AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She did flinch, however, when he drew her to his side, just as she’d wanted him to. Not because of him, no. She flinched as the electric starburst cascaded through her the moment the bare skin at her side met his forearm.
Never before would she have dared to wear such a thing. But she had been unable to resist. The night of their conversation about her father, Loukis had made her realise how much she had buried in the last five years. It wasn’t just her relationship with her parents, but with herself. Her sense of self. And she wanted that back. Wanted to be the powerful, glorious woman Loukis told her he saw. So she had chosen the most daring of designs and colours. The rich Prussian blue of the material suited her and the high-waisted long maxi skirt was a dream, unfurling from her in smooth, silky waves every time she moved. But the cropped top that clung to her curves and an area of her stomach she wasn’t sure had seen the light of day for years had given her pause. Until she’d caught the way that Loukis had looked at her. Was, in fact, looking at her now.
That alone sent a shocking thrill to her very core.
‘Annabelle is set up for an evening of junk food and films,’ he said, turning to look out on the horizon, breaking whatever sensual hold he had on her.
‘Did you tell her I said hi?’ she asked after she had navigated the sudden shift between them.
‘She’s rather attached to her new nickname.’
Célia smiled.
‘Leya’s parents will bring her over to the island on the boat tomorrow and Tara will arrive just before the custody hearing.’
Célia was curious about this island estate Loukis had told her they’d be going to after the party. Thankful that they’d finally be escaping the narrow-focused lens of the paparazzi after what felt like weeks of fighting headlines and photo opportunities, she heaved a sigh of relief tinged with excitement. And was also surprised to be looking forward to seeing Annabelle again. All of this had been with her shadow in the background. And once Loukis had seemed to take on board what she’d said about Meredith and his true motivations, he hadn’t relaxed, exactly, but had been refocused in a way. More determined to ensure Annabelle’s happiness. To a woman who had been so badly betrayed by her own father, it had touched her. Warmed her to Loukis, even when he was being his most autocratic.
But her thoughts went back to the island that was somewhere out there in the sea before her. He had told her about it, about the private beach, about a bit of the architecture...but he hadn’t said anything about the bedrooms. Abouthisroom. And suddenly she couldn’t shake the thought of it. Of sharing a bed with him. Of exploring where those touches might lead. This evening, tonight, she’d be sharing a room with her fiancé.
She wasn’t sure if Loukis was aware of the way his fingers traced the bare skin at her side. He certainly couldn’t know the chaotic thoughts it sent through her mind, the wants it sent through her body.
The sounds of a car door closing cut through the background noise of the port, and they turned in unison to see Ella and Roman making their way down the red-carpeted gangplank with something a little like awe on Ella’s face, and easy acceptance on Roman’s dark features.
Célia couldn’t tell if it was Ella or herself that had let out the little squeal of delight when they finally saw each other, both rushing forwards for a hug.
From the corner of her eye, Célia saw the two men greet each other in the half-hug and back slap that had become internationally recognisable as the greeting of men.
For a moment, her breath caught in her lungs. Both men looked as if they’d just stepped out of a fashion shoot. Impossibly tall, painfully handsome, Roman dressed in a dark linen suit and Loukis in one of a blue that echoed her own clothing’s colour, they were a sight to behold.
‘Loukis,’ Ella called across the deck. ‘You may have her for the rest of your life, but for this evening, she ismine,’ she mock taunted, with absolutely no idea of the effect her words had on Célia.
Her gaze flew immediately to Loukis, who seemed in an instant to understand exactly what had caused a streak of lightning to burst through her in shock. All these weeks, everything they’d done had been to promote their fake engagement. But the people gathering this evening, friends and family and others...they expected a wedding. They believed in a future that Célia would never have. A love.
Ella had whisked Célia off and then more guests had arrived, slowly filling the beautiful wooden deck, so much so that he only seemed to catch glimpses of his beautiful fiancée through tailored suits and exquisite dresses. The jewellery on display could have made the stars jealous, as if every person there had known that they might appear in the next day’s newspapers.
The interview withHello! Greecehad been a six-page spread with posed portraits in a rented apartment overlooking the Acropolis. He ensured that the focus was not on Célia’s father, but about what she had achieved, how she had wanted to do it herself without her father’s influence. The piece was positive and glowing and not because of him, but the genuine interest and excitement from the journalist. Since the article had come out more than twelve international business figures had contacted Chariton, causing Célia to remark that he had given her a bonus. The way she made it sound, as if his part of the ‘deal’ was done, had unaccountably caused a sense of dismay within him, resentment—he reluctantly admitted—at the reminder of their agreement.
He caught another glimpse of her, with Yalena and Ella, the three women laughing together and it was a sight to behold. The moment he’d seen Célia he’d almost asked her to change. She was stunning in a way that made him want to keep her to himself. To hide her beauty, hoard it all for him. But saying that would reveal too much. Reveal just how much he was affected by the sensual torment he had ignited the first time he had touched her in the restaurant.
By the bar he saw Iannis and Roman and was just about to join them when another car drew up to the yacht’s gangplank. They had been due to set sail at any moment, so he turned to greet the latecomers, ready—along with the staff—to hurry them onto the deck before the departure when he stopped midstride, shock and fury turning him rigid.
He purposefully released the clench in his jaw, aware that any slight reaction would draw the gazes of the guests. He could almost feel the shutters on cameras clicking through a hundred photos as if the press had expected this moment, wanted it even.
Meredith walked onto the deck of the yacht like a queen ready to receive her due. In her wake followed a large, round, red-cheeked man improbably wearing a Stetson, grinning as if he was genuinely in ignorance of the horror show this was about to descend into.
Loukis couldn’t let that happen. He didn’t know what game Meredith was playing, he certainly knew that she hadn’t been on the invite list, but he could hardly kick her off the boat, much as he wanted to, as the gangplank was rolled away and the ship’s captain sounded the horn to announce their departure from the dock.
His mother’s gaze found his and for a moment, just the barest of seconds, he couldn’t quite decipher the look that crossed her features, before it was schooled in that same plastic fakery he was used to seeing splashed across the headlines that had decried her infidelity all those years ago.
She made straight for him. Unsurprising, since she had never seemed to shy from a fight with his father.
‘Darling,’ she called to him, drawing a few curious glances from those about him who knew about their precarious relationship. She placed a red-taloned finger on his forearm and leaned in for air kisses two inches from either cheek.
‘What are you doing here?’ he growled, keeping his voice low so that only she could hear.
‘I came to wish my son all the happiness in the world for his engagement,’ she said loudly enough for others to hear and in a tone that completely ignored the hostility rising from him in waves. ‘Let me introduce Byron Fairchild.’
‘Nice to meetcha,’ he said, his Texan drawl so strong the last two words rolled into one and sounded vaguely like a south American cocktail.
