Bought by the Greek Tycoon Read online

  They met at the water's edge. His grey eyes darkened momentarily. God, she was gorgeous! But he shook his head; sex wasn't the answer this time. He wanted to know what had made her behave so out of character just now.

  'Paul has left, and he won't be back until you say so.' He reached for her hand and linked his fingers through hers. 'You and I need to have a talk.'

  'That sounds ominous.' She tried to laugh, but he put a silencing finger over her mouth. He led her to where the towel was spread on the sand and sitting down, pulled her down beside him, clamping her to his side with an arm around her waist. 'Really, Luke. I need to dress—you said yourself I've had too much sun.'

  'You're not going anywhere until you tell me why you were so adamant that the garden couldn't be built on.' She looked up into his eyes, hers frankly wary. 'I know this house was given to your aunt by the man she was having an affair with, but what I don't understand is why you care what happens to the place. By your own admission this is only the second time you have visited the house, so it has to be your aunt's secret you're protecting.'

  Jemma shuddered; Luke was practically naked, and though she had lost a lot of her inhibitions in the last week—inhibitions she hadn't even known she had until Luke became her lover—she was having enough trouble breathing, never mind trying to think up a plausible lie for her earlier behaviour.

  Steel-grey eyes sought hers. 'Don't even bother to try,' Luke said, his lips quirking at the corners in a smile.

  Your eyes give you away every time. Try trusting me instead.'

  Trusting Luke… That was a novel concept, and not one she had ever considered.

  'I promise your secret will be safe with me,' he added.

  Oddly, she believed him. Although he was an extremely powerful tycoon, renowned for the ruthlessness that had made him a multimillionaire before he was thirty, and with enough sexual charisma to seduce any woman on the planet, Jemma sensed an incorruptible air of inner strength about him.

  Something he had inherited from his grandfather maybe? she thought. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking on her part. Because with his arm protectively around her waist and his faint male scent surrounding her senses she had an incredible urge to confide in him. For over a year she had been the sole guardian of her aunt's secret, and it weighed heavily on her.

  Luke looked down at her, his eyes gleaming silver-grey beneath his thick lashes. 'You have an English saying, no? "A trouble shared is a trouble halved?"' He read her mind. 'And I am a very good listener,' he said persuasively.

  'You're never going to let this rest, are you?' She sighed, and, clasping her hands together, she told him.

  'Twenty years ago my aunt was expecting a baby by her lover. She was five months pregnant when they sailed into Zante for a lovers' tryst, as they had done countless times before, but she slipped and fell when stepping off the boat. She miscarried the baby within the hour. It happened too quickly to get help—not that it would have done any good. The baby was a girl, and she and her lover buried the poor mite at the base of the cliff and put a few stones there to mark the spot. Aunt Mary told me that there was nothing illegal about what they did. If it had happened in a hospital in those days the child would have simply been discarded. But to my aunt her baby was real, a symbol of her lifelong commitment to her lover. She really wanted a gravestone, but that wasn't an option, so instead I built the rockery as a memorial, and I also promised to preserve the baby's resting place.' Jemma's eyes filled with moisture as she remembered her aunt's pain-racked face as she had told her the story.

  Luke was not a sentimental man, but even he could understand why the house had been left in trust the way it had—the woman hadn't been able to leave it to her own child, so she'd left it to Jemma's children, and to her children's children… Whether it was fair to Jemma, he wasn't so sure. He saw the sadness in her expressive face and slid the fingers of his free hand gently through the tangled mass of her hair and turned her to face him. Then he saw the tears in her eyes, and he drew in a deep breath. 'Don't say any more, sweetheart, I understand.' Brushing his lips across her brow, he tightened his arm around her waist and hugged her close, stroking his other hand up and down her back in an age-old gesture of comfort.

  Held in the warmth of Luke's arms, relief at having shared the burden was Jemma's primary emotion. 'Do you really understand, I wonder?' she murmured softly. 'You don't believe in love, and maybe that's the best way to be; it only causes pain.' She barely noticed Luke's hand fall from her back, and she didn't see the sudden tightening of his lips.

  'My aunt spent her whole life loving a man she could never have and wanting a family that was never to be. Instead she had to make do with a few weeks a year with her lover. How tragic is that?' Jemma glanced around the bay. 'This place is an absolute Eden, but perhaps there's a serpent here somewhere.'

  'Now you're just being fanciful,' Luke reprimanded with a wry smile. 'Your aunt chose her lifestyle, and it wouldn't have mattered where she was.'

  His smile was beguiling, as was the warmth of his body. But Jemma knew Luke's view on choice all too well; it was the reason she was sitting here, married to him. And here she was telling him all her innermost secrets!

  'Believe what you like.' she said, panicking at her own weakness in confiding in him. Twisting out of his hold, she rose to her feet. 'But I just have this feeling that the house is unlucky. I mean, it wasn't lucky for Aunt Mary, and it didn't bring much luck to Theo either, did it? He had to leave it when your mother got pregnant, and then she died very young. Now there's only you and Theo left—not much of a family, really.'

  Luke got to his feet and stared at her for long tense seconds, the line of his jaw taut. Some emotion she didn't recognise darkened his eyes, and then he made a visible effort to relax and smile. 'Forget about the house for now. You and I are going to get off this island and spend the rest of our holiday cruising on my yacht and working on expanding my woefully small family.'

  The sound of the shower running woke Jemma from a deep sleep. She stretched and yawned and pulled the fine cotton sheet up over her breasts. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table and groaned: it was barely six a.m. Then she remembered it was Monday—Luke was taking an early-morning flight to New York. Given the time difference, it meant he would be in New York in time for a business lunch. He'd been going to leave last night, but had changed his mind, and her body's well-used muscles reminded her why.

  The door of the en-suite bathroom opened and Jemma's gaze automatically turned to her husband of four months. He was naked except for a towel slung low around his lean hips. His thick black hair was still damp from the shower, and a stray droplet of water was easing its way down his strong throat. He was six feet plus of pure masculine perfection, thought Jemma, taking a sudden, much-needed breath of air as she belatedly realised she'd stopped breathing when he'd entered the room.

  'I know that look. Jemma.' Grey eyes met hers. 'But I have to be in New York by noon and you've delayed me once already.' With that remark, he disappeared into the dressing room.

  Jemma stirred restlessly on the bed, punching the pillows and sitting up to rest against them. She should be happy that Luke was leaving—one of the reasons she had married him was because he'd agreed to her demand to stay in England, and she had counted on him not being around much. Except that it hadn't worked out quite as she'd expected.

  On returning to London after their honeymoon. Jemma had found a new Volvo estate car waiting for her—a wedding present from Luke. He said he'd already noticed her car was well past its sell-by date. In the ten days he had spent in London before flying to the Far East he had managed to make friends with Liz and Peter. He had offered Peter a job in his company, and he hadn't stopped there. With Liz's enthusiastic support, he had advised them that Flower Power should take on at least two new assistants to cover the new contract they had won, and also that, as the owners, they should adopt a more hands-off position and work much fewer hours. Jemma's attempts to object ha
d been futile; Luke was like a juggernaut, driving everyone his way.

  Her only success had been the house on Zante. It was being altered as she had suggested—but only because when Luke had returned from the Far East a week later he had whisked her back to Greece for a few days, insisting they both had to take Theo to Zante and get his agreement to her proposal. She had been relieved to see that the erotic bedroom had been stripped before they'd arrived. The house was now going to have a first floor, with four en-suite bedrooms, and was to be used as a holiday home.

  'Home' was an emotive word, she mused, glancing around the bedroom now. Did she consider this apartment home? She didn't know. All she did know was that Luke didn't travel half as much as she had been led to believe.

  As man and wife their sex was great, but on a personal level they were no closer now than they had been on their wedding day—and that was fine by her. No, that wasn't quite true. They had developed a friendship of sorts, she supposed.

  Their Christmas holiday in Greece with Theo had been fun, and they had been back in London now for three days. On Saturday night Luke had presented her with a diamond bracelet and insisted that they celebrate their four-month anniversary with dinner and, surprisingly, a trip to the opera—which she liked, but knew he didn't—and sex, of course.

  He was always buying her presents. She had more jewellery than she knew what to do with, and the same was true of clothes. He was incredibly generous, and would not take no for an answer, and she was finally beginning to realise how fabulously wealthy he was.

  Personally, she didn't care about money as long as she had enough to live on, but she had a suspicion there would soon be someone else to consider. She hadn't told Luke yet, but her period was three weeks overdue.

  Her original rosy plan of having his baby to bring up as she liked, because he would not be around that much to interfere, now seemed rather foolish. A slight frown marred her smooth brow. Luke had infiltrated into every aspect of her life, and she knew he would do the same with any child they had.

  'Frowning? I'm flattered.' Jemma's head turned as Luke walked towards her. 'Dare I hope that you're going to miss me?' he drawled, silver eyes flaring for an instant as his glance swept her from head to toe. Belatedly she realised the sheet was around her thighs.

  She drew in a startled breath, grasping the sheet and pulling it over her breasts, more flustered than his glance warranted. Luke had cured her of all her inhibitions in the bedroom, but she was off balance because the first thought that had popped into her head in answer to his question was yes, she would miss him.

  He stopped by the bed, but she didn't trust herself to speak. Inwardly confused, she kept her gaze fixed on his body, rather than his face, but it wasn't much help. His exquisitely tailored navy jacket hung perfectly from his wide shoulders, a crisp cotton shirt covered his muscular chest and his long, elegant fingers, which had caressed every inch of her, were slipping a silk tie under the shirt collar. Dear heaven, she couldn't possibly miss him. She couldn't be falling in love with him. She wouldn't let it happen.

  'You could come to New York with me—a phone call is all it would take, and I can delay leaving for the airport for half an hour to give you time to get ready,' he offered casually.

  Jemma looked up in surprise. Luke always flew first class, and she had no doubt any airline would bump someone off a plane if they had to rather than say no to Luke Devetzi. But the fact that he had asked her to go with him threw her into a panic. 'No, I couldn't possibly; I have to go to work.'

  'With the new staff your presence in the shop is hardly needed,' he pointed out. 'Humour me this time, hmm? I rather like the idea of showing you around New York.'

  That he was asking her to humour him, travel with him, astonished her. The trouble was that for a moment she was seriously tempted, and it terrified her. 'No, travelling with you isn't part of our deal.'

  'Of course it isn't.' Something bleak moved in the depths of his eyes, and then it was gone. 'How foolish of me to forget.' He leant down and pressed a brief, hard kiss on her lips. 'I'll be back in two weeks; try not to miss me too much…' he said mockingly, and, spinning on his heel, he left.

  Jemma sat in the workshop feeling like hell. After Luke had left she'd been eating her breakfast when the phone rang. It had been Theo, for Luke, and when she told him he'd already left Theo had said, 'I only wanted to wish him a happy thirty-eighth birthday.' Jemma's laugh had been hollow. She'd told him she'd have to cut the conversation short because she was due at work.

  'What's the matter with you?' Liz walked up to the bench and eyed Jemma with a worried frown. 'Are you missing Luke?'

  'Something like that.' Jemma glanced up at her friend and decided to confide in her. Today is his birthday, and I forgot to wish him happy birthday before he left this morning.'

  'Not good,' Liz said dryly. 'But not a complete disaster. Ring him up tonight and apologise, and then have telephone sex. That should do the trick—the man adores you.'

  Jemma couldn't help smiling. 'I never realised you had such a salacious mind.'

  'I didn't think you would appreciate it until you married a hunk like Luke.' Liz laughed, and Jemma frowned, the throwaway comment disturbing her a little.

  Had her marriage to Alan not qualified her for the sexy wives' club? Suddenly she realised she had hardly thought about Alan in ages, and when she had, it had been with a sadness that he had died so young. The fond memories that she had of their marriage made her smile gently when she remembered them, rather than cry.

  She thought of Luke and his request that she should accompany him to New York, and her refusal. She saw him in her mind's eye, standing by the bed, totally self-assured, his usual arrogant self. She felt again the brief, hard kiss and saw his mocking smile, the tension in his shoulders when he abruptly turned his back on her and left, and suddenly Jemma felt terribly guilty. What kind of wife was she not to have known it was his birthday—and he far too proud to tell her?

  Luke rose from his desk, snapped his briefcase shut and glanced morosely around his office. For the amount of work he had done today he might as well have stayed at home. But where exactly was home? Anywhere his sexy wife was… He had grown to actively dislike the London apartment because it had slowly dawned on him that, although Jemma was there, she hadn't made the slightest effort to imprint her own personality on the place. Not a picture, not a flower had she added. The apartment was as stark as Theo had once suggested—nothing at all like the cosy house Jemma had shared with her first husband.

  Luke sighed. As birthdays went, his had been a bummer. From the moment he had asked Jemma to come with him this morning—only for her to turn him down flat and remind him that travelling with him wasn't part of their deal—he had been in a black mood. He had hoped Jemma had got over the circumstances of their marriage, but obviously she hadn't.

  Crossing to the bar, he poured himself a shot of Scotch into a crystal glass and with it in his hand he walked across to the window to stare moodily out over the New York skyline. He couldn't blame Jemma for the way she felt. He had made a deal to marry her, and she had stuck to it. If anyone had told him six months ago that he would marry and then fall in love with his wife, to the point where he neglected his work, he would have laughed in their face.

  But the joke was on him. He had done everything in his power to get Jemma to care for him. He had sent her flowers from Japan the first time they were apart, and had been told on his return not to bother again because she owned a florist's shop. He had bought her jewellery, clothes—anything she wanted she could have. The trouble was she didn't want anything from him. Except sex.

  Most men would be happy with an ever-willing wife, and yet even in that area he was getting increasingly desperate. In the physical sense she gave him everything, but slowly it had dawned on him that there was an intrinsic part of herself that she was keeping hidden from him.

  Loving her had weakened him. He had neglected his business to a large extent already. Ordinarily
he would not have spent more than a couple of weeks in London over the last four months, and instead he had spent most of his time there—with Jemma…

  The sex was addictive, and he didn't want to give it up, wasn't even sure he could… But now he knew that love was even more addictive, and it was time he made a decision. To carry on as he was, but reorganise his workload to centre on London. Maybe buy a bigger house there and be content with what he had—or cut and run. Straightening his shoulders, he saw his face reflected in the window and grimaced. God, he was becoming maudlin—and why? Because his wife had forgotten his birthday.

  No, Jemma hadn't forgotten, he amended. She didn't know when his birthday was because she had never cared enough to ask. But he could have told her this morning—except that his pride hadn't let him. How infantile was that?

  A knock on the door broke into his mood of introspection. Who the hell was that? Everyone had left for the evening…

  'Surprise, surprise!' Davina Lovejoy appeared in the doorway, waving a bottle of champagne. 'Happy birthday, darling.'

  'Thank you,' he replied. She looked as beautiful as usual, but knowing the artifice involved in achieving that look was more than a bit off-putting. But at least she knew it was his birthday.

  'Open this.' She placed the hand with the bottle in it against his shirtfront and smiled up at him. 'We can have a celebratory drink as old friends, and then I can wish you a happy birthday properly.'

  There was nothing remotely proper about the invitation in the smiling eyes she lifted to his. He ignored the invitation, but was too much of a gentleman to refuse the drink. Taking the bottle, he popped the cork and crossed to the bar to find two glasses.