The Greek's Bought Bride. Sharon Kendrick

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      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.’

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