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The Wealthy Greek's Contract Wife(10)

By:Penny Jordan


‘When the time comes,' Ilios continued, ‘I shall ensure that I become   the father of one or possibly two sons. They will carry my DNA along   with that of a woman who will provide the eggs before being carried by a   surrogate. Neither women will know who I am, because it will not be  any  of their business. My sons will grow up with me, knowing that I am   their father.'

‘But they will never know their mother.' Lizzie's shock couldn't be   hidden. ‘Aren't you concerned about how that might affect them?'

‘No. Because they will grow up knowing that they were planned and   wanted-by me-and why. They will know too that I have protected them from   exploitation by any woman using them for her own financial advantage.   They will be far too busy learning what it means to be a Manos to worry   about the absence from their lives of a woman they can call "Mother".   Unlike many other children they will never be in the position of   believing that their mother loves them above all else only to find that   she does not … '                       
       
           



       

Was this the reason he refused to believe in love?

‘Is that what happened to you?' she asked softly, driven again to feel   pity for the child he must have been, despite the way he had behaved   towards her. The words were spoken before she could check them.

The softness of Lizzie's voice touched a previously unrecognised area of   raw pain within him that immediately had Ilios fighting to deny its   existence-furious with himself for having such a vulnerability, and even   more furious with Lizzie for so accurately finding it.

‘Don't waste your time or your pity trying to psychoanalyse me. All I   want from you is payment of your debt to me. Nothing less and nothing   more,' he told her coldly.


It was all too much for her to take in, Lizzie admitted numbly. Physical   and emotional exhaustion claimed her as the miles flew by, and her  eyes  ached to be closed just as her mind ached for the panacea of  sleep, so  that it could escape for a little while from the daunting  prospect ahead  of her. If it was cowardly to allow herself to find that  escape in  sleep, then she would just have to be a coward, Lizzie told  herself, and  she allowed her eyes to close.

He had got what he wanted, so why wasn't he feeling a greater sense of   triumph? Ilios wondered. Why wasn't he filled with a sense of righteous   satisfaction in having forced Lizzie to make reparation? He had the   right and the justification for feeling both of those things, after all.

Some sense he hadn't known he possessed alerted him to the fact that   Lizzie had fallen asleep again. He glanced at her. At least she would   make a convincing wife-which, of course, was exactly why he had hit on   this method of making her pay what she owed him. It was a perfectly   logical and sensible decision for him to have made, and one which would   leave him with the balance sheet of his pride healthily in credit. That   was why he had been able to offer her the additional inducement of a   cash payment. There was no other reason. No question of him actually   having felt some sort of ridiculous compassion for the plight of her   family. He simply wasn't that kind of man and never would be. If Lizzie   Wareham was the victim of circumstance rather than her own greed, as  she  insisted to him she was, then what was that to him? Nothing.

He had no duty to take the woes of others onto his own shoulders. His   duty was solely to himself alone. Because there was only himself. Alone.   That was what he was-alone. And that was the way he preferred it, and   it always would be.

Ilios put his foot down on the accelerator. His need to focus on the   increased speed with which he was driving might be giving him an excuse   not to focus on the woman sleeping at his side, but it was not an  excuse  he needed, he assured himself. Nor was it anything to do with  him if  the angle at which she was sleeping was likely to give her a  stiff neck.  But his foot was covering the brake in the minute gap  between him  recognising her discomfort and refuting his need to become  involved in  it.

Some instinct told Lizzie that something had changed and that she needed   to wake up. A scent-alien and pulse-quickening, and yet also familiar   and desired-caught at her senses, like the warmth of the heat from   another body close to her own, the touch of a hand on her skin. Slowly   Lizzie opened her eyes, her heart banging into her chest wall as she   realised that she was practically lying flat in the front seat of the   Bentley, with Ilios leaning over her. The soft light illuminated the   interior of the car, and with it the carved perfection of his features.

Inside her head a tape played, trapping her when she was too vulnerable   to stop it, tormenting her with images of herself reaching up to touch   his face with her fingertips, exploring its chiselled features. Surely   it should be impossible for a real live man to have such classically   perfect male features?

She wanted to touch him, to run her fingertips over his face as though   he were indeed a marvellous sculpture, created by hands so skilled that   one could not help but yearn to touch the masterpiece they had created.

She could almost feel the hard-cut shape of his mouth-the lower lip full   and sensual, the groove from the centre of his top lip to his nose   clearly marked. A sign of great sensuality, so she had once read. His   skin would feel warm and dry, and as she explored the pattern of his   lips he would reach out and take hold of her wrist, kissing her fingers.

Frantically Lizzie struggled to sit upright, panicked by Ilios's   proximity and the unwanted images inside her head to which it was giving   rise.

His sharp, ‘Be still', was harshly commanding, his eyes a deep dark gold   in the soft light of the interior of the car. Hadn't it been the Greek   King Midas whose touch had turned everything before him to gold, thus   depriving him of life-giving water and food? Even his son had been   turned into a golden statue by his touch, leaving him unable to return   his love. Was that what had happened to Ilios? Had the circumstances of   his birth and the burden of his inheritance deprived him of the ability   to feel love? What if it had? Why should that matter to her?                       
       
           



       

‘There is no cause for you to act like a nervous virgin. I was simply adjusting your seat so that you could sleep in it safety.'

Lizzie's ‘Thank you', was self-conscious and stilted.

As he moved back from her to his own seat Ilios told her in a clipped,   rejecting voice, ‘There's no need to thank me. After all, had you fallen   across me my safety would have been compromised as much as yours.'

Lizzie could have kicked herself. Of course he hadn't been thinking about her personal safety. Why should he?

Ilios had noticed her recoil from him-obviously instinctive and   unplanned. But he was certainly not affected by it. Far from it. The   last thing he wanted was a sexual relationship between them to add   complications to the situation. Ilios looked out into the darkness   beyond the car. He should perhaps make that clear to her. Not because of   his own pride, of course. No. It was simply the sensible thing to do.

Restarting the car, he informed Lizzie dispassionately, ‘I should have   made it clear earlier that our marriage will merely be a business   arrangement. If you were thinking of adding to your bonus payment by   offering a sexual inducement, then let me warn you not to do so.'

As Lizzie exhaled in angry humiliation, Ilios continued bluntly, ‘I do   not want either your body or your desire. Should you be tempted to offer   me either one of them, or both, then you must resist that temptation.'

There-that should have made the position clear to her, Ilios decided. It   would certainly remove any future risk of his body reacting to her   unwanted proximity.

He had obviously realised the effect he was having on her, Lizzie thought miserably.

Annoyingly, now that her seat was reclined and she could have slept   comfortably, she felt too self-conscious to do so. So she found the   buttons Ilios had used and brought her seat upright again, informing him   in as businesslike a voice as she could, ‘My sisters will be expecting   to hear from me. I think it will be best if I simply tell them I shall   be working for you as an interior designer, rather than trying to   explain about our … the marriage.'