Greek Tycoon, Wayward Wife(33)

She drew in a deep breath, the memory of his lovemaking scorching across her mind again. She needed a distraction. It was too late to go back to work on another potential itinerary, Rion would be home soon, and cleaning would be pointless—the house was already spotless. She looked out of the window. The garden it was, then.



So she was still playing at it, Rion thought as he stepped out of the back door and spotted her picking figs from the tree behind the old swing seat. For a minute there he thought she’d gone out, given up this ridiculous pretence.

Didn’t she know he was hot for her whatever she did? If she wanted to try and repel him she could at least try something a bit more drastic, like listing every one of their wedding vows she’d broken. Not that it would have had any greater effect, he thought grimly as he watched her reach up, the loose-fitting top she’d no doubt purposely chosen for its modesty paradoxically exposing her flat stomach, making him hard.

But it wasn’t his desire she was really trying to deny, was it? Rion clenched his teeth, frustrated that she’d managed to convince herself that it was for so long. If it went on much longer—even though he’d sworn to himself that he’d wait for her to come to him—he might just have to show her it wasn’t. His body—no, her body—was driving him too damned crazy.

And that frustrated him even more. He was supposed to be taking pleasure in wreaking his revenge, preparing to let her go with her desire half but never fully satiated. But the truth was that intention was slowly slinking away, because he didn’t want to let her go. Coming home to her felt too good, and he was beginning to wonder whether her wistful looks meant she was beginning to feel the same way. He gritted his teeth. No, he knew that was impossible, that it was probably just a plot to win his sympathy, get him to sign sooner or something. Was he forgetting what he’d promised himself? He would never be so gullible again.

‘Ripe?’ he said huskily, coming up behind her.

Libby jumped and let go of the branch, which sprang back, creating a shower of purple which dropped to the floor and exploded red around their feet.

‘I didn’t hear you get back,’ she said, almost crossly, then checked herself and sweetened her tone. ‘Yes, they’re ripe. Would you like one?’

‘Tempting, but it will keep for now,’ he drawled. ‘I have a meeting with the Mayor this evening, but before I left I just wanted to remind you that it’s his pre-election party tomorrow night.’

Of course. She’d been so focussed on counting down to the election itself—and the end of their fortnight, which loomed in her mind like an approaching storm—that she’d forgotten. ‘The one you wish me to attend?’

The one that Stephanos would have a blue fit if she didn’t attend, Rion thought. People had been asking for her at every event since the meeting. And if she could have been trusted there was no doubt that her presence would have had a positive impact. But the fact that the words blackmail or divorce could have dropped from her lips at any time had been too much of a risk. Besides which, just the knowledge that she was waiting at home had been distraction enough, never mind having her by his side all day long. But tomorrow night he had no choice. Not having her there was out of the question. He was just going to have to keep an eye on her. And himself.

‘That’s the one. We’re also required to stay at the mayoral residence whilst the election takes place the following day. You will join me?’

For the first time ever her submissive answer came naturally. A whole evening in which to play meek and mindless, followed by the night spent together? It would be the final test.

‘Certainly,’ she said in that sickly sweet voice. ‘Nothing would please me more.’





CHAPTER NINE




WHAT to wear had caused her something of a dilemma. The cobbled together, little-woman-at-home look she’d been sporting for the last week had successfully failed to attract his interest. But tonight he wanted her to be the little woman on his arm, and that demanded an evening dress.

She’d only brought one. In fact, since evenings on Kate’s Escapes tours were invariably smart-casual—save for the rare occasions when she covered the Austrian trip, which took in the opera in Vienna—it was also the only one she owned. It was made of a soft, floaty fabric in an ethereal sort of blue. It was perfectly appropriate for the occasion, but it fitted every inch of her body so closely, had always felt so distinctively ‘her’, that wearing it when she was supposed to be aiming for clichéd felt distinctly inappropriate.

But it was how you acted, not how you looked, which aroused him that afternoon, she reassured herself as she walked down the stairs, eyes deferentially downcast. But not so downcast that she failed to notice the incredible sight of him in his tux, which sent a powerful ripple of longing beneath her skin.