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Breathe. She must stay calm.
But how? In this claustrophobic space? Drowning in the scent of Christo?
It was something more than expensive cologne. A dark, intoxicating essence whispering of wild places. Of powerful, untamed male.
Thea shivered. Clenched her fists till the nails bit into her palms. She could do this. Christo had promised they’d talk. She’d hold him to it.
The car drove up to a wrought-iron gateway which slid open before it. As the vehicle slowed to a halt outside the front entrance of Christo’s mansion Thea moved to open the door. Escape the confines of this space threatening to crush her.
‘Stop,’ Christo said.
She did—without thinking. His voice, quiet as a whisper on the breeze, had carried such force she knew he wasn’t someone she could trifle with. She must make no mistake. Whatever liberties she took, it would only be those that he allowed her to take.
‘You will play your part as a happy new bride. Even if...’
His eyes traced a path from her head to her toes and back again. Everywhere his gaze touched ignited in a flare of heat.
‘Even if you don’t look like one. Freedom is bought. You start paying now.’
Christo didn’t wait for the driver. He exited the limo, bending down to hold out his hand for hers.
She looked at it for a heartbeat. Long, elegant fingers. Square, perfect nails. The shiny wedding ring that caught the light and glinted. She placed her hand in his. Warm, strong. Curling possessively around hers.
A strange feeling wove through their connected fingers. A sinuous tempting thing that whispered to her, heated her cheeks, made her pulse thready and panicked. There was power in his touch. And the sense of possession was overwhelming as he squeezed gently.
Snakes of fear uncurled in her belly. Slithering. Contorting. Knotting into one another. She couldn’t take her eyes from the place where he held her tight. Held her prisoner. Would he ever let her go?
‘Now look at me.’
She couldn’t resist. His voice was like the sprinkle of rain on a summer’s day, the breath of a warm breeze. Then there was his stillness. It terrified her more than any lashes of emotion.
‘Not like that.’ He frowned.
‘Like what?’
‘Like I’m a Cyclops,’ he said. ‘I want you to look at me in a way that tells everyone what you crave is a locked door, a big bed and me inside you for hours.’
His words cut off her breath as surely as if he’d grabbed her by the throat. She tore her hand free of his, almost crawling back into the car as she did so.
‘I can play my part, but I’ll never look at you like that.’
He raised one mocking eyebrow. ‘Afraid you might like it?’
‘Enough!’
She was no coward. Thea slid out of the limo. Stood. Waited for a moment to suck at the air before Christo placed a heated palm on the small of her back. And then she allowed herself to be escorted through the monolithic front doors to where a line-up of staff waited.
‘Let’s get this over with,’ she said.
His home was a vast display of modern, elegant lines in whites, golds and blues. Though she didn’t have much time to survey the place as Christo swept through it like a tidal surge.
He introduced her to each staff member by name. All of them were eager to meet the new Mrs Callas, but they slid by in a blur as he led her up a winding staircase, past artwork bursting from white walls.
Yet she couldn’t take her mind from Christo’s hand at the base of her spine. Strong. Possessive. She supposed it was meant to appear affectionate, but the staff had long ceased watching and had melted away as if they were ghosts. There was no need for it now.
‘Where’s my bag? My phone?’ Thea asked, trying to take her mind off the burn of his palm.
She’d hardly brought anything with her—only enough to maintain the ruse.
