Her Greek Groom: The Tycoon's Mistress / Smokescreen Marriage / His Forbidden Bride

She found herself remembering the silences—all the times she hadn’t known what he was thinking. And, in spite of herself, began to wonder.

That total certainty about the future—her inner radiance—had taken a jolt, but a few doubts were perfectly natural, surely.

Anyway, she and Draco couldn’t get married immediately, she reminded herself. There were all kinds of legal and religious formalities to be completed first.

And plenty of time for any lingering qualms to be assuaged.

She was halfway through her packing when the telephone rang.

‘Cressy, my dear.’

‘Why, Uncle Bob.’ She sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘What a surprise. I—I was actually planning to call you—’

‘Cressy,’ he interrupted firmly, ‘I’m afraid you must listen carefully. I’ve got bad news.’

Ten minutes later she replaced the receiver. Her face was colourless and she felt deathly cold.

Her wonderful golden dream had gone, to be replaced by bleak and frightening reality. A chilling reminder of exactly who she was. Not some silly, lovesick child swept away by a handsome face, but a woman with a career, duties and obligations. A woman with a life far removed from some half-finished shack on a piece of Mediterranean rock.

Her father was not only ruined, but alone and ill. He might even be dying. Their recent estrangement was suddenly meaningless. She had to go back to England at once.

For a moment Draco’s face seemed to swim in front of her. Gasping, she wrapped her arms round her body. She couldn’t let herself think about him, or the folly of the last ten days. She had quite deliberately to wipe him from her mind, and her memory. There was no place for him in her life now, and never had been outside a crazy dream. He was a luxury she couldn’t afford, she thought, biting her lip until she tasted blood.

As it was, no real harm had been done, and she had to be thankful for that.

It made her wince to think how naive she’d been—how easily she’d been beguiled to near disaster.

Draco had been so clever, using his sexuality to keep her in a torment of frustration and longing. All those kisses, she thought bitterly. The fleeting caresses that had aroused without satisfying.

And all leading to what? Not marriage, she was certain. He was probably bluffing about that. No, he was counting on her walking away once he’d shown her the life she could expect. But not until she’d handed over a hefty payment for his injured feelings, no doubt.

It was fate, she told herself as the plane took off from Athens. Fate intervening to stop her making the most hideous mistake of her life.

She had to see it like that or she’d go mad. She had to block the pain or she’d moan aloud. Had to tell herself that Draco was just a beach boy on the make or she’d mourn him for ever.

And she had her father’s problems to sort out. She had no time for her own.

All very reasoned, Cressy thought now, as she brought her car to a halt in front of the house. Very rational. If only there hadn’t been an unknown factor in her equation. A factor that still seemed to be pursuing her.

Cressy spent most of the afternoon on the telephone and sending e-mails, informing her father’s creditors that she’d be negotiating on his behalf during his stay in hospital. But if she’d hoped for instant response or cooperation, she was disappointed.

She was just reluctantly deciding to call it a day when she heard the sound of a car outside and her uncle appeared, accompanied by Charles Lawrence, her father’s legal adviser.

Sir Robert spoke without preamble. ‘Cressy—have you spoken to the bank?’

She shook her head. ‘They put me off with polite noises. Why—have you heard something?’

‘I was contacted this morning.’ Charles Lawrence was speaking. ‘It’s an extraordinary business, Cressida. They’ve had an offer to pay off the mortgage on this house, and your father’s other debts. Someone’s prepared to—take them over.’

‘Just like that?’ Cressy stared at both men. ‘But that’s impossible.’

Mr Lawrence nodded. ‘So I thought. But I’ve since spoken to the other party, and the offer has been confirmed.’

Cressy mentally reviewed her father’s close friends. There were several millionaires among them, but she wouldn’t have credited any of them with that level of generosity.

She said doubtfully, ‘Is it Dad’s old company—have they put together a rescue package for him?’

‘Nothing like that, I fear. The offer has come from the Standard Trust Bank. They are based in New York, but they’re owned by the Ximenes Corporation. I expect you’ve heard of it.’

‘Yes.’ Her voice sounded odd, suddenly, almost distorted. ‘Yes—it was mentioned to me quite recently.’

‘Well, I don’t understand any of it,’ Sir Robert said bluntly. ‘Who are these people, and what on earth have they to do with James? I wasn’t aware he’d had any dealings with them.’

‘I’m sure he didn’t.’ Charles Lawrence shook his head. ‘It’s a complete mystery, but I hope Cressida may be able to solve it.’ He gave her a bleak smile. ‘It seems they wish to negotiate with you personally, my dear.’

‘Did they give any particular reason?’ Cressy felt hollow as weird, incredible suspicions continued to ferment in her mind.

No, she thought. It’s not true. It can’t be. It’s just an odd coincidence. It has to be—has to…

‘No, but I got the impression that the chairman—a chap called Viannis—is a law unto himself.’ He consulted some notes. ‘He’s staying in London at the Grand Imperial—occupies the penthouse, apparently. You’re to phone for an appointment.’

‘Well, I don’t like the sound of it,’ Sir Robert said restively. ‘You’re James’s solicitor. He should be talking to you.’

‘I suggested as much, but they were adamant. It has to be Cressida. Although she can always refuse,’ he added quickly.

‘No,’ Cressy said. ‘If this Viannis is prepared to throw my father a lifeline, then I’ll talk to him, or anyone. I’ll call tomorrow and fix up a meeting.’

‘Well,’ Sir Robert said dubiously, ‘if you’re quite sure, my dear.’

After their departure Cressy sat for a while, staring into space. Then she rose and went over to the desk and her laptop.

The e-mail icon was waiting for her, as she’d suspected it would be.

Swallowing, she clicked on to the message.

‘Sid,’ she read. ‘I am waiting for you. Come to me.’

And that meant there could no longer be any doubt at all.

‘Oh, God,’ she whispered, her clenched fist pressed against her mouth. ‘What am I going to do?’

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_8b2c66c2-0592-5886-9974-49fee2bf87d3)

AS THE gates closed and the lift began its smooth rush to the penthouse, Cressy drew a deep breath.

Whatever—whoever—was waiting for her, it was essential that she appear composed and in control. She couldn’t afford to let the mask slip for a moment and reveal the turmoil of emotion inside her.

She had dressed carefully for this meeting. Her navy blue suit was immaculate, the skirt cut decorously to the knee. The heavy cream silk blouse buttoned to the throat, and she wore neat navy pumps with a medium heel and carried a briefcase. Her hair had been brushed severely back from her face and confined at the nape of her neck with a gilt clip.