Wedding Night Reunion In Greece. Annie West

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      Was she wilfully misunderstanding? The woman he’d wooed had seemed reasonably intelligent and eminently sensible. Not the sort to disappear on her wedding day. He leaned into her space, determined to get through to her. ‘I half-expected to find your abused body abandoned somewhere.’

      He saw shock work its way through her, making her eyes round and her shoulders stiffen. Then she shook her head again as if dismissing his concern as nothing. ‘Well, as you can see, I’m fine.’

      ‘Not good enough, Emma. Not nearly good enough. You owe me.’ An explanation to start with but far more after that.

      ‘Oh, that’s rich coming from you.’ Her mouth curled up at one corner.

      Was she sneering at him?

      Christo covered the space between them in one long stride, bringing him close enough to inhale the scent of sea and feminine warmth that made something in his belly skitter into life.

      Shackling her wrist with his, he tugged her close enough to feel the heat of her body.

      ‘Stop it, Emma. You’re my wife!’

      Her voice when it came was so low he had to crane forward to hear it. Yet it throbbed with a passion he’d never heard from her. ‘And how I wish I wasn’t.’

      Christo stared down at her. Never, in his whole life, had he met a woman who wasn’t pleased to be with him. He’d lost count of the number who’d vied to catch his attention. Yet this one, the one he’d honoured with his name and his hand in marriage, regarded him as she would a venomous snake.

      Had the world gone mad?

      Where was his sweet Emma? The woman who revelled in his smiles, the gentle, generous woman he’d selected from all the contenders?

      Her mouth twisted into a tight line as she stared down at his hand on her wrist. ‘Let me go now. Marriage doesn’t give you the right to assault me.’

      ‘Assault? You have to be kidding.’ His brow knotted in disbelief. As if he’d ever assault a woman!

      ‘It is if I don’t want to be touched and believe me, Christo, the last person on this earth I want touching me is you.’

      Her voice was sharp with disdain and her nostrils flared as she met his stare. Something thumped deep in his chest at the unexpected, unbelievable insult.

      Deliberately he dropped her hand and spread his empty fingers before her face. Anger throbbed through him. No, fury at being treated with such unprovoked contempt.

      ‘Okay, no touching. Now explain.’

      At last Emma seemed to realise the depth of his ire. The combative light faded from her eyes and her mouth compressed into a flat line. Abruptly she looked less fiery and more...hurt.

      Christo resisted the ridiculous impulse to pull her close. He’d met enough manipulative women not to fall for a play on his sympathy.

      ‘I know, Christo.’ Her voice was flat, devoid of vigour. ‘I know why you married me. There, is that enough explanation?’

      ‘It’s no explanation at all.’ Yet the nape of his neck prickled.

      It wasn’t possible. He’d spoken of it to no one except Damen and then he’d ensured they were out of earshot. He’d left his blushing bride with her beaming family on the other side of the sprawling house.

      He wasn’t ashamed of what he’d done. On the contrary, his actions had been sensible, laudable and honourable. He’d offered marriage and the promise of his protection and loyalty to this woman. What more could she want? His actions had been spurred by the best of motives.

      Except, looking into those wide, wounded eyes, Christo recalled her untutored ardour. Emma’s shy delight at his wooing.

      He’d told himself she didn’t expect his love.

      The old man had made it clear his granddaughter would marry to please him. Christo assumed she understood that behind the niceties of their courtship lay a world of practicality. That he’d wed for convenience.

       But you never spelled it out to her, did you?

      Christo silenced the carping voice.

      No one who knew him would believe he’d been bowled over by little Emma Piper.

      But Emma didn’t know him. Not really.

      For a second he wavered, surprised to feel guilt razor his gullet.

      Till logic asserted itself. She’d chosen to marry him. He’d never spoken of love. Never promised more than he was willing to give.

      Emma had flounced off in a huff and made him look like a fool. It was a part he’d never played before and never intended to play again.

      Indignation easily eclipsed any hint of culpability. ‘Nothing excuses what you did, Emma.’

      ‘Don’t try to put this on me, Christo. You don’t even want me. You’d prefer someone beautiful and vivacious, like my cousin.’

      Was that what this was about? He shook his head. He should have known this would boil down to feminine pique.

      Emma was such an innocent that she didn’t understand a man could be attracted to a woman and not act on that attraction. That a man of sense chose a woman who’d meet his needs.

      Emma was that woman, with all the qualities he required of a mother for his ward. Even her defiance now just proved she had backbone, something he admired.

      Plus she was more, he acknowledged. He met soft hazel eyes that now sparked with gold and green fire, feeling his blood heat as he took in her delectable figure and militant air. Christo acknowledged with a fillip of surprise that he wanted his wife more than he’d thought possible. Far more than he recalled from their restrained courtship.

      There was a vibrancy about her, a challenge, a feminine mystique that called to him at the most primitive level. Gone was the delicate, compliant girl so perfect for his plans. This was a woman. Obstinate, angry and brimming with attitude. Sexier than he’d realised.

      Lust exploded low in his body, a dark, tight hunger so powerful it actually equalled his fury.

      ‘I married you, Emma. Not your cousin. I gave you my name and my promise.’ How could she not understand what those things meant to him? ‘That’s far more important than any fleeting attraction.’

      But Emma refused to be convinced. She shook her head, wet hair slipping over her shoulders. Trails of sea water ran down from it to the miniscule triangles of her bikini top. Christo followed those wet tracks to the proud points of her nipples. Another wave of lust hit him and his flesh tightened across his bones as he fought the impulse to reach out and claim her.

      ‘You’re mine.’ The words emerged as a roughened growl.

      She stiffened, her chin jerking higher. ‘Not for long. I’m filing for divorce.’

      Like hell she СКАЧАТЬ