Wedding Night with a Stranger (8 page)

What she needed was to find a way to solve her situation. She forced herself to concentrate on her map, clinging to its solid reality like a lifeline. When her hot, scared pulse had subsided, she picked herself up and headed away from this dingy section of the city, back in the direction of the glossy shopping malls and department stores where she felt safer, enviously aware of all the happy-go-lucky Australians who took their homes and means and shelter for the night so cheerfully for granted.

Somehow, she would have to find work and a place to stay
quickly.
Surely accommodation would be cheaper outside the city?

The Centrepoint Arcade looked like a promising centre for internet cafés. She rode up and down escalators, tramped through the labyrinth of byways, until she found one and was able to log onto a computer.

Flights to Queensland weren’t very expensive, she discovered, but accommodation in Noosa was. With a growing sense of dismay she scrolled through list after list of Noosa hotels. In Australia it was midsummer, the high season. There were a few vacancies left in cheaper places for backpackers, but she shrank from the idea of sharing accommodation with strangers. Did she even really want to go to Queensland now?

If she risked money to travel to Noosa and stay for the several nights, maybe weeks, it would take her to find a job, what guarantee did she have that Maeve still lived there? And how would she find her? She wasn’t even sure of Maeve’s surname. Her mother had been a Hughes, but a five-year-old would hardly have been aware of Maeve’s family name.

And what would she do if she found her? Throw herself on Maeve’s mercy? If Maeve had been the slightest bit interested in her existence, wouldn’t she have contacted her after her parents died?

Without a secure money supply, the whole scheme started to look like a wildly impossible fantasy.

She spent a long time working out the intricacies of trawling through job registers, and saw with a sinking heart that it might not be as easy to find work in an art gallery as she’d hoped, even in a smaller centre. According to these websites, people needed as much documentation to prove their credentials and experience here as they did in Athens, and hers were all behind her in Naxos.

In desperation, she considered emailing Thea with an urgent request to send on her documents, then dismissed the idea. How likely was Thea to help her?

She slumped back in the chair. The naivety of her plans homed in on her. She knew one definite person in Australia, and here she was, rushing to get as far away from him as quickly as possible.

She needed help, but there was no way she could surrender to her uncle’s plan by begging Sebastian for it. Her pride smarted fiercely at the thought of that. Unless she could think of some way to re-open negotiations without losing face…

One thing she’d learned during the Demetri crisis was that, whatever the fallout, she had to be true to herself. No matter how desperate she was, there was no way she would go on her knees to Sebastian in the role of victim.

And after that call last night, it was clear
what
he would think if she went to him. If he believed she was attracted to him…

Oh, please. Who did she think she was kidding? He believed it, all right. He knew it. Why else would he have said those things? He’d practically spelled it out.

If she went to him and told him she was without money, she’d have no bargaining power. What would he do—write her a cheque? She couldn’t accept that. Anyway, he’d be much more likely to take her home with him. He’d be throwing her into his bed and having his way with her in no time, with no ring on her finger.

She’d be in an even worse position than a mail-order bride, reduced to being a casual fling, with no long-term security, her faith and upbringing betrayed, her conscience on fire for the rest of her life.

For the thousandth time the prospect of her own money sitting there in some solicitor’s trust fund glowed in her mind with frustrating allure. If only she could get her hands on it. Even if it only amounted to a few thousand dollars, from where she stood now it would look like security.

She tried not to panic, but she knew she’d have to be quick. If she was in Sydney for long, last night had shown her how rapidly she’d eat up her little fund of money out of pure ignorance of the cost of ordinary things. Even when she’d been working in Athens, her flat and household expenses, including the domestic staff, had all been paid by her uncle.

She was green, that was her trouble. But no way was she a useless hothouse flower, as the tabloids had painted her, with no useful knowledge of the world except how to dress and how to look at a painting. Her aunt and uncle had seen her job as a nice little way to fill in time while she waited for her real purpose in life to be established, but she’d loved her career and taken it seriously. She’d run the acquisitions department at the gallery like clockwork until the scandal had caused her sacking. One rude assistant had described her as the fairy-floss tyrant.

Anyway, she could run a household and manage a staff of eleven, more if required. Thea had done her best to shape her as a potential wife, making certain she could cook, even if it wasn’t very likely she would ever have to on a regular basis. And she was a fast learner. Some men found her attractive, even if Demetri didn’t. Some even
admired
her.

Her uncle had often laughed at how she made every personal decision with her heart and not her head. She’d accepted his analysis with pride, preferring to be described as a passionate idealist than as some ruthless, calculating machine of a woman.
But it was clear that if she was to survive, this time she would have to dredge up her hard-headed negotiating skills.

Somehow, despite her attraction to Sebastian Nikosto, she would need to bargain with him as coolly and dispassionately as ever her uncle had.

She stared unseeing at the computer screen, then slumped forward with her face in her hands.

If only she understood more about men. How much had that midnight phone conversation meant? He might just have been trying to smooth things over after the restaurant. Sweet-talking her. But why? Did he still have hopes of the marriage?

Perhaps it really had been a genuine kiss, and he was sincere. How on earth was she to tell?

F
EELING
like an executioner, Sebastian listened to the discussion around the conference table with half an ear, his brows drawn. Which of his team would he let go? Shiny, fresh-faced Matt, who was only just starting out, straight from university, so thrilled to have found employment in the industry of his choice? Or Jake, with a wife and three kids to provide for? School fees and a mortgage. Then there was Sarah, a creative talent who showed real promise.

Once lost to Celestrial, the chances of replacing his carefully chosen designers with equal talents in some post-crisis future were slim. And how would they survive in the meantime?

He’d just roused himself to rejoin the discussion when Jenny, his warm, efficient PA, slipped into the room and caught his eye.

‘Not now.’ He frowned with a slight shake of his head.

‘But…’ There was hesitation in her hazel eyes, then with an unprecedented disregard for his rebuff, she leaned close and murmured in his ear, ‘Mr Nikosto, she says it’s urgent.’

Deep in Sebastian’s entrails a nerve jumped. ‘
Who
says?’

Though he knew. With a soaring anticipation in his chest, he knew.

Jenny lowered her voice even further. ‘A Miss Giorgias. She says she’s leaving Sydney in an hour, but she’s prepared to give you some time to talk if you come at once.’

‘Thanks.’ He gave her a nod, then rose and excused himself. He strolled to his office, still cool and in control though an exultant expectation was rising in him like foam.

He reached for his desk phone. Steady, he warned himself. He put the phone to his ear, said without expression, ‘Sebastian.’

He heard her small intake of breath, the slight hesitation, and his pulse quickened with the most thrilling suspense.

‘It’s—Ariadne.’ There was commotion in the background that suggested a busy public place. ‘If you would—If you would care to, I have a little time to talk to you before I leave.’ Her voice sounded breathless, as if she’d been running. Or felt nervous.

He was plunged into a turmoil of conflicting desire and responsibility. ‘I’m involved here today. I can’t—’

‘Oh, well, it doesn’t matter,’ she said at once. ‘I don’t really have time either. I guess I’ll just say—’

‘Where are you?’

‘I think it’s…er…Pitt Street and Market. In a phone booth, near a café called The Coffee Club.’

For a wild, wavering instant he tossed up his competing urgencies. Glancing at the desk clock, he saw it was nearly morning teatime. Supposing he sprinted all the way…

He issued a command. ‘Stay there. Don’t move.’

He punched in a call to Jenny, gave her some brisk instructions, then took the lift down to the ground floor. As soon as he was on the street he broke into a run. With the adrenaline singing in his veins he hardly noticed the shoppers as he cut through the crowds like a home-running champion whizzing through the bases. He grinned at furious drivers pumping their horns when he dodged them at the crossings, and flew the five city blocks in a matter of minutes.

Once in the Pitt Street Mall, though, he paused to catch his breath, smoothed his hand over his hair, checked his tie was in place, shirt tucked in. Then, energised, his capillaries tingling to the scent of victory, he headed for the Market Street end.

The café was easy enough to locate. He zeroed in on her standing to one side of the entrance, her bag slung casually from her shoulder. At first sight of her desire quickened his blood like an aphrodisiac.

Her blonde hair rippled down her back and she was wearing sunglasses, slim, sand-coloured trousers that hung from her hips and a pretty white short-sleeved top. Simple, classy and sexy. Oh, so sexy.

He started forward, then restrained himself to a casual stroll.

Ariadne scanned the crowd, her nervous pulse bumping along. She was about to take the most enormous risk. The possibilities of humiliation were so extreme she felt almost faint. She was gambling on making her offer sound businesslike, a simple contract. If only she could manage to control her responses to him and stay cool and clear-headed.

‘Hi.’

She started as Sebastian’s deep voice cut through her anxious churnings and swivelled around. His handsome face was smooth and expressionless, his dark eyes veiled.

‘Oh, hi,’ she breathed, overwhelmed by the immediacy of his lean, dark sexiness in the raw, masculine flesh. She felt burningly conscious of those words that had thrilled down her spine during the midnight call. ‘You—you didn’t take long.’

His searching gaze swept over her, not missing a thing. She prayed she didn’t look desperate, or too rounded in the hips and bust as Demetri had once criticised. Then his eyes lit with a smile, and she remembered what he’d said about desire hitting you like a train.

‘It’s not far.’ He shrugged. ‘People are waiting for me, so I can’t give you much time.’ He glanced at his watch, then indicated the café entrance. ‘Do you want to go inside?’ He made to take her elbow, but his hand just stopped short of touching her.

She walked into the café ahead of him, sensing his gaze scorching down her spinal column while she racked her brains
for a way to begin. He was in a different mode from the man who’d talked so sweetly to her in the night. He looked serious and inaccessible, a CEO with his mind on his work.

He pointed her to a vacant table and she sat down, trembling all at once with the risk of the gamble she was about to take.

‘So?’ His acute gaze penetrated through to the back of her brain as if he could read all the lies she’d ever told, all her fears and failings, her empty bank account, the Demetri scandal, her uncle and aunt and their low trick.

Ariadne drew in a long breath and met his gaze. ‘All right. I’ve made a decision. I’ll do it.’

His eyes sharpened. ‘Do what?’

It took her a moment to frame the words. ‘Marry you.’ She clenched her hands in her lap.

He stilled. The lines of his face grew focused and intent. Her words seemed to crash in the air around them. It was as if the entire café receded into the distance, and he and she were the only people in the world. She had a dim realisation of the enormity of her offer.

He sat studying her face with a frown. ‘Let me get this straight. You’re now asking me to marry you. What makes you think I want to get married?’

Thunk,
went her heart, then started knocking against her ribs.

He lowered his black lashes, then gave a quizzical shrug. ‘I’m not sure I know what to say.’

She felt heat flood her. The ground under her suddenly shifted. With a terrible embarrassment she realised she’d assumed too much, thinking he’d ever been willing. Aware of her cheeks burning, she tried to think of an excuse for her ghastly blunder. ‘I thought you said—my uncle had offered your company a contract.’

‘I didn’t say I’d accepted it.’

He was playing it cool but alluring images were flashing through Sebastian’s mind. The contract with Giorgias Shipping, signed and sealed. Celestrial on solid ground, his workforce safe
and secure. He thought of the faces around the conference table that morning, the unspoken anxiety that hung over the office. How it would feel to tell them all the company’s worries were over.

He contemplated the woman seated across the table from him and felt a dangerous excitement streak through him. Her blue eyes were cool and guarded, her delicious lips slightly parted, as if she was holding her breath. So kissable. He remembered the taste of her, the fragrance of her skin and hair.

Warning bells clanged Esther in some cautious part of him, perhaps he should pull back, but her sweet femininity drew the beast in him like honey. He tried not to dwell on her mouth, her satin throat, the smooth skin disturbed by one tiny, nervous pulse as she waited in taut anticipation of his response.

He mustn’t let desire rule him. He’d vowed never to marry again, remember? He refused to be blackmailed. Still…

She was so mouth-wateringly desirable. And last night had demonstrated pretty clearly how far he was likely to get with her if it wasn’t legal.

Ariadne held her breath, trying to read his face, intensely aware of his scrutiny.

He said softly, ‘Do you propose to every man who tells you he desires you?’

His directness rocked her again, just as it had in the night. She felt intensely aware of his lean, supple hands relaxed on the table, the dark shadow outlining his chiselled mouth. But she needed to keep her head.

She gave a shrug, just as if her pulse wasn’t racing. ‘Only if they’ve just been offered a big fat juicy contract to take me on.’

He broke into a laugh, but there was ruefulness in its tone. ‘Poor Ariadne.’

She clung to her cool façade. ‘This is just a wedding I’m talking about. A business contract, pure and simple. No—’

The corners of his mouth edged up and he said, his voice softly mocking, ‘No what? Passion?’

She felt a deep internal lurch. ‘Oh. Oh, well…’

His mouth was grave, but his eyes were suddenly heavy with sensuality. She broke off, realising he was loving this, teasing her, saying sexy things he knew affected her, keeping her in suspense.

His gaze flickered over her and she felt singed. ‘What happened to only marrying people on equal terms? Or did I dream that?’

‘No, you didn’t dream it. But you aren’t the only one who has something to gain from the marriage. I—I do too.’

‘What?’ He examined her face, his dark eyes shimmering. ‘Now you’re sparking my imagination. What could possibly make it worth your while to become my wife?’

She risked meeting that scorching-hot gaze again. ‘When I get married, I can claim my inheritance. From my parents. Otherwise I have to wait until I’m twenty-five.’ The smile in his eyes was doused, and she added quickly, ‘We’d only have to stay together a few days. After that, you can go your way and I’ll go mine. You see? Everyone wins.’

She glanced up as a waitress approached with a notebook and pencil. Toast and hot chocolate, a flat white. ‘Do you have orange juice?’ she enquired.

Sebastian marshalled his critical faculties and considered the facts, such as they’d been presented.

Remembering her distress last evening, he was surprised. Why had she suddenly come around to the marriage she so despised? He doubted now it had much to do with his lustdriven midnight call. Could money be an issue with her? But how was that possible? Could she have fallen out with her uncle and aunt?

He drummed his fingers on the table, trying to reconcile his conflicting instincts, only too blazingly conscious of her blue eyes, the sweet lips that had haunted his sleep.

She had her hair tucked back behind ears as delicately curved
as cockleshells. Her slim neck held her graceful head upright, like the stem of a flower, a proud, soft, heartbreakingly beautiful flower.

To have her for a few days, or not to have her at all?

Marriage sounded so final, but this one wouldn’t be genuine. There’d be no emotional demands, no risk of loss here. No horror or heartache to weigh him down for years to come. A few days would pass like a flash.

What did the man who’d already lost everything have to lose?

Anyway, he hardly ever spent time at home. How badly could it disturb his comfort to have a woman waiting in that empty, soulless house for him for a few evenings?

A woman whose luscious mouth had opened to him like a flower?

The food came, and he watched her wrinkle her nose as she tasted the orange juice.

She sipped her chocolate next, then spread butter over her toast. With graceful manners she offered him a piece, and when he refused he watched her bite into hers with her pretty white teeth. He sipped his coffee, gave her a moment to assuage her hunger, only just suppressing a groan.

Would a few days suffice to assuage his? A few nights? A thousand and one nights?

‘Don’t they do breakfast at the Hyatt?’ Desire deepened his voice almost to a growl.

‘They do, but I—didn’t have time.’ Finished her toast, Ariadne wiped her hands on her paper napkin, then glanced up to be trapped in his smouldering dark gaze.

‘So you aren’t prepared to marry a man who wants you for your money, but
you
are prepared to marry for money.’

‘For my
own
money.’

His mocking words gave Ariadne the dismayed sense that she’d failed. He might be burning her to the floor with his eyes, but that didn’t mean he was prepared to marry her. He was just
toying with her. So what now? Beg him to give her a bed for the night? But it would be his bed, wouldn’t it?

Desperation had brought her to this, and pride was all she had now to fall back on. Time to get out before she made an even bigger fool of herself.

She found a note in her purse, laid it down beside her cup, then stood up. ‘All right, forget I mentioned it. It was a mistake. I thought you wanted a—a deal. I must have—misunderstood.’

She was on the way to sweeping out when his hand snaked out and gripped her wrist. For an instant she saw something else in his eyes. Amusement. Kindness.

‘Hang on. Sit down a minute longer and tell me more. Just how do you envisage this deal working?’

Her crushed hope quivered, then sprang back to buoyant life. She hesitated, conscious of the burn of his fingers on her skin, then allowed herself to sit down again.

He waited, his mouth grave, and so stirringly sexy she couldn’t help thinking of how it had felt when he’d pressed his lips to hers. That fiery sensation still seemed to linger in her nerve fibres.

She drew a breath. ‘Well, first I considered getting a marriage certificate somehow and faking it…’

He held up a hand, shaking his head. ‘Stop right there. This is Australia. You can be done for fraud here as fast as blinking. For God’s sake, never try to mess with a legal process that involves money
here
.’

She nodded. ‘That’s why I decided I might as well go through with the real thing. I don’t want anything else from you. All I need is to marry you today.’

He blinked. ‘Today?’

‘Yes. Then I’ll fax the marriage certificate to my uncle, he can notify the lawyers and have my inheritance transferred into my bank account, and I can get on with my life. And you can get on with yours.’