He’d commissioned the work with only a fleeting pang of guilt. Tito Lambros couldn’t be trusted, and Christo had wanted to know exactly who he was marrying before sliding a ring on Thea’s finger. He’d glanced at the document before their official engagement. Uninteresting reports of her having coffee with her best friend, shopping, the occasional nightclub. Always overseen by bodyguards. Nothing to alert anyone to the suspicion that Thea was anything other than the dutiful, obedient, innocent daughter her father described.
Christo yawned. He sipped his bitter black coffee and turned to the photographs. Grainy, night-time pictures. He hadn’t studied them before the wedding, preferring to rely on the certainty of printed words. Had he chanced a look he’d have noticed immediately. Thea and Elena swapped clothes. Hairstyles. In a darkened venue people wouldn’t notice the difference.
Thea was right. She hid in plain sight.
The click of heels on the tiled terrace alerted him to her approach. He slid the report into his briefcase and threw back the dregs of his coffee. She sauntered to the table in low-slung jeans and a heavy studded belt. A sheer, jewel-coloured top flowed around her torso. She presented the same contradiction now as on their wedding night: a picture of toughness softened by feminine grace.
For a startling moment he craved to strip her down and discover where the toughness ended and the woman began.
‘Good morning,’ she said, and sat.
Reaching for a fig, she tore the ruby flesh in half. Her lips wrapped around the luscious fruit as she took a bite. Watching her sleep was an ordeal for even the most pious man, but witnessing her eat was a study in erotic torture. He adjusted himself in his seat. Thanked all things holy that he could remain at the table for as long as it took to wrestle the pounding hammer of need into submission.
As Thea consumed the mouthful of fig she rubbed her neck, oblivious to his crushing desire to kiss the juice of that fruit from her lips till she moaned his name. He cleared his throat. Quelled the fantasy. She’d probably bite him, not kiss back.
‘Poor sleep?’
‘I’m sore from the couch.’
‘You should’ve asked me for proper pillows.’
‘I want my own room. There’s no privacy. No way to keep the mystery alive between us.’
Thea fluttered her long lashes. The glorious flirtation of her... Was this how his father had been trapped all those years ago? At least Raul’s report gave no indication that Thea had a lover stashed in some safe corner, ready to resume their relationship at a moment’s notice, like his mother had. Sad how he counted that as a blessing rather than an expectation.
Christo poured another thick, dark coffee and leaned back in his chair. ‘We’re newlyweds. Tangling the bed sheets with passion every night. We don’t want there to be any mystery.’
The carnal visions rioting through his head made him wish his words were true, rather than a pretence.
Anna came to the table. She bustled about arranging food, collecting plates. Thea’s lips tilted in a wicked smile as she stabbed a piece of meat with her fork. He had little doubt she wanted it to be his flesh under those sharp tines.
‘But, Christo, darling. I look haggard. Of course I need my own room,’ she said, with the perfect pitch of complaint. ‘Anna, come here. You’ll agree. Don’t I look exhausted?’
Anna sidled over to them, panic written all over her face.
What was Thea up to?
‘See—I look too horrid for Anna even to answer.’
The girl tried to run off, but Thea clamped a hand on her arm, pinning her to the spot.
‘No, stay. I’m not getting any sleep.’
Christo took another sip from his cup, schooling his face to one of polite interest. ‘There are good reasons for that. Which no one needs to hear...’
He understood now. He’d been witness to all his mother’s games over the years. This was no different.
‘Anna does.’ Thea looked at Anna, brows drawn, face serious. ‘He snores. Terribly. All night.’
The coffee caught in his throat. He lurched forward. Coughed.
‘I don’t!’
Thea’s wide-eyed innocence continued. ‘He doesn’t want to admit it... I’m sure he’s quite embarrassed.’
Nowhere in their bargain was there any term allowing her to make a fool of him in front of his staff. His voice was a low growl of warning. ‘Thea...’
She ignored him, focusing on Anna, whose look of horror might have been comical in other circumstances. ‘Now I’m getting dark rings under my eyes. Soon I’ll stop looking beautiful and Christo won’t want me anymore.’