A Bride At His Bidding

Hired by her enemy

Yet tempted to say “I do”...

Billionaire Andreas Samaras is nobody’s fool. And his beautiful new employee, Carrie Rivers—an undercover journalist—is playing a dangerous game. He’ll keep her at his command until he can expose her deception... But when her ruse is revealed, there’s only one way to protect his spotless business reputation: blackmail innocent Carrie to the altar!

MICHELLE SMART’s love affair with books started when she was a baby, and she would cuddle them in her cot. A voracious reader of all genres, she found her love of romance established when she stumbled across her first Mills & Boon book at the age of twelve. She’s been reading them—and writing them—ever since. Michelle lives in Northamptonshire, England, with her husband and two young Smarties.

Also by Michelle Smart

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Talos Claims His Virgin

Theseus Discovers His Heir

Helios Crowns His Mistress

Bound to a Billionaire miniseries

Protecting His Defiant Innocent

Claiming His One-Night Baby

Buying His Bride of Convenience

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

A Bride at His Bidding

Michelle Smart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07170-3

A BRIDE AT HIS BIDDING

© 2018 Michelle Smart

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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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

CHAPTER ONE

ANDREAS SAMARAS POKED his head into the adjoining office to his own. Having spent the day on a multinational conference call, he needed to check in with his PA.

‘How is everything going?’

Debbie sighed. ‘The world is going to hell in a handcart.’

‘Quite.’ His PA’s theatrical tendencies were infamous throughout Samaras Fund Management. Andreas would find it wearing if she weren’t the best business PA he’d ever had. ‘Apart from that, is there anything I need to know? With regards to the business,’ he hastened to add in case she started harping on about polar bears and Arctic ice melt again.

‘Nothing important.’

‘Good. How did the interviews go? Have you come up with a shortlist for me?’ Rochelle, his domestic PA, had quit. The smitten fool was getting married and had decided that a job requiring a great deal of travel was not a good fit for domestic bliss. He’d offered to double her wages and increase her holidays but still she had said no. He’d dragged his heels for weeks about finding a replacement for her in the hope she would change her mind. She hadn’t and finally he had accepted defeat.

Debbie held up a stack of papers. ‘I’ve whittled the candidates down to five.’

Andreas stepped into the office. Debbie had been tasked with doing the preliminary interviews. She knew exactly what kind of person he was looking for to take on the role that basically entailed organising his domestic life. It was a live-in role that would see the successful candidate travel wherever he went, ensuring his domestic life ran as smoothly as his business. The person needed to be honest, loyal, unobtrusive and flexible, have impeccable references, a clean driving licence and no criminal record.

He took the papers from her hand and flipped through them. All had a square photograph of the candidate attached to the corner of their applications. It was a requirement he insisted on. Three candidates would make it to the shortlist and he liked to be familiar with their appearance before he met them for the final interview, which he would undertake personally.

By Debbie’s computer was a stack of the applicants she’d already rejected. The top one caught his eye. There was something familiar about the direct gaze staring back...

‘Why have you rejected this one?’ he asked, picking up the form and studying it. Dark hazel eyes stared right back at him. Dark hazel eyes he knew instinctively that he’d seen before.

Debbie peered at it with a frown. ‘Oh, her. Caroline Dunwoody. She interviewed well but there was something about her I didn’t trust. I don’t know what it was. A feeling, nothing more, but it made me check her references in more detail. One of them checks out okay but I’m suspicious of the other one. She says she worked as Head of Housekeeping at Hargate Manor for two years and has a letter in her file to that effect. I spoke to the gentleman who wrote the reference, the Manor’s butler, and he verified everything.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’

‘Hargate Manor doesn’t exist.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘Doesn’t exist?’

‘There is no Hargate Manor within fifty miles of this one’s supposed location.’

If Debbie said it didn’t exist then it didn’t exist. She was the most thorough person Andreas knew.

He looked more closely at Caroline Dunwoody’s photograph, racking his brain trying to remember where he could have met her. He usually had an excellent recall for faces but on this occasion he couldn’t put a finger on it. She had dark chestnut hair that fell in a neat line to her shoulders and pretty if angular features, a short straight nose, a top lip slightly fuller than the bottom and a cute heart-shaped chin. Yes, a pretty face but not one familiar to him.

But he had seen those eyes before.

Just as he opened his mouth to order Debbie to do some more digging into this woman, it suddenly came to him.

Digging. Journalists did lots of digging.

Caroline. The extended version of Carrie.

Carrie Rivers. The journalist sister of his niece’s old best friend.

The journalist for the Daily Times who had made a name for herself by exposing the illegal and often seedy practices of rich businessmen.

He doubted he would still remember their tenuous association were it not that her most recent undercover investigation into James Thomas, an old business acquaintance of his, had revealed James’s business to be a cover for drugs, arms and people trafficking. A month ago, Carrie’s meticulous work had seen James sentenced to fifteen years in prison. Andreas had read about the sentencing and silently cheered. He hoped he rotted in his cell.

With the feeling of a ball bearing pressing down on his guts, Andreas did an Internet search on his phone for her. There were no photographs of Carrie online. He supposed this wasn’t surprising given the nature of her work.

But it was her. He was certain of it.

He’d only met Carrie once, three years ago. It had been such a fleeting moment that it was no surprise he’d struggled to remember. Three years ago, she had been blonde with rounded cheeks.

Her eyes were the only thing about her that hadn’t changed. Their gazes had met as he’d left the headmistress’s office of his niece’s boarding school. Carrie and her sister Violet had been sat in the corridor waiting for their turn to be admitted. Violet had hung her head in shame when she’d seen him. Carrie should have hung her head too.

Neither had known it would be the last time they would be admitted into the headmistress’s office. Violet was to be expelled with immediate effect.

Three years on and Carrie was applying for a domestic job with him under a different name and supplying fake references in the process. This did not bode well and his brain groped for reasons as to why she might now be targeting him. Andreas ran a clean business. He paid all his taxes, both personal and corporation, in all the relevant jurisdictions. He followed and exceeded local employment law. His romantic affairs over the years had been consensual and discreet, guilt and responsibility for his family overriding the urge to bed as many beautiful women as possible, something he intended to rectify now all the burdens had been lifted from his shoulders.

One thing Andreas had learned over his thirty-seven years was that when problems cropped up, the only thing to do was keep a clear head and deal with them immediately, stopping the problems escalating into catastrophe.

A plan quickly formed in his mind. He inhaled deeply then smiled. ‘Debbie, I want you to call Miss Dunwoody and invite her back for a second interview.’

Debbie looked at him as if he’d sprouted blossom from his head.

‘Back it up with a letter. This is what I want you to say...’

* * *

Carrie sat in the spacious reception room of Samaras Fund Management’s London headquarters and tried to get air into lungs that seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. Her heart was beating erratically, the thuds loud in her ears, and she had to keep wiping her clammy palms on her thighs.

She’d woken from fractured sleep with her stomach churning so hard she’d had to force her coffee down. Food had been unthinkable.

She had never known nerves like it, although calling this sensation nerves was like calling a river a small trickle of water. Soon she would be taken through to Andreas Samaras’s office and she had to contain these mixed and virulent emotions that threatened to crush her.

She hadn’t suffered any nerves while going undercover and investigating James Thomas. She’d been ice-cool and focussed as she’d systematically gathered the evidence needed to prove his heinous crimes and expose him, using the same mind-set she used on her regular investigations, her focus never swaying. The day James had been sentenced had been the brightest spot of the last three nightmarish years.

Andreas might not have fed her sister the drugs that had destroyed her young fragile body but his contribution to Violet’s descent into hell had been every bit as lethal as James’s and far more personal, and now it was his turn for justice. Carrie could not allow her nerves or conscience to blow it for her...but this time it was different.

It had been common knowledge that James Thomas was a shady figure deserving of proper investigation. Getting permission and backing to go undercover in his workforce had been easy—the whole of the Daily Times had wanted that scumbag brought down.

Andreas Samaras, Greek billionaire investor and owner of Samaras Fund Management, was a different kettle of fish. There was nothing in his past or on the rumour mill to suggest he was anything other than clean. Only Carrie knew differently, and when she’d seen the advertisement for a Domestic PA mere days after James had been sentenced, she had known Andreas’s time had come. She knew infiltrating his personal life carried a much greater risk than investigating him as an employee in his business life but it was a risk she was willing to take.

Three years ago she had written two names on a piece of paper. She had since struck James’s name off. Now it was time to strike Andreas’s off too.

To get her newspaper’s backing to go undercover though, she’d had to tell a little white lie... A few surprised eyebrows had been raised but the go-ahead had been given. No one had disbelieved her.

As the clock ticked down to the moment she would be taken to see Andreas, the ramifications of her lie rang loudly in her head. If the truth that Carrie was undertaking a personal vendetta was revealed her career would be over. The Daily Times was no shady tabloid. It was a highbrow publication that had made it through the trials and tribulations all the British press had been through over the past decade with its reputation largely intact. It was a good employer too.

If they could print only a fraction of what was suspected about some of the world’s most powerful people the public would need vodka spiked into the water system to help them get over the shock. The rich and powerful threw money into silencing the press and making problems disappear. They forced their staff to sign cast-iron non-disclosure agreements and were ruthless about enforcing them. Super-injunctions were de rigueur.

If Carrie got the job with Andreas she would be thrown directly into his personal world. She would be closer to her target than on any of her prior investigations. Who knew what she would find? When she’d first gone undercover with James in his accounts department she’d known he was a drug-abuser with a predilection for teenage girls but had had no idea of his involvement with people trafficking or arms. Andreas was that criminal’s friend. Who knew what he was involved with?

She’d known the odds of getting the job with Andreas were slim, even with her rigged CV and falsified references. On paper, they’d made her the perfect candidate for the role but it had been a rushed job, hurried to meet the application deadline. She couldn’t help worrying that there was a giant hole or two in it.

She hadn’t thought the preliminary interview with his PA had gone well and had left the building certain she’d messed up. When she’d received the call inviting her to a second interview, she was so shocked a mere breeze would have knocked her over.

And now, as that ticking clock echoed louder in her ears, all she could see when she closed her eyes was the burning hatred Andreas had thrown her way the one time their eyes had met.

* * *

‘Miss Dunwoody?’

Carrie blinked and looked up to find the superior young receptionist staring at her quizzically.

She’d gone under the name of Rivers for so long it had become a part of herself. Hearing her real name sounded foreign. She’d been known by the surname of Rivers since her mother had remarried when she’d been four and had thought it wise to continue using it when she embarked on her career in investigative journalism. There were a lot of sickos out there. In this instance, that decision had been fortuitous. She’d never legally changed her name. People in her world knew her as Carrie Rivers. Her birth certificate, driving licence and passport had her as Caroline Dunwoody. The advert for the job had explicitly stated it involved lots of travelling.

Falsifying references was one thing. Trying to fake a passport was a whole different ballpark.

‘Mr Samaras is ready to see you now.’

He’d kept her waiting for an hour.

Swallowing back a sudden violent burst of nausea, Carrie tightly clutched the strap of her handbag and followed the receptionist down a wide corridor lined with modern artwork.

It had taken her ages to find the perfect outfit for this interview. She’d wanted to look professional but not as if she were applying for a job within Samaras Fund Management itself. She’d settled on a cream high-necked cashmere top with a dozen small buttons running the length, a pair of smart grey trousers and simple black heels that gave her a little extra height for confidence but which she could comfortably walk in. Now she felt as if she’d dressed in a smothering straightjacket, the heels a hindrance to her unsteady feet.

A door opened and Carrie was admitted into an office twice the size of the one she shared with the rest of the crime team and a hundred times plusher.

There, behind an enormous oak desk, working on one of three computers, sat Andreas Samaras.

Her heart slammed against her chest then thudded painfully and for one frightening moment Carrie thought she really was going to vomit.

He didn’t look up from what he was doing.

‘One minute please,’ he said in the deep, quick, sharply staccato voice she remembered from their one telephone conversation instigated by Andreas five years ago.

Carrie’s sister and Andreas’s niece had been weekly boarders and roommates at school together. Their friendship had deepened and soon they had wanted to spend weekends and holidays together too. Andreas had phoned Carrie to agree on some ground rules. They had found much to agree on. It helped that they had both been in the same position, both of them the sole carers of their vulnerable teenage charges. After that one conversation, they would text message each other to confirm if Natalia was due at Carrie’s for the weekend or if Violet was due at Andreas’s. It had become a rhythm in Carrie’s life, right until Andreas had engineered Violet’s expulsion.

Finally, he looked up from his computer, pushed his chair back and got to his feet. The sheer size and power of the man was as starkly apparent as it had been when he had swept past her three years ago.

‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Dunwoody.’

She stared at the huge hand extending towards her and forced herself to lean forward and take it. Large, warm tapered fingers covered hers as he shook her hand briskly before letting go.

‘Take a seat,’ he commanded amicably, sitting back down and picking up a thin pile of papers from his desk.

The skin on her hand buzzed where he’d clasped it and she fought the urge to rub it against her thigh as she took the seat he’d directed her to, and expelled the tiniest sigh of relief.

There had been only a teeny ounce of doubt he wouldn’t recognise her. Physically she’d changed a lot since that one fleeting glance three years ago outside the headmistress’s office, when his light brown eyes had lasered her with such ferocity she had recoiled. Stress alone had made her lose three stone since then, which had altered her facial features as well as her body shape. She’d long stopped her quest for the perfect shade of blonde hair and reverted to her natural brown colour.

If Andreas had the slightest idea of who she really was, she would not be there. She wouldn’t have got past the initial application.

It hadn’t seemed feasible that he would recognise her or her name but she had learned through five years of her job to take nothing for granted.

Light brown thoughtful eyes studied her rather than the paperwork in his hand, which she guessed was a copy of her job application, and she fought hard against the flush of colour crawling over her skin. When she finally forced herself to meet his gaze, the raw masculinity staring back at her intensified the flush, enflaming her bones, taking her so unawares that for a moment her mind emptied of everything but the rapid tattoo of her heart reverberating in her ears.

Carrie swallowed, desperate for moisture in her parched throat, desperate to suck air into lungs that had closed in on themselves. Whatever kind of a man Andreas was, there was no denying that he was divine to look at. He had thick dark brown hair sun-kissed on the tips, barely tamed to flop onto a gently lined forehead, cheekbones you could ski down, a chiselled square jaw already dark with stubble and a sharp nose with a slight bend on the bridge. Deeply tanned and weather-beaten, he looked every one of his thirty-seven years.

He was the most overtly virile and handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on.

Then he gave her a crooked grin.

It was like being smiled at by the big bad wolf the moment before he ate Grandma.

‘Congratulations on making it to the final shortlist,’ he said in his impeccable English. Carrie knew, as she knew so much about this man, that he’d learned English at school in his Greek homeland and then perfected it at his American university. He spoke the language with true fluency, firing the words out so quickly his accent sounded like a musical cadence to her ears. ‘I will be honest and tell you that you are my preferred candidate.’

She was taken aback. ‘I am?’

His eyes sparkled. ‘Before I go into more detail about my requirements, there are things I wish to know about you.’

She attempted to hide her fear with a smile that didn’t want to form on her frozen cheeks.

Had he spotted the holes in her résumé?

After a moment of silence that seemed to echo between them she got her paper-dry throat to work. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘References and application forms only give a narrow perspective on a person. If I give you the job then we will spend a lot of time together. You will be my right hand in my domestic life. You will be privy to my most intimate secrets. So, Miss Dunwoody...may I call you Caroline?’

She nodded faintly. The only person who had ever called her Caroline had been her mother but she hadn’t made her name sing as Andreas did. Even as it occurred to her, that struck Carrie as an odd thought to have.

‘Caroline. If I give you the job I need to trust you and trust that we’ll be able to work well together.’ His relaxed frame, the musical staccato of his voice and the amusement enlivening his handsome features all worked together to reassure her that her ruse had worked but the scent of danger still lingered.

Her instincts were telling her to take her bag and coat and leave this office right now.