raw masculinity. Somehow he seemed to suck in all the available oxygen around them, leaving her feeling distinctly short of breath. He was the epitome of vibrancy and life, and yet there was a darkness about him too. Something unsettling and strangely perceptive in the depths of those amazing cobalt eyes. Suddenly Tamsyn felt vulnerable as she looked up at him and that scared her. Because she didn’t do vulnerability. Just like she didn’t react to men—especially men like this. It was her trademark. Her USP. Beneath her fiery exterior beat a heart of pure ice, and that was the way she intended to stay.

She told herself not to panic. People were slowly filing forward and in a few minutes she’d be safely on the plane and hopefully sitting as far away from him as possible. If it had been a commercial flight she would have been perfectly entitled to ignore him, but this was not a commercial flight. They were all guests at the same exclusive royal wedding and even Tamsyn’s shaky grasp on protocol warned her that she mustn’t be rude.

But she could certainly be cool. She didn’t have to gush or be super-friendly. She didn’t owe him anything. She was no longer in the subservient role of waitress and could say exactly what she wanted.

‘Well, well, well,’ he murmured, his English faultless as he pulled his passport from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

Tamsyn fixed her face into a mildly questioning expression. ‘I’m sorry? Have we met?’

Cobalt eyes narrowed. ‘Well, unless you have a doppelganger,’ he drawled. ‘You’re the waitress who hurled a drink into my lap last summer. Surely you can’t have forgotten?’

For a moment Tamsyn was tempted to tell him that yes, she had forgotten. She thought about pretending she’d never seen him before, but suspected he would see through her. Because nobody would ever forget crossing paths with a man like Xan Constantinides, would they? Not unless they were devoid of all their senses. She gave him a steady look. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I haven’t forgotten.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘I was thinking about it afterwards and wondering if you made a habit of throwing drinks all over your customers.’

She shook her head. ‘Actually, no. It’s never happened before.’

‘Just with me?’

‘Just with you,’ she agreed.

There was a pause. ‘So was it deliberate?’

She considered his silky question and answered it as honestly as she could. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘You don’t think so?’ he exploded. ‘What kind of an answer is that?’

She heard his incredulity and as Tamsyn met his piercing gaze she suddenly wanted him to know. Because maybe nobody had ever told him before. Maybe nobody had ever pointed out that the opposite sex were not something you could just dispose of, as if you were throwing an unwanted item of clothing into the recycling bin. ‘I’m not going to deny that I felt sorry for the woman you were dumping.’

He frowned, as if he couldn’t work out which particular woman she was talking about. As if he were running over a whole host of candidates who might have fitted the bill. And then his face cleared. ‘Ah, neh,’ he murmured in his native tongue, before the frown reappeared. ‘What do you mean, you felt sorry for her?’

Tamsyn shrugged. ‘She was clearly very upset. Anyone could see that. I thought you could have done it in a kinder way. Somewhere more private, perhaps.’

He gave a short and disbelievingly laugh. ‘You’re saying you made a negative judgement of me based on a few overheard words of conversation?’

‘I know what I saw,’ said Tamsyn doggedly. ‘She seemed very upset.’

‘She was.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Our relationship was over but she refused to believe it, and this time she needed to believe it. We hadn’t seen each other for weeks when she asked to meet me for a drink and I agreed. And I left her in no doubt that I couldn’t give her what she wanted.’

Slowly Tamsyn digested all this, her curiosity aroused in spite of herself. ‘What was it she wanted that you were unable to give her?’

He smiled at her then—a brief, glittering smile which momentarily made one of the female ground staff turn and look at him in dazed adoration.

‘Why marriage, of course,’ he said softly. ‘I’m afraid it’s an inevitable side-effect of dating women—they always seem to want to push things on to the next level.’

It was several seconds before Tamsyn could bring herself to answer. ‘Wow,’ she breathed. ‘That is the most arrogant thing I’ve ever heard.’

‘It may be arrogant, but it’s true.’

‘Has nobody ever dumped you?’

‘Nobody,’ he echoed sardonically. ‘How about you?’

Tamsyn wondered why she was having a conversation like this while waiting in line to get on a plane but, having started it, it would be pathetic to call time on it just because he’d touched on a subject she found difficult. No, she had never been dumped, but then she’d only ever had one relationship which she’d ended as soon as she realised that her body was as frozen as her heart. But she wasn’t going to tell Xan Constantinides that. She didn’t have to tell him anything, she reminded herself, replacing his question with one of her own.