Bridal Bargains: The Tycoon's Bride / The Purchased Wife / The Price Of A Bride. Michelle Reid

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      ‘I can’t do this!’ she sighed after a few taut moments of hopeless fumbling that made her frustratingly aware of how incapacitated she was going to be with one hand rendered completely useless, and felt the tears that were too ready to appear just lately begin to fill her eyes again.

      With a smooth grace, he leaned across the space separating them, took the belt from her trembling fingers and, carefully making sure that the belt sat low down on her body so that it missed both her ribs and her plaster-cast, he locked it into place.

      He glanced up, saw the tears, and released a soft sigh. ‘Don’t get upset, because I have a tendency to cut into people,’ he murmured apologetically. ‘It is a—design fault in my make-up,’ he explained sardonically. ‘I dislike having my actions questioned, so I react badly. My fault—not yours …’

      ‘You should not have spent money on us without my say-so,’ Claire couldn’t resist saying despite the fact that she seemed to know instinctively that—half apology or not—he wasn’t going to like her resurrecting the argument.

      Still, if he was angry, he managed to keep his voice level. ‘Well, it is done now.’ And although the remark was dismissive again at least he cloaked it in a gentler tone. ‘How is your wrist?’ he enquired, wisely changing the subject.

      Glancing down to where the sling held the heavy plaster-cast against her slender body, she noticed an ugly swelling around the base of her thumb. ‘It’s OK,’ she lied.

      In fact it was throbbing quite badly now. But then, so was her head—and her ribcage. Closing her eyes, she let herself relax back into the seat, feeling so tired, so utterly used up now that she had an idea that if she was left to do it she could easily sleep for a whole year.

      But she wasn’t going to be able to sleep, was she? Instead she was going to have to come up with a way to take care of Melanie while her wrist was like this.

      Out from behind the dull throb of her physical pain and her mental exhaustion her aunt Laura’s rotten suggestion reared its ugly head. It was enough to make her open her eyes, make her sit up straight as aching muscles knotted up with stress. Unaware of the pair of black eyes that were observing her narrowly, her anxious gaze went dancing around as if on a restless search for deliverance.

      ‘What’s wrong?’ he enquired levelly.

      ‘Nothing.’ She shook her head. For how could she tell him that his highly respected PA could be crass enough to want to give away one of her own nieces rather than help share responsibility for her? It was wicked, simply wicked.

      Yet you said you were prepared to consider the option, Claire grimly reminded herself.

      Her eyes grew stark, the tired bruising around the sockets becoming more pronounced as the weight of all her many problems began pressing on her once again.

      Then other things began intruding on her consciousness. The fact, for instance, that the car was driving them through a part of London that was very familiar to her since she’d used to live around here until three years ago.

      But that was a long way away from the East End district where she lived now. Frowning in puzzlement, she glanced around to find Andreas Markopoulou’s fathomless black eyes fixed on her watchfully.

      ‘This isn’t the way to my flat.’ She stated the obvious.

      Those dark eyes didn’t so much as flicker. ‘No,’ he confirmed, adding smoothly, ‘This is the way to my home.’

      His home … Claire repeated to herself, and tried to work out why he had used the words with the kind of emphasis that had set instincts firing out all kinds of warnings at her.

      ‘Your driver is going to drop you off first,’ she nodded, deciding that was what he had been implying.

      But beside her the dark head shook. ‘We are all going there,’ he said, waited a few moments for his words to sink in—then added gently, ‘I am taking you both home with me.’

      ‘But—what for?’ she demanded frowningly. ‘Will my aunt Laura be there?’

      There was a long pause when his eyes continued to hold hers but he didn’t answer. He has a beautiful face, she found herself thinking. Good bones and skin and nicely balanced features. It was a shame the whole was spoiled by the cold mask he wore over it …

      Then she blinked, realising that he still hadn’t answered her but was just sitting there, watching her studying him, and by the sardonic gleam she could see lurking in his eyes he knew exactly what she was thinking but didn’t give a damn.

      Not just cold, she thought suddenly, but proud of it. And she shuddered as if something unholy had just reached out to brush its icy fingertips along her body.

      The car came to a stop. ‘We have arrived,’ he announced, and leaned over to flick free her safety belt.

      Instantly her skin began to prickle, her heartbeat picking up pace as a burst of alarm forced her into taking avoiding action by pressing her body back into the seat.

      ‘Be calm,’ he murmured dryly as he carefully guided the belt back into its housing so it didn’t whip across her body. ‘You truly have nothing to fear from me.’

      No? Claire wished she could believe that—an hour ago she would have believed that! But since then something about this man had altered subtly and what really frightened her was that she just didn’t understand what that something was!

      Nikos, the chauffeur, was opening her door then, and offering to help her to alight. Feeling stubborn in the face of her own confusion, she ignored his outstretched hand and climbed out of the car under her own steam. But the effort took its toll, and she had to steady herself with her good hand on the bonnet of the car while her many aches and pains made their presence felt.

      She knew this street, she realised, suddenly becoming aware of her surroundings. It was several streets up from the one where she used to live when her father was alive, though this part of Holland Park was a hundred times more exclusive.

      But at least she knew where to run to if she needed to get away from here, she told herself. And with that consoling thought, she turned to watch the chauffeur release Melanie from her safety seat, while Andreas Markopoulou stood to one side of him, waiting to receive the baby into his arms.

      The baby arrived, all cute and cosy wrapped in a shawl her mother had so painstakingly crocheted throughout her confinement. And, for some crazy, unexplainable reason, remembering that brought on a violent surge of possessive jealousy that made her want to reach out and snatch the baby from him!

      Maybe he sensed her resentment, because he turned then, to glance at her sharply. ‘OK?’ he asked.

      No, Claire thought. I am not OK. I want you to give me my baby sister then I want to go home, because every single instinct I possess is telling me I should not be going anywhere with you!

      Aunt Laura—Aunt Laura … Like a chant devised to soothe the troubled spirit, she found herself using Aunt Laura’s connection to them both as an excuse as to why she was allowing herself to be taken over like this.

      ‘Let’s go …’ Her new guardian led the way towards one of the elegant town houses that stood in the middle of an elegant white-painted row.

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