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The Greek's Bought Bride
Sharon Kendrick


She gave him her innocence…He’ll give her his ring!Tamsyn lost her innocence in a spectacularly sensual night with a Greek billionaire. She didn’t expect to see notorious playboy Xan again, until he proposes a marriage of convenience! It’s hard to refuse when he’s promising incredible wealth and her pregnant sister desperately needs support, but Xan is dangerously addictive… If Tamsyn isn’t careful, she could lose herself to the Greek—for good!







She gave him her innocence...

He’ll give her his ring!

Tamsyn lost her innocence in a spectacularly sensual night with a Greek billionaire. She didn’t expect to see notorious playboy Xan again, until he proposes a marriage of convenience! It’s hard to refuse when he’s promising incredible wealth, and her pregnant sister desperately needs support, but Xan is dangerously addictive... If Tamsyn isn’t careful, she could lose herself to the Greek—for good!

“Sharon Kendrick’s classic marriage-of-convenience story is a must-read. Sassy, sexy and sumptuous—I loved it!” —USA TODAY bestselling author Lynne Graham


SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition by describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring often stubborn but always to die for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…


Also by Sharon Kendrick (#u59828859-06ea-5f3c-a3f1-2bb4d812c75e)

The Billionaire’s Defiant Acquisition

Crowned for the Prince’s Heir

Di Sione’s Virgin Mistress

A Royal Vow of Convenience

Secrets of a Billionaire’s Mistress

The Sheikh’s Bought Wife

The Pregnant Kavakos Bride

The Italian’s Christmas Secret

Bound to the Sicilian’s Bed

Crowned for the Sheikh’s Baby

The Bond of Billionaires miniseries

Claimed for Makarov’s Baby

The Sheikh’s Christmas Conquest

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


The Greek’s Bought Bride

Sharon Kendrick






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07235-9

THE GREEK’S BOUGHT BRIDE

© 2018 Sharon Kendrick

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This book is dedicated to the greatly loved

Sara Craven (Annie Ashurst),

whose talent, humour and sharp wit are much missed.

And if you want a masterclass in writing romance

read Comparative Strangers (and prepare to tingle…).


Contents

Cover (#u727addaf-df0b-5849-9f2e-11df9bf360c6)

Back Cover Text (#u3a985825-cfdc-5eb1-866f-81f83fe4dd73)

About the Author (#u08a2a91b-6444-554e-bb09-e9ebe7b4eeaa)

Booklist (#u95be18de-6b41-5596-9d4e-672230ec99fe)

Title Page (#udf66c5f3-7182-5ef1-b217-c650184470b4)

Copyright (#ubaf48319-74c3-5de5-9398-bdde90a18006)

Dedication (#u86a7b54b-b232-56f3-aeb5-9d86626ccdeb)

CHAPTER ONE (#u384f66ff-e0dc-5c66-bc1a-d4337945c005)

CHAPTER TWO (#u751953f0-d21a-564e-9fb7-aee42ab04f1d)

CHAPTER THREE (#uefa77352-fbd2-5ddb-8b70-39c46871177e)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#u59828859-06ea-5f3c-a3f1-2bb4d812c75e)

HE RECOGNISED HER straight away, though it took him a moment to remember why. Xan Constantinides gazed at the tiny redhead whose thick curls were tumbling over her shoulders and a flicker of something between desire and anger whispered across his skin. But he welcomed the distraction—however temporary—which allowed him to forget the promise he had made so long ago. Was it the wedding of one of his oldest friends which had pushed the unavoidable into prominence, or just the march of time itself? Because it was easy to believe that nothing would change. You acted as if the fast days weren’t spinning into years. And then suddenly there it was—the future—and with it all those expectations...

A marriage he had agreed to.

A destiny he had always been determined to honour.

But there was no point in thinking about it now, not with a packed weekend lying ahead of him. Friendship and a valuable business partnership dictated he must attend the wedding of his friend the Sheikh, even though he usually avoided such events like the plague.

Xan returned his attention to the redhead. She was sitting on her own in the small terminal of the private airfield, waiting to board the luxury flight, the fiery disarray of her hair marking her out from the other women. Her clothes marked her out too and not simply because they were a far cry from the skimpy little cocktail dress she’d been wearing last time he’d seen her—an outfit which had sent his imagination soaring into overdrive, as it had obviously been intended to do.

Xan slanted her an assessing glance. Today there was no tight black satin Basque or skyscraper heels, nor fishnet stockings which had encased the most delicious pair of legs he had ever seen. No. She had taken the word casual and elevated it to a whole new level. Along with a pair of tennis shoes, she was wearing cut-off jeans which displayed her pale, freckled ankles and a plain green T-shirt which echoed the cat-like magnificence of her emerald eyes.

It was the eyes he remembered most. And the slender figure which had failed to fill out the curved dimensions of her skimpy uniform, unlike her over-endowed waitress colleagues who had been bursting out of theirs. And the way she had spilt the Old-Fashioned cocktail all over the table as she bent to serve him. The dripping concoction had caught his trouser leg—icy liquid spreading slowly over his thigh. He remembered flinching and the woman he’d been with snatching up her napkin to blot at it with attentive concern, even though he’d been in the middle of telling her that their relationship was over.

Xan’s lips flattened. The redheaded waitress had straightened up and mouthed an apology but the defiant glint in her green eyes had suggested the sentiment wasn’t genuine. For a moment he had found himself wondering if it had been a gesture of deliberate clumsiness on her part—but surely nobody would be that stupid?

Would they?

And now here she was in the most unexpected of places—waiting to board a luxury flight to the wedding of Sheikh Kulal Al Diya to the unknown Englishwoman, Hannah Wilson. Idly, Xan switched his cellphone to airplane mode as the redhead began to scrabble around inside an oversized bag which looked as if it had seen better days. Was she also a guest at the glittering royal marriage? His lips curved with something like contempt. Hardly. She was much more likely to have been hired to work at what was being described as the most glitzy wedding the desert region had seen for a decade. And in a country which demanded the most modest of dress codes, it was unlikely that she would be showing as much of her body as last time.

Pity.

Sliding the phone into his pocket, he allowed himself the faintest smile as she glanced up to notice him staring at her and a spark of something powerful passed between them. A full-blooded spark of sexual desire which fizzled almost tangibly in the air. Her magnificent eyes widened with disbelief. He saw the automatic thrust of her nipples against the thin T-shirt and his groin tightened in response.

Sometimes, Xan thought, with a frisson of anticipation, sometimes fate handed you something you hadn’t even realised you wanted.

* * *

It was him.

It was definitely him.

What were the chances?

Somehow Tamsyn managed to stop her jaw from dropping—but only just. She’d been expecting the great and the good to be gathered together here at this small airport, ready to board the royal flight which would whisk them to Zahristan, but she hadn’t really been paying attention to the other guests as they were all being guided into the small departure lounge. She’d only just got her head around the incredible fact that her sister Hannah was about to marry a desert king and would soon become a real-life queen. And even though Hannah was pregnant with the Sheikh’s baby and such an unlikely union made sense on so many levels, Tamsyn hadn’t quite managed to contain her disgust at the proposed nuptials. Because in her opinion, the man her sister was marrying was arrogant and domineering—and it seemed he chose his friends on the same basis.

She stole another sneaky look at the Greek billionaire who was lolling against a sofa on the other side of the small terminal, his exquisitely cut suit doing nothing to disguise the magnificence of his muscular body. Xan Constantinides. An unforgettable name for an unforgettable man. But would he remember her?

Tamsyn offered up a silent prayer. Please don’t let him remember her.

After all, it was months and months ago and only the briefest of encounters. She bit the inside of her lip. Oh, why had she decided to send out a message of sisterly solitude to the woman the tycoon had been in the process of dumping in the swish bar where she’d been working? At least until her employment had come to a swift but wholly predictable termination...

She’d noticed Xan Constantinides from the moment he’d walked into the twinkly cocktail bar. To be fair, everyone had noticed him—he was that kind of man. Charismatic and radiating power, he seemed oblivious to the stir of interest his appearance had created. Ellie, one of the other waitresses and Tamsyn’s best friend, had confided that he was a mega-rich property tycoon who had recently been voted Greece’s most eligible bachelor.

But Tamsyn hadn’t really been listening to the breathless account of his bank balance or his record of bedding beautiful women before callously disposing of them. His physical presence made his wealth seem almost insignificant and she surprised herself by staring at him for longer than was strictly professional, because she wasn’t usually the sort of cocktail waitress who ogled the better-looking male customers. And there had never been a customer quite as good looking as this one. She remembered blinking as she registered a physique which suggested he could easily go several rounds in the boxing ring and emerge looking as if he’d done nothing more strenuous than get out of bed. When you teamed a body like that with sinfully dark hair, dark-fringed eyes the colour of cobalt and a pair of lips which were both sensual and cruel—you ended up with a man who exuded a particular type of danger. And Tamsyn had always been very sensitive to danger. It was a quality which had hovered in the background during her troubled childhood like an invisible cosh—just waiting to bang you over the head if you weren’t careful. Which was why she avoided it like the plague.

She remembered feeling slightly wobbly on her high-heeled shoes as she’d walked over to where the Greek tycoon had been sitting with the most beautiful blonde Tamsyn had ever seen, when she heard the woman give an unmistakable sniff.

‘Please, Xan,’ she was saying softly, her voice trembling. ‘Don’t do this. You must know how much I love you.’

‘But I don’t do love. I told you that right from the start,’ he’d drawled unequivocally. ‘I explained what my terms were. I said I wouldn’t change my mind and I haven’t. Why do women refuse to accept what is staring them in the face?’

Tamsyn found the interchange infuriating. Terms? He was talking as if he was discussing some kind of business deal, rather than a relationship—as if his lovely companion was an object rather than a person. All she could think was that a woman didn’t just come out and tell a man they loved them, not without a certain degree of encouragement. Her irritation had intensified while she’d waited for the barman to mix two Old-fashioned cocktails and when she’d returned she had noticed Xan Constantinides watching her. She wasn’t sure which had annoyed her more—the fact that he was regarding her with the lazy assessment of someone who’d just been shown a shiny car and was deciding whether or not he’d like to give it a spin—or the fact that her body had responded to that arrogant scrutiny in ways which she didn’t like.

She remembered the peculiar melting sensation low in her belly and the distracting tingle of her breasts pushing against the too-skimpy top of her uniform. She remembered being acutely aware of those cobalt eyes being trained on her, uncaring of the woman beside him who was trying very hard not to cry. And Tamsyn had felt a kick of anger. Men. They were all the same. They took and they took and they never gave back—not unless they were forced into a corner. Even then they usually found some way of getting out of it. No wonder she deliberately kept them at arm’s length. With an encouraging smile she’d handed the woman her drink, but as she lifted the Greek’s cocktail from the tray, Tamsyn had met a gaze full of sensual mockery.

She told herself afterwards that she hadn’t deliberately angled the glass so that it sloshed all over the table and started to seep onto one taut thigh, but she couldn’t deny her satisfaction when he recoiled slightly, before the blonde leapt into action with her napkin.

She was sacked soon afterwards. The bar manager told her it was a culmination of things, and spilling a drink over one of their most valued customers had been the final straw. Apparently she wasn’t suited to work which required a level of sustained calm, and she reacted in a way which was inappropriate. Secretly she’d wondered whether Xan Constantinides had got her fired. Whether he was yet another powerful man throwing his weight around and getting the world to jump when he ordered it to. Just like she wondered if he would remember her now.

Please don’t let him remember her now.

‘Would all passengers please begin boarding? The royal aircraft will be departing for Zahristan in approximately thirty minutes.’

Obeying the honeyed instruction sounding over the Tannoy, Tamsyn bent to pick up her rucksack as she rose to her feet. Didn’t matter if he remembered her because he was nothing to her. She was on this trip for one reason and that was to support Hannah on her wedding day, no matter how big her misgivings about her choice of groom. Because, despite having tried to persuade her big sister not to go through with such a fundamentally unsuitable marriage—her words had fallen on deaf ears. Either Hannah hadn’t wanted to listen, or she hadn’t dared—probably because she was carrying the desert King’s baby and there was all that stuff about him needing a legitimate heir. Tamsyn sighed as she rose to her feet. She had done everything she could to influence her sister but now she must accept the inevitable. She would pick up the pieces if necessary and be there for her—just as Hannah had always been there for her.

Hooking her bag over her shoulder, she trooped behind the other passengers—many of whom seemed to know each other—thinking this was like no journey she’d ever been on, with none of that pre-flight tension which usually made everyone so uptight. But then she’d always flown budget before—with that feeling of being herded onto the aircraft like wildebeest on the Serengeti, followed by a futile attempt to claim a few inches of space in the overhead locker. Not so on this flight. The glossy attendants looked like models and were unfailingly polite to all the passengers, as they gestured them forward.

And suddenly Tamsyn heard the sound of a deeply accented voice behind her. Rich and resonant, it sounded like grit being stirred into a bowlful of molasses. She felt her throat dry. She’d heard it once when it had cursed aloud in Greek before asking her what the hell she was playing at. It had made her spine tingle then and it was making it tingle now as the powerful Greek tycoon moved to stand beside her.

Tamsyn stared up into a pair of cold blue eyes and wished her heart would stop crashing against her ribcage. Just like she wished her nipples would cease from hardening so conspicuously against her cheap T-shirt. But her senses were refusing to obey her as Xan Constantinides dominated her field of vision, his presence imprinting itself on her consciousness in a way she could have done without.

She noticed how softly his olive skin gleamed beneath the pristine cuffs of his snowy shirt. And that he carried with him a faint scent of sandalwood, underpinned with the much more potent scent of raw masculinity. Somehow he seemed to suck in all the available oxygen around them, leaving her feeling distinctly short of breath. He was the epitome of vibrancy and life, and yet there was a darkness about him too. Something unsettling and strangely perceptive in the depths of those amazing cobalt eyes. Suddenly Tamsyn felt vulnerable as she looked up at him and that scared her. Because she didn’t do vulnerability. Just like she didn’t react to men—especially men like this. It was her trademark. Her USP. Beneath her fiery exterior beat a heart of pure ice, and that was the way she intended to stay.

She told herself not to panic. People were slowly filing forward and in a few minutes she’d be safely on the plane and hopefully sitting as far away from him as possible. If it had been a commercial flight she would have been perfectly entitled to ignore him, but this was not a commercial flight. They were all guests at the same exclusive royal wedding and even Tamsyn’s shaky grasp on protocol warned her that she mustn’t be rude.

But she could certainly be cool. She didn’t have to gush or be super-friendly. She didn’t owe him anything. She was no longer in the subservient role of waitress and could say exactly what she wanted.

‘Well, well, well,’ he murmured, his English faultless as he pulled his passport from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

Tamsyn fixed her face into a mildly questioning expression. ‘I’m sorry? Have we met?’

Cobalt eyes narrowed. ‘Well, unless you have a doppelganger,’ he drawled. ‘You’re the waitress who hurled a drink into my lap last summer. Surely you can’t have forgotten?’

For a moment Tamsyn was tempted to tell him that yes, she had forgotten. She thought about pretending she’d never seen him before, but suspected he would see through her. Because nobody would ever forget crossing paths with a man like Xan Constantinides, would they? Not unless they were devoid of all their senses. She gave him a steady look. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I haven’t forgotten.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘I was thinking about it afterwards and wondering if you made a habit of throwing drinks all over your customers.’

She shook her head. ‘Actually, no. It’s never happened before.’

‘Just with me?’

‘Just with you,’ she agreed.

There was a pause. ‘So was it deliberate?’

She considered his silky question and answered it as honestly as she could. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘You don’t think so?’ he exploded. ‘What kind of an answer is that?’

She heard his incredulity and as Tamsyn met his piercing gaze she suddenly wanted him to know. Because maybe nobody had ever told him before. Maybe nobody had ever pointed out that the opposite sex were not something you could just dispose of, as if you were throwing an unwanted item of clothing into the recycling bin. ‘I’m not going to deny that I felt sorry for the woman you were dumping.’

He frowned, as if he couldn’t work out which particular woman she was talking about. As if he were running over a whole host of candidates who might have fitted the bill. And then his face cleared. ‘Ah, neh,’ he murmured in his native tongue, before the frown reappeared. ‘What do you mean, you felt sorry for her?’

Tamsyn shrugged. ‘She was clearly very upset. Anyone could see that. I thought you could have done it in a kinder way. Somewhere more private, perhaps.’

He gave a short and disbelievingly laugh. ‘You’re saying you made a negative judgement of me based on a few overheard words of conversation?’

‘I know what I saw,’ said Tamsyn doggedly. ‘She seemed very upset.’

‘She was.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Our relationship was over but she refused to believe it, and this time she needed to believe it. We hadn’t seen each other for weeks when she asked to meet me for a drink and I agreed. And I left her in no doubt that I couldn’t give her what she wanted.’

Slowly Tamsyn digested all this, her curiosity aroused in spite of herself. ‘What was it she wanted that you were unable to give her?’

He smiled at her then—a brief, glittering smile which momentarily made one of the female ground staff turn and look at him in dazed adoration.

‘Why marriage, of course,’ he said softly. ‘I’m afraid it’s an inevitable side-effect of dating women—they always seem to want to push things on to the next level.’

It was several seconds before Tamsyn could bring herself to answer. ‘Wow,’ she breathed. ‘That is the most arrogant thing I’ve ever heard.’

‘It may be arrogant, but it’s true.’

‘Has nobody ever dumped you?’

‘Nobody,’ he echoed sardonically. ‘How about you?’

Tamsyn wondered why she was having a conversation like this while waiting in line to get on a plane but, having started it, it would be pathetic to call time on it just because he’d touched on a subject she found difficult. No, she had never been dumped, but then she’d only ever had one relationship which she’d ended as soon as she realised that her body was as frozen as her heart. But she wasn’t going to tell Xan Constantinides that. She didn’t have to tell him anything, she reminded herself, replacing his question with one of her own.

‘Did you complain about me to the management?’

He dragged his gaze away from the pert stewardess, who was ticking off passenger names on her clipboard. ‘No. Why?’

‘I got the sack soon after.’

‘And you think I orchestrated it?’

She shrugged. ‘Why not? It happened to my sister. The man she’s marrying actually got her fired from her job.’

‘Well, for your information, no—I didn’t. I have enough staff of my own to look after without keeping tabs on those employed by other people, no matter how incompetent they are.’ There was a pause. ‘What happened to your sister?’

It occurred to Tamsyn he didn’t have a clue who she was. That he had no idea it was the Sheikh himself who’d got her sister fired, or that after Saturday’s glittering ceremony he would be her new brother-in-law. To Xan Constantinides, she was just a judgmental cocktail waitress who couldn’t hold a job down and he probably thought it ran in the family. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t know her,’ she said truthfully, because Hannah had confided that she hadn’t yet met any of her Sheikh fiancé’s friends and was absolutely terrified, because they were all so high-powered.

Their conversation was halted by a smiling stewardess with a clipboard and as she was given her seat number, Tamsyn turned back to Xan Constantinides with a forced smile.

‘Nice talking to you,’ she said sarcastically and saw his navy eyes darken. ‘Enjoy the flight.’

Her heart was still pounding as she took her seat on the aircraft and picked up the book she’d so been so looking forward to—a crime thriller set in the Australian outback—which she’d hope would pass away the hours during the long journey to Zahristan’s capital city of Ashkhazar. But it was difficult to concentrate on the rather lurid plot, when all she could think about was the powerful Greek who’d managed to have such a potent effect on her. She tried to sleep, and failed. She stared out of the window at the passing clouds which looked like thick fields of cotton wool. She attempted to tuck into the variety of delicious foodstuffs which were placed before her, but her appetite seemed to have deserted her. She was just thinking gloomily about the days of celebration ahead of her, when that gravelled molasses voice broke into her thoughts.

‘I suppose you’ll be working as soon as we get there?’

Tamsyn looked up to see that Xan Constantinides had stopped in the aisle right beside her seat and was deigning to speak to her. She looked up to meet that distracting cobalt stare. ‘Working?’ she echoed in confusion.

‘I’m assuming that’s why you’re here,’ he murmured.

Suddenly Tamsyn understood. He thought she was here to act as a waitress at the royal wedding!

Well, why wouldn’t he think that? She certainly wasn’t dressed like the other women on the flight, with their discreet flashes of gold jewellery which probably cost a fortune and their studiedly casual designer outfits. Her sister had tried to insist on buying her some new clothes before the wedding, but Tamsyn had stubbornly refused. Because hadn’t Hannah helped her out too many times in the past—and hadn’t she vowed she was going to go it alone from now on?

‘Just because you’re going to marry a rich man, doesn’t mean I have to accept his charity,’ she remembered responding proudly. ‘Thanks all the same, but I’ll wear what’s already in my wardrobe.’

Was that why Xan Constantinides was so certain she was a member of staff rather than a wedding guest? Because she was wearing old sneakers rather than those fancy shoes with the red soles which everyone else seemed to be sporting? Suddenly, Tamsyn thought she could have a bit of fun with this and liven up a wedding she was dreading. Wouldn’t it be priceless to have the Greek tycoon patronise her—before he discovered her connection to the royal house of Al Diya?

She met his scrutiny with a bashful shrug. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘An event like this pays very well and they wanted to have some British serving staff among the Zahirstanians. You know, to make sure the English-speaking guests felt at home.’

He nodded. ‘Good of them to fly you out in style.’

Tamsyn bit back an indignant laugh. Any minute now and he would start asking her if she’d ever been on an airplane before! She reached out and gave the plush leather of the armrest a quick squeeze, as if it was the chubby cheek of a particularly attractive little baby. ‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘Let’s hope I don’t get too used to all this luxury before I go back to my poverty-stricken existence.’

‘Let’s hope not.’ His smile was brief and dismissive—the smiling equivalent of a yawn—as if he had already grown bored with her. His gaze drifted towards the curvy bottom of one of the stewardesses, as if already he was miles away. ‘And now, if you don’t mind—I have work to do.’

Tamsyn opened her mouth to say that he was the one who had started the conversation, but something made her shut it again, as he continued his journey up the aisle of the plane. And she wasn’t the only person looking at him—every female on the plane seemed to be following his sexy progress towards the front of the aircraft. Resentfully, Tamsyn found herself noting the powerful set of his shoulders and the way thick, dark tendrils of hair curled around the back of his neck. She thought she’d never seen a man who was quite so sure of himself. He seemed to inject the air around him with a strange and potent energy and she resented the effect he seemed to have on her without even trying.

An unfamiliar shiver whispered its way down her spine and she clenched her hands into tense little fists as the plane soared through the sky on its way to the desert kingdom.


CHAPTER TWO (#u59828859-06ea-5f3c-a3f1-2bb4d812c75e)

TAMSYN STOOD IN the centre of the huge room, her head spinning as she gazed around her in amazement. She’d known that her sister’s fiancé owned an actual palace which she was going to be staying for the forthcoming wedding celebrations, but the reality of being here was so far outside her experience that for a moment she felt as if she were dreaming.

Drinking in her surroundings, she craned her neck to look up at the high ceiling which was vaulted and gilded with gold. She didn’t think she’d ever seen so much gold! Soft drapes fell from the floor-to-ceiling windows which overlooked surprisingly green and lush gardens—surprising, because this was, after all, a desert country. Her bed was huge and closer to the ground than she was used to and it was covered with rich brocade and velvet cushions. And everywhere she looked she could see flowers. Big, claret-coloured and sunset-hued roses crammed into what looked like solid gold vases. Their heavy scent vied with the incense which was burning softly in one corner, in a container which seemed to be studded with genuine rubies and emeralds. As for the bathroom, Tamsyn swallowed. The bathroom was something else—exceeding the standards of every upmarket hotel she’d ever worked in—and she’d worked in quite a few. She spent several minutes running her fingertips over the fluffy bathrobe and eying up the gleaming glass bottles of bath oil and perfume, wondering if she’d be able to take some of them home with her.

She had sent away the servant who had hovered around after her arrival, because just the thought of having a servant had made her feel uncomfortable, since that felt like her natural role. She’d thought she would be alone until she was summoned to the pre-wedding dinner, but a knock at the door interrupted her reverie and Tamsyn went to answer it, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the woman who was standing there. She was wearing beautiful silk robes of sapphire blue, which flowed to the ground like a waterfall. Her shiny hair was covered in some gauzy veil of silver and the sparkling earrings which dangled from her earlobes echoed the aquamarine brilliance of her eyes. Tamsyn stood in shocked silence, realising that for a few seconds she hadn’t recognised her own sister!

‘Hannah,’ she breathed. ‘Is that really you?’

Hannah came in and closed the door behind her, before enveloping Tamsyn in a crushing bear hug. ‘Of course it’s me—who did you think it was?’

Tamsyn gave a mystified shake of her head. ‘I can’t believe it. You look so different. Like...like a real-life queen.’

A wry smile touched her sister’s lips. ‘Well, that’s kind of appropriate, seeing as of Saturday that’s exactly what I’m going to be.’

Tamsyn stilled. Was she imagining the strained quality in Hannah’s voice or the faint shadows around her eyes? ‘You don’t have to go through with it, you know,’ she said instantly, but her sister shook her head.

‘I’m afraid I do. I can’t back out of it now and I don’t want to. I have to do this—for the sake of the baby.’

At the mention of the baby, Tamsyn’s gaze swivelled to her sister’s belly. She supposed that most people might not even have guessed Hannah was pregnant—she looked more like someone who’d just come back from holiday having been a bit too liberal with the hotel buffet. But she knew Hannah better than anyone. Hannah who had acted more like a mother than a big sister when they were growing up. They had shared a mother who had given them up when they’d been very young—but they each had different fathers.

Just the thought of fathers made an acrid taste rise up in Tamsyn’s throat because her own had been a waster in every which way. She tried her best not to judge all men by his miserable standards, but sometimes it was difficult. But then, life was difficult, wasn’t it? Everyone knew that. These days she understood why Hannah had kept her in the dark about her parentage for so long, though she had been bitter and angry about it for a long time. But now was not the time to rake up the perceived sins of the past. She was here, not because she wanted to be—but because she was determined to support her beloved sister—the only family she had left in the world.

‘So what’s it like living with a sheikh? Is Kulal treating you properly?’ she demanded.

Hannah shot a nervous glance in the direction of the door as if she was afraid someone might be standing outside, listening.

‘He is.’ The Princess-in-waiting forced a smile. ‘How was your flight?’

Tamsyn hesitated, thinking it would probably be unwise to offload onto her pregnant sister on the eve of her wedding. No need to mention that she’d met Xan Constantinides once before and certainly no need to mention that she’d tipped a drink over him. ‘Very comfortable,’ she said. She saw Hannah frown—as if she hadn’t been expecting such polite diplomacy so she injected her next remark with just the right amount of carelessness. ‘I bumped into some Greek tycoon in the queue.’

‘Xan Constantinides?’

‘That’s him.’ Tamsyn paused and then, despite her best intentions, she couldn’t resist her next comment. ‘He’s pretty full of himself, isn’t he?’

Hannah shrugged. ‘Why wouldn’t he be? He made billions at an early age and is built like a Greek god. Apparently women fall at his feet like ninepins and I guess those kind of things can go to a man’s head. And of course, he’s never been married—which makes him a bit of a target for predatory women. Never even got close, so Kulal tells me.’ She frowned. ‘You didn’t...you didn’t fall for him did you, Tamsyn?’

‘Oh, please!’ Tamsyn manufactured a disbelieving snort. ‘I don’t go for men with egos the size of Mars.’

‘And you didn’t fall out with him, I hope?’ continued Hannah nervously.

‘Oh, come on, Han. As if I could be bothered!’ Tamsyn gave an airy shrug. ‘Why, I barely exchanged two words with the man.’

‘Good. Because Kulal is very fond of him and they’re in the middle of some hugely important business deal together.’ Hannah smoothed down her silky robes, the movement drawing attention to her massive diamond engagement ring which glittered on her finger like a constellation of stars. ‘But that’s enough about Xan. I thought we could discuss your wardrobe.’

‘My wardrobe?’ Tamsyn’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘What about it?’

There was a pause, during which Hannah seemed to be choosing her words with care. ‘Tammy, what are you planning to wear to the rehearsal dinner tonight?’

Tamsyn had been waiting for this. Bad enough that Hannah seemed to have morphed into someone completely different—ever since the arrogant Sheikh had swept into her life and carried her off to his desert kingdom. Why, she barely recognised the elegant creature who stood before her as the same person who had once made beds for a living as a chambermaid at the Granchester Hotel. But that didn’t mean she had to do the same, did it?

‘I’ve got a very nice dress I bought down the market,’ she said. ‘I’m going to wear that. And how many times do I have to tell you not to call me Tammy?’

‘Tamsyn, you can’t. You can’t wear some dress you’ve bought down the market to a royal wedding!’

‘Why not?’

‘Because...because....’ Distractedly Hannah began to pace around the vast suite, her silken robes swishing against the floor as she moved. ‘Well, the guest list is pretty daunting, if you want the truth. Even to me. Especially to me,’ she added, on a whisper.

‘I’m not daunted by other people’s wealth,’ said Tamsyn proudly.

‘I know you’re not—and there’s no reason you should be. It’s just...’

‘Just what? Come on, Hannah—spit it out.’

Hannah drew to a halt beside Tamsyn’s open suitcase, shooting a quick glance inside before sucking in a big breath which failed to hide her instinctive grimace. ‘You can’t wear any old thing,’ she said gently, as she turned to look at her sister. ‘Not to a function as important as this. It’s my wedding and you’re my sister. I’m the bride and the groom just happens to be a desert king. People are going to be looking at you, you know—especially as you’re the only family I’ve got.’

Tamsyn’s first instinct was to say she didn’t care what other people thought. And if she fancied wearing her canvas sneakers beneath the dress she’d picked up for a bargain price—then that’s exactly what she would do. But something about Hannah’s anxious face tugged at a conscience she would prefer not to have. Suddenly she recognised that any defiance in the clothes department might reflect badly, not necessarily on her—but on her sister. And hadn’t Hannah always done so much for her? Cared for and protected her during those deprived days of their fractured childhood...didn’t she owe her for that?

‘I don’t have any fancy clothes,’ she mumbled, feeling once again like the little girl who’d been mocked in the school playground because there was nothing in her lunchbox but a few scraps of bread and jam. You’re poor, the other children used to taunt—and Tamsyn had been too ashamed to admit that her foster father had spent all his money on gambling and womanising and her foster mother had been too weak to object. Her education had suffered as a consequence and she’d left school without qualifications, which didn’t exactly make her a big player in the job stakes. Money remained tight for Tamsyn and what little money she did have she certainly wasn’t going to waste on an expensive dress she’d only get to wear once. ‘I’m not stupid, Hannah,’ she said huffily. ‘I’m not planning to let you down. I’ll make the best of what I have, just like I’ve always done.’

‘I know you will. And when you bother to pull out all the stops you can look amazing. But this is different. I don’t want you and I to stick out any more than we already are. So let me give you something to wear, Tamsyn. Something beautiful—the like of which you will never have worn before.’ There was a pause. ‘Please.’

Tamsyn had vowed she wasn’t going to accept any more of Hannah’s charity, no matter how scared she was about the future. Her latest job in a café paid only peanuts and in the meantime her overdraft was getting steadily bigger. The latest blow had been the recent rent raise on her crummy little apartment, leaving her wondering how on earth she was going to pay it.

She thought about the glamourous women she had travelled over with on the Sheikh’s private plane and wondered what glorious surprises they would be pulling out of their suitcases for the glittering dinner tonight. And then she thought about a pair of cobalt eyes and the way they had trained themselves on her. She’d seen the way the Greek’s gaze had focussed in on her scruffy tennis shoes and the disdainful curve of his lips in response. Was it that which made her suddenly decide to take up her sister’s offer? To dress up for the party so that she might fit in, for once in her life?

‘Okay. You can find me something to wear, if you like,’ she said, casting a doubtful glance at Hannah’s covered head. ‘But I’m definitely not wearing a veil.’

* * *

Peering into the silvered surface of the antique mirror, Xan gave his tie a final unwanted tug. Raking his fingers back through the raven disarray of his hair he did his best to stifle a yawn as he deliberated on how he was going to get through the long evening ahead.

He hated these affairs with a passion and part of him felt deeply sorry for his royal friend, for being forced to marry some gold-digging little chambermaid from England. Contemptuously, his lips curved into their habitual line of disapproval. How could Kulal—a desert king renowned for an extensive list of sophisticated lovers—have fallen for the oldest trick in the book? There had been no official announcement but you wouldn’t need to be a mathematician to work out that a hasty wedding arranged between one of the region’s most exalted sheikhs and an unknown commoner—was bound to end up with a baby a few months down the line. Had the chambermaid deliberately trapped him, he mused? And if so, how could his friend bear the thought of that deception for all those long years which lay ahead?

He thought of his own marital destiny and not for the first time, began to see that it could have much to commend it, because Sofia was sweet and undemanding. He couldn’t imagine her ever trying to trap him by falling pregnant—probably because he doubted she would ever consent to sex before marriage. His mouth hardened for it was many months since he had seen his unofficial fiancée and he knew he couldn’t keep putting it off their arranged marriage indefinitely. Up until now it had been a private and completely confidential agreement between two families, but the longer he stalled, the more likely that the press would get hold of it and have a field day with it. His jaw clenched. He would set in motion the formal courtship when he flew out of here after the weekend, with a wedding pencilled in for the middle of next year.

But for now he was still technically a free man and unwillingly his thoughts turned to lust, for it had been a while since he had enjoyed a woman in his bed.

He was discreet about his relationships—for obvious reasons—and nobody outside their immediate families knew he had been promised to a beautiful young Greek girl. His recent sexual abstinence had certainly not been caused by a lack of opportunity—but because he had become jaded and bored by the attentions of predatory women on the make.

He scowled at his reflection before turning away. The press didn’t help his endeavours to maintain a low profile and he cursed the obsession which made certain newspapers speculate about when he intended to tie the knot. Wasn’t it such careless speculation which caused women to pursue him, as if they were hunting down some particularly elusive quarry? Didn’t they realise that the chase was the thing which fired up a man’s blood? Xan’s mouth flattened. At least, that was what he had been told—for he had never had to pursue a woman. They came after him in their droves, like dedicated ants flocking to a spoonful of spilled honey. Some he enjoyed and others he discarded—but he made it plain to each and every one that there was no point in wishing for any kind of future with him, though he never explained why. And wasn’t the truth that he enjoyed the protective barriers which his long-term engagement placed around him? It kept women at a safe distance and that was the way he liked it.

A servant came to fetch him to take him to the pre-wedding dinner and Xan quickly became aware of the excitement in the air as the wedding grew closer. Tall, burning flames lit the courtyard and in the distance he could hear the low beat of unfamiliar music which only added to the febrile build of atmosphere. Through wide corridors scented with jasmine and gardenia and lit with gold and silver candles, he followed the silent servant—taking his place at last in some inordinately grand ballroom, which he hadn’t seen on his last visit.

He had visited Zahristan once before, when Kulal had taken him out to the desert to see the state-of-the-art solar panels which the country’s scientists had designed, and in whose manufacture Xan had invested a great deal of money. He had combined the work trip with some serious riding on the most magnificent stallion he’d ever mounted and then he and the Sheikh had camped beneath the blinding brilliance of the stars in an opulent Bedouin tent. Xan remembered thinking that his powerful royal friend had the world at his fingertips—yet now he was being forced into a corner, trapped into a relationship he did not really want.

And wasn’t exactly the same thing happening to him? Briefly Xan thought about the Greek girl with dark eyes who was everything a man could possibly desire. No. He was walking into his future with his eyes open. Not for him the lottery of chance or ignorance. There would be no skeletons emerging from the closet of Sofia, for she was someone he had known all her life. She was pure and beautiful and... His mouth hardened as he allowed the unwanted thought to flit into his mind.

The chemistry would come later.

Most of the other guests were already assembled in the huge gilded ballroom, which led into a banqueting hall almost as vast. Beneath chandeliers which glittered like shoals of priceless diamonds, women paraded in their finery, the men beside them wearing dark suits, desert robes or uniform. For some reason Xan found himself looking round for the redheaded waitress but couldn’t see her anywhere and he wondered if she was somewhere deep in the palace kitchens, loading up her tray. Instead, he accepted a drink from someone else—a sharp-sweet cocktail containing fire-berry juice and drank it silently as they awaited the arrival of the royal couple.

At last, a single musician stepped forward to play a fanfare on the traditional mizmar, heralding the arrival of the Sheikh and his bride-to-be and there was a murmur of expectation as the couple paused in the open doorway of the ballroom and all heads turned in their direction.

And then he saw her.

Xan’s fingers tightened around his drink so tightly that for a moment he was afraid that the delicate glass might shatter. He expelled a long, low breath as his disbelieving gaze settled on the feisty redhead who was following behind the royal couple as if it was her every right to do so.

His eyes narrowed. No sawn-off jeans and canvas shoes tonight. She was wearing an exquisite dress of emerald silk which matched the brilliance of her eyes and looked as if had been made just for her. The design was simple and in many ways modest, but it accentuated her body in a way which her sexy cocktail waitress uniform had failed to do. In that rather obvious black satin ensemble she had looked more like a little girl playing dress-up, while tonight she looked like a woman. Xan swallowed. A very sensual woman. Her lustrous red curls had been caught back, displaying dazzling diamond and emerald earrings which brushed the sides of her long neck. He felt the pooling of blood at his groin and suddenly she turned her head to look directly at him—as if some sixth sense had told her he was staring. A faint flicker of triumph illuminated her extraordinary eyes before, very deliberately, she turned her back on him and began chatting to a tall man in some sort of military uniform who seemed to be devouring her with his hungry gaze.

Xan felt the hard beat of a pulse at his temple. He had imagined her gliding around between the guests with a tray of drinks in her hand and this sudden unexpected elevation of status left him feeling confused. If she wasn’t a waitress, then who the hell was she? He found himself dipping his head to speak to the blonde woman beside him who had been slowly edging herself closer in a way which was boringly predictable.

‘Who is that woman in green?’ he questioned silkily. ‘The one who entered with the Sheikh and his fiancée.’

The blonde gave a discernible pout of disappointment followed by a slight shrug. ‘Her? Her name is Tamsyn,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Tamsyn Wilson. She’s the sister of the bride.’

Xan nodded as suddenly it all made sense. The reason why she had been dressed down and out of place on the flight over. The reason why a cocktail waitress was hobnobbing with one of the most powerful royal families in the world. Wilson. Of course. The bride’s sister. The bride who had trapped his friend into marriage by getting pregnant. Xan gave a short laugh. How the redhead must have been laughing to herself when he’d made the—very understandable—assumption that she was here on a working trip. Was she enjoying the fact that he’d made such a fundamental mistake? He watched as she walked straight past him, ignoring him completely, her glorious fiery head held high in the air. And he felt the corresponding roar of his blood in response.

It was a long time since Xan could remember the minutes passing so slowly and never had he been so comprehensively ignored by the person he most wanted to speak to. He’d never had to work to get a woman to join him—usually the briefest of glances would send them scuttling over with an eagerness which was sometimes enough to kill his desire stone-dead. But Tamsyn Wilson wasn’t playing ball. He watched her dip her glorious red head to the side as the Sheikh introduced her to a group of people and he saw the automatic light of interest in the men’s eyes. He thought about infiltrating the group and commandeering her for himself, but instinct told him such a plan would be foolish. Only a quick glance at the seating plan yielded up the satisfying information that once again, they were seated next to each other. Xan’s lips curved into a smile of anticipation. Far better to have her captive at his side and then...

Then what?

He hadn’t yet gone that far in his imagination, but the increased pound of blood at his groin gave him a very good idea of how he intended the evening to end. And why not? His formal courtship of Sofia had not yet started. Was it not better to indulge his desires and rid himself of them? To eradicate all restlessness before finally settling down?

The distinctive sound of the trumpet-like mizmar broke into the chatter as servants began guiding the guests towards the galleried dining room, where the gleam of the dazzling long table and the perfume of countless roses awaited them. Xan stood beside the vacant chair next to his, watching the redhead approach without any kind of smile on her face, the defiant spark of her eyes the only acknowledgement she had seen him.

In stony silence she came to stand beside him.

‘So,’ he said softly as the faint drift of her scent washed over his skin and it became clear she wasn’t planning to greet him with any kind of rapturous joy. ‘We meet again.’

Her expression was cool. ‘It would seem so.’

‘Would you care to sit down?’

She gave a sarcastic elevation of her eyebrows. ‘Since the alternative is eating on the hoof, I suppose the answer must be yes.’

Her insolence was turning him on almost as much as the slender curve of her breasts beneath her exquisite green silk dress. Xan pulled out her chair, her mulish look indicating that such display of chivalry was unnecessary but as she lowered her bottom onto the carved golden seat his blood pressure rocketed once more. As he guided the chair back in, his fingers briefly brushed against her narrow shoulders and he had to resist the urge to let them rest there and to massage away the undeniable tension he could feel.

‘You didn’t tell me you were the bride’s sister,’ he said, as he sat down beside her.

‘You didn’t ask.’ She turned to him, her eyes full of an emerald light which tonight seemed almost unworldly. ‘You just assumed I was here to work, didn’t you? To ferry drinks around and wait at table. That someone like me couldn’t possibly be one of the guests.’

‘Was that such a crazy assumption to make, given the circumstances?’ he mused. ‘Last time I saw you that’s exactly what you were doing. You made no mention of your connection with the bride and you have to admit, you didn’t exactly blend in with the other guests on the plane. At least,’ he amended softly. ‘Not until now.’

‘Now that my sister has given me the dress she secretly had made for me?’ she demanded hotly. ‘Or forced me to wear a necklace I’m terrified is going to fall off and deplete the royal coffers by several million quid, is that what you mean?’

Xan found himself having to bite back a smile. ‘You cannot deny that you look very different tonight.’

Tamsyn picked up a jewel-encrusted goblet and sipped at the cold fizzy water it contained. No, she wasn’t going to deny she looked different but beneath her fine new trappings—she felt exactly the same. Like someone who never fitted in—not anywhere. And tonight the sensation of being out of place was even more acute than usual. It wasn’t just that everyone here was richer than her and seemed happy in their own skins, her disorientation was compounded by the unfamiliar feelings which were ripping through her like a spring tide. Feelings which were hard to define and even harder to understand. She wondered why she was feeling such a powerful desire for the man beside her, even though he was the most arrogant person she’d ever met. She wondered why her skin had felt as if it were on fire when his fingertips had brushed against her shoulder blades. Or why, beneath this fancy dress which Hannah had foisted on her—the tips of her breasts were as raw as if someone had been rubbing them with sandpaper.

Remember how he looked down his nose at you when you were boarding the flight. Remember how upset that ravishing blonde had been when he’d been cold-heartedly dumping her in the cocktail bar.

Yet right now it was difficult to think about anything other than the smile which was softening the edges of his lips and making her wonder what it would be like to be kissed by Xan Constantinides. Her gaze twitched to his long olive fingers and once again her throat constricted with an unfamiliar surge of lust. Because she didn’t do desire. It was yet another side of her character which made it hard for her to fit in. It was her own private and horrible little secret—or rather, it was one of them—that despite all the fiery promise of her looks, she was about as responsive as a piece of wood. Hadn’t she been told that by men deeply unhappy that she wouldn’t ‘put out’, until she’d stopped going out with men altogether because life was easier that way?

‘No, I’m not going to deny I look different tonight,’ she said. ‘Which is why I assume you’re talking to me, which you clearly didn’t want to do when you thought I was nothing but a lowly waitress. Or was it the sight of my canvas tennis shoes which made you decide I wasn’t worthy of your time?’

He looked as if he was about to contest the point before seeming to change his mind and subjecting her to a smile of such intensity that Tamsyn’s heart felt as if it was going to burst right out of her chest.

‘Look, why don’t we wipe the slate clean and start again?’ he suggested smoothly, extending his hand with practised ease. ‘I’m Xan Constantinides. Short for Alexandros, in case you were wondering.’

‘I wasn’t,’ she said moodily.

And you’re Tamsyn, aren’t you?’ he continued, undaunted. ‘Tamsyn Wilson.’

Behind her unsmiling lips, Tamsyn gritted her teeth. He hadn’t bothered finding out her name before, had he? But now he’d discovered she was related to Hannah, he was behaving very differently She glanced up at where the prospective bride and groom were sitting next to one another on some amazing dais. Hannah was smiling but Tamsyn knew her well enough to see the strain of the occasion on her face—and she was pregnant. And since Hannah had stressed that Xan was engaged in some important business with the Sheikh, then shouldn’t she at least try to be polite to him, at least for the duration of the meal itself?

‘Yes,’ she said, as a delicate mango and walnut salad was placed in front of her. ‘That’s my name.’

‘So why don’t you tell me something about yourself, Tamsyn Wilson?’

Picking up a golden fork to half-heartedly push her food around the plate, Tamsyn wondered what the Greek tycoon would say if she told him the truth. That if her parents had been married, her real surname would have been one of the most memorable in the world. But she had never used it. She’d never had the right to use it—not then and certainly not now. She looked into his cobalt eyes and tried to suppress the insane flutter of her heart. ‘What would you like to know?’

He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘Why don’t we start with the obvious. You say you’re no longer working at the Bluebird Club?’

‘I told you—I was sacked.’

‘So what are you doing instead?’

Perhaps if she hadn’t been feeling so out of place then Tamsyn might have engaged in small-talk. She might have skated over her nomadic existence and pretended she was just like every other woman there. But somehow those words wouldn’t come. Maybe Xan Constantinides was too unsettling a presence and those cobalt eyes too deeply penetrating. Because the idea of putting a positive spin on a life which had felt like it was spiralling out of control lately, suddenly seemed too big an ask. Why bother trying to impress someone who was only deigning to speak to her because she was soon to be related to the Sheikh?

‘Oh, I have a terribly glamorous life—you wouldn’t believe,’ she said airily. ‘I work in a coffee bar by day and stack supermarket shelves by night.’

He frowned. ‘Those sound like very long hours.’

‘Go straight to the top of the class, Mr Constantinides—they are.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Aren’t you qualified to do anything other than waitress work?’

She put the golden fork back down on the plate with a clatter, her starter untasted. ‘Actually, no, I’m not. Exams were never really my number one concern when I was at school.’

‘So why not retrain to do something else?’ he questioned as he lifted up his own goblet, his steady cobalt gaze surveying her over its jewelled rim. ‘You seem bright enough.’

Tamsyn nearly laughed out loud and not just because the remark was deeply patronising. That was the trouble with rich people. They had no idea how the world really worked. They’d been cushioned by their wealth and privilege for so long, that they couldn’t put themselves in someone else’s shoes. ‘And who’s going to fund me while I do that?’ she questioned, trying to keep her voice from shaking. ‘When I’ve just had a rent raise from my landlord? And before you tell me to move to somewhere cheaper, I’ve lived in London all my life and can’t imagine going anywhere else. Some problems don’t have easy solutions, I’m afraid. Not unless you’re prepared to throw wads of cash at them, which isn’t an option for most people. Welcome to the real world, Mr Constantinides.’

Xan wondered if she was aware that her defiant words were causing her chest to heave, making it difficult for him not to stare openly at the silk-covered perfection of her breasts. With an effort he focussed his gaze on his wine glass, twirling the stem between his fingers and watching as the different jewels sparkled in the light from the overhead chandeliers. ‘It’s true I have made a sizeable amount of money,’ he conceded. ‘But that certainly doesn’t guarantee a trouble-free life.’

‘You mean like someone forgetting to peel your grapes for you, or your private jet failing to take off on time?’

‘That’s a rather predictable response, Tamsyn,’ he mused softly. ‘You know, I’m almost disappointed. I was hoping for something a little more original.’

‘Oh, dear,’ she said, pushing out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. ‘The billionaire is disappointed. We can’t have that, can we?’

He met the hectic glitter of her green gaze and the pooling at his groin increased. Xan shifted in his seat. He had tried to be polite but she was having none of it and he suspected he knew why. Because something was flowing between them. Something powerful. The kind of physical attraction he’d been encountering from women ever since he’d reached puberty though it had never felt like this before. Women didn’t usually glare at him as if he was the devil incarnate, or try to rub him up the wrong way. He suspected that Tamsyn’s supposed dislike of him was masking a much deeper response and that her darkened eyes were telling the real story. A flicker of a smile curved his lips. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. And why not? Why not enjoy one final taste of freedom before destiny beckoned?

But he didn’t intend spending the entire meal fighting with her and not simply because fighting was a bore. Because he understood the psychology of women only too well. They always wanted what they thought they couldn’t have. She needed to understand that she was in danger of missing out if she continued to be insolent towards him. He would make her wait and make her squirm, so that by the time she came to him she would be so aroused that...

The pressure at his groin was almost unbearable as, very deliberately, he turned his back on her and began to speak to the Italian heiress to his right.


CHAPTER THREE (#u59828859-06ea-5f3c-a3f1-2bb4d812c75e)

IT WAS JUST a wedding. That was all. Just a few more hours to get through before she could go home. That’s what Tamsyn kept telling herself as she made her way towards the grand throne room, in yet another outfit which Hannah had insisted she wear. She supposed her sister must have secretly had all these clothes made for her before she arrived, but she couldn’t deny that the long, floaty dress suited her. Unlike the dramatic emerald gown she’d worn to the rehearsal dinner last night, this one was a much gentler hue. The soft grey colour of a pigeon’s wing, the bodice and silk-chiffon skirt were sprinkled with tiny crystals which sparkled like stars as she moved.

Tonight, the jewels she’d been loaned were diamonds—some more chandelier drop earrings, along with a priceless choker which blazed like ice fire around her neck. And just like last night, when Tamsyn glanced in the mirror before leaving her suite, she didn’t recognise the image reflected back at her. To the outside world she looked sleek, expensive and polished but inside she felt....disgruntled. And although she hated the reason for her discontentment, she wasn’t deluded enough to deny it. Because wasn’t the truth that her irritation had been caused by Xan Constantinides ignoring her throughout most of the pre-wedding dinner? He’d been laughing and joking in Italian with that stunning woman on his other side and making out like she was invisible. And yes, she had been behaving in a particularly waspish manner beforehand, but even so...

She’d made her escape as soon as the food part of the evening was over. She’d gone back to her suite of rooms and run herself a deep and perfumed bath—then spent most of the night tossing and turning as the image of a man with black hair and cobalt eyes kept haunting her thoughts. More than once she’d awoken to find the tips of her breasts all pointy and aching and a molten heat throbbing between her thighs, causing her to writhe frustratedly between the fine cotton sheets. She’d told herself she needed to pull herself together and put the infuriating Greek right out of her mind, but somehow it wasn’t turning out to be that easy.

The moment she entered the throne room, Xan Constantinides was the first person she saw, despite the fact that the Sheikh was already at the front of the gilded throne room, waiting for his bride. Tamsyn’s heart gave a powerful lurch as she willed her face not to register any emotion.

He looked...

She swallowed against the sudden rawness in her throat. He looked delectable. In a charcoal suit which suited his colouring, he stood taller than any other man there else. Even more disturbing was the fact that he seemed to sense when she entered, because he turned his head and she was caught in that cobalt stare, making her feel as if she was imprisoned there. As if she wanted to be imprisoned there. She willed him not to come up and talk to her and then of course, she wished he would, but Tamsyn told herself to concentrate on the ceremony itself and to fix her eyes on the bride, who was just arriving.

Hannah looked gorgeous, her pregnancy bump a subtle swell and well disguised by her unusual wedding gown of beaten gold. She’d apologised for not making Tamsyn her bridesmaid, explaining that it wasn’t Zahristanian custom to do so. Not that Tamsyn had minded. Marriage had always seemed such an outdated institution to her and one which rarely lasted. More than once she’d wondered why it couldn’t be replaced by something more modern.

Yet she sensed the historical significance of the vows being made, though Hannah’s voice was so low she could barely hear them and the Sheikh looked so stern that Tamsyn was certain he felt as trapped as her sister did. But she clapped and cheered along with the other guests once the couple had been pronounced King and Queen, and she toasted their health in spiced fire-berry juice, as was traditional.

The meal which followed was far more formal than the one they’d eaten last night and Tamsyn told herself she was pleased to sit between the Sultan of Marazad and a representative from the desert kingdom of Maraban. Glad to be miles away from Xan Constantinides and relieved she didn’t have to endure his unsettling presence.

But that was a lie.

All she could think about was the Greek tycoon, and her body seemed determined to reflect her increasingly distracted thoughts. She felt as if her skin had become too tight for her body. As if her senses had suddenly become sensitised. The sound of her heart seemed amplified, its beat a million times more powerful than usual. And there was no respite from these unsettling feelings which made her feel as if she was fighting something deep inside herself. Nowhere she could escape to, because she couldn’t just get up and leave in the middle of a royal wedding. She tried to chat politely to the men on either side and not glance further down the long table to where a Hollywood actress and a female member of the British royal family were giggling like schoolgirls at something Xan was saying.




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