CHAPTER ONE
THEWEDDINGWASover and Bianca was glad.
Even though all the guests had proclaimed it to be‘the most wonderful wedding in the history of the world’.
It had been a jaw-droppingly photogenic occasion.
A Christmas wedding in a golden palace.
A handsome king marrying an ordinary woman and making her his queen.
What was not to like?
Bianca stared across the elaborate palace entrance hall. She hadn’t liked being a bridesmaid for a start, even though the bride was her sister. And she hadn’t particularly liked being back in Monterosso—the wealthy mountain kingdom where she’d spent many of her childhood holidays.
The marriage had taken place two days before Christmas and the great cathedral had been decorated to reflect the holiday. Swathes of holly and ivy had hung from the mighty pillars and, as Bianca had squeezed herself into her crimson bridesmaid’s dress, she had tried to absorb the joy of the occasion and reflect some of it back.
But all sorts of unsisterly thoughts had started flooding into her mind as she’d followed the vision of shimmering white up the wide aisle, even though she loved her sister from the bottom of her heart and was happy Rosie had found the man of her dreams. Yet Bianca kept thinking thatshewas the older sister. Thatshewas still unmarried and, given her history of love and relationships, that situation showed no signs of changing.
She probably could have dealt with the growing awareness that her life wasn’t going exactly to plan, if her travel arrangements hadn’t been suddenly altered. Bianca had intended to catch a scheduled flight back to England to spend a low-key Christmas at home. No fuss. No fanfare. She’d been looking forward to a bit of peace and quiet after the busy build-up to the royal wedding. Until her sister had forced her to accept an aeroplane ride from the last man she would ever have chosen to spend time with.
Just thinking about him made her shiver. Made her body tingle and her mouth grow dry.
Xanthos Antoniou.
The powerful Greek American billionaire who had proved to be an irresistible magnet to every woman under the age of ninety during the royal nuptials. Dazzlingly muscular, with sinful good looks, he had been like a dark meteor crash-landing into the golden splendour of the royal wedding. Nobody had been able to take their eyes off him. Herself included.
She hadn’t known why her sister had been so insistent she accept a ride with him—especially when she’d made it quite clear she hadn’t wanted to—but insistent she most certainly had been.
‘Please, Bianca. As a favour to Corso. You’ll get a lift in his private plane—andhe’s a crack pilot.’
Bianca had briefly wondered why her sister’s royal husband was so keen to do Xanthos a favour, but at that point Rosie had rushed off to speak to someone else and it seemed the matter was closed. Which was why the man in question was currently heading purposefully in her direction across the marble foyer of the palace.
She tried not to glare as he made his way towards her, but keeping her expression neutral was a challenge. She didn’t know what it was about the black-eyed billionaire which made her react so strongly, but she didn’t seem able to control it. From the moment they’d first been introduced, she had felt a weird kind of reaction to him. A slow flush of heat to her cheeks. An uncomfortable awareness which made her breasts sting. Yet Xanthos Antoniou typified everything she disliked about the opposite sex. He exuded hard, masculine power and soft, sensual danger. He was alpha man personified. And those things did not turn her on.
She liked quiet men. Bookish men. Safe men.
Men who were the polar opposite of him.
‘Bianca?’
His voice sounded like gravel being poured over honey as he said her name, which was presumably why her nipples had started pushing against her bra as if they wanted to escape from their lacy confinement and her heart to race as if she were running for a train. Breathing in, she curved her lips into the kind of polite smile she might have given a new client who had come seeking her legal advice.
‘That’s right. Bianca Forrester,’ she replied briskly. Determined to put proceedings on a formal footing, she raised her eyebrows. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d caught my surname when we were introduced yesterday, Mr Antoniou.’
‘Oh, I never forget a surname, Ms Forrester,’ he responded silkily. ‘Just as it seems you haven’t forgotten mine.’
But the mocking smile which accompanied his words made Bianca feel even more uncomfortable. She wasn’t impressed by the fancy trappings of his wealth and couldn’t care less that he had his own private jet. Her sister might have tried to big him up but she didn’t want any part of it. She lowered her voice. ‘Listen, I know you’ve been roped into offering me a lift and it’s really very kind of you. But it won’t be necessary.’
He frowned. ‘Why not?’
‘Because I already have a ticket and I’m perfectly happy to fly commercial. In fact, I’d prefer to travel that way. It means I can work on the flight, rather than have to make conversation.’
As her words clipped over him Xanthos felt a sudden flash of irritation because wasn’t this scenario exactly what he had anticipated? It didn’t matter that she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, with her coal-dark hair and eyes the colour of emeralds, the woman had attitude. The kind of attitude he didn’t like. Cold and judgmental and...condescending. As if she’d already made up her mind about him and found him wanting.
And didn’t that press all the wrong kinds of buttons? Didn’t it remind him of where he had come from and why he was here?
‘But your sister specifically asked me to ensure you got back to England safely,’ he said coolly. ‘And I could hardly ignore such a request, could I? Who could possibly refuse the new Queen?’