She’s his runaway bride...

He’s come to claim his wedding night!

Emma Piper’s just promised to love, honor and cherish Greek tycoon Christo Karides...but then she overhears him admitting he married her purely for convenience. Bolting to her family’s beautiful Corfu villa, Emma doesn’t expect Christo to follow—especially with seduction in mind! Their intense attraction promises an explosive reunion. Will a night in her husband’s bed show Emma there’s more to their marriage than just convenience...?

Escape to the Greek islands with this reunion romance!

Growing up near the beach, ANNIE WEST spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasising about gorgeous men and their love lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact her at annie@annie-west.com or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

Also by Annie West

Seducing His Enemy’s Daughter

A Vow to Secure His Legacy

The Flaw in Raffaele’s Revenge

The Desert King’s Secret Heir

The Desert King’s Captive Bride

Contracted for the Petrakis Heir

Inherited for the Royal Bed

Her Forgotten Lover’s Heir

The Greek’s Forbidden Innocent

The Princess Seductions miniseries

His Majesty’s Temporary Bride

The Greek’s Forbidden Princess

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Wedding Night Reunion in Greece

Annie West

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08774-2

WEDDING NIGHT REUNION IN GREECE

© 2019 Annie West

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 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.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedicated with thanks and affection to the

people of Corfu, whose warmth made my first visit

to that beautiful island so memorable.

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

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

‘CONGRATULATIONS, CHRISTO.’ DAMEN grinned and gripped his friend’s arm in a hard clasp. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever see the day.’

‘You didn’t think I’d invite you to my wedding?’ Christo smiled. Who else would he ask to stand up as his best man but Damen, his friend since childhood?

‘You know what I mean. I never expected to see you married till you’d played the field for another decade and decided it was time to breed some heirs.’

The look that passed between them revealed their shared understanding of what it meant to be the sole male heir to a family dynasty—Damen’s in shipping and Christo’s in property. There were expectations and responsibilities, always, even if they came with the cushion of wealth and privilege.

At the thought of his newest responsibility, Christo rolled his shoulders. The stiffness pinching the back of his neck was familiar. But now he could relax. With the wedding over, his plans fell into place. He’d had a problem and he’d fixed it, simple as that. Life could resume its even course. The glow of satisfaction he’d felt as he’d slid the ring onto Emma’s small hand burned brighter.

Everything had worked out perfectly.

‘I’m glad you could get here at short notice.’ Despite Christo’s lack of sentimentality, it felt good to have his old friend with him.

Besides, it would have looked strange if there’d been no one from the groom’s side, even at such a small wedding. Damen had arrived in Melbourne just in time for the private ceremony. Now, in the gardens of the bride’s home, this was their first opportunity to talk.

‘She’s not what I expected, your little bride.’

Christo raised an enquiring eyebrow.

‘She’s besotted with you for a start. What she sees in you...’ Damen shook his head in mock puzzlement, as if women didn’t swarm around Christo like bees around blossom. It was another thing they had in common.

‘Of course Emma’s besotted. She’s marrying me.’

Christo had no false modesty about his appeal to the opposite sex. Besides, he’d wooed old Katsoyiannis’s granddaughter carefully, taking his time in a way that wasn’t usually necessary to win a woman. Having his proposal rejected hadn’t figured in Christo’s plans.

He’d done an excellent job. A spark of heat ignited at the memory of Emma’s wide-eyed gaze and the eager way she’d returned his perfunctory end-of-ceremony kiss, tempting him to prolong it into something more passionate. Christo’s hands had tightened on her slender waist and he’d found himself looking forward to tonight when he’d take her to his bed for the first time.

Damen huffed out a laugh. ‘There speaks the mighty Christo Karides, ego as big as the Mediterranean.’ He frowned and glanced back at the house, as if confirming they were alone. Everyone was at the wedding breakfast on the far side of the building. ‘But, seriously, I was surprised. Emma’s lovely. Very sweet.’ Another pause. ‘But not your usual type.’ His look turned piercing. ‘I’d have thought her cousin more your speed. The vivacious redhead.’

Christo nodded, picturing Maia’s pin-up-perfect curves in the tight clothes she favoured. Her confidence, her sexy banter as she’d tried to hook his attention. She would have succeeded, too, if things had been different.

A twinge of pain seared from Christo’s skull to his shoulders and he rubbed a hand around his neck.

‘You’re right, she’s gorgeous. In other circumstances we’d have had fun together.’ He shook his head. His situation was immutable. Regrets were useless. ‘But this is marriage we’re talking about, not pleasure.’

A muffled sound made Christo turn to scrutinise the back of the large house. But there was no movement at the windows, no one on the flagstone patio or sweeping lawn. No sound except the distant strains of music.

He’d have to return to the celebration soon before his bride wondered what was taking him so long.

A beat of satisfaction quickened Christo’s pulse. ‘Emma’s not sexy and sophisticated like her cousin, or as beautiful, but her grandfather left her the Athens property I came to buy. Marriage was the price of acquiring it.’

Damen’s smile faded. ‘You married for that? I knew the deal was important but surely you didn’t need to—?’

‘You’re right. Normally I wouldn’t consider it, but circumstances changed.’ Christo shrugged and adopted a nonchalant expression to camouflage the tension he still felt at the profound changes in his life. ‘I find myself in the bizarre situation of inheriting responsibility for a child.’ Saying it aloud didn’t make it sound any more palatable, or lessen his lingering shock. ‘Can you imagine me as a father?’

He nodded as his friend’s eyes bulged. ‘You see why marriage suddenly became necessary, if not appealing. It isn’t a sexy siren I need. Instead I’ve acquired a gentle, sensible homebody who wants only to please me. She’ll make the perfect caring mother.’

* * *

Emma’s hands gripped the edge of the basin so tight, she couldn’t feel her fingers. That was one small mercy because the rest of her felt like one huge, raw wound throbbing in acute agony.

She blinked and stared at the mirror in the downstairs rear bathroom. The one to which she and her bridesmaid had retired for a quick make-up fix as the bathroom at the front of the house was engaged. The one with an open window, obscured by ivy, that gave onto the sprawling back garden.

In the mirror, dazed hazel eyes stared back at her. Her mouth in that new lipstick she’d thought so sophisticated was a crumpled line of colour too bright for parchment-pale cheeks.

Around her white face she still wore the antique lace of her grandmother’s veil.

Emma shuddered and shut her eyes, suddenly hating the weight of the lace against her cheeks and the long wedding dress around her shaky legs. The fitted gown, so perfect before, now clasped her too tightly, making her skin clammy, nipping at her waist and breasts and squeezing her lungs till she thought they might burst.

‘Did you know?’

Emma’s eyes popped open to meet Steph’s in the mirror. Instead of turning into a wax doll like Emma, shock made Steph look vibrant. Her eyes sparked and a flush climbed her cheeks.

‘Stupid question. Of course you didn’t know.’ Her friend’s generous mouth twisted into a snarl. ‘I’ll kill him with my bare hands. No, killing’s too good. Slow torture. That’s what he deserves.’ She scowled ferociously. ‘How could he treat you that way? He must know how you feel about him.’

The pain in Emma’s chest intensified from terrible to excruciating. It felt as though she was being torn apart. Which made sense, as she’d been foolish enough to hand her heart to Christo Karides and he’d just ripped it out.

Without warning.

Without anaesthetic.

Without apology.

‘Because he doesn’t care.’ The words slipped through numb lips. ‘He never really cared about me.’

As soon as she said the words aloud Emma felt their truth, despite the romantic spell Christo had woven around her. He’d been kind and understanding, tender and supportive, as she’d grappled with her grandfather’s death. She’d taken his old-fashioned courtesy as proof of his respect for her, his willingness to wait. Now she realised his patience and restraint had been because he didn’t fancy her at all.

Nausea surged as the blindfold ripped from her eyes.

Why hadn’t she seen it before? Why hadn’t she listened to Steph when she’d spoken of taking things slowly? Of not making important decisions while she was emotionally vulnerable?

Emma had been lost in a fairy tale this last month, a fairy tale where, as grief struck yet again, her Prince Charming was with her, not to rescue her but to be there for her, making her feel she wasn’t alone.

Everyone she’d loved in this life had died. Her parents when she was eleven, abruptly wiped out of her life when the small plane they’d been in went down in a storm. Then her grandmother four years ago when Emma was eighteen. And now her opinionated, hopelessly old-fashioned yet wonderful Papou. The sense of loss had been unbearable, except when Christo had been beside her.

She drew a sharp breath that lanced tight lungs, then let it out on a bitter laugh. ‘He doesn’t even know who I am. He has no idea.’

Wants only to please him, indeed!

A homebody!

Obviously Christo had believed Papou, who’d insisted on thinking she studied to fill in time before she found the right man to marry!

Maybe Christo thought she lived in her grandparents’ house because she was meek and obedient. The truth was that, despite his bluster, Papou had been lost when her grandmother had died and Emma had decided to stay till he recovered. But then his health had failed and there’d been no good time to leave.

The tragedy of it was that Emma had thought Christo truly understood her. She’d believed he spent time with her because he found her interesting and attractive.

But not as attractive as her vivacious, gorgeous cousin Maia.

Pain cramped Emma’s belly and her breath sawed from constricted lungs.

Bad enough that Christo viewed her as a plain Jane compared with her sexy siren cousin. But the fact he hadn’t noticed that Maia was warm-hearted, intelligent and funny, as well as sexy, somehow made it worse.

Christo was a clever man. According to Papou, his insightfulness had made him phenomenally successful, transforming the family business he’d inherited. Clearly Christo didn’t waste time applying that insight to the women he met.

Because we’re not important enough?

Because he thinks we’re simply available for him to use as he sees fit?

What that said about his attitude to women made Emma’s skin shrink against her bones.

He had a reputation as a playboy in Europe, always dating impossibly glamorous, gorgeous women. But in her naivety Emma had dismissed the media gossip. She’d believed him when he’d assured her his reputation was exaggerated. Then he’d stroked her cheek, his hand dropping to her collarbone, tracing the decorous neckline of her dress, and Emma had forgotten her doubts and her train of thought.

She’d been so easy to manipulate! Ready to fall for his practised charm. For his attentiveness.

Because he was the first man who’d really noticed her.

Was she really so easily conned?

Emma lurched forward over the basin as nausea rocketed up from her stomach. Bile burnt the back of her throat and she retched again and again.

When it was over, and she’d rinsed her mouth and face, she looked up at her friend. ‘I believed in him, Steph. I actually thought the fact he didn’t respond to Maia was proof he was genuinely attracted to me.’ Her voice rose to something like a wail and Emma bit her lip.

She’d been gullible. She’d brushed aside her friend’s tentative questions about the speed of Christo’s courtship. At the time it had made sense to marry quickly so her Papou could be with them. And when he’d died, well, the last thing he’d said to her was how happy he was knowing she had Christo and that he didn’t want her to delay the wedding.

She should have waited.

She should have known romantic fantasies were too good to be true.

‘I’ve been a complete idiot, haven’t I?’ She’d always been careful—cautious rather than adventurous, sensible rather than impulsive—yet she’d let a handsome face and a lying, cheating, silver tongue distract her from her career plans and her innate caution.

‘Of course not, sweetie.’ Steph put her arm around her shoulders, squeezing tight. ‘You’re warm and generous and honest and you always look for the good in people.’

Emma shook her head, dredging up a tight smile at her friend’s loyalty. ‘You mean I usually have my head in the sand.’ Or in books. Papou had regularly complained that she spent too much time with her nose in a book. ‘Well, not any more.’ She shuddered as ice frosted her spine. ‘Imagine if we hadn’t heard...’

‘But we did.’ Steph squeezed her shoulder again. ‘The question is, what are you going to do about it?’

The question jolted her out of self-pity.

Emma looked in the mirror, taking in the ashen-faced waif dressed in wedding lace. Suddenly, in a burst of glorious heat, anger swamped her. Scorching, fiery anger that ran along her veins, licking warmth back into her cold flesh and burning away the vulnerability she’d felt at Christo’s casual contempt. The flush of it rose from her belly to her breasts and up to her cheeks as she swung round to face her friend.

‘Walk away, of course. Christo can find another sensible woman to care for his child and please him.’

Silly that, of all the assumptions he’d made about her and the games he’d played, what rankled most was that he’d recognised her longing for physical pleasure. For him.

A shudder ran through her at the thought of how she’d looked forward to pleasing him and having him reciprocate with those big, supple hands and that hard, masculine body.

Now the idea of him touching her made her feel sick.

Especially as the reason he’d abstained from sex clearly hadn’t been out of respect for her and for her dying grandfather. It had been because sex with the dowdy mouse of the family hadn’t appealed to him. If Christo had been engaged to the beautiful Maia, there’d have been no holding back. They’d have been scorching the sheets well before the wedding.

A curl of flame branded deep inside Emma’s feminine core. In the place where, one day, a man she loved and who loved her back would possess her. She’d thought she’d found him in Christo Karides. Now all she felt was loathing for him and disappointment at herself for believing his lies.

‘I’m so relieved.’ Steph’s words tugged her into the present. ‘I was afraid you might think of staying with him and hoping he’d eventually fall in love with you.’

Emma shook her head, the old lace swishing around her shoulders. Papou had been proud that she’d wear the same veil his bride had worn to her wedding. This marriage had meant so much to him. But it was a sham. Christo hadn’t only made a fool of her but of her grandfather too. She’d never forgive him that.

‘I might be the quiet one in the family but I’m not a doormat. As Christo Karides is about to find out.’ She met her friend’s eyes in the mirror. ‘Will you help me?’

‘You have to ask?’ Steph rolled her eyes. ‘What do you have in mind?’

Emma hesitated, realising she had nothing in mind. But only for a second.

‘Can you go up to my room and grab my passport and bag? And my suitcase?’ The case she’d packed for her honeymoon. The thought was a jab to her heart. She sucked in a fortifying breath. ‘You’ll have to come down the back stairs.’

‘Then what?’

‘I’ll book a flight out of here. If I can borrow your car and leave it at the airport—’

‘And leave Christo Karides to face the music when his bride disappears? I love it.’ Steph’s grin almost hid the fury glittering in her eyes. ‘But I’ve got a better idea. Forget the airport. That’s the first place he’ll look. With his resources, he’ll be on your trail within hours. Head to my place and wait for a call.’ She reached into her purse and pulled out her key ring, pressing it into Emma’s hand. ‘I’ll get you out of Melbourne but so he can’t trace your movements. I’m not the best travel agent in the city for nothing. It’s going to be a real pleasure watching him stew when he can’t find you.’

For the first time since overhearing Christo’s conversation, Emma smiled. It didn’t matter that her cheeks felt so taut they might crack, or that the pain in her heart was as deep as ever. What mattered was that she had a way out and a true friend.

Suddenly she didn’t feel so appallingly alone and vulnerable.

‘Thank you, Steph. I can’t tell you what it means to have your help.’ Emma blinked against the self-pitying tears prickling the back of her eyes.

She’d cried when she’d lost Papou. She refused to shed tears over a man who wasn’t fit to speak her grandfather’s name. A schemer who’d played upon the old man’s love and fear for his granddaughter’s future.

‘But you’ll have to be careful not to give me away.’ Emma frowned at her friend. ‘One look at your face and Christo will know you’re hiding something. He may be a louse but he’s smart.’

Silly how speaking of him like that sent a fillip of pleasure through her. It was a tiny thing compared with the wrong he’d done her, but it was a start.

Steph shook her head and put on the butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth expression that had fooled their teachers for years. ‘Don’t worry. He won’t suspect a thing. I’ll tell him you need a short rest. He’ll accept that. He knows this has been a whirlwind, plus you’re missing your grandfather.’

Steph’s words sent a shaft of longing through Emma for the old man who’d been bossy and difficult but always loving beneath his gruff exterior. She blinked, refusing to give in to grief now.

‘Great. You go upstairs while I get this veil off.’ There was no time to get out of the dress, but she couldn’t make her escape in trailing lace. ‘I’ll hide it in the cupboard here, if you can collect it later and look after it for me?’

‘Of course. I know it’s precious.’ Steph put her hand on Emma’s arm, squeezing gently. ‘Just one more thing. Where are you travelling to?’

Emma turned to the mirror and started searching for the multitude of pins that secured the veil. ‘The only place that’s still home.’ Her aunt and uncle, Maia’s parents, had inherited this house and Papou’s Australian assets. She’d got the commercial property in Athens that had then been signed over to her husband to manage. She’d have to do something about that, she realised. Plus, she’d inherited her grandparents’ old villa in Greece. The one where she’d gone each year on holiday with her parents till they’d died. ‘I’m going to Corfu.’

It was the perfect bolthole. She’d never mentioned it to Christo and, anyway, he would never look for her on his home turf of Greece.

She could take her time there, deciding what she planned to do. And how she’d end this farce of a marriage.

CHAPTER TWO

EMMA STEPPED THROUGH the wrought-iron gates and felt the past wash over her. She hadn’t been to Corfu for years, not since she was fifteen, when her grandmother had grown too frail for long-distance travel.

Seven years, yet it felt more like seven days as she took in the shaded avenue ahead curling towards the villa just out of sight. Ancient olive trees, their bodies twisted but their boughs healthy with new growth, drifted down the slope to the sea like a silvery green blanket. Nearby glossy citrus leaves clustered around creamy buds in the orchard.

Emma inhaled the rich scent of blossom from lemon, kumquat and orange trees. Her lips tightened. Orange blossom was traditional for brides. It had been in short supply in Melbourne during autumn, unlike Greece in spring.

She shivered as something dark and chilly skipped down her spine.

What a close shave she’d had. Imagine if she hadn’t learned of Christo’s real agenda! She cringed to think how much further under his spell she’d have fallen. Given his reputation, she had no doubt his skills at seduction were as excellent as his ability to feign attraction.

Swallowing down the writhing knot of hurt in her throat, she grabbed the handle of her suitcase, hitched her shoulder bag higher and set off towards the house.

She was sticky and tired and longing for a cold drink. Silly of her, perhaps, to have the taxi drop her further down the road, near a cluster of new luxury villas that had sprung up in the last few years. But she didn’t want to take the chance of anyone knowing she was staying here, in case word somehow got back to Christo.

She’d confront him in her own time, not his. For now she needed to regroup and lick her wounds.

Emma trudged down the drive, the crunch of her feet and her suitcase wheels on the gravel loud in the quiet. Yet, as she walked, her steps grew lighter as memories crowded close. Happy memories, for it was here her family had gathered year after year for a month’s vacation.

Drops of bright colour in the olive grove caught her eye and she remembered picking wildflowers there, plonking them in her grandmother’s priceless crystal vases, where they’d be displayed as proudly as if they were professional floral arrangements. Swimming with her parents down in the clear green waters of their private cove. Sitting under the shade of the colonnade that ran around three sides of the courtyard while Papou had taught her to play tavli, clicking the counters around the board so quickly his hand seemed to blur before her eyes.

They were gone now, all of them.

Emma stumbled to a halt, pain shearing through her middle, transfixing her.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to walk on. Yes, they’d died, but they’d taught her the value of living life to the full, and of love. Even now she felt that love as if the old estate that had been in Papou’s family for years wrapped her in its embrace.

Rounding the curve in the long drive, she caught sight of the villa. It showed its age, like a gracious old lady, still elegant despite the years. Its walls were a muted tone between blush-pink and palest orange that glowed softly in the afternoon light. The tall wooden window shutters gleamed with new forest-green paint but the ancient roof tiles had weathered to a grey that looked as ancient as the stone walls edging the olive grove. Despite being a couple of hundred years old, the place was well-maintained. Papou wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Nor would Emma. She was its owner now. She stood, looking at the fine old house and feeling a swell of pride and belonging she’d never felt for her grandparents’ Melbourne place. This was the home of her heart, she realised. With precious memories of her parents.

A tickle of an idea began to form in her tired brain. Maybe, just maybe, this could be more than a temporary refuge before she returned to Australia. Perhaps...

Her thoughts trailed off as the front door opened and a woman appeared, lifting her hand to shade her face.

‘Miss Emma?’

The familiar sound of Dora Panayiotis’s heavy accent peeled the years right back. Suddenly Emma was a scrawny kid again. She left her bag and hurried forward into sturdy, welcoming arms.

‘Dora!’ She hugged the housekeeper back, her exhaustion forgotten. ‘It’s so good to see you.’

‘And you, Miss Emma. Welcome home.’

* * *

Emma flicked her sodden hair off her face as she reached for the towel, rubbing briskly till her skin tingled. Early rain had cleared to a sparkling bright afternoon and she hadn’t been able to resist the lure of the white sand cove at the bottom of the garden. Turquoise shallows gave way to teal-green depths that enticed far more than the pool up beside the house.

Since arriving she’d sunk into the embrace of the villa’s familiarity, feeling that, after all, part of her old life remained. How precious that was.

For four days she’d let Dora feed her delicious food and done nothing more taxing than swim, sleep and eat.

Until today, when she’d woken to discover her brain teeming with ideas for her future. A future where, for a change, she did what she wanted, not what others expected.

A future here, at the villa that was her birthright.

For the first time since the funeral and her disastrous wedding day, Emma felt a flicker of her natural optimism.

Her training was in business and event management. She was good it and had recently won a coveted job at an upmarket vineyard and resort that she’d turned down when she married because she planned to move to Athens with Christo.

Emma suppressed a shiver and yanked her thoughts back to her new future.

She’d work for herself. The gracious old villa with its private grounds and guest accommodation was perfect, not only for holidays but as an exclusive, upmarket venue for private celebrations. That would be where she’d pitch her efforts.

Corfu was the destination of choice for many holiday makers. With hard work and good marketing, she could create a niche business that would offer a taste of old-world charm with modern luxury and panache.

It would be hard work, a real challenge, but she needed that, she realised.

Wasn’t that what she’d always done? Kept herself busy whenever she faced another loss so that she had no choice but to keep going? It was her way of coping, of not sinking under the weight of grief. She’d adapted to a new life in a new state with her grandparents after her parents had died. She’d taken on the challenge of supporting Papou after her grandmother’s death.

It was easier to focus on the ideas tumbling in her brain than the searing pain deep inside. To pretend Christo hadn’t broken her heart and undermined her self-confidence with his casual dismissal.

Emma’s mouth set in a tight line. She was still angry and hurt but now she had a plan, something tangible to work towards. That would be her lifeline. Today for the first time she no longer felt she’d shatter at the slightest touch.

Today she’d contact a lawyer about a divorce and getting back her property and—

‘Miss Emma!’

She turned to see Dora hurrying around the rocks at the end of the private beach. Her face was flushed and her hands twisted.

Emma’s heart slammed against her ribs. She knew distress when she saw it, had been on the receiving end of bad news enough to recognise it instantly. Foreboding swamped her. She started forward, hand outstretched, her beach towel falling to the ground. Was it her aunt or uncle? Not Maia, surely?

‘I came to warn you,’ Dora gasped. ‘Your—’

‘There’s no need for that, Mrs Panayiotis.’ The deep voice with its bite of ice came from behind the housekeeper. ‘I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself.’

Then he appeared—tall, broad-shouldered and steely-eyed. Christo Karides.

Emma’s husband.

Her heart slammed to a stop, her feet taking root in the sand. The atmosphere darkened as if storm clouds had covered the sun. Was it the effect of his inimical stare? For a second she couldn’t breathe, an invisible band constricting her lungs as she stared into that face, so familiar and yet so different.

Then, abruptly, her heart started pumping harder than before. She sucked in a faltering breath.

He was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen with his coal-black hair and olive-gold skin contrasting with clear, slate-blue eyes. Eyes that right now seared her right down to the soles of her feet.

Desperately Emma tried for dispassionate as she surveyed those proud features that looked like they’d been etched by a master’s hand. Strong nose, square jaw, the tiniest hint of a cleft in that determined chin. Only the small silvered scar beside his mouth, barely visible, marred all that masculine perfection. Perversely, it accentuated how good-looking Christo really was.

Handsome is as handsome does. She could almost hear her grandmother’s voice in her ears.

This man had proved himself anything but handsome. Or trustworthy. Or in any way worth her notice.

Wrangling her lungs into action again, Emma took a deep breath and conjured a reassuring smile for Dora. ‘It’s okay. Perhaps you’d like to organise some tea for us in the main salon? We’ll be up shortly.’

As acts of hostility went, it was a tiny one, ordering tea when she knew Christo liked coffee, strong and sweet, but it was a start. Emma preferred conciliation to confrontation yet she had no intention of making him feel welcome.

Silence enveloped them as Dora hurried away. A silence Emma wasn’t eager to break.

She told herself she was over the worst. The shock, the disillusionment, the shattered heart. But it was easier to believe it when the man she’d once loved with all her foolish, naïve hopes wasn’t standing before her like an echo of her dreams.

Yet Emma wasn’t the innocent she’d been a week ago. Christo Karides had seen to that. He’d stripped her illusions away, brutally but effectively. She was another woman now.

Pushing her shoulders back, Emma lifted her chin and looked straight into those glittering eyes. ‘I can’t say it’s good to see you, but I suppose it’s time we sorted this out.’

* * *

Christo stared at the woman before him, momentarily bereft of words for the first time in his adult life.

He told himself it was the shock of seeing her safe and healthy, after almost a week of worry. It had been uncharacteristic of gentle, considerate Emma to vanish like that, as all her friends and relatives kept telling him. He’d worried she’d been injured or even kidnapped.

Till she’d called her aunt and left a cryptic message saying she was okay but needed time alone.

Time alone!

His blood sizzled at her sheer effrontery.

What sort of behaviour was that for a bride? Especially for the bride of Christo Karides, one of the most sought-after bachelors in Europe, pursued wherever he went.

That had been another first—finding himself frantic with anxiety. Christo recalled the scouring, metallic taste of fear on his tongue and the icy grip of worry clutching his vitals. He never wanted to experience that again.

Nor did he appreciate being made a laughing stock.

Or enduring the questioning looks her relatives had given him, as if her vanishing act was his doing! As if he hadn’t spent weeks carefully courting Katsoyiannis’s delicate granddaughter. Treating her with all the respect due to his future wife.

Christo clamped his jaw, tension radiating across his shoulders and down into bunching fists.

It wasn’t just discovering Emma hale and hearty that transfixed him. It was the change in her.

The woman he’d married had been demure and sweet-tempered. She’d deferred to her grandfather and been patently eager to please Christo, with her ardent if slightly clumsy responses to his kisses.

The woman before him was different. She sparked with unfamiliar energy. Her stance, legs apart and hands planted on hips, was defiant rather than placating.

The Emma Piper he knew was a slight figure, slender and appealing in a muted sort of way. This Emma even looked different. She wore a skimpy bikini of bright aqua. It clung to a figure far more sexy than he’d anticipated, though admittedly he’d never seen her anything but fully dressed. Her damp skin glowed like a gold-tinted pearl and those plump breasts rising and falling with her quick breaths looked as if they’d fill his palms to perfection.

A feral rush of heat jagged at his groin, an instant, unstoppable reaction that did not fit his mood or his expectations.

Christo dragged his gaze up to her face and saw her eyebrows arch in query, challenging him as if he had no right to stare.

As if she wasn’t his runaway wife!

‘You’ve got some explaining to do,’ he murmured in the soft, lethal voice that stopped meandering board meetings in a second.

But, instead of backing down and losing the attitude, Emma jutted her rounded chin, lifted her cute, not quite retroussé nose in the air and planted her feet wider, drawing his attention to her shapely legs.

The heat in his groin flared hotter.

Slowly she shook her head, making her tangled, wet hair slide around her shoulders. Sunlight caught it, highlighting the dark honey with strands of gold he’d never seen before. But then they’d spent most of their time indoors, in her grandfather’s house or at nearby restaurants. The bright Greek sunshine revealed details he simply hadn’t noticed.

‘You’ve got that the wrong way around.’

‘Sorry?’ Christo drew himself up to his full height, looking down on the slim woman before him. But, extraordinarily, she simply stared back, her mouth set in a mulish line. Her stare was bold rather than apologetic.

For a second he was so surprised he even wondered if the impossible had happened. If this wasn’t Emma but some lookalike imposter.

But Christo Karides had never been one for fantasy. He’d been a pragmatist since childhood, with no time for fiction.

‘Have you any idea how worried everyone was?’ His voice was gruff, hitting a gravelly note that betrayed the gut-deep worry he’d rather not remember. ‘I even called the police! I thought you’d been abducted.’

He’d mobilised the best people to scour Melbourne and the surrounds, praying something terrible hadn’t happened to his quiet little spouse.

There were ruthless people out there, including some ready to take advantage of a defenceless woman. His brain had kept circling back to the possibility that when he found her it would be too late. He’d never felt so helpless. The memory fed his fury.

‘I rang my aunt to explain that I was safe.’

‘You didn’t ring me!’ Christo heard his voice rise and drew a frustrated breath.

Was she wilfully misunderstanding? The woman he’d wooed had seemed reasonably intelligent and eminently sensible. Not the sort to disappear on her wedding day. He leaned into her space, determined to get through to her. ‘I half-expected to find your abused body abandoned somewhere.’

He saw shock work its way through her, making her eyes round and her shoulders stiffen. Then she shook her head again as if dismissing his concern as nothing. ‘Well, as you can see, I’m fine.’

‘Not good enough, Emma. Not nearly good enough. You owe me.’ An explanation to start with but far more after that.

‘Oh, that’s rich coming from you.’ Her mouth curled up at one corner.

Was she sneering at him?

Christo covered the space between them in one long stride, bringing him close enough to inhale the scent of sea and feminine warmth that made something in his belly skitter into life.

Shackling her wrist with his, he tugged her close enough to feel the heat of her body.

‘Stop it, Emma. You’re my wife!’

Her voice when it came was so low he had to crane forward to hear it. Yet it throbbed with a passion he’d never heard from her. ‘And how I wish I wasn’t.’

Christo stared down at her. Never, in his whole life, had he met a woman who wasn’t pleased to be with him. He’d lost count of the number who’d vied to catch his attention. Yet this one, the one he’d honoured with his name and his hand in marriage, regarded him as she would a venomous snake.

Had the world gone mad?

Where was his sweet Emma? The woman who revelled in his smiles, the gentle, generous woman he’d selected from all the contenders?

Her mouth twisted into a tight line as she stared down at his hand on her wrist. ‘Let me go now. Marriage doesn’t give you the right to assault me.’

‘Assault? You have to be kidding.’ His brow knotted in disbelief. As if he’d ever assault a woman!

‘It is if I don’t want to be touched and believe me, Christo, the last person on this earth I want touching me is you.’

Her voice was sharp with disdain and her nostrils flared as she met his stare. Something thumped deep in his chest at the unexpected, unbelievable insult.

Deliberately he dropped her hand and spread his empty fingers before her face. Anger throbbed through him. No, fury at being treated with such unprovoked contempt.

‘Okay, no touching. Now explain.’

At last Emma seemed to realise the depth of his ire. The combative light faded from her eyes and her mouth compressed into a flat line. Abruptly she looked less fiery and more...hurt.

Christo resisted the ridiculous impulse to pull her close. He’d met enough manipulative women not to fall for a play on his sympathy.

‘I know, Christo.’ Her voice was flat, devoid of vigour. ‘I know why you married me. There, is that enough explanation?’

‘It’s no explanation at all.’ Yet the nape of his neck prickled.

It wasn’t possible. He’d spoken of it to no one except Damen and then he’d ensured they were out of earshot. He’d left his blushing bride with her beaming family on the other side of the sprawling house.

He wasn’t ashamed of what he’d done. On the contrary, his actions had been sensible, laudable and honourable. He’d offered marriage and the promise of his protection and loyalty to this woman. What more could she want? His actions had been spurred by the best of motives.

Except, looking into those wide, wounded eyes, Christo recalled her untutored ardour. Emma’s shy delight at his wooing.

He’d told himself she didn’t expect his love.

The old man had made it clear his granddaughter would marry to please him. Christo assumed she understood that behind the niceties of their courtship lay a world of practicality. That he’d wed for convenience.

But you never spelled it out to her, did you?

Christo silenced the carping voice.

No one who knew him would believe he’d been bowled over by little Emma Piper.

But Emma didn’t know him. Not really.

For a second he wavered, surprised to feel guilt razor his gullet.

Till logic asserted itself. She’d chosen to marry him. He’d never spoken of love. Never promised more than he was willing to give.

Emma had flounced off in a huff and made him look like a fool. It was a part he’d never played before and never intended to play again.

Indignation easily eclipsed any hint of culpability. ‘Nothing excuses what you did, Emma.’

‘Don’t try to put this on me, Christo. You don’t even want me. You’d prefer someone beautiful and vivacious, like my cousin.’

Was that what this was about? He shook his head. He should have known this would boil down to feminine pique.

Emma was such an innocent that she didn’t understand a man could be attracted to a woman and not act on that attraction. That a man of sense chose a woman who’d meet his needs.

Emma was that woman, with all the qualities he required of a mother for his ward. Even her defiance now just proved she had backbone, something he admired.

Plus she was more, he acknowledged. He met soft hazel eyes that now sparked with gold and green fire, feeling his blood heat as he took in her delectable figure and militant air. Christo acknowledged with a fillip of surprise that he wanted his wife more than he’d thought possible. Far more than he recalled from their restrained courtship.

There was a vibrancy about her, a challenge, a feminine mystique that called to him at the most primitive level. Gone was the delicate, compliant girl so perfect for his plans. This was a woman. Obstinate, angry and brimming with attitude. Sexier than he’d realised.

Lust exploded low in his body, a dark, tight hunger so powerful it actually equalled his fury.

‘I married you, Emma. Not your cousin. I gave you my name and my promise.’ How could she not understand what those things meant to him? ‘That’s far more important than any fleeting attraction.’

But Emma refused to be convinced. She shook her head, wet hair slipping over her shoulders. Trails of sea water ran down from it to the miniscule triangles of her bikini top. Christo followed those wet tracks to the proud points of her nipples. Another wave of lust hit him and his flesh tightened across his bones as he fought the impulse to reach out and claim her.

‘You’re mine.’ The words emerged as a roughened growl.

She stiffened, her chin jerking higher. ‘Not for long. I’m filing for divorce.’

Like hell she would!

He’d carefully chosen Emma after considering all the options. Every reason he’d had for making her his wife still stood.

He needed her to make a real home instead of the bachelor flat he’d lived in for years. He needed her to be a mother to Anthea, providing a stable, caring environment for the little girl who was a stranger to him and with whom he had no hope of building a rapport.

Besides, Emma was his, and what Christo possessed he kept. It was in his nature.

Then there was today’s revelation. That he wanted his wife with a hunger more powerful than he’d thought possible. That just standing here, fully dressed while she wore nothing but a bright bikini and a frown, brought him closer to the edge of his control than he’d been in years.

He intended to have her.

On his terms.

‘File away, wife.’

He saw her flinch at the word and vowed that one day soon she’d purr at the sound of his voice. The thought of his runaway wife, eager for his touch, offering her delicious body for his pleasure, made the blood sing in his veins.

‘But, before you do, I’d advise you to investigate the consequences. Divorce isn’t an option.’

CHAPTER THREE

EMMA GROUND HER TEETH.

She was tired of men trying to rule her life. At least Papou had acted from love, not self-interest, wanting to see her ‘safe’ with a ‘good’ man before he died. Christo Karides had no such excuse. Her battered heart dipped on the thought but she refused to crumble as the familiar hurt intensified.

Instead she watched the tall figure of her husband turn and saunter back along the beach without a glance in her direction.

He should have looked out of place, ridiculously overdressed, wearing a tailored dark business suit on a sandy beach. Instead, as she watched his easy stride, the latent strength in those broad shoulders and long legs, a thrill of appreciation coursed through her.

What a terrible thing desire was.

Her love, still fresh and new, had been battered away, swamped by pain and outrage. Yet standing in the sunlight, shivering not with cold but with a heat that she tried to label fury, Emma realised in horror that things weren’t so simple.

She despised Christo Karides.

She loathed the cold-hearted way he’d set out to use her.

She vowed never to trust a word he said.

Yet as she watched him disappear around the end of the beach honesty forced her to admit she still desired him. That hadn’t disappeared with her trust and her foolish dreams.

In Melbourne she’d thought the slow pace of his wooing sweet, proof he was considerate to her grief. At the same time she’d hungered for more than gentle caresses.

Now that hunger coalesced with the white-hot ire in her belly, producing an overwhelming mix of emotion and carnal need. She wanted to hurt him for the hurt he’d inflicted on her, yet at the same time she wanted...

Emma gritted her teeth and forced herself to breathe slowly.

She did not want Christo. She refused to allow herself to want him.

What she wanted, what she needed, was to free herself of him and this appalling marriage. She had plans, didn’t she? An exciting scheme that would require all her energy and skill and which promised the reward of self-sufficiency in this place she loved.

Who did he think he was to decree divorce wasn’t an option?

He might be the expert negotiator, the consummate sleazy liar who thought her easy pickings, but he was about to discover Emma Piper couldn’t be steamrollered into compliance!

* * *

Forty-five minutes later Emma made her way from her bedroom to the salon with its expansive views of the sea.

Instead of hurrying to shower and dress, she’d taken her time, after having checked with Dora that Christo was, in fact, still on the premises. With that knowledge she’d locked her door and set about deciding what to wear.

Ideally she’d have worn a tailored suit, severe and businesslike. But Steph had persuaded her to splash out on new clothes for her honeymoon, reminding her that Papou would have wanted her to enjoy herself.

There was nothing businesslike in her wardrobe here. In the end, Emma gave up worrying about what impression her clothes might give Christo. She’d dress for herself.

The swish of her lightweight sea-green skirt around her bare legs reminded her of the holiday she was supposed to be enjoying. That she intended to enjoy as soon as he’d left. Her flat sandals were beach-comfortable rather than dressy and she wore a simple top that was an old favourite.

But she pulled her hair up into a tight knot at the back of her head and put on make-up, feeling that armour was necessary for the upcoming confrontation.

Ignoring the way the door knob slipped in her clammy palm, Emma opened the door and walked in.

To her surprise, Christo wasn’t on his phone, absorbed in business, or pacing the vast room in obvious impatience.

Instead he stood at one end of the room, perusing the family photos her grandmother had collected. Generations of photos, mainly taken here on the Corfu estate to where Papou had brought his Australian bride before they’d decided to live full-time in her home country.

Christo swung around. His pinioning stare brought all the feelings she tried to suppress roaring into life.

After a moment Emma gathered herself. She had nothing to answer for.

She opened her mouth to ask if he needed another drink, then shut it again, annoyed that innate politeness made her even consider making the offer. Instead she crossed to a comfortable chair and sat.

‘We need to talk.’ Good. She sounded calm yet cool.

Silently one black eyebrow rose with arrogant query. The effect might have made her squirm if she hadn’t been prepared.

‘Or, if you prefer, I’m happy to finalise this via our lawyers.’

To Emma’s chagrin that didn’t dent his composure in the least. He strolled the length of the room, stopping to tower over her long enough to make her wonder if she’d made a mistake, taking a seat. Then, just before she shot to her feet, he settled into a chair, not opposite her but slightly to one side.

Emma silently cursed his game-playing and shuffled round to face him. Her skirt rode up at one side and she tugged it down, wishing she’d worn jeans instead.

Annoyingly, Christo looked utterly unruffled.

Until she saw the fire in his eyes and the determined set of his jaw.

Clearly he wasn’t used to being crossed.

Good. It was time someone punctured his self-absorption.

‘I’ll file for divorce in Australia. I assume that’s easiest.’ Her tight chest eased a fraction as she spoke. It would be a relief to take action after days of doing nothing but grapple with disappointment and hurt. It was time to stop the self-pity.

‘That’s not a good idea, Emma.’

She frowned. ‘I can’t stay married to a man I despise.’

For an instant she thought she read something new flare in those heavy-lidded eyes. Something that sent a shiver tumbling down her backbone.

Emma sat straighter. What did she care if he wasn’t used to hearing the truth about himself? He’d behaved appallingly and she refused to pretend otherwise.

‘I know you’re upset by your recent loss, so I’m willing to forgo the apology for your behaviour. But—’

‘Apology for my behaviour?’ She barely got the words out, she was so indignant.

Annoyingly, Christo simply nodded. ‘Disappearing from your own wedding breakfast is hardly good form.’

She goggled at him.

‘But your aunt and I convinced everyone you were completely overwrought. That the wedding had come too soon after the loss of your grandfather.’ He spread his hands. ‘I took the blame for wanting an early wedding, but your family understood and were very sympathetic.’

Emma opened her mouth then closed it again, feeling pressure build inside like steam in a kettle.

This was unbelievable!

‘You made it sound like I had a breakdown? And they believed you?’

He shrugged, the movement emphasising the powerful outline of his shoulders and chest. ‘What else could they believe? Your suitcase was gone, with your purse and passport.’ His eyes narrowed to glowing slits that belied his relaxed pose. As if he were even now calculating how she’d managed to get away. Did he suspect Steph of helping? Had he bullied her into confessing? Steph hadn’t mentioned it, but then she wouldn’t.

‘Once your aunt got that nonsensical message from you, of course she wondered.’

Emma shot to her feet. ‘It wasn’t nonsensical. I explained I needed time alone to think things through.’

Christo merely lifted those sleek black eyebrows and leaned back. ‘Exactly. What sane woman would do that when she had a caring family and a brand-new husband to share her problems with?’

‘Except you were the problem!’ Emma heard her voice rise on a querulous note and swung away, pacing across to the window.

The view across the terrace to the private cove and bright sea did nothing to calm her fury. No one, not even her papou at his most obstinate, had got under Emma’s skin the way this man had. Had she ever been so furious, her thoughts skittering so wildly?

How straightforward her world had been, how easy to be calm, before Christo Karides had slithered into her life.

Emma’s heart hammered high in her chest at his gall, implying she was an emotional wreck who’d had a breakdown.

With a huge effort she pushed that aside. ‘You said you’d worried I’d been abducted. But you knew I’d taken my luggage.’

Another nonchalant shrug. ‘That wasn’t clear at first. Your friend Steph didn’t seem quite sure. And, even if you had left of your own free will, you could still have got into trouble. You’re not used to being by yourself.’

Emma blinked. Christo made her sound like a child. Clearly he had no concept of the fact that she’d run Papou’s house and some of his local investments for years. She’d chosen to live there for Papou’s sake, not because she lacked independence.

Pride demanded she set the record straight.

She swung round and met that complacent, slate-blue stare, feeling the instant buzz of reaction as their gazes clashed. Immediately she changed her mind. Why explain to a man who’d soon be out of her life?

The notion eased the tightness cramping her chest and shoulders.

‘We’re wasting time. What’s done is done.’ It was time they moved on.

‘I agree.’ Yet the way Christo surveyed her, like a cat poised outside a mouse hole, warned her the next step wouldn’t be so simple.

It was on the tip of her tongue to demand an apology but the way he sprawled there, ankles crossed nonchalantly, arms spread across the upholstery as he surveyed her, Emma knew she had no hope of getting satisfaction on that front.

The only satisfaction she’d get from this man was knowing she’d never have to see or hear from him again.

‘It’s in both our interests to end this quickly,’ she began. ‘Would an annulment be faster, do you know?’

‘You think I’m an expert on unconsummated marriages?’ For the first time Emma saw more than a flicker of annoyance in Christo’s preternaturally still expression. Did he think she impugned his manhood by mentioning an annulment? She wouldn’t be surprised. ‘But I can tell you it would be a mistake.’

‘How so?’ Maybe annulments weren’t simple after all.

‘Because I refuse to consider it. Can you imagine the press furore if it became public?’ He shook his head with grim disapproval.

‘Frankly, I don’t care. All I want is to be shot of you.’

His eyes narrowed to steely slits and his stare turned laser-sharp, scraping her throat and face. Emma crossed her arms and refused to look away.

‘You’ve led a sheltered life. You have no idea how disruptive media attention can be till you’ve lived in the public eye.’

He was right. Emma had seen the articles about his business prowess, defying the odds when Greece’s economy had faltered and his global investments had continued to return so spectacularly. And more, about his private life, all those assignations with beautiful women.

She shrugged one tense shoulder, her lips twisting in distaste. ‘I’ll cope, if it means ending this marriage quickly.’

‘You really think you’d be able to deal with paparazzi camped at your door? Following you wherever you go? Digging up dirt—’

‘There’s no dirt to dig up!’ At least not about her. Who knew what secrets Christo guarded?

‘They’d invent something. The press are good at that.’ He paused. ‘Unless you have the power to keep them in check. As I have.’

Emma shuddered at the picture he painted of her hounded by photographers, of scurrilous stories in the tabloids, of friends and family pestered for interviews.

‘If not an annulment, then a divorce.’

Christo spread his hands in mock sympathy. ‘You’d still be hounded relentlessly.’

Emma lifted her chin. ‘Maybe I’ll sell my story to them instead. Have you thought of that? I could make big bucks and then they’d leave me alone.’

For a second Emma thought he’d surge to his feet. She read the quickened pulse throbbing at his temple and the severe line of his mouth and knew Christo Karides wasn’t used to such defiance.

Did people always do as he demanded? It was time someone broke the trend. Satisfaction filled Emma at the thought of being the one to disrupt his plans. She wasn’t a pawn to be played to suit his schemes.

‘Good try, Emma, but you won’t do it.’

‘You think you know me so well?’ She sucked in a rough breath, trying to control the wobble in her voice. It didn’t matter that fury, not hurt, made it unsteady. She hated the idea of seeming weak before this man. ‘You have no idea who I really am. You never did.’

For what seemed an age, her surveyed her. ‘I know you’re a private person. You don’t wear your heart on your sleeve.’ He paused and she wondered, choking down hurt, whether he realised he was rubbing salt on her wounds.

For she had worn her heart on her sleeve. She’d been gullible, believing the unbelievable—that handsome, charming Christo Karides, with the world at his feet, actually cared for mousy little Emma Piper.

She spun on her heel and hurried across to the window, feigning interest in the view she knew as well as the back of her hand. It gave her time to deal with the honed blade of pain slicing through her.

Silence swallowed the room. When Christo spoke again his voice had lost that easy, almost amused cadence. ‘What I mean is, you have more pride and integrity than to share anything so personal with the gutter press.’

Was he complimenting her? Emma blinked out at the sunlight glittering on the Ionian Sea and told herself it was too little and far, far too late.

‘Coping with the press is a problem I’ll deal with when I have to. My priority now is getting a divorce as quickly as possible.’

‘That’s not going to happen, Emma.’

Was that pity in his voice?

Her hackles rose. She swung round and was relieved to find she’d been wrong. That tight jaw spoke of impatience, nothing softer.

‘You can prolong the process but you can’t stop it.’ That much she knew.

‘You’re my wife. We made vows—’

‘Vows that meant nothing whatsoever to you!’ Hearing her voice grow strident, she paused, hefting a shallow breath. Emma needed to stay calm, not fall apart. She’d run from him once, overwhelmed by the disillusionment that had rocked her to the core. She refused to give in to emotion now.

‘I vowed to honour you, to cherish and look after you.’ He’d never looked more proud or more determined. ‘I have every intention of doing just that. This misunderstanding—’

‘There’s no misunderstanding. You cold-heartedly set about marrying me for a property deal.’ As if she were a chunk of real estate! ‘And to get a carer for your child.’ Emma dragged in another breath but couldn’t fill her lungs. ‘Your baby is your responsibility. Yours and your lover’s.’

An image filled her mind of Christo as she’d imagined him so often, sprawled naked in bed. But this time he wasn’t smiling invitingly at her, he was kissing another woman. Their limbs were entwined and...

Emma banished the image and ignored the sour tang on her tongue that might, if she thought about it, be jealousy.

When she spoke again her voice was ragged. ‘Together you need to look after the baby, not foist it on someone else.’

Her heart pumped an unfamiliar beat as adrenalin surged. Emma wasn’t used to confrontation. She was a negotiator, a people pleaser, not a fighter. But something inside her had snapped the day she discovered Christo’s motives and she still rode that wave of indignation.

She didn’t know which was worse—that he’d played on her emotions and callously made her fall for him, or that he’d tried to palm his baby off on someone else. An innocent child deserved its parents’ love.

What sort of world did the man inhabit? Surely one far removed from hers, where family and friends were everything.

Suddenly she realised he was on his feet, prowling towards her. Emma swallowed but stood her ground.

Fortunately he stopped a couple of paces away, so the illusion of distance held, though she caught a hint of the aftershave he used—cedar, spice and leather mingling with warm male skin. To her dismay, a little shimmy of appreciation shot through her.

‘Not my child.’ His voice was silky and soft but she heard the edge of anger. ‘I would never be so careless.’

No, she realised, Christo was careful and calculating. Everything planned. Even down to choosing a suitable bride without a trace of sentiment or true feeling.

‘And not a baby but a little three-year-old girl. The child is my stepsister’s. She died recently.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Emma felt herself soften. She knew about loss, knew the struggle to keep going when everything seemed bleak.

Was it possible grief had made Christo act out of character? Could that explain...?

No. One look into those severely set features disabused her of that notion. She’d been right the first time. Christo didn’t act in passion. He was a schemer who plotted every move.

‘I barely knew her. Only met her once, years ago.’

‘Yet you’re now responsible for her child?’ It made no sense.

He shrugged. ‘There’s no one else.’

It was on the tip of Emma’s tongue to say that must be the case because no sane person would entrust an innocent child to such a man. But she bit the words back. She processed his words—no one else. But that was right: he was an only child and his parents were dead.

‘The father?’

‘If she knew who he was, she never said.’ He paused. ‘No one is going to come along and claim the girl.’

The girl.

He didn’t even call the poor kid by her name.

Sympathy flashed through Emma. She understood what it meant to lose your family young. One day her parents had been there, seeing her off to school. The next, they’d been gone.

But she had her own battle to fight. She couldn’t be swayed by emotion. That had been her downfall before.

‘You both have my sympathy. But that’s no reason to prolong this marriage.’

‘Can you think of a better reason than to nurture a motherless child?’

How dared he talk of nurturing when his plan was to palm the child off on her?

‘Of course I can. What about—?’

‘Yes?’ He leaned closer.

‘Love’, she’d been about to say. Marrying for true love.

But it hadn’t been true and it hadn’t been love, at least on his side. It had been a marriage of convenience.

As for her own feelings, Emma was ashamed of them. Especially since, despite everything he’d done, she wasn’t as immune to this man as she wanted to be. Just as well there was no chance of him turning around and trying to persuade her he loved her. Even now she dreaded to think how effective he might be, given how he’d conned her the first time.

‘I’m not getting into an academic discussion about marriage. I’m sorry for your niece...’ in more ways than one ‘...but she’s your responsibility. Take care of her yourself.’

Again, Emma felt that pang of sympathy for the little girl with no one but Christo to care for her. But he had money with which to bring in the best nannies. Once they were divorced, he’d find another wife. He’d proved how easy that was.

‘Either agree to a divorce or leave. I have business to attend to.’

‘Business?’ His eyebrows shot up and for the first time she felt she’d truly surprised him.

‘I have arrangements to make. A future to plan. A future without you.’

Stormy eyes surveyed her and she felt the force of his disapproval. No, more than disapproval. Sheer fury, if she read the thickening atmosphere correctly.

Once she would have hurried to placate, or at least redirect, that anger. Years living with Papou had made her adept at averting storms, finding ways of making him change his mind over time.

Today Emma stood her ground and rode the wave of displeasure crashing around her. If anything it buoyed her higher, knowing Christo could fume to no avail.

‘These arrangements, do they require capital?’ he asked finally.

‘That’s none of your concern.’ He was stringing this out, hoping to undermine her confidence. Clearly he’d swallowed Papou’s line about her needing to be looked after and guided.

As if part of her degree hadn’t been in business management! Clearly Christo had missed that part of their conversation, probably distracted by planning how to tie her to his niece’s nursery.

‘On the contrary, it is my concern, if you’re hoping to use your grandfather’s property as capital.’

Something dropped hard through Emma’s middle, like a stone plunging into a pool of arctic water. Chill splinters pricked her body.

She didn’t like the triumph in Christo’s eyes. As if he knew something she didn’t.

But that was impossible. She already knew control of the valuable real estate in Athens had been handed to Christo on her behalf. Emma intended to change that, along with her married status.

‘It’s not my grandfather’s property now. It’s mine.’ Her gaze swept the gracious room. This place, so full of precious memories, was her solace now, her home.

And more. It was her future. Her one asset, given her savings after years studying and looking after Papou were negligible. She’d get a loan using the property as collateral and invest it in the business she’d establish.

‘If only that were true.’ A deep voice cut through her thoughts.

She swung her head round to face him.

Either Christo had the best poker face in the world or he really did have bad news for her. Emma had a horrible feeling he was about to pull the rug out from under her feet...again.

She hiked her chin up, ignoring her stomach’s uneasy roiling. ‘If you have something to say, say it. I’ve had enough games.’

That sharp gaze held hers an instant longer then he shrugged. ‘It seems your grandfather didn’t tell you everything.’

That did it. Emma’s stomach was now in freefall. She shifted her feet wider, bracing herself for the axe she sensed was about to drop, curling her hands into each other behind her back where Christo couldn’t see.

‘Go on.’

‘He believed you needed a guiding hand. Which is why he left me in charge of the Athens property.’

‘And?’ Was he dragging this out to torment her?

‘And your other inheritance, the estate here, is yours with the proviso that for the next five years any decision to sell or develop it, or take a loan against it, is subject to my approval. I have the right to veto any change of use if I don’t believe it’s in your long-term best interests.’

He smiled, a baring of white teeth that looked carnivorous rather than reassuring. ‘Look on me as your business partner.’

Emma had been prepared for something but not this.

The blow struck at her knees, making them shake and threaten to collapse. Frantically she redistributed her weight, standing taller and hauling her shoulders back to glare at the man surveying her with that smug hint of a smile on his too-handsome face.

‘I’ll fight it. I’ll challenge it in court.’

‘Of course you will.’ If she didn’t know better, she’d almost have believed that soothing tone. ‘But do you know how long that will take, or how much it will cost? How it will eat into your inheritance?’ He paused, letting her digest that. ‘You could lose everything.’

Main force alone kept Emma where she was. If she thought she had a hope of doing it, she’d have slammed a fist straight into Christo’s smirking mouth.

She was still reeling, her brain whirring fruitlessly because, outrageous as it sounded, it was just the sort of thing her old-fashioned Papou might have done. Especially as he’d known his grandson-in-law-to-be was a commercial wunderkind.

He’d wanted to protect Emma. Instead he’d tied her to a man who wasn’t fit to enter this house.

Belatedly she realised she should have insisted on reading every line of every legal document herself. More fool her!

‘I’ll still fight it.’ Her voice was strained, her vocal cords pulled too tight.

‘That’s your prerogative.’ Christo paused, that searing gaze stripping her bare. ‘But there’s an alternative.’

‘What is it?’ She didn’t dare hope but she had to know.

‘Simple. Meet my terms and you can do as you like with this place.’ His mouth lifted at one corner in a hint of a smile but Emma knew in her very bones this would be anything but simple. ‘I’ll sign your inheritance into your control. All you have to do is fulfil your vows and live as my wife for a year.’

CHAPTER FOUR

‘LIVE AS YOUR WIFE? You’ve got to be kidding.’

A flush climbed Emma’s pale cheeks and her greenish brown eyes glittered more brightly than he’d ever seen.

She was a pretty woman but indignation made her arresting.

Christo surveyed her curiously. She vibrated with energy, her breasts heaving and her mouth working. She looked...full of passion. That hadn’t been on his checklist.

The news he’d become responsible for his stepsister’s child had come just before his visit to Australia. He’d picked Emma as a suitable bride because she’d make a good mother and a compliant wife.

But Emma was far more than either of those things, he realised. Instinct had drawn him to her with good reason. Her allure was more subtle and intriguing than surface glamour. His body tightened in anticipation.

He wanted his wife.

Wanted her more by the minute.

And he intended to have her. To salvage his pride after being dumped like an unwanted parcel at his own wedding. Because he had a score to settle. But above all because he’d desired her ever since their first gentle kiss. Her breathless ardour had unlocked something deep inside that had grown and morphed into something very like need.

‘There are two things I never joke about. Business and family.’ The first because it was his lifeblood, the second because he never made light of anything with such power to destroy.

‘I know why you married me, remember? I heard what you told your best man.’ Emma’s lips thinned as she pulled her mouth tight and the colour faded from her cheeks.

Christo didn’t like her pallor. That drawn look made her seem fragile. Vulnerable. Reminding him that she looked that way because of him. He was responsible.

‘I never lied to you.’

‘Not specifically, but you made me believe—’ She bit her tongue and looked away.

Christo could finish her sentence. He’d made her think he was falling for her. That he was a man capable of love.

Something dark slithered through his belly, drawing nausea in its wake. Without a second thought Christo stifled it. He didn’t have the time or inclination for feelings. Nor for pointless self-recrimination.

‘It’s done now. And my offer is on the table.’ An offer she would accept.

Her face swung round and the impact of all that barely contained emotion slammed into him. To his surprise, Christo welcomed it.

Because he’d rather have his wife angry than sad and defeated. It was a new concept. He filed it away for later consideration. Along with the dark shadow edging his conscience.

‘You can’t want me to live with you. I despise you.’

If Emma expected that to derail his plans, she really was an innocent. But then she hadn’t come from his world but from what appeared to be a close, loving family. For a second Christo pondered what that would be like.

‘You might be surprised at what I want and what I can live with. Besides, you owe me.’

‘I owe you?’ There it was again, that shimmer of defiance, that surge of energy that made his wife the most interesting woman he’d met in years. Even the fact that her vibrancy was due to inconvenient feelings didn’t deter him.

‘You gave your word. You made promises to me, Emma.’ He even enjoyed the taste of her name on his tongue.

How would that pale golden skin of hers taste?

‘You really expect me to share a house with you?’

‘And a bed.’

She goggled up at him as if he spoke Swahili instead of English.

‘You’re not serious.’ For the first time since he’d arrived he saw her falter, grabbing the back of a nearby chair.

That hint of vulnerability ignited a trail of gunpowder right through his considerable self-control. Was the idea of sex with him really so appalling? He refused to believe it.

Christo enjoyed women, within strict parameters, and he knew sexual attraction when he saw it. A week ago his demure bride had been counting the hours till they were naked together. Soon she would be again.

‘But I am. You’re mine, Emma, and I intend to have you. At the very least you owe me a wedding night.’

* * *

Emma gripped the carved back of the antique chair and willed the room to stop spinning.

This was crazy. Impossible.

Yet Christo Karides stood there looking as implacable as ever. More so. Before the wedding she’d seen a gentler, more restrained man. Now she saw the real Christo, haughty and demanding. Over the top with his outlandish demands.

‘You’d force me into sex?’

For the first time since he’d stalked along the beach—sexy, brooding and starkly dangerous—she saw him recoil.

‘I’d never force a woman. What sort of man do you think I am?’ He even had the temerity to look outraged!

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