Jane Porter – Christos's Promise (страница 5)

“I expect you to be faithful. Loyal. Honest.”

She felt something shift inside of her, another whisper of conscience, but she dismissed it with a small sneer. Men had controlled her all her life. For once she’d take care of herself. “That’s it?”

“Should there be more?”

He was testing her, too. He knew there should be more, would be more. They hadn’t even discussed the physical aspect of the marriage and it loomed there between them, heavy, forbidding.

“This is a marriage of convenience, yes?” She cast a glance at him before looking too quickly away, but she caught the predatory gleam in his eyes. He wasn’t nervous. He seemed to enjoy this.

“Marriages of convenience don’t produce children. I need children.”

Before she could speak, he continued.

“I’ll do my best, Miss Lemos, to ensure you’re satisfied. I want you to be happy. It’s important we’re both fulfilled. Sex is a natural part of life. It should be natural between us.”

Fingers of fear stroked her spine, stirring the fine hairs on her nape, even as blood surged to her face, heating her cheeks, creating a frisson of warmth through her limbs. “We hardly know each other, Mr. Pateras.”

“Which is why I won’t force myself on you. I’m content to wait until some of the newness wears off and we’ve grown more…comfortable with each other before becoming intimate.”

Another surge of heat rushed to her cheeks. His voice had deepened, turning so husky as to hum within her, warm and intimate. For a split second she imagined his body against hers, his mouth against her skin.

The very thought of making love with him made her inhale sharply. Every nerve in her body seemed to be alert, aware of this man and his potent masculinity.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Alysia tried to deny the tingle in her breasts, and the longing to be real again. It’d been forever since she’d felt like a woman.

She wouldn’t look at him. “You’re willing to commit to a loveless marriage?”

“I’m committing to you.”

Oh, to have someone want her, to care for her…

She drew a ragged breath, hope and pain twisting in her heart, seduced by his promise and the warmth in his voice. What would it feel like to be loved by this man?

She drew herself up short. He’d never said anything about love, or wanting her. He wasn’t even committing to her. He was committing to the Lemos house, committing to her father, but not to her. How could she allow herself to daydream? Hadn’t she learned her lesson by now?

This is how Jeremy had broken through her reserve. This is how she’d offered up her heart. Well, she couldn’t, wouldn’t, do it again. Experience had to count for something.

Hardening her emotions, she reminded herself that Christos Pateras did not matter. His promises did not matter. The only thing that mattered was escaping the convent and her father’s manipulations. It was what her mother would want for her. It was what her mother had wanted for herself.

Glancing up, her gaze settled on the high, whitewashed wall. All convent windows faced inward, overlooking the herb garden and potted citrus trees. None of the windows faced out, no glimpse of the ocean, no picture of the world left behind…

But she hadn’t left it behind. Her father had ripped it from her just weeks after her mother’s death. There had been no mourning for him. Just business, just money and deals and ships.

A lump filled her throat. For a moment her chest felt raw, tight. “If we are going to do it,” she said after a long painful silence, “let’s not waste time.”

They were married in the briefest of ceremonies in the convent chapel. Rings, exchange of vows, a passionless kiss.

In the back of the limousine, Alysia clenched her hand on her lap, doing her best to ignore the heavy diamond-and-emerald ring weighting her finger. Christos had already told her it wasn’t a family heirloom, three carat diamonds had never been part of his family fortune. No, the ring had been purchased recently, just for her. But she wouldn’t wear it long. By this time tomorrow she’d have it off her finger, left behind on a dresser or bathroom counter, she promised herself.

A strange calm filled her. For the first time in years she felt as if she were in control again, acting instead of reacting, making decisions for herself instead of feeling helpless.

With a swift glance at her new husband, she noted Christos Pateras’s profile, his strong brow creased, a furrow between his dark eyes. He wore his black hair combed straight back, and yet the cowlick at the temple softened the severity of his hard, proud features.

He’d be surprised—no, furious—when he discovered her gone. He didn’t expect her to deceive him. It wouldn’t have crossed his mind. Just like a Greek man to assume everything would go according to his plan.

He sat close to her, too close, and she inched across the seat only to have his hard thigh settle against hers again.

She became fixated on the heat passing from his thigh to hers, panic stirring at the unwelcome intimacy. She wasn’t ready to be touched by him. Wasn’t ready to be touched by anyone.

She scooted closer to the door, pressing herself into the corner, willing herself to shrink in size.

“You’re acting like a virgin,” he drawled, casting a sardonic look in her direction.

She felt like a virgin. Years and years without being touched, not even a kiss, and now this, to sit thigh to thigh with a stranger, a tall, muscular, imposing stranger who wanted her to bear his children.

Stomach heaving, Alysia pressed trembling fingers against her lips. What had she done? How could she have married him? If she didn’t escape him, surely she’d die. Despite her mother’s wisdom, despite the gentle counsel of the sisters, Alysia didn’t want family. No children, no babies. Ever.

She couldn’t ever give Christos Pateras a chance. She wouldn’t let him make a move. No opportunities for seduction. First chance she could, she’d leave.

“Relax,” Christos uttered flatly. “I’m not going to attack you.”

She opened her eyes, glanced at him beneath lowered lashes. He looked grim, distant. Gone was the laughter, the fine creases fanning from his eyes.

The luxury sedan bounced down the narrow mountain road, the street unpaved, lurching across a deep pothole. Despite the seat belt, Alysia practically spilled into Christos’s lap. Quickly she righted herself, drawing sharply away. Christos’s mouth pressed tighter.

The silence stretched, tension thick. Squirming inwardly, aware that she’d helped create the hostility, Alysia searched for something to say. “You like Oinoussai?”

“It’s small.”

“Like America.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in faint amusement. “Yes, like America.” The amusement faded from his eyes, his features hardening again.

She felt his dark gaze settle on her face, studying her as dispassionately as one studied a work of art hanging on a museum wall. “Have you ever been to the States before?” he asked.

“No.” She’d always wanted to go, was curious about New York and San Francisco, but she hadn’t had time, nor the opportunity. Thanks to her father, she’d been too busy enjoying the special pleasures of the sanatorium and the convent.

“I have a meeting in Cephalonia, which we’ll sail to from here. And then I thought we could conclude our honeymoon someplace else, someplace you might find interesting before returning to my home on the East Coast.”

Honeymoon. She tensed at the very suggestion. He’d said he wouldn’t force himself on her, said he’d be content to wait. Honeymooning conjured up lovemaking and intimacy and…

She shuddered. This was a mistake. She’d made a mistake. He had to turn the car around, take her back to the convent now.

“We’re not going back to the convent,” he said, still watching her, dark eyes hooded.

Her head snapped up. She stared at him, shocked that he knew what she’d been thinking.

“My dear Mrs. Pateras, you’re not difficult to read. You wear your emotions on your face, they’re all there, right for me to see.”

He tapped her hands, knotted in her lap. “Try to relax a little, Alysia. I’m not demanding sexual favors tonight. I’m not demanding anything from you just yet. You need time. I need time. Let’s try to make this work, learn a little about each other first.”

Angered by his rational tone, finding nothing rational in being coerced into marriage, she lifted her head, temper blazing. “You want to learn about me? Fine. I’ll tell you about me. I hate Greece and I hate Greek men. I hate being treated like a second-class citizen simply because I’m a woman. I hate how money empowers the rich, creating another caste system. I hate business and the ships you treasure. I hate the alliance my father has formed with you because my father detests America and American money—” she drew a breath, shaking from head to toe.

One of his black eyebrows lifted quizzically. “Finished?” he drawled.

“No. I’m not finished. I haven’t even started.” But her outburst had leveled her, and she leaned heavily against the leather upholstery, exhausted, and suddenly silent.

She wasn’t used to this, wasn’t used to fighting, to speaking her mind. Her father had never allowed her to say anything at all. Her father never even looked at her.