Wedding Night with a Stranger (5 page)

She could feel his eyes on her, boring into her brain as if he knew, damn him, how distracting his presence was, how little she really knew about wine. Out of cowardice she considered rejecting it altogether, then noticed a bottle of red on the neighbouring table, its cork removed.

Allowing the wine to breathe, her uncle would have pronounced with approval.

Pride and prudence warred in her chest, and pride won the day. If Sebastian Nikosto could order wine, so could Ariadne Giorgias.

Still, she’d hardly ever been the person at the restaurant table who’d made the selection, except on a couple of lunch occasions with her girlfriends. Praying she didn’t make a fool of herself, she murmured the most familiar name on the list.

The waiter’s brows rose. ‘Veuve Cliquot. Excellent choice, miss.’

The man whisked away, and she was left to face Sebastian alone. She held her menu up before her face, self-consciously aware he was now leaning forward with his arms folded on the table, watching her like a cougar poised to spring.

She felt a spurt of annoyance. His firm, masculine mouth—on another man she might have even considered it stirring—was gravely set, but there’d been a very slight flicker in one corner as if a smile was willing to break out. Except there was nothing to smile at. For goodness’ sake, the man had just been rejected in marriage. Couldn’t he accept it with dignity?

She was just winding up to say something to challenge him, when the waiter came back with a champagne flute, and presented a bottle with a yellow label for her approval.

As she’d seen her uncle do countless times, she nodded. The man set the glass before her, then without spilling a drop worked off the cork with deft fingers, and poured her a foaming taste.

As coolly as possible, considering she was under scrutiny, she swirled it in the glass, sniffed it, then took a small sip.

The buoyant liquid foamed its way to her stomach like a potent wave.

‘Thank you,’ she said, her eyes watering a little as the waiter topped up her glass. To crush any suspicions Sebastian Nikosto might have that she wasn’t completely at ease and self-assured, she raised the sparkling liquid casually to her lips for a further sip. Bubbles shot up her nose and she couldn’t prevent a sneeze. In the desperate grab for tissues, she reached blindly for her purse and accidentally knocked over her water glass.

Oh, Theos.
A
flood the size of Niagara Falls swamped her side of the table.

The waiter snapped into emergency mode, fussing over the pool with a napkin, helping her move out from the table to avoid the drips, enquiring if she was all right, if there was anything wrong with the champagne, trying to insist despite her protests that he must summon someone to change the table linen.

Shut up,
she wanted to scream, burningly aware of Sebastian Nikosto’s attentive face observing and listening to it all.
Get lost.

‘No, no, it’s all
right,
’ she hissed at all his mopping and tsking over the sodden spot. ‘It’s nothing.
Nothing.
I like it damp. Please,’ she added with a heartfelt tug at his sleeve.

At last the guy took the hint, though unhappily, and edged away, casting uncomfortable looks back at her over his shoulder. The sheer irony of it, she kept thinking. Fate was so unfair. After her extensive experience in the grand restaurants of Europe, to appear now in her own country in front of the most unpleasant man she’d ever met as a gauche, clumsy fool was too much.

As soon as the waiter was out of earshot and she’d recovered some of her poise, Sebastian Nikosto drawled, ‘Celebrating?’

She gave him a withering glance. There was an unnerving glimmer in his dark eyes, while that suspicion of a smile still lurked at the corners of his sexy mouth. He might not have personally upset the glass, but in her heart she blamed him. It was his fault for flustering her.

‘That’s none of your concern.’

At least her dress was black, she reflected. No one else had to know how uncomfortable she felt sitting with a wet tablecloth in her lap.

He leaned back in his chair and stretched with luxurious ease. ‘Are you usually this snotty and touchy, Ms Giorgias?’

She drew a sharp breath and retorted, ‘Are you usually this rude and annoying?’

He lifted his brows. ‘Now, how fair is that? Here I am, a harmless guy, rejected by my date and forced to a lonely dinner, when by the most astonishing coincidence…’

She leaned forward. ‘
Is
it a coincidence?’

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. ‘You know, just what I was wondering. I don’t usually believe in coincidences. When you showed up here I was—have to admit it—gobsmacked. I have to wonder how it was arranged. It looks like a set-up to me.’
He made a sweeping gesture around at the setting. ‘Here we are, in our own little intimate space, night-lights out there on the harbour, soft music, the terrace…’

She gasped. ‘What are you implying? That
I
set this up?’ She glared at his solemn face. ‘That’s ridiculous. I didn’t know you were here. Why would I?’

He shrugged, shaking his head. ‘Can’t work it out. Unless you followed me because you felt—ashamed.’

‘Oh,
what
?’
she said incredulously. She rolled her eyes. ‘
I
should feel ashamed!’ She glowered at him, remembering the way he’d behaved at their first meeting, even if he had made an apology since. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t a date.’ She leaned forward again and added softly and distinctly, ‘For your information, I wouldn’t go anywhere with a man who had to use a business deal to catch a wife.’

His eyes glinted. ‘Wouldn’t you? But you’d come halfway across the world to meet him.’

The silky insinuation jabbed her and she retorted hotly, ‘No, I would not, not if I had any—’

She pulled herself up in the nick of time. For all that her aunt and uncle had hurt and betrayed her into getting on that plane with their cruel trick, they were still her family. Still all the people she had in the world, though she could never forgive them. There was no way she could admit to Sebastian how cheaply they must have held her in their hearts all these years, even though she’d never before questioned their unconditional love for her.

His eyes sharpened. ‘Not if you had any what?’

For the thousandth time that day she felt tears prick at the backs of her eyes. Blinking fast, she lowered them and turned away and pretended to look for something in her purse until the danger passed.

When she looked up Sebastian Nikosto’s alert, intelligent gaze was still fixed interrogatively on her face. ‘You were saying…?’

‘Nothing,’ she said huskily, grateful that food waiters chose that moment to swish up to each of their tables to take their orders.

Relieved that Sebastian’s attention was diverted from her for the moment, she turned her attention to the menu and the efficient young waitress.

Since during her perusal she hadn’t managed to take in a word of the menu, apart from one heartening glimpse of the dessert list, it took her a few moments to read it.

By the time she’d made up her mind, Sebastian had finished ordering his, and his waiter had hurried away. He lounged back in his chair, his long legs stretched out in idle relaxation. Though his gaze only drifted her way intermittently, she could sense his full attention trained on her like a million-megawatt spotlight.

With her cheeks growing uncomfortably hot, in the effort to exclude him she kept her voice at a low murmur. ‘I might start with one or two chocolate truffles, and then the basil bruschetta.’

The woman looked surprised. ‘The chocolate truffles are a dessert, miss.’

‘Of course. I
know
that. Only one, then. And then could you cut me a really, really thin slice of that ricotta tart with the truffled peaches? Followed by the linguini…’

‘Which one, miss? The broccoli or the prawn?’

She hesitated, weighing it up, then mumbled so softly the waitress had to bend her head to hear, ‘Could I try a small taste of each? And I’ll have the flounder with the artichoke and caper sauce.’

‘That is a
whole
flounder,’ a deep voice interjected from the other side of the neighbouring table.

Ariadne felt a sharp stab of annoyance. The man must have had supersonic hearing. Not to mention an insufferable nerve. As if he hadn’t spoken, she kept her eyes firmly on the face of
the waitress and murmured, ‘And a garden salad to go with that, please. And vegetables.’

‘Anything else, madam? Pommes Paris? Witlof gorgonzola salad with pancetta and Granny Smith apple?’

‘Yes, yes, everything.’ Ariadne leaned her head away from the direction of the Nikosto table and whispered, hoping the waitress would get the message and lower her voice as well. She smiled meaningfully at the young woman, wishing with all her heart that Sebastian Nikosto would implode and disappear. ‘One more thing,’ she said, barely moving her mouth.

The waitress tilted her head to catch her words. ‘Yes, miss?’

Ariadne beckoned until the woman leaned her ear closer. ‘I’m finding that the light is shining in my eyes here. Would you mind helping me to shift around to that side of the table?’

She could see it would be a squeeze, but it would have the advantage of her sitting with her back to Sebastian.

The woman eyed the space doubtfully. ‘I’m not sure your chair will fit on this side, miss. It might be an obstruction when we try to serve the gentleman.’

The deep smooth voice intruded again. ‘What if the young lady moves over here?’

Ariadne allowed herself a freezing glance at him.

He was indicating the space beside him, his dark eyes agleam, his smile exuding innocence and goodwill. ‘Then she’d be facing away from the light, and she’d be able to enjoy the view. Since we’re practically dinner partners already…’ His eyes dwelled on Ariadne’s face with a sensual, velvet intensity. ‘I’d love to have you join me, Miss Giorgias.’ His voice was awash with sincerity. ‘And you’d be rescued from that wet tablecloth.’

The waitress’s eyes warmed when she saw Sebastian. ‘Oh, do you know each other?’

‘God, yes,’ he said heartily. ‘Our families have known each other for ever, haven’t they, Ariadne?’

Turning to Ariadne, the waitress caught sight of her tablecloth
and her drooly expression changed to horror. ‘Miss,’ she exclaimed, ‘this cloth is
soaked.
’ She tested the sodden patch. ‘Oh. You should have said. This table will have to be reset.’

She swivelled about, and had begun telegraphing across the room for reinforcements when Sebastian murmured something to her and pointed towards the lights.

Easily distracted if the distraction happened to be lean, darkeyed with stunning cheekbones and a sexy, mocking mouth, the waitress turned to Ariadne, her eyes alight with meaning. ‘What do you think, miss? Wouldn’t you like to move?’ With a lilt of her brows she indicated Sebastian. ‘You shouldn’t be bothered by the light over there.’

Ariadne was cornered in more ways than one, and her simmering gaze met Sebastian Nikosto’s with sardonic appreciation. She wasn’t sure how many of the staff he’d bribed, but that smile was anything but innocent. A refusal would make her look downright nasty, her request to move petty and insincere.

‘Do you always have to have your own way?’

‘I find it best.’

She glowered at him. ‘Your tie’s crooked.’

‘Is it?’ He smiled, as if he knew, damn him, how handsome it made him. ‘Why don’t you come over here and fix it for me?’

She folded her arms across her chest. ‘I think you must enjoy punishment. I’ve already rejected you once this evening.’

His eyes glinted. ‘You could always change your mind, though. I’m willing to bet you’re pretty good at that.’

Her guilty past rushed to the surface. ‘Why? What have you heard?’

His brows lifted with amused curiosity. ‘What should I have heard? See? We’re already talking. You might as well come on over.’ He patted the spot next to him.

She exhaled a long, incredulous breath. Couldn’t this man take no for an answer? On the other hand, her tablecloth was wet. And it couldn’t hurt just to eat dinner with him, could it? He
wasn’t likely to whisk her away to his fortress and force her into a wedding ceremony at gunpoint in the dead of night.

‘Oh, all
right,
’
she said. ‘Anything for peace.’ The concession was barely wrung from her before Sebastian sprang up and, with help from the waitress, whisked her, her chair and place setting to the Nikosto table.

‘There, isn’t that better?’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Now we won’t have to shout at each other to be heard.’

‘I never shout,’ she said coldly.

‘No, and you never smile. I’m looking forward to removing that sulky expression.’

She smiled at him just to prove he was wrong, but, after all the horrors of the day, somehow the criticism wounded her already abused feelings. She clung to the smile as tightly as she could, her gaze fixed on a ferry chugging across the harbour in a blaze of lights while she fought the fatal thickening in her throat.

The silence grew charged. After a long tense minute he said gently, ‘Ah…Now that I think about it, it might just be the shape of your lips.’ He leaned closer and traced the outline of her lips with one lean finger, not quite touching them. ‘They have that little pout. And they’re very sensuous.’

His voice soaked through her nerve fibres like
kitro.

D
INNER
had a dizzily mounting tension, not unlike a ritual dance in which each move and countermove weren’t known in advance, but had to be guessed at by the dancers.

Ariadne felt weird to be dining with a man she’d so recently refused in marriage, but probably as part of some diabolical master plan Sebastian made no reference to it at all. He drew her along in conversation, smoothly and skilfully, even warmly, though not about the sensitive issues between them. He just skirted the edges of those.
Flirted
the edges. Despite the chilly start, the temperature managed to pick itself up off the floor.

Still, the subject lurked in every glance and nuance of the conversation. What sort of man persisted in charming a woman after he’d been rejected so finally and utterly? Shouldn’t he have slunk off into the night? Perhaps he was hoping to change her mind.

And he did have charm. With every comforting mouthful of the heavenly Hyatt food, she felt increasingly aware she didn’t dislike him as violently as she’d at first thought. Perhaps he wasn’t a barracuda. More a smooth, sleek stingray with a devastating five o’ clock shadow. And midnight satin eyes that made her pulse quicken. And a mouth to ravish a woman’s dreams.

Her conscience wasn’t quite at ease with the new situation, but she quelled it by thinking of it as an emergency. Now she was
cast adrift upon the world, for the moment this small table, in this pool of light, with this smoothly determined, dangerous and—she had to admit—extremely attractive man, was all she had to cling to.

It was risky though, feeling this rocky and emotional in the presence of a handsome man and a bottle of champagne. Heartsore, tired people with jet lag could easily switch from sexy enchanting laughter to tears. To prove it, there was a small jazz band across the room, and a singer with a voice like dark honey plucked at her heartstrings with every line of every plaintive old love ballad she sang.
Cry me a river,
she sobbed.
Willow weep for me.

The setting might have been exciting, and picturesque, with the constantly changing light show on the harbour as traffic streamed across the bridge, and ferries chugged in and out of the Quay lit up like Christmas, but she didn’t feel she belonged. She felt so out of place, it was no wonder she was finding solace in the company of her despised bridegroom.
Aspiring
bridegroom.

Every so often she reminded herself this was her country too, but had trouble convincing herself.

She withdrew her gaze from the harbour lights to contemplate Sebastian. If he was regretting transferring her to his table, he wasn’t showing it.

His sexy mouth was grave, but there was an unsettling warmth in his dark eyes whenever they rested on her, making her insides curl over with an exhilarating suspense. Meeting his eyes ran her the risk of being scorched. She knew she was flirting with danger, yet she couldn’t seem to resist it.

And what with the warm summer air floating in from the terrace, she was getting overheated. ‘It’s hot in here,’ she breathed to Sebastian. ‘Don’t you feel hot?’ She took off her feathery wrap and draped it over the back of her chair.

When she did that an appreciative gleam lit his eyes that made her conscious of having crossed some sort of safety line.
His glance made the skin of her chest and shoulders tingle and burn as if razed by a solar flare. Call her a needy tart, but the sensation felt thrilling to a woman that no man in Greece—probably
Europe
—would touch, even with a very long pole.

Her sexual receptors were madly spinning. He would touch her if he got the chance, she felt sure.

‘You set this up, didn’t you?’ she challenged him, caressing the stem of her glass.

He smiled in acknowledgement. ‘I’ve never really liked eating alone.’

She glowered at him, hoping he didn’t guess how seriously that sexy smile was seeping into her bloodstream and melting her resistance. ‘How did you know I would be coming to the restaurant?’

He considered her, his sensual gaze flickering with masculine expertise from her face and hair, down her throat to her breasts. ‘You’ve put your hair up. And the dress. You went to so much trouble to look gorgeous, I couldn’t see you wasting it all in your room. Even to spite me.’ Amusement warmed his eyes.

‘Oh.’ She flushed. ‘Well, I hope it cost you heaps.’

Sebastian watched the delicate tide suffuse her neck, then rise to her soft cheeks, and felt a dangerous surge in his blood. The knowledge that he had the power to evoke such a response was seductive, to say the least.

He restrained his eyes from wandering to her breasts, though he was aware of them with every fibre of his being.

Now the thaw had set in, there was a sparkle in her blue eyes, brought about by the champagne, or the electric charge pulsing between them, he wasn’t sure which. Either way, tonight his edgy bride had shown him alluring glimpses of her true self. Bubbly, mischievous, funny, though every so often he heard the tip of some other emotion tinge her voice. Sometimes her smile had a feverish quality, as if her mood could be fragile. Or was she excited?

His
supposed
bride, he corrected himself, watching her lips close over the chocolate-laden spoon while her lashes drifted down in utter bliss.

Disturbed from her appreciation of the divine chocolate by that searing gaze, Ariadne looked at him. ‘Do you ever accept a no?’

The sensual flicker in the dark depths of his eyes triggered an answering response deep in her insides. ‘Depends who it’s from. And how much I want to get to know them.’

‘You didn’t want to get to know me this morning. Or this afternoon.’

‘That was before I met you.’

‘Am I supposed to be flattered?’

He considered her. ‘Not flattered. Just alive to the possibilities. ’

What possibilities? The word floated in her mind like a scintillating mist. Truth to tell, part of her had been alive to some possibilities since the moment she’d rounded that pillar and seen him occupying the table. Or maybe even before then. Perhaps from the first time his eyes had connected with hers across the lobby this evening and started her heart hammering.

She risked a gulp of her champagne, knowing very well it could be a mistake. The stuff was already effervescing in her veins, and she needed to keep her head.

But it was magic, frothing away her misery and easing her anxiety, or at least changing its flavour. Now she felt like a beautiful, desirable woman riding a wild and fantastic whirlwind, and if it wasn’t the champagne making her feel that way, what was it?

As if to heighten her turmoil, the singer wrapped them in a smoky embrace with a nostalgic lament for a lost past in some shining place.

She was used to good-looking men with dark eyes and gleaming white smiles, but Sebastian had another dimension
that could cut straight through her defences if she didn’t take care. Though tonight he was subtly flirtatious, every so often that serious, steel quality shone through. Like her first impression, but without the anger and the ice.

She risked another glance at him. Definitely, the ice had melted, but he was a different species from Demetri and friends, strutting the playgrounds of the world with their lazy, sophisticated boredom. If she hadn’t known the truth, she couldn’t have imagined he’d have accepted a bribe to marry her.

What had he been offered? she wondered. Shares in the Giorgias line, with the expectation of his wife being heiress to the lot?

She pushed the horrid thought away and concentrated on the positives. She was, in fact, feeling better after the bruschetta, the sliver of tart, the two delicious serves of linguini, the fish—not that she’d eaten very much of anything. She was in far too much of an uproar. The chocolate pudding had been certainly beneficial, although there was also that glass of champagne. Or had it been two? There was the one she’d had before she’d moved…

She peered over at the ice bucket and tried to see how much was left in the bottle. Whatever the level, it had shored up her spirits and helped her to feel warm and glowing and alive, even a bit reckless.

‘So what are you doing here with me?’ she challenged, fluttering her lashes. ‘Is there a shortage of women in Sydney?’

‘Not that I’ve noticed. What’s your excuse?’ he retorted. ‘Are the guys in Greece all doddery and near-sighted?’

She hesitated, evading his smiling, but still penetrating glance, regretting laying herself open to that painful subject. This was a murky alleyway she didn’t want to venture down. The last thing she wanted to admit to him was that she’d exhausted her options in Greece. She didn’t doubt her uncle’s declaration for a minute. No Greek man would risk engaging himself to her now. Not after Demetri’s experience and all the publicity.

She said huskily, ‘I don’t plan to get married. Ever. In Greece or anywhere else.’

‘What if you meet someone you fall in love with?’

She shot him a sardonic look. The sheer irony of
him,
of all people, talking about love. ‘Are you kidding?’

His brows lifted and she said, waving her fork, ‘Let me try to explain, though like all men I expect you’ll scoff.’ Ignoring his blink, she wrinkled her brow in concentration, and tried to bring it down to words of few syllables. ‘You see, my problem is I’d need the person to be in love with me as well. So we would be equals. How can you make promises and accept the blessing of the church without sincerity on both sides?’ She looked earnestly at him. ‘Do you think you can try to understand that concept, Sebastian?’

His eyes glinted, but she went on, regardless. ‘That’s why I can never risk it. You imagine someone loves you, then you find out they only wanted to marry you because they mistakenly thought you would inherit the Giorgias shipping fortune.’

His tanned, lean hands stilled. He’d understood that bit all right.

‘So you aren’t set to inherit?’ He scanned her face with an alert gaze.

She might have predicted his interest, but still she felt a stab of disappointment. Just when she was thinking he might be different from Demetri.

He’d made his own feelings on the issue so clear this afternoon, it made her wonder, if he
was
hoping to talk her round, what sort of marriage had he in mind? A marriage in name only, where they signed the register then went their separate ways?

Oh, it was all so humiliating. Did greed always have to outweigh honour and integrity in every man alive? She let out a frustrated sigh. She should let him know right now his chances of using her to improve his fortunes were zilch.

‘I won’t get a cent of it, as far as I know,’ she informed him,
watching his face while she dashed his hopes. ‘I have older cousins, all male, and the company will go to them. Thio Peri doesn’t believe a woman can manage a business. Well, he knows, of course, women can manage
some,
but he doesn’t think a woman could manage
his
business.’ She sat back in her chair to await results. Would he rise from the table, bid her goodnight and disappear into the distance? ‘I’m only a niece, you see. And besides, Thio knows I don’t want to have anything to do with it.’ With a bittersweet smile she added softly, ‘The only thing I’m set to inherit is a little bit of money my parents left. They weren’t rich, I’m afraid. We lived in a modest little cottage. I don’t think they even owned it. So you’d have nothing to gain.’

He was silent for several seconds, his eyes downcast, his lean face inscrutable. Then he looked up at her. His dark shimmering eyes meshed with hers, deep and unreadable.

‘If I married you.’

‘That’s right. If you…But you can’t now, can you? Now that I’ve—refused you.’

He continued to hold her in his veiled gaze. The moment stretched, while her heart thumped and questions clamoured in her brain. What was he thinking? She had no real idea what her uncle had offered him, what he’d said. Had her warning been enough to put him off? Did he think he could change her mind?

Was she really so innocent? Sebastian wondered. It sounded as if she had no idea of the means her uncle had used to bring him to this point. If she had been set to inherit everything, he felt sure the old magnate would have had no hesitation about dangling his empire before his eyes. The fact that Pericles had never mentioned it to him made her claim seem likely to be true. In a strange way, it even made the outrageous deal slightly more palatable.

He grimaced. He must be going insane. What was wrong with him that made him find something to prefer in being blackmailed in a business deal over being bought like a stud stallion?

The dessert courses were cleared, and he watched her lift her head and turn a little to ask the waiter to pass on to the chef her undying gratitude for the chocolate pudding. The line of her cheek and neck, the smooth curve of her shoulder riveted his gaze and sank into his awareness like a hypnotic. Desire quickened in his blood.

Yiayia was right. He’d been without something lovely to look at for too long.

Even her voice, low and sweet, fell on his ears like an intoxication. Supposing he did decide to marry her, how hard would it be to persuade her?

‘Nothing else for me, thank you. Sebastian?’ She turned enquiringly to him. ‘Cognac?’

He pulled himself together and waved away the menu, asking for the bill, only part of his mind engaged.

The rest of it was imagining how it might be to have Ariadne Giorgias as his wife. To meet those luminous blue eyes, that luscious mouth across his breakfast table. To bury his face in the silken mass of her hair and fan it across his pillow. To plunge himself into the slick heat of her gorgeous body and possess her utterly, until she cried out in ecstasy, night after night after long, hot night.

He drew a long breath and smiled. ‘Do you feel like stretching your legs?’

Ariadne looked up, met his darkly handsome face and her heart skittered. Was this where he made his pitch? She hesitated. She could excuse herself, say goodnight, goodbye, and flee to her room. It flashed in on her then though, that once she was alone in her room, she’d have to face the cold reality that this would be her last night’s sleep in safety and comfort. All she’d have to look forward to when she lay her head on the pillow would be the morning—homeless, and on her own resources in a strange country.