Bought for the Billionaire's Revenge(9)

‘That’s good,’ she said with a nod.

His laugh was a short, sharp bark. ‘Did you think it would be just you and me?’

Of course she had.

He leaned closer, so that she could see the hundred and one colours that danced in his irises.

‘Don’t worry, agape mou.’

The heat of his words fanned her cheek.

‘They will give us plenty of space in the beginning. We are on our honeymoon, after all.’

Her stomach lurched. Desire was swarming over her body, making her pulse hammer. Moist heat slicked through her. It felt as if she’d been waiting an eternity to be possessed by this man. The time was almost upon them, and anticipation was flicking delicious little sparks over her nerves.

He pushed the front door inwards. A wide tiled corridor led all the way to glass doors that showed the moonlit Aegean Sea in the distance.

‘Are you hungry?’

Despite the fact that it was their wedding day, she hadn’t eaten more than a piece of wedding cake after the ceremony. A sip of champagne to wash it down and Nikos had whisked her away from the disapprovingly tight smiles of her parents.

Her stomach made a little growl of complaint. ‘Apparently,’ she said, with an embarrassed smile.

His smile was the closest thing to genuine she’d seen on his face. It instantly offered her a hint of reprieve.

‘There is food in the fridge. Come.’

She fell into step behind him, taking in the blur of their surroundings as she walked at his pace. Beautiful modern artwork gave much-needed colour to a palette of all glass and white. The home was obviously new, and it was a testament to minimalist architecture. While beautiful, it was severely lacking in comfortable, homely touches.

The kitchen housed a large stainless steel fridge. He reached in and pulled out a platter overflowing with olives, cheese, bread, tomato and dolmades. Another selection of bread was complemented with sliced meats and smoked fish.

‘Wine, Mrs Kyriazis?’

The name splintered through her heart. ‘I thought I’d keep Kenington,’ she said, though in truth she’d barely contemplated the matter.

He poured two glasses of a pale, buttery-coloured wine, his face carefully blank of emotion. ‘Did you?’

She shrugged. ‘Lots of women do, you know.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘But you are not “lots of women”. You are my wife.’

He said it with such a sense of dark ownership that she was startled. Marnie couldn’t have said if it was surprise at being spoken of almost as an object that inspired her sense of caution, or the fact that his passionate statement of intent was flooding her with desire and overarching need. A need that made rational thought completely impossible.

She sipped her wine in an attempt to cool the fire that was ravaging her central nervous system. It didn’t work.

She nodded jerkily, at a loss for words.

‘I want the world to know it.’

The statement hung between them like a challenge.

Her stare was direct. ‘I’m not planning on hiding my identity.’

He reached for a cube of feta and lifted it towards her lips. Surprised, she parted them and he slid the cheese into her mouth, watching with satisfaction as she chewed it.

‘No.’ His eyes bored into hers, holding her gaze for several long, fraught seconds. ‘My wife will bear my name.’

There it was again! That flash of pleasure in her abdomen. A sense of rightness at the way he wanted to claim her. To possess her. The desire to subjugate herself completely to his will terrified her. She bucked against it even as she wanted to move to him and offer her submission.

‘Will she, now?’ she murmured.

‘Of course it is not too late to back out of this agreement.’ He shrugged. ‘Our marriage could be easily dissolved at this point, and I have not yet spoken to your father about his business concerns.’

Something lurched inside her. She stared across at him, needing her wine to banish the kaleidoscope of butterflies that were panicking, beating their wings against the walls of her stomach.

‘Are you going to threaten me whenever I don’t let you have your way?’

His laugh was without humour. ‘That was not a threat, Mrs Kyriazis. It was a summation of our current circumstances.’

‘So if I don’t take your name you’ll divorce me?’

His lips twisted in a wry smile. ‘At this point I believe we could simply seek an annulment.’

‘You should have put it in that damned pre-nup,’ she said with a flick of her lips.

Anger flared inside her and beneath the table she turned the ring on her finger, looking for comfort and relief.

‘I would have if I had known you were going to be so irrational about such trivialities.’

‘It’s not a triviality!’ she demurred angrily, tipping more wine into her mouth.

How could she possibly explain her feelings? Explain how essential it was to hold on to at least a part of her identity? How terrified she was that she was married to a man who despised her, who was using her to avenge an ancient rebuff, who was determined not to care for her—a man she had always loved?

‘You are my wife.’

‘And taking your name is the only way to be your wife?’ She had to force herself not to yell.

‘Not the only way, no.’

His teeth were bared in a smile that sent shivers down her spine. Need spiked in her gut. She wouldn’t acknowledge it. She couldn’t.

‘Fine.’ She angled her head away. ‘Whatever. I don’t care enough to fight about it.’

That bothered him far more than the suggestion she might not take his name. The way she’d rolled over, acquiesced to his wishes at the first sign of conflict. Just like the last time he’d challenged her and she’d almost immediately backed down.

Arthur and Anne had insisted she couldn’t be involved with him. Had she argued calmly for a moment and then given up? Given him up, and with him their future? Had they invoked her dead sister, knowing that Marnie had never felt she measured up to St Libby? Had they compared him—a poor Greek boy—to Libby’s blue-blood fiancé, with his title and his properties? Had she looked from Nikos to Anderson and agreed that, yes, she needed someone like the latter?

‘These olives are delicious,’ she said quietly, anxious to break the awkward silence that was heavy in the room.

But when she lifted her gaze slowly to his face she saw he was lost in thought, staring out of the kitchen windows at the moonlit garden. It allowed her a moment to study his face and see him properly. He looked tired. No, not tired, exactly, she corrected, so much as...what? What was the emotion flitting across his face? What did she see in the tightening of his lips and the darkening along his cheekbones? In the knitting of his brow and the small pulsing of that muscle in his jaw?

‘Fine.’ He blinked and turned to face her. ‘I’ll show you the house now.’

She nodded out of habit.

It was enormous, and modern throughout. Wide corridors, white walls, beautiful art, elegant lighting...

‘It’s like a boutique,’ she murmured to herself as they finished their tour of the downstairs rooms and took the stairs to the next level.

‘This will be our room.’ He paused on the threshold, inviting her silently to precede him.

Our room. Did he expect her to argue over their sleeping arrangements? She had no intention of giving him the pleasure.

‘It’s very nice.’ Her almond-shaped eyes skimmed the room, taking in the luxurious appointments almost as an afterthought. King-size bed, bay window with a small seat carved into the nook, plush cream carpet and a door that she imagined led to a wardrobe.

She spun round, surprised to find him standing right behind her. They were so close her arms were brushing his sides.

She stepped back jerkily. ‘I’m going to need an office space.’

‘An office space?’ His laugh was laced with disbelief and it irked her to the extreme.

‘Yes. Why do you find that funny?’

‘Well, agape, offices are generally for work.’

‘Oh, I see.’ She nodded with mocking apology. ‘Work like you do, I suppose you mean?’

He crossed his arms over his chest, drawing Marnie’s attention to the impressive span of musculature.

‘Yes, generally.’

Her temper snapped, but she didn’t show it. She’d had a lot of practice in keeping her deepest feelings hidden—she could only be grateful for that now.

‘I need an office.’ She said the words slowly and with crisp enunciation. ‘For my work.’

‘What work?’

Curiosity flared in his gut. Six years had passed and he’d presumed she was still simply Lady Marnie Kenington, daughter of Lord and Lady Kenington, employed only in the swanning about of her estate, the beautifying of herself and the upholding of the family name. It had never occurred to him that she might have done what most people did and found gainful employment. Frankly, he was surprised her parents had approved such a pedestrian pursuit.

‘Does it matter? Do you care? Or are you just surprised that I haven’t been rocking in a corner over the demise of our relationship since you left?’

Though frustrated by her reticence to speak honestly, he liked seeing the spark that brought colour to her cheeks and impishness to her eyes.

It intrigued him. He far preferred it to the obedient contrition she’d modelled in the kitchen. Instantly he thought of other ways in which he might inspire a similar reaction.