Her softly voiced word had sanity surge back inside him, because he heard her trepidation and nervousness and realised what a jerk he was being to be focussing on the fact she looked impossibly, tantalisingly beautiful. This was a huge deal for Alice. Sure, it was a fake wedding, but that didn’t change the fact that the world’s elite had flown in to watch them say their vows; it didn’t change the fact there were television helicopters buzzing overhead, that the media had camped at the end of the private road that led to this hotel estate.
It didn’t change the fact that this was her wedding day and she was way out of her comfort zone. As was he, come to think of it, but he stood to gain immensely from this wedding.
He smiled—reassuringly, he hoped—and put a hand out for her. She placed her own in it, her fingertips trembling, so he squeezed and tucked her hand in his.
‘You ready?’ he asked quietly, leaning towards her. And as with outside the nightclub, she blinked her eyes up to him and nodded. Fearless, even when he suspected she truly was afraid.
The ceremony was short enough—just the vows, the legal stuff, and finally, the invitation that he may now kiss his bride.
His bride.
He looked towards Alice and studied her face in profile, wondering at the wisdom of this, simultaneously knowing it was too late to change a thing.
Remembering their audience, and one man in particular, he put an arm around her waist and drew her close enough to whisper so only Alice could hear, ‘It’s show time, Mrs Stathakis.’
The words were teasing, intended to be light-hearted, but there was nothing light-hearted about being close to Alice. Nothing light-hearted about the way passion soared through him, desire hammering against his body like a call he must answer.
He had just a moment to see her eyes widen and surprise flare in their depths before he kissed her.
It was a performance, an act. Except, it wasn’t.
True, Kosta Carinedes was there watching, as well as four hundred other interested people, but Thanos pulled Alice into his arms and kissed her as though he was picking up right where they’d left off outside the nightclub.
He kissed her as if there were no one else in the marquee, he kissed her with all the desire that had been firing between them since he’d walked into his office in New York and come face to face with the woman who’d reorganised his life and dealt with every possible query he could throw at her.
He kissed her and his arms came around her bare back, so he groaned when he felt her naked flesh beneath his fingertips, holding her tight to his body, his kiss deepening even when he knew he ought to pull back, to lift his head, to give them both space to breathe. Right when he was about to do so, she pushed her own body closer, as though she too couldn’t get enough of this, her hips shifting a little from one side to the other, just as they had in the club, moving so perfectly, so sweetly, that he ached for her in a way he recognised as pure white-hot desire, and from which he knew he needed to run a thousand miles.
Except this felt so good. So right.
He couldn’t help but surrender to it, for just a little longer.
Besides, if Kosta Carinedes had any doubts whatsoever about the veracity of this hastily arranged marriage, then he imagined they were quickly fading into nothing.
Telling himself it was purely for the older man’s benefit, he gave up trying to fight the kiss and he gave into it entirely. His tongue duelled with hers, his chest moved in time with Alice’s, their breathing in unison as they exploded—simultaneously—in a moment of passion that could only have been better if there had been a bed within easy reach.
* * *
‘You used to work for him, didn’t you?’
Alice blinked up, her eyes chasing the question. The wedding reception was taking place in the grand ballroom of the Stathakis hotel, and there were at least twice the guests in attendance as had been at the ceremony itself. Trays of locally produced champagne were circulating in cut-crystal glasses and the hors d’oeuvres had all been exceptional. An enormous oyster bar stood in the corner, brimming with the crustacean, which could be enjoyed au natural or with any number of additions—beluga caviar, sour cream and smoked salmon, bacon and Worcestershire sauce.
Alice turned away from the incredible display to regard the woman who’d approached her, who was asking how she knew Thanos. She was tall, skinnier than a beanpole, dressed in silky couture with perfect make-up, perfect nails, and long blonde hair that had been curled into loose waves, which now hung with artful elegance around her face.
‘Yes,’ Alice responded, hiding her uneasiness with a look that could freeze ice. She didn’t bother smiling—she didn’t need to move in these social circles to see the way these women were looking at her.
As if she didn’t belong. As if she’d come in and taken some kind of prize from their laps.
Of their own accord, her eyes skipped across the room, not stopping until they found him in the crowd. Despite her repeated mental reminders that this was just a job, a performance, her stomach did a funny little lurch at the sight he made.
There, in the middle of the polished marble floor, he was dancing, but not with any one of the glamorous women making eyes at him. Thanos had a little girl in his arms, and he was twirling her around the room, his eyes crinkled in the corners with laughter, as she held on tight and giggled.
She’d been introduced to Leonidas’s wife Hannah and their eighteen-month-old Isabella earlier in the day. She’d never really thought of Thanos as someone with family—even though she knew the bare details. His father was in prison, and of course his brother was his business partner; they owned their enterprise together.
But seeing Thanos with these people humanised him in a dangerous way, in a way she didn’t welcome. It made her want to know more about him. To ask him questions about his life growing up, about his relationship with his brother and sister-in-law, to know more than the bare facts of his father’s imprisonment, and more than she could find on the Internet. She wanted to know how Thanos had felt. How he had survived such an awful phase of his life.
It was easier for Alice to think of him as a billionaire tycoon—successful, arrogant, fiercely intelligent and determined. It was easier for her to think of him as the ‘playboy prince of Europe’, to remember he had a reputation for taking women to bed with the same kind of regularity with which most people changed underwear.
Seeing him play with a little girl, though, added another dimension to his personality. One Alice wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to recognise.