Chapter Eleven #2
‘I did. But low-key, not secret.’ He raised his eyebrows in mocking query. ‘We don’t want people thinking you’re pregnant, do we?’
To Grace, his words sounded harsh. Or perhaps that was his intention. To remind her that there would not be—nor could there ever be—any children. Why that should cause a sudden twist of sadness was a mystery, but at least it was a wake-up call.
‘We most certainly don’t,’ she said staunchly, peering over the balcony to see that a small wedding feast had been assembled on the dappled terrace below, and Marinos was carrying an ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne towards the two lawyers.
The hostile black and white cat she’d discovered was called Gouri, was now being shooed away by the housekeeper.
As Evangelia deposited a platter of stuffed vine leaves on the table, Grace wondered what the staff made of their boss’s surprise marriage—and whether they could see through it for the farce it really was.
Did Odysseus sense the cause of her sudden tension, and was that why he put his hand on her bare arm?
‘Let’s just go to bed,’ he said.
Grace dug her fingers into her bouquet, because the temptation to do exactly that was overwhelming.
But she knew how much trouble Evangelia had gone to making a traditional dessert of masticha chiou for the newly-weds, which she felt duty-bound to try.
And, if she was being brutally honest—didn’t she want to cling on to as much of her wedding day as possible, even though deep down she knew it wasn’t real?
She might never get another one and she was finding it seductively easy to enjoy playing the role of Odysseus’s bride.
‘The lawyers will think it very odd if we don’t even have a toast with them. ’
‘They’re on the payroll, Grace,’ he drawled arrogantly. ‘Their remit is to please me, not to judge me.’
And that was exactly what could happen if you became impossibly rich and successful, Grace realised furiously.
If people were working for you, they were forced to dance to your tune.
It meant you didn’t have to engage with them on a personal level and hadn’t Odysseus spent his whole life taking advantage of that? And not just with servants—her, too!
‘I think it would be very bad manners to duck out now,’ she admonished.
His sapphire eyes glittered as they acknowledged her forthrightness. ‘Oh, do you?’ he queried softly.
‘Yes, I do. Believe me, I know how frustrating it can be when you’ve gone to a lot of trouble to prepare something and people just turn their noses up at it.’
‘I am talking about a different type of frustration,’ he murmured.
‘I’m sure you are.’ The soft drift of her finger around the edge of his mouth belied the primness in her voice. ‘But that can wait until later. Come on, Odysseus. At least show willing.’
Slightly bemused by his petite bride’s determination, Odysseus accompanied her to the flower-decorated middle terrace and went through the various wedding rituals.
And he couldn’t deny that Grace took an element of sunshine with her, wherever she went.
As Marinos served drinks and shoed away the ever-persistent cat, he couldn’t help but notice that Evangelia was more smiley than usual as she served them.
But as his housekeeper began to explain the significance of the traditional, white-coated sugar almonds known as koufeta , Odysseus began to grow impatient and he knew the time for play-acting was over.
‘Let’s go,’ he instructed softly.
Feeling the tremble of her fingers, he led Grace up the marble staircase to the master suite and watched as she put her bouquet down and turned to face him.
She really did look beautiful, he acknowledged—her young body slim and supple in the simple white dress and her skin glowing with health.
But although he was aching to take her to bed, instinct was urging him to delay.
Why was that?
To prolong the anticipation and rack up the sexual tension between them and make the consummation of their marriage especially mind-blowing? Or to demonstrate that, although they were now married, he had lost none of his legendary control?
Yet at times today it had felt exactly like that.
As if power was slipping away from him, into the hands of his new wife, and not just because she had overruled him about skipping the reception.
When she had stared up at him during the wedding ceremony, so tiny and appealing—those big amber eyes of hers bright with undeniable hope—hadn’t he been forced to steel himself against that look and the inexplicable stab to his heart which had accompanied it?
Her soft vulnerability had been the reason he had plucked her from his grandfather’s house and put her out of the old man’s reach, but how could he have underestimated its subliminal effect on him?
How could he?
His anger was an aphrodisiac, his mouth hard and hungry as he kissed her, and she answered it with a fierce hunger of her own.
The kick to his groin was instant, the throb of blood through his veins unstoppable.
Tangling his fingers in the spill of her dark hair, he deepened the kiss—the thrust of his tongue mimicking the more intimate thrust his body so desperately craved.
As she writhed restlessly against him, he cupped her breasts through her wedding dress.
Her nipples were pushing against his palms like bullets and suddenly the gown represented everything he despised.
All those things the white sugar almonds had symbolised.
Fertility, and the endurance and sweetness of marriage.
When, in reality, both were a trap which didn’t mean a damned thing.
Because nothing was ever as it seemed, he reminded himself bitterly.
‘I want to rip this damned thing off.’
‘But it’s brand-new,’ she whispered.
‘You’re not planning to wear it again, are you?’ he mocked.
‘I guess not. G-go ahead, then.’
And God forgive him, but he did. He couldn’t seem to stop himself, rending the garment with one sure movement, so that it flapped around her, giving him scope to feast his eyes on her petite frame, clad in snowy lingerie.
‘This is new, too,’ he observed unevenly, one finger tracing a lingering path over the delicate curve of her lacy bra.
‘Y-yes. The…’ She shuddered with pleasure as he paid extra attention to her nipple. ‘The stylist persuaded me I needed new lingerie, too.’
‘The stylist was right,’ he concurred smokily.
‘But you won’t rip that, will you?’ she questioned and suddenly her cheeks grew pink. ‘Can you…can you leave it on?’
Her shy candour only increased his ardour as he scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom, his disbelieving gaze registering a huge red heart of rose petals lying in the centre of the bed, forcing him to put her down.
‘Who the hell put these here?’ he demanded, impatiently sweeping aside most of the petals so that they fluttered to the ground in a swirl of scarlet.
‘Evangelia must have done. And there’s no need to sound so cross,’ she reproved softly. ‘It’s a traditional welcome for honeymooners.’
‘But we aren’t traditional honeymooners,’ he ground out. ‘And I’m not a big fan of gestures of cloying sentimentality.’
‘Cloying sentimentality?’ she repeated. ‘What a bad-tempered man you can be at times, Odysseus.’
‘Only because I’m as frustrated as hell,’ he admitted huskily.
And indeed, all his irritation was banished the moment he had Grace lying supine on the mattress, her chestnut hair spread all over the pillow, one knee bent with artless provocation as she looked up at him from between shuttered lashes.
He gazed back at her as a rush of desire pulsed through him like a hot tide, and for a moment it threatened to take him under.
But this isn’t real, he reminded himself dazedly.
It’s just an arrangement which happens to suit us both.
Kicking off his shoes, he started pulling off his own clothes.
His wedding suit, shirt and boxers soon strewn haphazardly all over the floor before he joined her on the bed and began to explore her with a thoroughness which was making his heart thunder.
For a while he feasted lavishly on her silken flesh, his teeth nipping the bra she had requested he leave on, his hand sliding between her legs.
‘Odysseus,’ she whispered, arching her back so that her belly made contact with the weight of his erection.
‘You’re driving me wild,’ he complained hungrily.
‘Good.’
Somehow he managed to locate a condom, though his hands were shaking as he tore open the foil. Concentrating fiercely, he slid it over his virile shaft as Grace lay there watching him. She raised her arms above her head, heavy eyes glinting as he positioned himself between her legs.
‘Do you realise you look like every man’s secret fantasy, lying there in your virginal lingerie, just waiting to be ravished?’ he questioned unsteadily, sliding aside the damp panel of her panties.
‘Do I?’
‘Mmm. Leaving me with no alternative other than to do…this…’
He pushed deep inside her and she gave a little cry of pleasure.
‘And this .’
‘Odysseus,’ she gasped.
‘It’s good?’ he asked unnecessarily.
‘You wouldn’t believe how good,’ she breathed.