The Greek Tycoon's Virgin Wife

A faint shiver slithered down the length of her spine as memory provided a vivid replay of that fateful night when her hopes and dreams had been so cruelly shattered.

She’d survived and moved on, losing herself in her career to the extent it consumed her life. There was little she wanted or needed. No unfulfilled dreams.

‘Darling.’ The soft feminine voice was pure feline, and matched the tall, willowy blonde who drifted close to Xandro’s side. ‘I didn’t expect to see you tonight.’

‘Danika,’ Xandro acknowledged with a polite smile that failed to reach his eyes.

The Austrian-born model trod the international fashion catwalks and was much sought-after by designers, despite her behind-the-scene tantrums. A nightmare to work with, she possessed a magical ability to model clothes that put her among the élite.

‘You’ve met Ilana?’

Brilliant blue eyes spared her a perfunctory look. ‘Should I have?’

The deliberate put-down was softened with an ingenious tilt of that exquisitely painted mouth.

‘Ilana is a fashion designer.’

‘Really?’

Bored disinterest couldn’t have been better feigned. This was party time, and the glamorous model had only one goal in mind…Xandro Caramanis.

Who could blame her? The man was the catch of the decade!

‘I’m not familiar with your name. Ilana…who?’

‘Girard,’ Xandro informed silkily.

Ilana decided there was never going to be a better moment. ‘Arabelle label.’ She waited a beat. ‘You’re wearing one.’ So too was she, a gorgeous, figure-hugging halter-neck design in deep pink slipper-satin.

Danika’s eyes narrowed fractionally. ‘It was sold as an original.’

‘Gifted,’ Ilana corrected, and saw the model lift a dismissive hand.

‘My agent deals with the minor details.’

‘She follows your instructions.’ It was part of the deal, part of the play Danika employed. Designers adored her panache, and turned a blind eye to any contretemps. The gift of one of their original designs meant little in the big scheme of things.

It was all about marketing…recognition…sales.

Danika placed a lacquered nail to the lapel of Xandro’s evening suit and offered a seductive smile. ‘I’ll ensure we share the same table.’

With an unhurried movement he removed the model’s hand. ‘No.’

Just…no?

Succinct, and almost crushing…if one tended to be easily hurt.

Ilana caught a glimpse of ice in Danika’s startling blue eyes as the model’s lips formed a deliberate pout. ‘Poor darling, you’ll miss out on some fun. I’m available if you change your mind.’ Danika wriggled her fingers in a silent farewell before melting into the crowd.

It was as well the ballroom doors opened and guests were encouraged to take their seats.

Although seconds later Ilana wasn’t so sure as Xandro captured her elbow and led her into the vast room set with well over a hundred tables.

His fingers were warm on her bare skin, his touch electrifying as heat rose deep inside and threatened to affect her equilibrium.

It wasn’t a feeling she coveted, and she fought an instinctive need to withdraw from him. ‘There’s a reason for such seeming togetherness?’ she demanded quietly, and saw one eyebrow slant in musing humour.

‘I enjoy your company?’

She looked at him carefully. ‘It would help if you enlighten me as to what game you’re playing.’

‘Would you believe…none?’

‘Should I be flattered?’ she queried sweetly, and heard his faint husky chuckle.

‘You’re not?’

‘I’d hate to shatter your world,’ Ilana relayed in droll tones as a pretty young thing personally directed them towards a prestige table close to the stage.

Name cards designated seat placings, and it came as no surprise to find Xandro’s name card placed next to her own.

How difficult could it be to converse, smile and play the social game?

Pretend, a tiny voice prompted. You’re good at it.

‘What would you like to drink?’

There was bottled wine on the table, but lunch had been a non-event, and alcohol in any form would go straight to her head.

‘Just water, thanks.’

Xandro poured iced water into her goblet, then filled his own. ‘To good fortune.’ He touched the rim of his goblet to hers in a mocking salute.

The table filled, Liliana joined them and, introductions completed, the evening began with the usual opening speech by the nominated-charity president.

The lights dimmed, and waiters began serving food to the guests as the guest speaker took the podium.

She was supremely conscious of the man at her side…the exclusive tones of his cologne, the clean smell of freshly laundered clothing mingling with the barely detectable essence of male.

There was something dangerous about him that threatened the carefully built armour she’d painstakingly erected in her need for self-preservation.

It made her wary, almost as if she had to gather all her wits together and be on constant alert in his presence.

For heaven’s sake, an inner voice silently expostulated. Xandro Caramanis is nothing to you.

What’s more, you don’t want him to be.

So get over it!