He hauled her up to his level and his mouth crashed down on hers with passionate force. There was no warning, verbal or physical, simply that positively primeval public claiming that shocked Pixie anew. She had sensed the volatile nature pent up beneath the surface when Apollo had kissed her in his limousine but this kiss was a whole different experience. Before he had asked, this time he literally took, disdaining any preliminaries, both strong arms enclosed round her to keep her off the ground and raise her to his level. It took her breath away, it sent her heart thumping like a road drill, it stripped away every illusion that she had any form of control over him or herself. She could taste his sexual hunger and it speared through her like a heat-seeking missile, awakening every skin cell to raw new sensation.
It was wild and erotic and exciting but it was also ultimately terrifying for Pixie to feel unmanageable and wanton. For a frightening second, as he began lowering her back to the ground on legs that didn’t feel they could possibly support her, she wanted to cling to his wide shoulders and stay exactly where she was. Instead she slid slowly down his big muscular body and not even his suit jacket could conceal the reality that he was as aroused as she was.
Shaken, she found her feet again, and Apollo closed a supportive arm round her lithe body. His, body and soul, whether she liked it or not. And he knew, he knew she wouldn’t like it at all, and Apollo smiled with sudden blinding brilliance, raising a brow a little at his friend Vito’s questioning appraisal and Holly’s state of apparent incredulity. Pixie was his wife now and what happened between them was entirely his business and nothing to do with anyone else, he reflected with satisfaction.
Pixie glimpsed that smile and the colour already mantling her cheeks rocketed even higher, a pulse jumping at her collarbone because angry discomfiture was not far behind. With that kiss he had blown her cover story with Holly and she could see that even Vito was taken aback by Apollo’s enthusiasm. In fact the only people not staring were Patrick, Maria and Sylvia, none of whom saw anything amiss with a passionate wedding kiss between the newly-weds. Pixie pulled away from Apollo to greet her foster mother, Sylvia, and thank her for her attendance, noting as she did that her brother was looking unusually stiff and troubled in comparison to his more usual carefree self.
Patrick kissed her cheek. ‘What’s wrong?’ she whispered.
Holly tugged her away with an insistent hand on her arm. ‘What haven’t you told me?’ she pressed in an undertone.
‘Better you don’t know,’ Pixie whispered. ‘Any idea what’s up with my brother?’
‘Vito said Apollo gave him a good talking to when he arrived,’ her friend revealed. ‘Not before time in my opinion. I think he frightened the life out of him about gambling.’
Fury shot through Pixie because she had always acted to the best of her ability as her brother’s protector. It had hurt when they had ended up in separate foster homes, seeing each other only through occasional visits often set months apart. What did Apollo know about Patrick’s life and what he had suffered? Or how proud Pixie was that her sibling had always had a job when so many other children who had been through the foster system ended up on the scrapheap of opportunity before they had even finished growing up? Yes, Patrick had got into trouble, and serious trouble at that, but that had happened two years ago and he had been paying for it ever since!
Apollo closed a big hand over hers and slotted a glass of wine into her other hand. ‘We’re eating now and then this nonsense will be over,’ he framed with unhidden relief.
‘What gave you the right to speak to my brother about his gambling?’
‘He almost got you and himself killed the night you fell down those stairs,’ Apollo countered with unblemished assurance. ‘It was time someone showed him his boundaries.’
‘That was not your right or your business,’ Pixie hissed up at him like a stinging wasp, her anger unabated.
Apollo dealt her an unfathomable appraisal, his striking green eyes veiled. ‘For as long as you remain my wife, everything that is your business will also be mine.’
‘No, it isn’t!’ Pixie practically spat back at him in her ire.
‘It’s too late now to complain, koukla mou. That ring on your finger says very different,’ Apollo spelt out without hesitation, and he swung round to stride back to Vito’s side and laugh about something his friend was saying.
‘Oh, dear,’ Holly pronounced at her elbow. ‘You’re already fighting.’
Pixie was so enraged that she could hardly breathe and with difficulty she opened her mouth to say, ‘Apparently, he regards a wedding ring on a woman’s finger as something very like a slave collar.’
Holly giggled. ‘That’s only wishful thinking!’
And Pixie remembered her manners and asked after Holly’s son, Angelo, who had remained in Italy with his nanny because his parents were only making a day trip to London. By the time that conversation concluded it was time to take their seats at the table and be served with the wedding breakfast. As time went on, Patrick’s spirits picked up and he began to relax a little although his sister noticed he was visibly too scared to even look in Apollo’s direction, never mind address him.
Sylvia insisted on making a very short speech, which recounted a couple of tales about Holly and Pixie as teenagers, which made everybody laugh. Vito wished them well, showing no sign of being tempted to make an attack on the bride as Apollo had done with his speech on his friend’s wedding day.
‘Watch yourself with Apollo’s temper,’ Holly whispered anxiously over the coffee. ‘Vito says he can be very volatile.’
‘Think I already know that,’ Pixie muttered. ‘As well as dictatorial, manipulative and sexist. I could go right through the alphabet with him and not one word would be kind, but then right now I’m angry.’
‘When he saw you in that dress he stared at you as if you’d jumped naked out of a Christmas cracker. It was quite funny.’
Obviously, he hated the dress. Well, Pixie didn’t care about that. She had gone shopping with her official personal stylist and had overridden her to make her own selections because, had Apollo’s recommendations ruled, she would have ended up dressed like a middle-aged lady without fashion sense. Evidently, he didn’t want her wearing normal young clothes, he wanted her tricked out in longer skirts and high necks. Well, he could just go jump off the nearest cliff with that wish, Pixie thought resentfully.
Why should he think he had the right to dictate the very clothes she wore? Wasn’t she already surrendering enough with her freedom and her control over her own body? She was her own person and always had been and marrying Apollo Metraxis was not about to change that reality...
CHAPTER SIX
AS PIXIE PREPARED to clamber dizzily out of the helicopter, Apollo vaulted out and took her by surprise by swinging back and scooping her off her feet and carrying her off the helipad.
‘I can walk!’ Pixie snapped freezingly, feeling like an idiot as the yacht crew hanging around the helipad stared in apparent surprise at what was happening before their eyes.
‘If I put you down you have to take your shoes off and walk barefoot. No heels on the decks,’ Apollo delivered unapologetically.
‘If I take my shoes off, I shrink into something pocket-sized!’ Pixie hissed in a most un-bridal manner between gritted teeth.
Apollo shrugged a very broad shoulder. ‘That’s the rule. Blame your parents for your genes, not me.’
Pixie breathed in so deep to restrain her temper that she was slightly surprised she didn’t spontaneously combust like a balloon overfilled with air. ‘Put me down, Apollo.’
Holding her up with one arm as if to emphasise how strong he was, he flipped off her six-inch shoes with the other hand and carefully lowered her to the polished perfection of the deck surface. Pixie shrank alarmingly in stature and flexed angry bare toes on the sun-warmed wood. ‘You’re a dictator insisting on bare feet,’ she condemned.
‘Some things aren’t up for negotiation,’ he pointed out quite unnecessarily, striding past her to greet his yacht captain and shake hands, responding in a flood of his native Greek with a wide smile.
Feeling not remotely bridal, Pixie had a bouquet thrust in her arms and managed a beamingly polite smile while Apollo translated the captain’s good wishes on what she privately termed their matrimonial nightmare.
What else could she call it when Apollo seemed to be racing off the rails in his resolve to do exactly as he liked regardless of how she might feel about it? She was still furious that he had confronted her brother about a matter she considered to be none of Apollo’s business. Having that source of resentment followed by a very long flight in a helicopter that made her feel sick to board Apollo’s giant yacht, Circe, in the Mediterranean had not improved her outlook. The ring on her wedding finger already felt very much like the slave collar she had mocked.
Long brown fingers guided her by her shoulder in the direction she was expected to go and she wanted to jump up and down and scream in frustration. Apollo was making her feel like a glove puppet. Go here, sit there, do that! It was as if he had swallowed the manual of How to be a Control Freak with your Wife at the same moment he was told he was married. She had seriously underestimated how very forceful and domineering he could be unless you did exactly as you were told. And there was no room for complaint, which he ignored.