'Would you like a drink?'
She blinked. Nikos was pulling out a concealed drinks compartment, revealing an array of crystal decanters. She shook her head. He lifted one of the decanters and poured a measure of its contents into a glass. Andrea could smell whisky. He knocked it back in one shot, then replaced the glass and slid shut the cabinet.
'How are you feeling?'
The abrupt question took her by surprise. She shrugged.
'OK,' she said indifferently.
He made a sound in his throat that sounded to her ears like an impatient sigh, and then, with a swift movement, he loosened the tie at his throat and undid his collar. Andrea couldn't help looking across at him.
Immediately she wished he hadn't. She didn't know what it was about loosened ties and opened shirt collars, but the kick to her guts was immediate. Nikos ran a hand roughly through his hair, ruffling its satin smoothness. Another kick went straight through her guts.
To her relief, he wasn't paying her any attention, simply staring moodily out through the smoked glass window. Then, abruptly, he spoke.
'Theos, but I'm glad that's over!'
The kick in Andrea's guts vanished instantly. He was glad it was over. Fine. So was she. Very glad. Very glad indeed. Couldn't have been gladder. Her lips pressed together.
She looked away, staring out of her own window, and heard Nikos shift in his seat
'Don't sulk, Andrea,' he told her tersely. 'You enjoyed that ordeal as little as I did! But it's over now. Thank God!' Then, on an even terser note, he said, 'Did you get your money?'
There was condemnation in his voice. Andrea thought of the merger contracts, signed not half an hour ago. Making Nikos Vassilis one of the richest men in Europe.
'Of course,' she answered.
'You won't need it,' said the man she had married. 'I will give you everything you want
.' She didn't reply. He gave another, heavier sigh.
'Andrea, this is a time for plain speaking. We are married. And there is absolutely no reason to suppose things will not work out between us! Your grandfather is out of the picture now. He does not concern us. It is up to us to make this marriage work, and I believe it can—very successfully. If we both just make an effort to make it work! I am prepared to do so— and I ask that you are too. As soon as our honeymoon is over we shall fly to England to meet your mother, and mend bridges there. However much she disapproved of your grandfather, I hope she will think more kindly of me.'
She'll never lay eyes on you, thought Andrea, never even know you exist. Nikos was talking still.
'For now you must put your mind to where we shall live. For the moment I propose my apartment in Athens, but I would prefer, I admit, a more permanent property. We can have a house in London, of course, for when you want to be with your English relatives, and I suggest we buy a villa on one of the islands as well, where we can relax in private.'
'Fine,' said Andrea. The issue was academic; it didn't matter what she said.
Tonight, she thought, over dinner, or perhaps, better still, in the hotel suite, where I don't have to worry about waiters hovering or other diners looking us over, I can tell him the truth about me. That will put an end to this farce.
Nikos gave up. He had done his best to be civil, but enough was enough. He felt rough. He had been working like crazy ever since Old Man Coustakis had dangled the prospect of a takeover in front of him. Mergers and acquisitions didn't happen overnight—-the planning and preparation involved was immense. On top of that he still had to keep Vassilis Inc. rolling along, even while he was gearing it up to ingest the much larger Coustakis Industries. It had not, he thought grimly, been the best time to have to go off wooing a bride! Nevertheless he had found the time to squire Andrea around, knowing that being seen prominently in public with her was all part of convincing the Athens business community—and beyond—of the reality of his intentions towards Coustakis Industries.
But for all the evenings spent taking Andrea out he was still no closer to seeing anything more of her than the closed, controlled surface she presented to him. There was certainly a deal of English blood in her, all right, he thought, exasperated. All that cool, calm, collected front she insisted on—polite, but distant. The only time he'd seen any trace of enthusiasm in her had been the other evening at the concert—then her eyes had shone like glossy chestnuts in autumn, and a vitality had filled her usually deadpan expression, catching at him. For a moment, he recalled, as he had looked down at her something had moved in her eyes....
But that had been the only moment. Maybe he had just imagined it anyway. Certainly the only way he was guaranteed to get a reaction from her was by reminding her, as he took such satisfaction in doing, of just how fragile that English sang-froid of hers really was! Of how a single touch could set her thrumming with sexual awareness of him. That was the only currency she responded to! However much she tried to suppress her responsiveness to him.
He looked across at her. She was still staring out of the window, ignoring him. Well, let her! It gave him the opportunity to look her over. Catalogue, in his discerning mind, all her sensual charms—from the generous fullness of her mouth to the richness of her breasts, the long line of her legs...
He felt himself relax for the first time that day. It was done. Today had set the seal on his long, long ascent from the rough streets of Athens to the pinnacle of his achievements.
And he knew exactly how to celebrate.
He closed his eyes and gave himself to the pleasure of contemplating just how good it would be to have the woman beside him beneath him.
‘Where the hell are we?'
Andrea's voice was sharp.