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The deep, growling voice rumbled like thunder as a shadow loomed from a darkened alcove.
Christo.
* * *
Christo strolled over to a petite side table and turned on a lamp. The room shone with a soft glow. Such a pretty space, with delicate gilt furniture and swathes of brocade fabric draping the walls. Perfect for wedding preparations. Not so perfect for the curious machinations of the two wide-eyed females now frozen before him.
He’d been prepared to allow their odd scene to take its course. There was no chance of his sparkling new bride running away. One of his men stood waiting outside the door. She would have walked into a wall of immovable security.
He gritted his teeth. Breathed through the heat blistering his veins. The rings.
Holding out his hand, he nodded to the Drakos girl. She placed Thea’s bouquet on one of the fine chairs and dropped the glittering tokens into his palm. He curled them into his fist and they burned in his hand. Hundreds of thousands of euros in jewellery sat there, abandoned wit
hout care.
Christo slid them into the pocket of his trousers and addressed Thea’s bridesmaid. ‘Leave us.’ He kept his voice level and calm. His bride and his future were secure for now. Any further emotion was misdirected.
‘You can’t make me. I’m staying here.’
Such a brave statement. Christo smiled. He’d been told he looked wolf-like when he did, so he tried for a less predatory edge. Elena shuddered, and wilted a fraction. Ah, so he’d failed. Again.
He sighed, reaching into his pocket for his phone. Pressed speed dial. ‘Raul,’ he said evenly, ‘I need you. Miss Drakos would like to dance.’
He’d attend to Thea soon enough. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed her, standing straight. Stiff. Glancing at the door. Would she run or hold her ground? He suspected the former and hoped for the latter. Why? It was hard to say. He was used to women running when life didn’t meet their expectations. His mother had been the finest advocate of that coping strategy.
Raul, his appointed head of security and best man, arrived at the door. Elena was the maid of honour. She was required to dance with Raul at some point. Now was an opportune time as any.
‘Elena stays.’
The lady speaks. Although it was more like a hiss. Quiet. Serpentine. Curling a chill tight on his spine.
He ignored it. ‘Elena, you’ll dance with Raul now.’
Christo had little doubt she’d leave. His commands were invariably followed. Raul held out his hand. His prospective dance partner took it, removed her ridiculous hat, placed it on a chair and left the room with a tearful ‘Sorry...’ to Christo’s bride. Such a touching moment.
He turned his attention to Thea.
She didn’t wilt. She stood rigid. Head held high. So fierce and proud. Dressed in jeans and leather with exquisitely coiffed and braided hair. All contradiction—such a heady mix.
A tantalising buzz thrummed through him.
‘How long were you hiding there?’ she asked.
Christo would allow her some questions. He had a lifetime to get answers of his own.
‘Long enough.’
‘And you watched us dress?’
He shrugged. ‘There was nothing to see.’
She’d been half dressed already. Yet even in the darkened room Thea had blinded him. Her gentle curves. The slender waist. That crushing corset. An interesting foil for jeans and heavy boots... Everything about her had proved interesting tonight.
‘I didn’t realise my husband lurked. I would never have married you if I’d known. Lurkers can’t be trusted.’
He laughed. Such an unfamiliar thing it sounded more like a bark. Thea didn’t flinch. Most people would have.
‘That’s something I’ve never been accused of. I’ll add it to the list of my many documented achievements.’
