mother, then we stay married.’
‘But—’
‘But what, Keeley? What makes you look so horrified? The realisation that I am determined to make this work? Surely that is only a good thing.’
‘But how can it work when it isn’t going to be a true marriage?’ she demanded desperately.
‘Says who? Perhaps we could learn to get along together. Something which might work if we put our minds to it. I have no illusions about marriage and my expectations are fairly low. But I think we could learn how to be civil to one another, don’t you?’
‘That isn’t what I meant and you know it,’ she said, her voice low.
‘Are you talking about sex?’ A trace of sardonic amusement crept into his tone. ‘Ah, yes. I can see from your enchanting little blush that you are. So what’s the problem? When two people have a chemistry like ours it seems a pity not to capitalise on it. I find that good sex makes a woman very agreeable. Who knows? It might even bring a smile to your face.’
Keeley felt both faint and excited at the way he was expressing himself—and didn’t she despise herself for feeling that way? ‘And if I...refuse?’
‘Why would you?’ His gaze flicked over her body. ‘Why fight it when submission is much more satisfactory? You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you, Keeley? Remembering how good it felt to have me inside you, kissing you and touching you, until you cried out with pleasure?’
The awful thing was that not only was he speaking the truth—but she was reacting to his words and there didn’t seem to be a thing she could do about it. It was as if her body were no longer her own—as if he was controlling her reaction with just one sizzling glance. Keeley’s nipples were pushing against her cotton dress and she could feel a newfound but instantly familiar tug of desire. She wanted him, yes—but surely it was wrong to want a man who treated her the way Ariston did. He had used her as a sexual object rather than someone he respected and something told her he would continue to do so. And wouldn’t that leave her open to emotional wounding? Because something told her Ariston was the kind of man who could hurt. Who could hurt without even trying.
‘But what,’ she continued determinedly, ‘what if I decided I couldn’t stomach the idea of cold-blooded sex with a man like you?’
‘Sex with me is never cold-blooded, koukla mou—we both know that. But if you were to persist in such stubbornness, then I would be forced to find myself a mistress.’ His face darkened. ‘I believe that’s what usually happens in these circumstances.’
‘In that parallel universe of yours, you mean?’ she spat back.
‘It’s a universe I was born into,’ he snapped back. ‘It’s what I know. I won’t consign myself to a sexless future because you refuse to face up to the fact that we are having difficulty keeping our hands off each other,’ he said. ‘But I will not insult you, nor feel the need to take another woman to my bed if you behave as a wife should, Keeley. If you give me your body then I will promise you my fidelity.’
And then he smiled, a hard, cold smile which suggested he was almost enjoying her resistance. As if he were savouring the moment until he was able to conquer her. Or defeat her.
‘It’s up to you,’ he finished. ‘It’s your call.’
Keeley’s heart pounded. The way he spoke about marriage and sex was so primitive. He was autocratic and proud and he stirred her up so she couldn’t think straight, but deep down she realised she had no other place to go. She remembered his warning about taking her to court to fight for the baby if she tried to oppose him. Some men might have made such a threat lightly, but she suspected Ariston wasn’t one of them. But women had rights too, didn’t they? He couldn’t force her to remain in a marriage if it wasn’t working. And he couldn’t demand sex from her because it was his marital right to do so. Surely even he couldn’t be that primitive.
‘Very well, I will marry you. Just so long as you understand I’m only doing it to give my baby security.’ She tilted her chin to meet the triumphant fire blazing from his eyes. ‘But if you think I’m going to be some kind of sexual pushover just to satisfy your raging libido, then you’re mistaken, Ariston.’
‘You think so?’ The smile which flickered at the edges of his lips was arrogant and certain. ‘I am rarely mistaken, koukla mou.’
‘WOW! I’VE NEVER seen a bride wearing red before!’ exclaimed Megan. ‘Is this some new kind of fashion?’
But before Keeley had a chance to answer the woman who’d lent her the ill-fated dress on Lasia, her brand-new husband leaned forward and spoke for her.
‘It’s an ancient Greek custom,’ said Ariston smoothly, his words curling over her skin like dark smoke. ‘Traditionally, the bride wore a red veil in order to ward off evil spirits. But I suspect Keeley has deliberately adapted the look and given it a modern twist by wearing a crown of scarlet roses to match her dress. Isn’t that right, Keeley?’
Resenting his perception even more than the way he’d just butted in, Keeley looked up into the blue blaze of Ariston’s eyes, trying not to react as he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, looking for all the world like a loving and attentive groom. How appearances could deceive, she thought bitterly. Because he was not a loving groom—he was a cold-hearted control freak who was positively glowing with satisfaction because an hour earlier he had slipped an embellished golden wedding ring onto her rigid finger. He’d got exactly what he wanted and she was now his wife, stuck in an unwanted marriage he was determined would last.
He dipped his mouth to her ear and she hated the involuntary shiver which trickled down her spine as his breath fanned her skin.
‘Clever you for researching Greek customs so thoroughly,’ he murmured. ‘Am I the evil spirit you’re trying to ward off, Keeley?’
‘Of course!’ she said, curving her mouth into a big smile, because she’d discovered she could do the appearance thing just as well as Ariston. She could play the part of the blushing bride to perfection—all it took was a little practice. And why spoil a day with something as disappointing as the truth? Why not let people believe what they wanted to believe—the fairy-tale version of their story—that the struggling daughter of a notorious actress had bagged one of the world’s most eligible men?
In the back of her mind she’d wondered if her past might catch up with her and if Ariston would have second thoughts about marrying a woman with a history like hers. Yet when a newspaper had regurgitated the old story of Keeley’s mother cavorting on the back seat of the ministerial limo and asked Ariston whether the tawdry behaviour of his new mother-in-law gave him any cause for concern, he had broken the habit of a lifetime and given them a quote: ‘Old news,’ he’d commented, in a bored and velvety drawl. ‘And old news is so dull, don’t you think?’
Which was kind of ironic when Keeley thought about how much fuss he’d made about what had happened in the past. But she supposed her pregnancy changed everything. It made him overlook her mother’s transgressions. It made him act proprietorially towards her, something which he made no attempt to hide. She could feel him stroking his finger across the front of her scarlet dress, lingering lightly over the curve of her belly as if it was his right to do so. And she guessed it was.
