Marriage Of Convenience. Helen Bianchin

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      ‘You’d prefer to explore on your own?’

      She crossed to the staircase and began ascending the wide marble stairs, aware he joined her. ‘I might get lost.’

      ‘It’s quite simple. Personal suites and home office situated to the left, guest suites to the right. Ground floor, formal and informal lounge and dining rooms, media, home theatre, kitchen, utilities. Lower floor, gym, entertainment room, indoor pool. Outdoor pool. Self-contained flat for staff over detached garages.’

      They reached the gallery and turned to the left. ‘It’s a large home for one man.’ An observation that incurred his steady appraisal.

      ‘A man who has very recently acquired a wife,’ he reminded silkily.

      Loukas opened a set of double-panelled doors to reveal a spacious master bedroom, containing two king-size beds.

      So he’d kept his word.

      She told herself she should be relieved…and she was. Except sharing the same room implied a certain intimacy with which she felt distinctly uncomfortable. There were two separate en suites, two dressing rooms and a recessed alcove furnished with two comfortable chairs and standard lamps.

      It was, she had to admit, incredible. Luxurious, with spectacular views over the harbour to the cityscape. Magic at nightfall when the city was lit up and varied coloured neon flashed with advertisements atop many of the inner-city buildings.

      He shrugged out of suit jacket, dispensed with his tie and loosened the top button of his shirt.

      For a moment she caught her breath at his intention, and he glimpsed the fleeting apprehension evident before it was quickly masked.

      ‘You might want to change into something less formal.’

      She reminded him of a skittish foal in an unfamiliar environment…one who had experienced fear, possibly damage, with every reason to mistrust.

      ‘Eloise has unpacked your bag.’ Loukas indicated the dressing room she would use. ‘Tomorrow we’ll shift the remainder of your belongings.’

      ‘I can manage on my own.’

      ‘You won’t need to.’

      So give up the independent streak, accept two pairs of hands are better than one, and some masculine strength for the bag-carrying is a good thing.

      Slipping into something more comfortable depended on what items of clothing Lacey packed, and she crossed into her allocated dressing room to check the meagre assortment.

      Jeans didn’t cut it, but tailored trousers with a cotton top would do.

      Minutes later she emerged to find Loukas standing close to the wide expanse of glass taking in the panoramic scene.

      The white shirt accentuated the impressive breadth of his shoulders, and his shirt cuffs had been folded back to rest midway up his forearms, lending a casual air.

      Deceptive, she knew, for he could move with the silent stealth of a primitive cat and reduce an adversary to speechlessness with a few sententious words.

      She watched as he turned towards her, and the breath caught in her throat.

      He was someone she’d known for a number of years, as the son of Dimitri’s closest friend, a man whose company she’d shared with her parents’ friends and business associates on a few occasions at various social events. Instinctively aware, even then, that when he played, he played to win…in business, and with women.

      Through circumstance he’d won Karsouli…together with her as part of the package.

      ‘Shall we go eat?’

      Food wasn’t foremost on her mind, although she sipped excellent vintage wine, sampled succulent morsels from no less than three courses, while engaging in meaningless conversation.

      The economic state of the nation and the world’s foremost leaders made for interesting debate and carried the hour with relative ease. Something for which she was immensely grateful.

      ‘Do you still have regular contact with Lacey?’

      Alesha wondered if Loukas’ query related to genuine interest, or merely a shift to the more personal.

      ‘Regularly,’ she answered lightly. ‘We share dinner each week, occasionally take in a movie. Go shopping together.’

      ‘I seem to recall you were a keen advocate of tennis. Do you still play?’

      ‘Not as often as I used to.’ She took an appreciative sip of fine wine. ‘Do you still travel extensively?’

      ‘My father prefers to remain in Greece these days.’ He affected a slight shrug. ‘Andreou has offices in London, Milan and New York, and I alternate between each of them while overseeing the main office in Athens.’

      ‘And now you’ve added Sydney to the equation.’

      One eyebrow lifted in sardonic query. ‘That still bothers you?’

      ‘I have no alternative but to accept it.’

      ‘It’s a little late to change your mind.’

      ‘How are your parents? Your sister Lexi?’

      ‘They’re well. My mother is on various committees, which consume some of her time. Lexi designs handcrafted jewellery and has a studio in the Pláka.’

      ‘And your Aunt Daria?’ It was a polite query and resulted in a musing smile.

      ‘She remains a force to be reckoned with.’

      Plain-spoken to the point of bluntness, Alesha remembered as she recalled a visit to Athens with her parents several years ago when they’d spent time with Angelina and Constantine Andreou.

      ‘That appears to take care of family and friends,’ Alesha managed lightly. ‘Should we move on to the more personal? The master breeding plan, perhaps? I trust you’re aware the male sperm determine the sex of the child?’ She spared him a pseudo-intelligent look. ‘I refuse to bear any blame if we produce only girls.’

      Alesha glimpsed his faint smile. ‘Why, when their mother is a fine example of what women can achieve?’

      ‘An attempt to soften me up for the inevitable consummation?’ She was heading down a dangerous path, and she silently damned her runaway tongue.

      ‘The chemistry we share bothers you?’

      Bother was too tame a description!

      ‘And chemistry is an automatic guarantee for satisfaction between the sheets?’

      What is the matter with you? a silent voice screamed inside her head. Are you insane?

      ‘Did your ex gift you that?’

      She silently damned herself for metaphorically СКАЧАТЬ