The World's Most Notorious Greek (Mills & Boon Modern) Read online

  Yet somehow it did matter.

  She will be completely yours.

  That thought made the blood pump hard in his veins, a primitive, almost Neanderthal reaction. But it was true. She would be his in a way that Thornhaven would never be. That the title would never be. Because they were all things that Ulysses had once had.

  But Ulysses had never had her.

  Achilles didn’t think. The idea was already in his head and so he said, ‘In that case, I have a condition to your condition.’

  There was a small silence.

  ‘Oh?’ She sounded wary now. ‘What condition?’

  The tiger’s smile was back, the reflection in the mirror looking hungry. He wanted this and he would have it. He was owed. For all the years of neglect. For all the years of feeling as if he was the ghost, not his brother. For all the years of anguish, trying so very hard to be the boy his parents had lost so they would love him too.

  Never realising that they had had no love left to give him.

  ‘I want a wedding night,’ he said in a voice that didn’t sound like his. That wasn’t either lazy or seductive. That was stripped to bare bones.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  She didn’t sound quite so cool now and that was just as well. Time she learned that this was his show, not hers.

  ‘I think you heard me.’ He swung the chair gently back and forth on its pivot. ‘I am happy for you to have a separate life and do whatever you choose. Go to university, see whomever you want, or not, as the case may be. But I want a wedding night.’

  ‘Why?’ Her voice was sharp. ‘If it’s just sex you want you can get that from any woman.’

  It was true, he could. But it wasn’t just sex that he wanted.

  It was sex with her. With the woman who should have been his brother’s.

  ‘But it’s not just sex that I want, Diana.’ He couldn’t give her the whole story, but he could give her some of it. It would admit her some power, yet he knew, as he had back at Thornhaven, that now was the time for honesty. And that he wouldn’t get what he wanted unless he gave it to her. ‘I want sex with you.’

  ‘Me?’ This time she sounded shocked. ‘But... I...why should that matter?’

  ‘You have passion. And I am a connoisseur of passion. I want yours and I think that perhaps you want mine too.’

  She said nothing.

  And suddenly he found himself on the edge of his seat, tension gripping him, every part of him focused on the phone in his hand and on the woman on the other end of the line.

  ‘One night,’ he said in that bare-bones voice, all his seductive techniques deserting him, leaving only demand left. ‘That’s all I will ever ask of you. Just one. And I can tell you this with absolute confidence, that if you want to enjoy your first time with a man then I am the man you should enjoy it with.’

  More silence.

  ‘That’s the most arrogant thing I’ve ever heard anyone say,’ she said at last.

  He wanted to smile, but not because he was amused. ‘I have never pretended to be anything other than what I am. And yes, I can be arrogant at times. But if you know my reputation then you will also know that women do not go away from my bed unsatisfied.’ He felt himself wound tight as a spring. ‘I will make it a night to remember, I promise you.’

  Yet more silence, longer this time.

  You sound as if you’re begging. Since when did you ever beg?

  He didn’t like that thought. Didn’t like that thought at all. It made him feel the way he had with his father, constantly hoping that one day it would happen. That his father would see the son he had right in front of him instead of being obsessed with the one he had lost.

  Theos, why had he said anything? Why had he granted her even this modicum of power over him?

  Too late to regret it now.

  ‘Just one night?’ she said at last. ‘One night and that’s all?’

  He didn’t move. ‘Yes. One night and that’s all.’

  The silence this time felt like the longest stretch of time he’d ever experienced.

  ‘All right.’ Her voice was breathless. ‘You can have a wedding night.’

  Then she disconnected the call.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE DUKE MOVED with unsurprising efficiency.

  The next day a courier arrived on Willow’s doorstep with a thick-looking folder of legal documents that proved to be a contract cementing her agreement to marriage and a child legally. Which stood to reason. This was a business agreement after all.

  So she sat down and spent the entire day combing through it, making sure she understood everything. It was clear and unequivocal and there were no loopholes of any kind. The Duke’s ruthless business reputation was obviously well earned.

  You’ll soon find out if his other reputation was also well earned.

  The thought wound through her head, the words of the contract blurring in front of her as the memory of the previous night’s conversation abruptly hit.

  ‘I want a wedding night.’

  Willow’s heartbeat sped up, the throb of some deep and inexplicable ache gathering inside her.

  She still wasn’t sure quite why she’d agreed to a wedding night when she’d been so sure that she wasn’t going to sleep with him. Or how she’d somehow let slip that she was a virgin.

  The latter, because she’d wanted to shock him maybe. But the former...

  He’d told her he wanted her passion, and after that his voice had gone deeper, rough, no longer quite so lazy or seductive. Almost as if he was desperate, which a part of her had liked far too much.

  She, the little virgin from Yorkshire, had the world’s most notorious playboy begging her for a wedding night.

  She’d said yes before she’d thought twice about it.

  He wanted her. And more than that, he wanted her passion, and no one had wanted that in so very long. She also couldn’t deny that she wanted him in return.

  It was probably a mistake, probably a sign of her general lack of control, but surely one night wouldn’t hurt? Just one. Her wedding night. And after all, he’d basically insisted. She really couldn’t say no, could she?

  Dismissing the thoughts of the wedding night, Willow read on, the terms for the child giving her another lurch of doubt. It was strange seeing it in black and white, her agreement to provide him with a son. A big undertaking, especially when she’d never thought about having children herself. And most especially considering the child would live with the Duke and not with her.

  Yet, as she’d thought earlier, that would be the best thing for the child. She wasn’t motherhood material after all. She could visit though, the Duke had promised her that, and she would. A child should know its mother, even if that mother wasn’t a particularly good one.

  That all of these were rationalisations she knew deep in her heart, but she decided it was better not to think about them too deeply. The most important thing was that she and her father got the money that the Duke promised them.

  Sure enough, after she’d signed the contract and sent it away, the money landed in her bank account. Then a car and a nurse arrived to take her father to a renowned stroke specialist for an assessment and some recommendations for further treatments at her father’s preferred facility in the south of France. It was horrifically expensive, but the Duke agreed to cover the cost without hesitation and soon arranged for her father to travel there after the wedding.

  Willow had expected some registry-office ceremony, conducted swiftly and without much fanfare, since it wasn’t as if they were making vows of love in front of friends and family. But apparently that was not what the Duke wanted.

  A small ceremony with a ‘few hundred’ of his closest friends was what the Duke wanted, though she wasn’t sure why he seemed so set on making a big deal out of it.

  He also wanted to dis
cuss it with her, suggesting she join him in London at her earliest convenience. She didn’t particularly want to discuss it with him, since she didn’t much care about the wedding itself, but, as refusing to go just because she found his presence threatening would be admitting far too much, and her father now had a full-time caregiver, she felt she had no choice but to agree.

  And so a few days later she found herself on a helicopter flying south, a building nervousness along with a strange sense of anticipation collecting inside of her.

  She tried to ignore both sensations by watching the unrolling green of the countryside below her and attempting to enjoy the novelty of flying, since she’d never been in any kind of aircraft before, let alone a helicopter.

  But all too soon they were approaching London and once again she was faced with the reality of having to be in the Duke’s disturbing, compelling and dangerous presence. The thought made her heart beat fast and her palms feel sweaty.

  The helicopter circled around the City of London before zeroing in on a particular building. The Duke had told her that he’d fly her directly to his office where they could chat in peace and this was clearly it.

  Willow gripped tightly to her usual distance as the helicopter came in to land on the building’s rooftop helipad, and when she got out she was instantly surrounded by people.

  A no-nonsense, businesslike woman who introduced herself as Jane, Temple’s PA, whisked her down to the waiting room outside the Duke’s office.

  It was the most luxurious waiting room Willow had ever seen, with thick, pale, silvery carpet and black leather furniture. Black and white abstract photographs on the walls. Clean and minimalist and looking extraordinarily expensive.

  Willow’s heart began to beat even faster and she had to resist wiping her palms down on the light summer dress she wore. When she’d put it on in her bedroom earlier she hadn’t given it much thought, since she wasn’t used to fussing around with her appearance. It had been cool, and that was the extent of her thinking.

  Now, in amongst all this sophistication and quiet luxury, about to meet the man who unbalanced her so completely, she felt underdressed and shabby, as though she’d gone to a ball in her nightgown by mistake.

  It made her temper shift, the veneer of her thin control cracking, and she had to grit her teeth hard to hold on to it and not let it escape. Because bad things happened when she lost her temper. Very bad things.

  Jane led her to the big double doors of the Duke’s office and then pushed them open, ushering her inside.

  The Duke himself was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city. It was the most magnificent view, though it wasn’t the view that immediately drew the eye. How could a mere view compete with the man who stood there as if he owned it?

  Dressed in a dark charcoal suit that highlighted the width of his powerful shoulders and lean waist, he was a commanding, magnetic presence as he talked on the phone to someone. That deep, rich, melted-chocolate voice filled the room, whispering over her skin and making her shiver. He wasn’t speaking English but some language she didn’t recognise—Greek maybe?—and the musical sound of it was a delight that held her unexpectedly mesmerised.

  She wasn’t aware of when Jane backed out silently. She didn’t notice the doors shutting behind her. She even forgot about her temper.

  All she was aware of was the man by the windows, the taut electricity of his presence surrounding her and stealing all her breath.

  Who are you kidding? You couldn’t resist a wedding night and you know it. And now you don’t have to.

  Something inside her gave a strange little twist and then relaxed, as if she’d had her hair in an overly tight bun the whole day and then had let it down.

  Perhaps it was being away from the cottage and Yorkshire, away from her father, that was affecting her, because all of a sudden a loose, easy feeling flooded through her, the tension in her muscles gradually unwinding.

  She’d agreed to marry him. She’d signed a legally binding contract and there was no escaping it. She’d also agreed to a wedding night, one that he’d argued for, because he’d wanted her. And not just her; he wanted her passion too.

  So what was the point in resisting him? What was the point in controlling herself?

  Perhaps you should give him a taste of who you really are...

  Willow took a silent, shaken breath as the idea took hold, a combination of excitement and trepidation gripping her. And why not? He’d wanted that passion, had told her he couldn’t get it from anyone else, and so really she was duty bound to give it to him. Of course, once he found out who she truly was, he’d probably realise, as her father had, that she was too much trouble to bother with. Not that she cared.

  She had her university plans and no doubt they’d soon be starting the procedure for having a child. His opinion of her was the least of her worries.

  Willow waited for him as he finished up the call and then a silence fell as he slid the phone into his pocket and turned, his midnight-blue eyes meeting hers.

  She didn’t look away. Couldn’t, if truth was told. The sheer masculine beauty of him and his electrifying presence held her hypnotised. The air crackled between them, a shifting, twisting static charge, and her breath stopped in her throat. And for a second she thought he might stride straight across the space between them and take her in his arms. She wouldn’t be sorry if he did, not at all.

  But, of course, he didn’t.

  Instead he moved over to the great black slab of a desk that stood near the windows and leaned back against it, folding his arms, studying her.

  ‘You really are quite the virgin sacrifice, aren’t you?’ he murmured.

  For a second, Willow had no idea what he was talking about. Then she realised. ‘Oh, you mean the white dress?’ She kept her voice as cool as his. ‘It was the first thing that came to hand.’

  ‘I see.’ His long, beautiful mouth curved. ‘It’s very appropriate.’

  ‘I didn’t wear it because it was appropriate. I wore it because it was too hot for jeans.’

  He tilted his head, watching her. ‘Is that a fact? Nothing at all to do with me, then?’

  ‘Why would it have anything to do with you?’

  ‘It’s a lovely dress.’ His smile took on a wicked edge. ‘I can see right through it.’

  Oh, dear. She hadn’t thought of that, because it wasn’t something she’d ever thought to check. She wore black trousers and a black T-shirt to work in the cafe, and she made sure they were clean when she dressed, but she’d never thought about whether her dresses were see-through or not.

  Her cheeks heated, the spark of her temper igniting, and her instinct was to quell it and force it down. But, since she’d decided to give him a taste of the passion he said he wanted, for the first time in a long time Willow let it burn.

  She met his gaze, held it, let him see her annoyance. ‘Then perhaps you shouldn’t be looking.’

  The smile on his face slowly changed, losing its practised wickedness, and then he gave a genuine-sounding laugh. ‘You’re quite a contrary beast, aren’t you, Diana?’

  Contrary. Yes, she’d been told that many times, but usually in far more unflattering terms, such as oppositional and demanding, and difficult. And most often accompanied by a cold stare that made her feel small and stupid, as if there was something wrong with her.

  But the Duke wasn’t looking at her as if there was something wrong with her. He was looking at her as if he found her being contrary utterly delightful. And that didn’t make her feel either small or stupid. It made her feel good.

  It was an unfamiliar feeling and she didn’t quite know how to deal with it, so she only shrugged. ‘I’m not a beast and you can stop calling me Diana. My name is Willow.’

  ‘Willow,’ he echoed, as if tasting the sound of it and finding it delicious. ‘It’s a beautiful name, t
hough you’re not at all willow-like if I may say.’ His gaze dropped slowly down the line of her figure, taking in every inch of her, a trail of sparks scorching her right through. ‘You’re far too fiery and strong for that.’

  There was no doubt that he thought those were good things and that he liked them very much. It was clear in the heat in his eyes as they met hers.

  That unfamiliar feeling in her chest, a kind of warmth, spread outwards, but she still didn’t know how to deal with it, so she tried hard to ignore it. ‘I’m nothing of the kind,’ she said coolly. ‘You wanted to discuss the wedding?’

  ‘Straight to the point, aren’t we?’

  ‘I have some things I need to get back to.’ Which was a lie. She had nothing at all to get back to.

  He gave her a very direct look, which she met head-on, challenging him to call her out on it. And for a second she thought he might, but he only gestured to the long, low, black leather couch that stood near the desk. ‘Please, take a seat.’

  Willow moved over to the couch and sat, smoothing her dress over her knees.

  ‘Would you care for coffee or tea?’ he asked, all politeness. ‘Or maybe even something a little more exciting? Champagne perhaps to toast our engagement?’

  She blinked in surprise. ‘Engagement?’

  ‘Well, I can hardly marry you without an engagement,’ he said as if it were self-evident. ‘That wouldn’t be proper at all.’

  ‘I didn’t think you cared about propriety.’

  ‘Perhaps I’ve changed my mind.’ He gave her a look from beneath his thick black lashes. ‘Perhaps I do care about it after all, especially now I’ve decided to settle down.’

  Willow found the conversation oddly discomforting, though she didn’t know why. ‘But you’re not really settling down, are you?’ she pointed out. ‘You’re paying me to be a wife and to have your child.’

  His mouth curved in one of those sensual smiles that she was starting to see were quite practised. ‘Yes, when you put it like that, it is rather cold and clinical. Perhaps that’s why I’d like an engagement and a proper wedding. In a church. Perhaps I’d like people to think that it’s real.’