The Greek's Stolen Bride (7 page)

"I've arranged a priest to come here to perform the ceremony."

"You can just do that?"

"I did. And a solicitor as well, to arrange the prenuptial agreement." He glanced at her, eyes narrowing. "That upsets you?"

It did, and she was surprised he'd realized that so quickly. "You have so much power," she said quietly.

"I thought that would have been a comfort."

She shook her head. "Power scares me. It's easily abused."

"And yet," Theo observed, "if I didn't have power, I wouldn't have been able to help you. You can't have it both ways, Ariana."

She let out a little laugh. "I suppose you're right."

"You must trust me not to abuse it."

"But I don't even know you."

He glanced at her, eyes dark and serious even as his mouth quirked in a little half-smile. "Yet you trust me."

He'd said as much before, and she still could't deny it even though part of her wanted to. Didn't want to trust, even if she had no choice, because trust was frightening. Dangerous. And Theo had already shown how ruthless and even brutal he could be.

When he'd been protecting her.

"I don't know," she whispered and he reached out to place one heavy hand on her shoulder. "We've had enough of this discussion. Come eat."

Theo took several dishes over to the table in the dining alcove that overlooked the beach. Pita bread, hummus, salad and yogurt dip, as well as some marinated lamb his assistant Lukas had bought from the market. A simple meal, nothing like the dinner they'd had last night, but nourishing.

And Ariana needed to be nourished. Not just physically, but emotionally too. He felt a fierce surge of protectiveness as he watched her walk over to the table, her bearing as proud and straight as ever even though her eyes were dark and shadowed, and lines of tension bracketed her lush mouth. She was scared. Scared of him? Theo didn't think so, but he knew he'd plunged her into a whirlpool of uncertainty.

Marriage.

Why had he suggested it? He had never been interested in marriage before; he had not even considered such a thing with any woman until the words had come out of his mouth.
Marry me.
It had not been a romantic proposal, but then there was nothing romantic about their business arrangement.

And yet that kiss... the memory of how she'd yielded to his caress made Theo's insides now tighten with need. He wanted her. Physically, yes, but something else too. Something more.

Within the six months of their marriage, he hoped to explore the
more
they could both enjoy.

And then?

The question, sliding slyly into his mind, stilled him. And then what? Ariana walked away, into her own life? That was what he had promised her. That was what made sense for both of them.

He glanced at her again, those dark, haunted eyes, that proud, tall carriage. And he wondered if in six months he would want to let her go.

"You look very serious all of a sudden," Ariana said as she slid into one of the chairs.

Theo handed her a plate. "Not at all." He pushed those wayward thoughts and sly questions out of his mind. He didn't need to think about six months from now; he needed to think about today. Tonight, when he returned the boat to Leotokos. Tomorrow, when he married his daughter. And the days to follow, when he put his plan in action to ruin Leotokos completely and forever.

He ladled some lamb onto Ariana's plate, a new, unwelcome thought sliding into his mind. She had no great love for her father, but what would she think about the scope of the revenge--the destruction--he was planning for the man? For his business, his life?

"Theo?" she asked, and he knew he'd gone all serious and silent again.

"Sorry. Just mentally reviewing the next few days."

"I thought we weren't going to talk about that."

"No, we're not." He sat across from her and served himself from the dishes on the table. "Let's talk about something else."

She arched an eyebrow, that lush mouth curving in a way that made Theo's palms itch. She was incredibly sexy. Innocent yet sensual. He wondered if she knew the effect she had on men, her overwhelming allure.

"How did you spend your time, on your father's island?"

She shrugged. "Reading, writing. Some painting and pottery. My father has never been a slave driver. And it was in his best interest to keep me happy and amused."

"And were you?"

"Sometimes." She toyed with the food on her plate. "I learned long ago there's no point railing against fate, wishing things could be different. The only way to make them different is to change them."

Exactly his own philosophy. He'd never met a woman with whom he felt so much accord. "And yet for many years you were essentially powerless."

"Powerless but patient. And I used the time as wisely as I could."

"How?"

"Learning as much as I could. Reading every book in my father's library, whether it was on finance or economics or natural science. Listening to everyone, even the lowliest servant, so I could understand human nature. Dreaming of the day I would live my life as I wanted, free, because that kept my hope alive."

"Dreaming can be important," Theo agreed quietly. Dreaming had been what had kept him going in those hard, lean years after his father's suicide. Dreaming of the day he could provide for his mother, give her back the silks and satins Spiro had clothed her in before Leotokos had ruined him. And not just material riches, but a sense of purpose and happiness she'd long since lost. He'd wanted to restore the light to her eyes, but he hadn't. She'd died when he was twenty. He'd started making enough money to provide for her then, but Andrea had never gained back the joy she'd known with his father. A stolen joy, an immoral one perhaps, but there could be no doubting that Spiro and Andrea had loved each other.

Even if his father had been married to another woman.

Swallowing, Theo looked away. His father's double lifestyle--a rich society wife in Athens and a mistress and bastard son in Piraeus--had cemented his own belief that he would never marry. That he didn't want to marry, didn't want to love, because it was complicated and messy and ultimately made you weak.

And even if he married Ariana--even if he bedded her--he wasn't going to love her. The reminder was sharp and necessary.

He turned to smile at her. "After lunch we can relax by the pool. You deserve a little relaxation."

And he felt a surge of gratification when she smiled, almost shyly, and he saw a new light steal into her eyes. He might not have been able to save his mother, but this woman's freedom and happiness were, for the moment, within his gift.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ariana lay in bed and watched the moon rise in the ink-black sky, higher and higher so its rays bathed her bedroom in lambent silver. Theo had left two hours ago to return the boat to her father's island.

They'd spent the afternoon as he'd promised, relaxing by the pool, chatting and laughing and teasing about both nothing and everything. It had been no more than a few hours of simple pleasure, yet Ariana couldn't remember the last time she'd ever enjoyed herself so much--if ever.

Sighing she rolled onto her side and tucked her knees up to her chest. As the sun had set Theo had made souvlaki on the grill on the terrace overlooking the sea and they'd eaten it with sticky fingers as the stars came out, diamond pinpricks in a drop cloth of black velvet. Relaxed from a day in the sun and a few glasses of very good wine, Ariana had started remembering how soft Theo's lips had felt. Soft and yet so demanding. And she'd wanted him, quite desperately, to kiss her again.

And then he had. He'd risen from the table, put his hands on her shoulders, told her he was leaving and would be back before dawn. Ariana had opened her mouth--to do what? Gasp? Protest?
Beg
?

Theo had kissed her silent. One hard, swift kiss, and then he was gone--before she could ask him to stay, tell him it didn't matter about the boat.

Yet as she watched him stride from the terrace, his body hardening and tautening with purpose, she knew it mattered to him.
I am not a thief
. Theo had come a long way, longer perhaps than she would ever know. He wasn't about to go back again.

And neither was she. Fear seized her as she thought about Theo being discovered. Arrested. Imprisoned. And what would happen to her? Her father would come find her, take her back to the island. Force her to marry Dion.

Ariana closed her eyes. It was all so awful, so horrifying, yet the possibility that made her rigid with terror was not her own fate but Theo's. She was worried for him.

She cared about him.

How had that happened? She barely knew the man. Was she such a love-starved innocent that a single afternoon of kindness made her start believing in fairy tales? In love?

No, surely not. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, as if even now she could will sleep to come. She did not love him. Wouldn't love him. Tomorrow they would marry and in six months that sham marriage would be annulled.

Six months. What would she do for those six months? Where would she live? And if Theo was just marrying her out of some twisted desire to annoy her father, what did that mean for her? For them?

There was no them, she reminded herself. Theo might have kissed her, might have made her laugh, but she was no more than a means to an end for him, an end she didn't yet fully understand.

And that's all he'd be to her. A means to freedom and self-sufficiency. Taking another deep breath, she willed herself to relax. Still the minutes ticked by and sleep didn't come.

Eventually she must have dozed, for she lurched upright suddenly, her heart pounding as she blinked sleep from her eyes. Downstairs she heard someone moving about, quietly, stealthily, and air bottled in her lungs.

Was it Theo? Or one of her father's henchmen having found Theo--and a way here?

Silently she slipped from the bed, looked for a weapon. A lamp? Ridiculous. She was ridiculous and completely unprepared for anything. She heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs and reached for a discarded shoe. Not much, but it would have to do. She pressed against the wall; if the door opened, she would be hidden--and ready to attack.

And then the door did open, a cautious creak, and Ariana held her breath, the shoe raised--

"Good Lord." Theo wrapped his hand around her upraised wrist. "What were you going to attack me with? A sandal?"

She sagged against the wall, weak with relief. "It has a high heel."

"True." He took the shoe from her nerveless fingers and examined the tapered point of the heel. "I'd rather not have this thrust in my eye, thank you very much."

She let out a shaky laugh. "I was afraid you might be someone from my father."

Theo clucked his tongue. "Have you no faith in me at all, Ariana?"

"Did you return the boat?"

"Of course." He tossed the shoe aside and moved into her bedroom, as comfortable there as he'd been anywhere. He wore a black shirt and black jeans, and in the moonlit room she could barely make out his features.

"How did you get back?"

"Lukas followed me in my own boat. I moored the boat to your father's dock and was gone within seconds."

"And no one noticed?"

He shrugged. "Not in time."

Terror clutched at her. "What do you mean, not in time?"

"Someone gave chase," he admitted, seeming rather unconcerned. "But we lost them before we'd even sighted Naxos."

He turned, and with a shocked gasp she saw a long, livid line of red on the side of his face. "You're hurt!" Instinctively she started towards him, extending one hand towards the bloody scar.

"Just a flesh wound." Theo wrapped his hand around her own, brought it to his cheek. Ariana's breath caught in her chest as she stared at him, her hand against his face. She was suddenly conscious that they were very alone, and she was wearing only a rather skimpy nightgown. The bedroom stretched darkly all around them, the king-sized bed only a meter away. "Were you worried for me, Ariana?" he asked softly.

"Worried?" she repeated jerkily. "I was terrified. I still am. You could have been killed--"

"But I wasn't."

"How did you get that scar?" He shrugged and she said, numbly, "it was from a bullet, wasn't it? Aries has carried a pistol before. You almost had your head blown off."

"He missed by a mile."

"You're bleeding--"

"Ssh." He drew her closer so her breasts brushed his chest. She felt the heat of him through the thin cotton of her nightgown, felt an answering heat rise up in herself. "Don't fuss," he said softly. He drew his hands through her hair, brushing the heavy mass away from her face. "Not when there are so many other, better things we could be doing."

And then he kissed her, not the swift, hard kiss of earlier this evening but a sweetly passionate kiss that promised much so more. The kind of kiss Ariana had been aching for.

Her hand crept up to bunch on the hard muscles of his shoulders, her fingers slipping underneath the neck of his tee-shirt to smooth the hot, satiny skin beneath. Her mouth opened under his like a flower in sunlight and he took full possession, his tongue sweeping inside as his hands slid from her hips to her breasts, the thin cotton of her nightgown already too much of a barrier.