Kitabı oku: «Billionaire Heirs»

The Kyriakos Virgin Bride

Tessa Radley

The Apollonides Mistress Scandal

Tessa Radley

The Desert Bride of Al Zayed

Tessa Radley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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The Kyriakos Virgin Bride

Tessa Radley

Dear Reader,

In my teens a wide variety of books about Greece enthralled me. Romances set on islands owned by gorgeous Greek heroes. Gerald Durrell’s laugh-out-loud funny autobiography, My Family and Other Animals, about growing up on the island of Corfu.

I devoured The Odyssey and, utterly fascinated, I went on to read tales of travelers who had followed in the wake of Odysseus. I loved Greek myths and legends—some of them were tragic, some were touching and almost all of them overflowed with passion and emotion. Among my favorites was Pandora’s Box. So when I created my own Greek hero, Zac Kyriakos, and his heroine, Pandora armstrong, I couldn’t resist playing with this theme. What happens when you unwittingly start a process that you can’t stop? Can you ever make it right again? and how can love ever survive such a setback?

I hope you enjoy reading The Kyriakos Virgin Bride. Please visit me at my website www.tessaradley.com to find out more about my new books. I always love hearing from readers!

Take care,

Tessa

TESSA RADLEY loves traveling, reading and watching the world around her. As a teen Tessa wanted to be an intrepid foreign correspondent. But after completing a bachelor of arts and marrying her sweetheart, she became fascinated with law and ended up studying further and becoming an attorney in a city practice.

A six-month break traveling through Australia with her family re-awoke the yen to write. And life as a writer suits her perfectly; traveling and reading count as research and as for analyzing the world … well, she can think what if all day long. When she’s not reading, traveling or thinking about writing, she’s spending time with her husband, her two sons—or her zany and wonderful friends. You can contact Tessa through her website, www.tessaradley.com.

For the hardworking hosties at eHarlequin.com—some of whom I’ve known since I first started writing. Rae, you held my hand when I needed it most. Jayne, you’re a cyber lifesaver. And Dee, Lori, Dream and the rest of the team … you’re all simply awesome!

To MJ and Karen, your guidance is always valued. Thank you, always!

Tony, Alex and Andrew—where would I be without you guys to keep me sane? And Karina Bliss,

Abby Gaines and Sandra Hyatt, you’re fabulous friends.

One

“I do.”

Pandora Armstrong spoke the vow in a clear, steady voice, and a warm tide of radiance swept over her. She sneaked a look up at her groom. Zac Kyriakos stood like a rock beside her, feet apart, facing the archbishop. Serious. Intent. Utterly gorgeous.

He was staring straight ahead. His profile could’ve been culled from any of the statues or friezes in the Acropolis Museum he’d taken Pandora to explore three days ago. The arrogant nose that ran in a straight sweep from his forehead to the nose tip, the strong jaw, the broad and high-boned cheekbones all resembled the marble statues she’d seen. But it was on his full mouth that her gaze lingered. Jeez, his mouth …

Full and sensuous, it was a mouth made for pure sin.

Zac glanced down and caught her staring. His colder-than-glass green eyes blazed, possessive. And that sexy to-die-for mouth curved into a smile.

Desire shot through her. Pandora tore her gaze away and stared blindly at the bouquet of creamy white roses clasped in her free hand.

Dear God. How could she feel like this about a man? And not just any man. This was Zac Kyriakos, who made her feel feverish and shaky. What had he done to her?

Enthralled her?

She blinked, fighting the urge to wipe her eyes, in case she woke up and discovered she’d dreamed the whole thing. How could she, Pandora, Miss Goody Two-Shoes—except for that terrible summer three years ago—have fallen in love so quickly?

Dimly she heard the archbishop say, “You may kiss the bride.”

The vows and the kiss were not part of the Greek Orthodox ceremony. Zac had requested the traditional vows for her sake.

She was married!

Married to the tall, dark and exceedingly handsome man whose right hand she clutched so tightly that her fingernails must be leaving crescent-shaped marks on his palm. Inside, her stomach cramped with nervous excitement. It wasn’t every day that a woman married a man who until three months ago had been a stranger.

“Pandora?”

She lifted her head. Their eyes connected. Heat arced between them. Zac’s eyes smouldered. Possessive. Hungry. But there was a question in those compelling eyes, too.

Pandora nodded, a small, almost imperceptible nod, granting him the permission he sought.

Zac’s hand tightened on hers. The warm weight of his other palm rested on the curve of her hip covered by the embroidered wedding gown passed from Kyriakos bride to Kyriakos bride through centuries. A gentle tug turned her to face him. His head swept down. That devastating mouth brushed hers, warm and intimate.

And just like that Pandora forgot about the archbishop, forgot about the people packed into the pews. Forgot that this was Zac Kyriakos. Shipping tycoon. Billionaire.

The only reality was the sensual touch of his lips on hers. And the heat that shivered through her.

Too soon he set her away. Only then did she become aware of the flashing cameras and remember they stood in a church where nearly a thousand people watched. Instantly the trembling heat evaporated. Despite the blazing white August sun outside, she felt suddenly chilled.

“Goodness!” Pandora’s eyes stretched wide as she stared at the noisy wall of paparazzi surrounding the bridal car as they turned into Zac’s estate in Kifissia, the exclusive area north of Athens where the reception was being held.

“Overwhelming?” A flash of white teeth and a wicked grin lit up Zac’s darkly tanned face. “A three-ring circus?”

“Yes.” Pandora leaned back, trying to hide from the intrusive camera lenses. From the minute she’d stepped off the plane the paparazzi had been waiting to mob her. But Zac and his bodyguards had kept the hungry horde at a distance. Pandora supposed she should have anticipated the furious speculation the wedding between Zac Kyriakos and a reclusive heiress had roused. The great-grandson of a Russian princess and the legendary Orestes Kyriakos, Zac had inherited most of his fortune from his grandfather, Socrates, after Orestes had used his kidnapped bride’s wealth to restore the state of the Kyriakos fortune to its pre-Great War glory. Both Orestes and Socrates had been legends in their own times, and Zac himself featured prominently on the covers of the world’s finance magazines, as well as making the annual list of most eligible bachelors in the known universe for the last decade.

But naively Pandora hadn’t given his fame a thought, hadn’t expected to have her wedding treated like that of royalty.

“Smile. They think our wedding is romantic. A modern fairy tale,” Zac whispered into her ear. “And you’re the beautiful princess.”

Feeling as though she were performing to the gallery, Pandora turned to the window and bared her teeth in a travesty of a smile. The cameramen went crazy. And then they were sweeping through the tall wrought-iron gates, along the private tree-lined avenue through parklike gardens.

“Pandora.” Without warning, Zac’s expression turned serious and he reached for her hand. “Remember what I told you when you arrived? Don’t read the papers. Don’t search for those photos in the newspapers tomorrow. The lies and half-truths that accompany them will only upset you. Concentrate on us, on our future together,” he said, his voice unexpectedly fierce as his thumb caressed the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. “The speculation, the gossip and garbage the tabloids dredge up will destroy you.”

“I know. I already promised you I won’t read the papers.” She sighed. “I only wish Dad had been here.” Her father’s absence was the only shadow that hung over an otherwise perfect day. But since a bad bout of pneumonia four winters ago had left his lungs permanently damaged, necessitating regular doses of oxygen, her father no longer risked airline travel. “I always thought he’d be there on my wedding day to give me away.”

The realization was dawning that she’d left her father and her childhood home far behind. After today, she would spend the rest of her life with Zac. Loved. Adored. The pomp and people didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing except Zac.

Zac’s house—more like a mansion, with its tower and stone walls—appeared before them. This would be her home from now on, together with the town house he owned in London. Zac had also spoken about buying a retreat in New Zealand, near her father’s station.

“Your father may not be here, but I am. I’ll always be here for you.” At the intensity in his voice she turned her head. His hard, hewn features were softened by the sun filtering through the bulletproof glass windows, his eyes curiously gentle. Her throat tightened. She cast around for words but couldn’t find any that matched the moment.

“Are you ready to face the world, yineka mou?” he asked as the car slowed.

My wife.

Pandora shot him a dazzling smile, happiness overflowing within her. She smoothed down the swathes of silk of the antique full-skirted gown.

“I’m ready for anything.”

Zac helped her from the car and they braved the informal honour guard of smiling well-wishers that lined the path to the front door. Pandora couldn’t wait to meet Zac’s friends, the sister and cousins he’d talked about incessantly during his stay in New Zealand. She’d wanted to meet them earlier in the week when she’d arrived in Athens. Zac had smiled, his eyes crinkling in that irresistible way that she loved, and told her he wasn’t ready to share her yet. He wanted to play the tourist, he’d explained, to show her around. There’d be time enough to meet his friends and kin and staff later … at the wedding. She’d acquiesced. Zac only had to smile at her and she turned to mush.

They’d met at High Ridge, her father’s vast sheep station in the South Island. Zac had come to New Zealand to discuss the possibility of guests flying in for exclusive stays at a working sheep station in luxury accommodation while a Kyriakos cruise ship docked at Christchurch.

And it had been at High Ridge that the miracle had taken place—Zac had fallen in love with her. A whirlwind courtship followed. Three weeks. Packed with precious hours spent together. Then he’d stunned her with his proposal of marriage, the fabulous diamond ring, the promise to cherish her forever.

Recklessly, she’d said yes. And started to cry. He’d wiped the happy tears away, and his tenderness had made her love him even more.

Her father had been over the moon when they’d broken the news. He’d pumped Zac’s hand up and down.

And then Zac had jetted off back to Europe, back to running the billion-dollar shipping company he’d inherited from his grandfather. And, although an ocean had separated them, they’d spoken on the phone every day. Morning for him. Night for her in New Zealand. During those long conversations, Pandora had come to know the man she’d fallen in love with. There’d been two more lightning-swift visits. And, finally last week she’d flown to Athens for five days of playing tourist in the city with Zac at her side. It had all culminated in the Big Day.

Today.

Now, as they moved forward into the massive arched entrance of Zac’s home accepting congratulations, Pandora recognised some of the faces. She was kissed on the cheek by a famous Hollywood actress and her equally famous husband, a singer in a rock band. Several legendary businessmen wished her and Zac well, and she smiled at a star footballer and his fashion-icon wife.

Inside the huge house she glimpsed a European prince and his popular Australian wife, a socialite who’d sprung to fame from a television-reality show, and several stunning supermodels stood out from the crowd. Pandora’s sense of inadequacy grew.

Her mouth dry with nerves, she allowed Zac to lead her to the dais where the wedding table was set with silver cutlery and exquisite antique crockery.

And still the congratulations didn’t stop. People streamed past the table in a blur of faces. There was no time for intimacy as distant members of Zac’s family, his colleagues and acquaintances smiled at her, until Pandora was sure that everyone in the room wanted a good look at her.

Did she measure up? Or had they expected more from the woman Zac married? The thought was daunting.

She searched the crowded tables. Evie and Helen, two of her school friends from St. Catherine’s, were out there somewhere. For a decade the girls had been cloistered together in the strict boarding school in the backcountry. Except for vacations, Pandora had spent most of her life at St. Catherine’s until leaving a few months before her eighteenth birthday three years ago. Since then, apart from a couple of vacations with friends’ families, she’d helped her father at High Ridge.

Pandora felt terrible that she hadn’t had a chance to greet her friends. She would search them out later, she told herself, looking at the sheer number of people with worried eyes. Even if they didn’t see her, they’d forgive her. Understand that tonight her priority was her husband.

“Here comes Basil Makrides with his wife, Daphne,” Zac murmured. “He’s a business associate.”

Pandora turned to smile at the couple. After the Makrideses moved off, there was a small lull.

“Where’s your sister? I haven’t met her yet.” Pandora had hoped to meet his sister before the wedding ceremony. Had craved company while the skilled hairdresser styled her hair and a makeup artist tended to her face and the dressmaker who’d altered the wedding dress fussed in the wardrobe. It would’ve been nice to have Zac’s sister there … or even the cousin or aunt he’d spoken about. To assure herself that they would like her.

That she would get on with them.

Zac’s face darkened. “My sister didn’t make the wedding. There was a problem.”

Pandora took in his tightly drawn mouth. “Is she … ill?” She probed carefully.

“Nothing like that.” Zac’s tone was abrupt. “It need not concern you. She’ll be coming later.”

Pandora stiffened. Zac never treated her like some silly little butterfly whose opinions didn’t matter. What was going on here? Was this about her … or was there something about his sister—

“I’m sorry. I was too terse.” Zac’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “My brother-in-law is the problem—he’s not an easy man to be married to.”

“Oh, dear.” Pandora drew her own conclusions. “Your poor sister, married to a brute.”

“He doesn’t beat her. It’s nothing like that.”

“Oh?” This time her tone was loaded with curiosity.

But Zac shook his head. “I don’t want to think about my brother-in-law. Especially not on my wedding day. He makes me angry.”

“We don’t want that.” Pandora rested a hand on his arm. “You tell me about it when you’re ready.”

“You are the perfect wife,” Zac breathed and brushed a row of kisses across the exposed crest of her shoulder, causing the man and woman approaching the table to tease him mercilessly. A camera flashed. Pandora jumped.

“Don’t worry,” Zac murmured close to her ear. “Everyone here tonight has been invited—and vetted. There are no members of the press, only family and friends. Oh, and one professional photographer with a spotless reputation for discretion, who will capture memories of the occasion for us to enjoy.”

The press? Pandora’s stomach balled at the thought. She hadn’t even considered them, with their avid hunger for pictures of her and Zac together.

During the interminable dinner that followed, cameras continued to flash while Zac introduced her to wave upon wave of strangers. Celebrities, business acquaintances, distant cousins, hobbling great-uncles. She could see the curiosity in the women’s eyes, sense the men’s speculation. Why had Zac Kyriakos, given all the choice in the world, married a little nobody from New Zealand? It was a question which Pandora asked herself repeatedly but couldn’t answer. At last she pushed away the nagging feeling that there was something she was missing and let Zac hold her close while he continued to introduce her to their guests.

The first waltz was over.

Pandora stared at the flushed stranger with the sparkling silver eyes in the mirror. Looking away, she picked up a jug and poured herself a glass of chilled water and drank greedily. She’d slipped away to check that her makeup was still intact … to make sure it would withstand the army of cameras that flashed like streaks of lightning across the crowded dance floor, capturing endless images of her and Zac as they circulated the room.

Stroking mascara onto her lashes, Pandora admitted to herself that she found the whole situation overwhelming. How could she explain that despite the enormously rich trust fund that she would come into when she was twenty-five, she found the glamour of Zac’s world—with its famous faces, the constant stares and the unrelenting glare of the cameras—unnerving?

With a sigh, she dropped the tube into her bag and zipped it shut. A last sip of water, then she made her way back to the noise and bright lights and glitz.

“Pandora, over here,” Zac called to her. His height made him easy to find and Pandora threaded her way through the crowd.

“This is my theos Costas—my uncle, my mother’s brother.” Zac introduced her to the man at his side.

Pandora smiled at the older man. Cheery blue eyes twinkled down at her as he took her hand in his.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He lifted her fingers to his lips and brushed a gallant kiss across the tips.

“My uncle is a renowned ladies’ man, so take care.” Zac laughed, his fondness for the older man evident. “I don’t know how Aunt Sophia puts up with it.”

Zac’s uncle shrugged. “She knows she’s the one I love.” The simple words tugged at Pandora’s heart. “You have already met my son.”

Pandora struggled to think who Costas’s son might be.

“Dimitri.”

“Oh, yes.” Relief filtered through her. Zac’s cousin. “He’s the lawyer who drew up the prenuptial and the koum—” she stumbled over the unfamiliar word “—best man,” she amended, “who held the crowns over our heads during the ceremony.”

“Koumbaro,” Zac corrected.

“Yes, koumbaro,” she echoed the Greek word. Zac had explained that, as koumbaro, Dimitri would be godfather to their first child—one day. A wholly unfamiliar feminine quiver shot through her at the thought of a little boy with eyes like Zac. But first she wanted to spend a couple of years alone with her new husband.

“You learn our customs quickly.” Costas looked satisfied. “It has been overwhelming? Meeting so many new people?”

She nodded, grateful for his understanding.

“You can call me Theos—uncle—like Zac does.”

“Thank you, Theos. Zac speaks of you often.” Pandora knew Zac’s uncle had been a father figure to Zac during his teens. A lawyer by profession, Costas had taken an active role on the board of Kyriakos Shipping even though, as Zac’s maternal uncle, he was not a Kyriakos himself. Only when Zac had gained control of the board had his uncle resigned to put all his energy back into his law firm, which he now ran with his daughter, Stacy, and his son, Dimitri. Dimitri ran the Athens office with his father, while Stacy worked in the London office, she recalled. Pandora remembered the respect and love with which Zac had spoken of his uncle during their long nightly transworld calls. “I’m so pleased to meet you,” she said.

“We will talk more tomorrow,” Theos Costas said. He clapped Zac on the shoulder. “Now, my boy, it is time to go dance with your bride.”

“Hey, Zac, it’s your turn to dance.”

The call interrupted Pandora from asking what Costas meant by talking more tomorrow. She glanced around and saw two men approaching, grinning widely.

“Come, Zacharias.”

Zac threw Pandora a rueful glance. “I was hoping to escape this.”

“Not a chance.” The taller of the men chuckled, his hawklike features alight with good humour.

Zac sighed dramatically. “Pandora, meet Tariq and Angelo—more of my cousins.”

Pandora examined them with interest. Zac had spoken about both men with affection and admiration. When his grandfather, Socrates, had died, each of his three grandsons had inherited a sizeable part of his fortune. As the only son of the only son, Zac had inherited the biggest share. But Tariq and Angelo had been well provided for—as had Zac’s sister.

Looking from one man to the other, Pandora could discern small similarities. Not only in the family resemblance in the cast of their features but also in the air of command each of the three radiated.

“Welcome to the family.” It was Angelo who spoke. He had piercing eyes, the colour of the sea, and a crop of golden hair.

Pandora smiled. “Thank you.”

Then Tariq took her by the shoulders and bestowed a kiss on each cheek. “Bring your husband and come and visit Zayad.”

Give us some time alone first,” Zac growled. “We’ll visit in a couple of months.”

Tariq grinned. “Take your time. Now you better go dance.”

Zac whisked her off into a large adjoining room where the ensemble was now playing Greek music and guests swayed in seemingly never-ending counterclockwise spirals. At their appearance a shout went up.

“Zac, here, join in.”

Dimitri beckoned to them.

An opening appeared in the hands. Zac pulled Pandora forward. Then they were part of the swaying, shuffling mass. For the first few minutes it was as if she had two left feet, and she struggled to find the steps to the dance, frowning as she watched Zac’s feet beside her. Right step, cross, right foot point to the back, forward, shuffle and a little hop.

Suddenly the rhythm came, fitting to the strum of the bouzouki on the bandstand. Euphoria swept over her.

She could do this.

As Zac moved, her body mirrored his steps. As his arms went back, hers did, too. As he widened the circle, she went with him and the line behind followed. It was heady stuff.

The music quickened. Zac’s steps quickened. Her feet danced faster and her breath came more rapidly. All around her she could hear a few of the guests singing along in Greek.

She wished she understood the lyrics.

Zac’s hand enfolded her right hand, while on the left she linked hands with Dimitri. The person on the other side of him moved forward. Pandora caught the woman’s eye and they exchanged hectic smiles, then Pandora was concentrating on her feet again, taking care not to lose the rhythm.

The music changed, became softer, slower. She stumbled, Zac’s arm came aroundher, steadying her, then his hand slid down her arm and took her hand again. Heat shot through her. The steps had changed. A frown pleated her forehead. She bit the tip of her tongue and concentrated furiously.

“Let the music take you,” Zac murmured. “Relax. Your body must be fluid like the tide in the sea, not stiff like driftwood.”

Pandora missed the next step.

His fingers shifted under hers. “Loosen your grip on my hand. You’re trying too hard. Listen to the music, feel it ebb and flow through your body.”

Pandora concentrated on the plaintive wail of the singer’s voice.

“She’s singing about her love who went away.” His voice was low. “Each day she waits at the wharf for his boat to return, she is sure he will come back for her.”

The music caught Pandora up. Loss and grief filled the singer’s voice. Tears thickened the back of Pandora’s throat.

“That’s right. Now you have it.” Zac sounded triumphant.

Pandora jerked back to reality.

She was following the steps. “How on earth did that happen?” she asked, amazed.

“Greek music comes from the heart. The dancing translates the music. Your body must feel the music.” His gaze held hers. “It is easy. It’s about what you feel. Don’t make it difficult by thinking about technique, about complex things. Just feel the emotion. The joy of love, the pain of betrayal. The steps will follow.”

A warm flush of accomplishment filled her. The music flowed through her, her feet shifted, her body sequayed forward as she followed Zac.

Again the music changed.

The line broke apart.

Zac tugged her hand. “We’ll sit this one out.” A waiter materialised with a tray of champagne flutes and tall glasses of ice water. “Would you like a drink? Champagne?”

She was hot and thirsty from the effort of the dancing. “Just water, please.”

Zac handed her a glass. She sipped, the ice bumping against her top lip. Placing the empty glass on a passing tray, she said, “That was wonderful.”

“Come, let’s go somewhere cooler.” He guided her, skirting the edge of the room. “You picked up the steps easily.”

She laughed up at him. “Not easily. You’ll have to teach me more—when we’re alone.” If that ever happened.

His mouth curved. “Perhaps on our honeymoon, hmm?” He led her through the open French doors. Outside, the night air was warm and stars studded the black velvet sky. Zac reached up and tore off the bow tie and undid the top button of his shirt.

Her heartbeat picked up. “So we’re going to have a honeymoon? Some time together? Totally alone?”

“Oh, yes.” He leaned against a pillar and, reaching out, pulled her toward him, his eyes darkening. “Totally alone. I think we deserve it.”

“Where are we going?”

“I will surprise you. Suffice to say there will be sun, sea and only Georgios and Maria, the couple who look after the villa.”

Excitement thrummed through her. “I can’t wait. When do we go?”

“Tomorrow,” Zac’s voice turned husky. “I, too, can’t wait.”

Inside, the music had stopped.

There was an instant of simmering silence. She could feel Zac’s gaze, intense, waiting.

Waiting for her to move. To do something. Say something. She did not know what he expected. So she did what she wanted. She rose on tiptoe, pressed her lips against his … and the fire caught. Zac moaned, his lips parting under hers.

His mouth was hot and hungry.

Distantly she could hear the next song starting. She blocked it all out. And concentrated on Zac. On that taunting, teasing mouth that she couldn’t get enough of.

Then Zac was straightening. “This isn’t the place for this. Anyone could see us. Come.” He tugged her hand.

“Zac, we can’t just leave,” Pandora protested, casting a frantic glance back inside.

“Of course we can.” He stopped. His gaze was hot, stripping away thought, leaving nothing but a raw awareness of his strength, his masculinity. Perspiration added a sexy sheen to those sculpted cheekbones and his mouth curved in a wickedly hungry smile. “Why should we stay one more minute when we both want to leave?”

“Because …” Pandora tried to summon her objections, to search desperately for a reason. But all she could think of was the way the silk shirt clung to his damp body. His body. Staring at the bare slice of skin at his throat, she swallowed, then said halfheartedly, “Because it’s our wedding and we haven’t cut the cake.”

He shrugged. “The cake can wait. We can cut it at lunch tomorrow. Now come.” Zac gave her hand an impatient tug.

“Lunch?” She stopped.

“For my family. To present my bride to them.” He pulled her to him and linked his arms behind her back.

“Oh.” She’d thought that once tonight was over she’d have Zac to herself. That from tomorrow they’d be alone. On their honeymoon, as he’d promised, without hordes of people and bodyguards. Obviously not. Enfolded in the circle of his arms, she still felt compelled to ask, “I thought we were going on honeymoon?”

“Afterward.” He shot her a rakish smile, his face close to hers. “Be patient, wife. You haven’t had a chance to meet my family—you told me that yourself. I’ve hogged you to myself for five whole days. But the whole clan are here—it will be a while before they’ll get together again. I thought we’d take the opportunity to let you get to know them a little outside the crush of the wedding.”

“I see.” Instantly, she felt contrary, confused. She wanted to be alone with Zac. But she also wanted to meet his family, his best friends. She wanted to have a chance to talk with Angelo and Tariq and get to know them better. She wanted to ask Dimitri and Stacy what Zac had been like as a little boy. And she wanted to meet his sister.

She wanted them to approve of her.

Zac was quite right. She should meet them. Tomorrow. Nerves started to churn in her stomach. “What if they don’t like me?”

One hand came forward and tipped her chin up. “How can they not? You’re perfect.” His teeth glittered in the dim light, and she made out the glimmer of steel in his eyes. “Who would dare question my judgement?”

Her stomach churned some more. Jeez, she was far from perfect. Had Zac set her up on some sort of pedestal? She licked suddenly dry lips. What if his sister hated her? Zac would not tolerate anyone questioning his choice of bride.

Pandora bit her lip and told herself it would be okay. She was the chosen bride of Zac Kyriakos. His family would accept her or face the consequences. They would love her.

As Zac did.

They had to. She’d do her best to make it happen. And what she couldn’t get right, Zac would sort out. She snuggled closer. Sometimes she forgot his power. Sometimes he was simply Zac, the man she adored.

“Stop worrying, everything will be okay.” His head dipped and his lips met hers. Pandora’s breasts brushed his chest and all her concerns vanished. All she could think of was Zac … his hungry mouth, the strength in the hard arms around her, holding her close, making every atom in her body vibrate with longing.

He tore his mouth away and drew a gasping breath of air. “Now can we leave?”

“Yes.” She sighed.

Two

Zac strode to the drinks cabinet in the corner of the sitting room that formed part of the master suite and poured himself two fingers of the single malt scotch whisky he preferred. A couple of long, raking strides took him to the window. He stared blindly out, not seeing the city lights in the distance. All he could think about was the disturbing silence in his bedroom. His wife was on the other side of the door behind him. He wondered if she was ready for him.

His gut tightened.

He’d been waiting for this moment for three months. He’d been patient. A damned saint.

Throughout their courtship he hadn’t dared stay in close proximity with his bride-to-be. He’d allowed himself only two fleeting visits, each flight on the Kyriakos Gulfstream jet taking twenty-five hours and necessitating a halfway stop in Los Angeles to refuel. The almost fifty hours he’d spent in the air had taken more time than he’d spent with his fiancée, but it had been worth it. To see her. To touch her.

Briefly.

Circumspectly.

And then he’d jetted off before he’d lost it. Before he pulled her into his arms, onto the wide bed in one of the luxurious wooden cabins he’d occupied at High Ridge Station and ravished her to the full extent of his need. His passion would have stunned her. It had shocked him.

Zeus, but she was temptation itself with her silky pale hair and wide-set silver eyes and her slight body with narrow wrists and ankles that made her look so delicate.

But now they were man and wife. All that separated them was a door. He swivelled and stared at the solid wooden door and swallowed.

He had to take it slowly, had to control the vast sea of desire that seethed inside him. The last thing he wanted was to terrify the wits out of his bride on her wedding night. Because Pandora was an innocent.

A virgin.

His virgin bride.

And now it was his wedding night.

Zac intended to savour every moment. Never in his thirty-one years had he made love to a virgin. His outdated sense of honour had always demanded that he choose women who knew the score as his lovers.

But his wife was a different matter.

He was horrified to discover he was nervous. His hands shook around the glass he held—and telling himself the nerves came from desire, not fear, didn’t help. Zac stared into the amber liquid. He didn’t drink as a rule. Had never been drunk in his life—nor even a little inebriated. He despised people who used their addictions as a crutch.

But tonight was different ….

Tipping back his head, he downed the scotch and set the glass down. Plucking up his courage—Dutch courage, he thought mordantly—he made for the bedroom door.

Standing in the centre of Zac’s rich burgundy-and-gold bedroom—her bedroom, too, now—and conscious of the immense bed behind her, Pandora watched as the heavy brass door handle twisted. Something squeezed tight deep inside her. The door opened and Zac stepped through.

He came to an abrupt standstill.

He’d showered, she saw at once, and changed his clothes. The close-fitting black pants and oversize white shirt were sexy as hell. She flushed as she realised he was watching her with as much interest as she assessed him. Instantly heat flickered in her belly and her breath caught in the back of her throat.

“You’re still dressed.” He sounded disappointed. “I thought I’d give you the chance to shower, to—”

“I need you to undo the buttons down the back,” she rushed to speak. “I didn’t think about arranging for anyone to be here to help me undo them.” And no one had offered. Obviously the dressmaker who’d helped her get ready this morning had thought her bridegroom would relish the task. Just the thought made her flush. Quickly she continued, “I washed my face, but I need to get this gown off.” She’d washed as well as she could, removed her makeup, brushed her teeth. Nothing more to do until the dress was gone.

“Of course! How stupid of me … I didn’t think.” He came nearer.

Excitement clamoured inside her. She tried not to shiver. But when he stood in front of her, the little tremors of anticipation started to race across her skin.

“Turn around,” he whispered, dropping to his knees.

She needed no second bidding. The ancient silk rustled as she turned. She could hear Zac’s steady breathing behind her, feel her heart start to pound as she waited ….

A whisper of air caressed her ankles as he lifted the hem.

There was a small pull and she knew the lowest button was free. Little tug after little tug told her of Zac’s successes as he worked his way up from the hem.

“Zeus, did the original seamstress have to use so many buttons? There must be at least two hundred—and they’re tiny!”

“There are seventy-five buttons. The dressmaker doing the alterations counted them each time she took the dress off after a fitting. It takes forever to undo—even with a buttonhook.”

“I dearly hope not.” There was laughter in Zac’s voice … and something else … something dark and sensual that caused her pulse to thrum through her head. “And I don’t see a buttonhook.”

She struggled to regain her composure. “If this were a fairy tale, you’d have waited one hundred years for this moment.”

“I think I’ve been waiting my whole life,” he muttered. Then he said, “If this were a fairy tale I wouldn’t need a buttonhook. I’d have my magical trusted sword and I’d be able to slit a line down here—” His voice broke off and he traced a line from the small of her back, down over the curve of her bottom, and Pandora shuddered.

“Then I’d slide that dress off ….” His voice trailed away, and she could hear that his breathing had speeded up.

“But you haven’t got a magical sword, so you’re going to have to do it—”

“The old-fashioned way. Slowly, taking my time, enjoying the experience,” he murmured, and Pandora gasped as his hand slid up the inside of her calf, to her knee, where it stopped. “A couple more buttons and I’ll be able to touch your thigh.”

His fingers gave her bare skin a last caress, then slid away. Pandora sighed with disappointment.

“Don’t worry, yineka mou, there will be lots of touching and stroking. We have the whole night ahead of us … and I’m going to take it very slowly. I promise.”

“Then I think I might just die of pleasure tonight,” she whispered, breathless from arousal.

“Aah, wife of mine, do not say such things. I am trying very hard to keep my cool. Don’t melt it or it will all be over before we begin.”

“I thought we’d already begun.”

Zac groaned. “Wife, be silent! I need to undo these buttons as quickly as I can and you are distracting me.” His breath caught and his hands stilled. “What the hell is this?”

“The garter. I wasn’t sure if you followed the custom of throwing it … so I wore one anyway.” Still kneeling behind her, his fingers moved again, soft against her thigh, running under the garter belt. “It’s blue … for the rhyme. You know, Something borrowed, something blue. I thought the dress could pass as something borrowed.” She was babbling now, but she didn’t care. His touch was driving her crazy … and if she didn’t babble, she might just grab that hand … bring it around to her pebble-hard nipples for him to douse the aching.

But his fingers were retreating, and she could feel the garter sliding down her leg. He lifted her foot, hooked the garter off, then he spun her around, and rose to his full height.

She stopped breathing.

His face was taut, his eyes blazing, and he held the garter aloft like a trophy.

“Mine,” he said hoarsely. “Every perfect bit of you is mine.”

She didn’t even have time to gasp before his lips landed on hers, hard and ravenous.

Stretching onto tiptoe, Pandora wrapped her arms around his neck, the impact of his chest against her rousing a wildness she’d never known, and she kissed him back as though she were starved, all the while pressing herself closer.

“Slowly, wife of mine, slowly,” he panted, his big hands going to her hips, holding her off.

“I—”she punctuated it with a kiss “—can’t—” another kiss “—wait.”

“Ah, Christos.”

His hands cupped her buttocks, lifting her, the priceless dress ruching up around the tops of her thighs, pulling her close until … until … she could feel his hardness through the fabric. With a rough mutter he hoisted her higher, and her feet dangled off the ground. Zac lurched forward.

“Zac! You’ll drop me.” Hurriedly, she hooked her legs around his hips, her feet tangling with the soft silk folds of the dress as she clung on for dear life.

She landed on the bed with Zac sprawled on top of her. Breathlessly she stared up into hot green eyes.

“I can’t wait—not another minute.” His body moved against hers, restless and insistent.

She could feel his heat, his hardness, could sense that he was hanging on to his control by a fine thread. “The dress—we’ll ruin it.”

“Forget the dress!”

“I can’t. The dressmaker kept eulogising about it being a piece of living history. I’d feel so guilty—”

“Shh. Roll over, then. Let me get the damned thing off,” he growled and shrugged off his shirt.

In a brief second Pandora took in his naked chest gleaming in the soft golden light of the bedside lamps, the curve of his chest muscles, the lean tapered strength of his hard stomach and groaned.

And promptly nearly died of embarrassment.

Balling her fists against her mouth so that no more humiliating sounds would escape, she rolled onto her stomach so that he wouldn’t see her face, wouldn’t see the desire, the wanting … and then cringed as the skirts of the irreplaceable dress caught around her legs. “Oh, no.”

“I’ll set you loose.” There was laughter in his voice now.

“It’s not about me—”

“It’s about the damned dress, I know.” A hint of very real masculine frustration mingled with the humour.

How could she explain that she’d hate to be responsible for tearing or damaging a priceless heirloom?

Then she forgot all about the dress. Zac’s hands had slipped through the slit he’d already unbuttoned, were on her skin. Smoothing, caressing.

“Nghh,” she moaned. “I thought you were supposed to be undoing the buttons.”

“This is much more fun, agapi mou.”

She leaped at the brush of his lips behind her knees. “Zac!”

He trailed a row of kisses along her tender, sensitised skin. Stopped. She waited, her heart pounding, tensing for what might happen next.

She heard a rustle of silk, felt the sleek, slick wetness of his tongue on the back of her smooth thigh. She gasped, then buried her mouth in the bed coverlet, willing herself to be silent, not to moan like a wanton.

He was pulling at the fabric caught under her. She lifted her hips. He tugged again and muttered something succinct in Greek.

“I am going to have to undo these buttons. Every damned one … without a buttonhook.” He muttered an expletive, then laughed. “This time I’ll start at the top. It will be easier on my restraint.”

Thank God.

Pandora raised her face from the coverlet and rested her chin on folded arms. The breath whooshed out of her as his thighs straddled her and his weight settled astride her.

“Am I too heavy?”

“No.”

His fingers brushed her nape and she went rigid.

“First button.” There was resignation in his voice now. “Seventy-five, you said? And I doubt I’ve undone even half. Ai mi! How long is this going to take?”

“Perhaps we can make small talk?”

“Small talk?” He gave a snort of disgust.

Pandora bit back a smile. “Like, about the weather.”

“Yes, let’s talk about the weather. It’s so hot that I can barely breathe, and tonight I’m even hotter, despite the air conditioner in here. Shall I describe exactly how hot I am?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “My skin is so hot that it’s tight.”

At his harshly bitten out words Pandora had a searing visual of his chest just before she’d turned over and hidden her face. The sheen on the bronzed skin, the curve of his nude chest muscles. Jeez, she’d wanted to touch him. His skin would have been sleek and warm to her touch ….

“What else?” she gasped.

“I am throbbing with something—a hunger—that I have never felt in my life before. I’m thirty-one years old and I feel like a damned boy. A boy who wants to grab … and squeeze … and possess. Hell, I’m not hot—I’m on goddamn fire.”

Pandora couldn’t think of a single thing to say in response to Zac’s raw outburst. But she could feel. She could feel the rub of Zac’s fingers as he loosed the tiny buttons, could feel the winnow of air against her naked skin as he peeled back the gown. She could hear the faint hum of the air-conditioning and his harsh breathing in the sudden silence of the vast bedroom.

“Okay, that’s the weather taken care of. Any more small talk you fancy making?”

She stared blindly ahead, her body burning with arousal at the fierce onslaught of his erotic, highly charged words.

“Damn! I’ve shocked you, haven’t I? Shocked you with the reality of my desires for you. Sometimes I forget how young and—”

“Zac—”

“—how innocent you are. All those years in a girls’ boarding school, then helping your father, working in his business … I should be shot.” He’d stopped fiddling with the buttons. “I told myself I’d take it slow, told myself I’d—”

“Zac.”

This time he heard her and broke off.

Unable to see his face, she drew a deep breath. This was difficult, more difficult than she’d ever anticipated. “I wasn’t always at school or with my father. I visited with friends—”

“Your father told me,” he interrupted. “Vacations with school friends, carefully vetted—that’s hardly experience.”

“I’m not a total innocent.”

“What are you saying?” There was a fine shake of tension in the thighs clamped around her hips. She baulked. It was too late for this discussion, a discussion that she’d thought totally irrelevant in today’s day and age. They were married, for goodness’ sake. What difference would it make?

She put it all out of her mind and said throatily, “That I want you.”

He gave a growl. His hands were back on the dress, tugging, fevered with impatience. “Damn these buttons! Pandora, my wife, I want you, too—more than I can tell you.”

“So show me, don’t tell me.”

“I thought you wanted small talk.” He gave a soft, husky laugh. “Perhaps we can talk about flesh …” He lifted more fabric from her back. “Or skin.” A finger slid into the indent of her spine, along the length of the shallow groove. “Shall I tell you how soft your skin is?”

An exquisite sensation rippled down … down … pooling in her abdomen, sliding lower. Pandora shuddered and flexed her toes, anything to slow the pleasure that threatened to consume her. “Talk’s cheap,” she gurgled, struggling for air.

“So you want action?” And then his lips were there placing openmouthed kisses in the hollow of her spine. And his tongue …

Jeez, his tongue! She bit the back of her hand, determined not to let the moans escape. The maddening caresses eased. And she breathed again. The dress gave some more, his hands were working quickly now. Frenzied.

“At last.”

She felt the cool air on her exposed buttocks as he peeled the fabric away, heard his gasp.

“What is this? Is it meant to drive me out of my skull with desire?” His voice was hoarse, his Greek accent pronounced. “Because, I swear to you, it’s succeeding.”

As his fingers hooked under the tiny bits of white Lycra that made up the minuscule thong she wore, the tremors started again. Stronger this time. Tremors that he must feel. She pictured what he saw: a Y made up of three laces of Lycra. Then there was the narrow triangle of delicate white lace in front that he couldn’t see.

She struggled to find her voice. “That’s the something new.”

“What?” He sounded shell-shocked.

“Something old, something new. Remember? The rhyme I told you about? I thought the dress could do double duty and pass as something old as well as something borrowed.”

“Forget the dress.” He tugged it out from under her, dropping it on the floor. “I don’t want to hear another word about that damned old piece of silk. It’s taken up far too much of our time this evening already.” He stroked a long sweep down her back and whispered, “Your skin is living silk. Pandora, wife, you are amazing.”

She didn’t—couldn’t—answer. A blast of desire unlike anything she’d experienced in her life shook her. Then his hands were running over the naked globes of her bottom, a finger tracing the white thread of the thong that laced across the small of her back. And he was kissing the depression at the base of her back. That finger—oh, glory, that finger—traced the last bit of thong down between her legs. She bit down harder in case she started to scream.

The yearning ache between her legs caused her to shift restlessly … she wanted him to touch her there.

“Is this what you want, agapi?”

His hand was under the whisper of white lace now, at the heart of her, his fingertips exploring the wet crease, touching the tight bud.

A moan broke from her.

She wriggled, opening her legs wider. Another stroke. She went rigid as sensation shafted through her.

“More?” he asked. And touched again.

She fought the ache … the desire … all the while craving—

“More,” she panted.

This time he barely touched her, just the lightest teasing brush of his fingertips, and a fierce heat swept that tiny bead of flesh. This time she screamed and came apart in his arms. Then she lay there breathless, spent, feeling as if a firestorm has swept over her and heard Zac’s murmur full of dark delight in her ear.

“There’s much, much more to come. And we have all night long.”

Three

“It is done.”

Pandora tilted her head at the sound of Zac’s beloved voice and paused in midstep on the balcony outside his study. She’d woken to find Zac gone, only a delicate long-stemmed white rose and a note on the pillow beside her. His writing was strong and slanted and told her that something had come up to which he needed to attend and he’d see her at breakfast in the sunroom downstairs.

She’d risen, placed the rose in a glass of water and picked the discarded wedding dress off the carpet and hung it up carefully. A quick shower to freshen up, and she’d pulled the first thing that came to hand—a filmy sundress with splashes of colour that clung in all the right places—out of the large walk-in cupboard where her clothes had been hung. Leaving her long hair loose, she sprayed a dash of fragrance behind her ears and came to find Zac, still dazed and glowing from the incredible lovemaking of the night before.

Her groom was not in the sunroom, so she skipped through the open doors onto the balcony where they’d kissed last night, wondering what people—his family, his friends, his colleagues—had made of their sudden disappearance from the reception.

Oh, jeez. She shut her eyes. They hadn’t even stuck around long enough to cut the cake. Soon she’d have to face the knowing stares of Zac’s family at lunch. She shuddered at the discomfiting idea.

The sound of voices halted her embarrassing thoughts. From where she lurked on the balcony she could see two men through the French doors—Zac and another man with his back to her. It was the other man who’d spoken. As he turned and raised a fluted glass, she recognised Dimitri, Zac’s cousin. His best man. His best friend. And also his lawyer.

Dimitri had prepared the complex prenuptial contracts and been present when she and Zac had signed them three days ago. Initially she’d pushed aside her instinctive objection that legalities weren’t necessary between her and Zac. But she’d known that Zac was a hardheaded businessman, known her father would expect them. A law firm in London which her father used had vetted them for her and suggested only minor changes.

She hadn’t needed a prenuptial contract to feel secure. Zac’s love had done that.

Embarrassed, she hesitated outside, uncertain what to do next. The last thing in the world she wanted was to walk into that room and meet Dimitri’s gaze. Not after she and Zac had departed so hurriedly last night. She wavered. She longed to wish Zac a good morning, kiss him and let him see the love and joy that bubbled inside her.

Through the crack in the curtains Zac looked utterly gorgeous. She stole another look as he clinked his glass with his cousin.

“I thought I’d never find her, Dimitri,” Pandora heard him say. “My wedding is definitely cause to celebrate.”

“Vre, you have been lucky. And so beautiful, too, you lucky dog.”

Pandora grinned. Men! Love was not enough, beauty was always important. But she was touched at the relief in Zac’s voice as he’d said I thought I’d never find her. His relief in finding someone to love.

She felt the same about him.

Yesterday he’d told her he thought she was perfect. Well, she disagreed. He was perfect. She was the luckiest—

“It is done—finally. Now there is no going back.” Something about the tone of Zac’s voice interrupted her musings and stopped her from rushing headlong into the room. She paid close attention. “No one knows better than you that this prophecy has been the bane of my life.”

“I know, cousin. But it’s tradition. A tradition that haunts the Kyriakos heir.”

She listened harder, intrigued. What prophecy? What tradition? What on earth were they talking about?

Dimitri was still speaking. He’d crossed the room, his back to the glass doors. Pandora strained her ears to hear what he was saying. “It’s the twenty-first century—you would’ve thought that the family, the public, would be prepared to let it go.”

“They can’t.” Zac gave a harsh sigh. “And neither can I. The risks are too high.”

“You mean, the likelihood of Kyriakos Shipping’s share prices dipping are too high, don’t you?”

“That, too.”

Pandora cocked her head. What was all this about haunting and share prices? For an instant she considered pushing the door open, striding in and demanding an explanation. But something held her back. Something that filled her stomach with cold dread.

For a moment she considered turning, walking away, pretending she’d never heard whatever this conversation concerned. It scared her. Made her stomach cramp and apprehension swarm around inside her head like a clutch of bewildered bees.

Yes, she should pretend. She could retreat, then stamp her way back down the corridor, make an entrance that they would hear. She could look Dimitri straight in the eye and pretend that she and Zac hadn’t rushed off to consummate their wedding vows with indecent haste. She could pretend that she’d never heard a thing about the prophecy that haunted Zac. And then what?

She’d never find out ….

How could she ask later? How could she just drop it into conversation? Oh, by the way, Zac, tell me about the prophecy. You know—the one that you thought would never be fulfilled?

She’d married a man whose deepest secrets she didn’t know.

No.

She wanted—needed—to hear more. Even if it was not all good. After all, Zac loved her. She had nothing to fear. He’d married her very publicly. Made the love he felt for her clear to the world. The apprehension started to recede.

She was being silly letting the men’s lowered voices build a terror of conspiracy within her.

When the footsteps came closer, Pandora shrank away from the door, panicking for an instant at what she would do if they found her standing out here, eavesdropping. Then she forced herself to get a grip. For goodness’ sake, there was nothing ominous about what they were discussing.

If only this stupid, ridiculous chill in the pit of her stomach would go—

“To find a virgin, a beautiful virgin … my God, cousin, the odds were against you. But I envy you this morning.”

A virgin? What did Dimitri mean a virgin? They were talking about her.

Then it hit her between the eyes. Jeez, she’d been so blind. This was the reason Zac had married her. Not because he loved her. Because he needed a virgin bride.

“That’s my wife you’re talking about, Dimitri. Be careful.” The warning growl in Zac’s tone did nothing to assuage the bile burning at the back of Pandora’s throat.

She’d heard enough. No way could she walk in there and confront Zac and his cousin. Not about something as intimate as her virginity.

She ducked her head and wheeled around, walking faster and faster until she broke into a run.

The third door Pandora rattled was unlocked and opened into a bedroom. Pandora rushed in, pulled the door shut behind her and locked it before leaning her aching forehead against the hard door.

What was she to do?

“Can I help?”

The sweet voice came from behind her. Pandora straightened and spun around. The too-thin brunette in an ice-blue dress watching her with a questioning smile was a total stranger. Then the smile faltered and lines of concern etched into the other woman’s forehead.

“Is everything all right?”

Pandora nodded jerkily. She wasn’t ready to reveal what she’d learned to anyone, especially not a stranger. “I’m fine. Really.”

Really, I’m not.

My world has just crashed down around my ears.

But she couldn’t say that—she had a facade to maintain. A position as Zac Kyriakos’s virgin bride. “I’m sorry … I’ve intruded,” she said instead, and grimaced.

The brunette flapped a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’m Katerina—but most people call me Katy.”

Katerina … Katy.

Pandora stared into familiar green eyes, warmer for sure but still the same hue. “You’re Zac’s sister.”

“Yes. And you’re Zac’s wife.” The bright smile was back. “You’re beautiful. My brother has fabulous taste. And I know he’s never going to forgive me for missing the wedding—” Katy’s smile wavered “—but I hope you will. I’ve been dying to meet you. I only arrived in Athens this morning.”

“Of course I’ll forgive you.” Pandora noticed the faint dimple beside the woman’s mouth—just like Zac’s. “And I’m sure Zac will, too.”

“Maybe.” The dimple deepened. “You’re lucky, Pandora. I tell you, he’s the best brother in the entire world. I hope we’ll be friends.”

Pandora instantly liked this warm woman. “Of course we’ll be friends.”

“Great!” Katy extracted a tube of lipstick from a small sequined bag, popped off the lid and ran it over her lips. “That’s better.” She eyed her reflection in the mirror. “My husband never understands why us women always want to look perfect all the time.” She threw Pandora a wicked, laughing look. “He insists on kissing it all off.”

“Is he here?” Pandora glanced around but saw nothing to evidence masculine occupation. Zac had said that Katy’s husband was a difficult man to be married to. Had he not wanted Katy to attend Zac’s wedding? Greek families were so close that would certainly add tension.

“I wish he was.” Katy sounded wistful.

Was the problem between Katy and her husband? Or did the real source of tension lie between her brother and her husband? Pandora couldn’t help wondering if Katy was caught between two dominant Greek men—the juicy bone between two alpha dogs. Katy clearly adored her brother and it was obvious she missed her absent husband.

Katy was fortunate. She was loved. For a moment Pandora felt envy blossom inside her, green and ugly. She thrust the unwelcome emotion away and ruthlessly suppressed a pang of self-pity.

“I’ll call you in a week or so, we can meet for lunch,” Katy was saying.

Pandora nodded. Her heart lifted. The lost feeling started to recede. “That will be lovely.”

Katy patted her hand. “You looked so unhappy when you came in—don’t let anyone spoil what you and my brother have.”

Instantly reality came crashing back. What did they have? At worst, a sham of a marriage based on a pack of lies. At best, it was an illusion built on her naive assumption that Zac loved her.

What good would running do? She needed to find Zac. To get to the bottom of what she’d heard. To find out whether he’d married her because he loved her or because he needed a convenient virgin bride.

“No,” Pandora said slowly. “I won’t let anyone spoil what we have.” But she couldn’t help thinking it had been spoiled … ruined … already. By Zac’s Academy Award-deserving deception.

The study was empty. Pandora found Zac in the elegant sitting room, reclining in the leather armchair positioned under the Chagall painting she’d admired when she’d first seen this room. With one knee crossed over the other, Zac perused the morning paper. Her heart started to thump.

“I need to talk to you.”

He glanced up and a lazy, intimate smile softened his strong features. “Good morning, wife.”

“Is it? A good morning?” She raised her brows and gave him a pointed little smile.

His mouth curved wider until white teeth flashed irresistibly against his tanned olive skin. Masculine satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. “You tell me.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“You’re not sure? Come here, I’ll show you. Last night …” His voice trailed away as he leaned over and caught her behind the knees and swept her onto his lap. “Last night didn’t convince you? I’ll have to do something about that.”