Claiming My Hidden Son (The Notorious Greek Billionaires Book 1) Page 4

  So what if outwardly she wasn’t what I expected?

  I snorted under my breath at this colossal understatement. Calypso Petras...ochi, make that Calypso Xenakis...was beyond a surprise. She was a punch to my solar plexus, one it was taking an irritatingly long time to wrestle under control.

  Even now my senses still reeled from what I’d uncovered beneath her veil. She was far from the drab little mouse I’d assumed.

  ‘I believe there’s a rule somewhere that states you shouldn’t scowl on your wedding day.’

  I resisted the urge to grind my teeth and faced my brother. ‘You think this is funny?’

  ‘This whole circus? No. I believe that ring on your finger and the look on your face makes it all too real.’ Neo affected a mocking shudder intended to rile me further.

  It worked.

  ‘I’m talking about your implication that my... Calypso.’ Thee mou, why did her name sound so...erotic?

  Neo’s eyes widened before glinting with keen speculation. ‘If I recall, I didn’t give you any specifics.’

  There was a reason Neo was president of marketing at Xenakis Aeronautics. He could sell hay to a farmer.

  My fingers tightened around my glass. ‘You deliberately let me to think she was...unremarkable.’

  She was quite the opposite. Hers was the confounding kind of beauty one couldn’t place a finger on. The kind that made you stare for much longer than was polite.

  Neo shrugged. ‘No, I didn’t. And don’t blame me for the dire state of your mind, brother,’ he answered.

  The low heat burning through my blood intensified. And while I wanted to attribute it to this conversation, I knew I couldn’t. Ever since I’d pulled that hideous veil off her face and uncovered the woman I’d agreed to marry a different irritation had lodged itself deep inside me. One I wasn’t quite ready to examine.

  But that wasn’t to say I was ready to let Neo off the hook for...

  For what?

  Making obfuscating observations about Calypso Petras that had made me dismiss her from my mind, only to be knocked off-kilter by her appearance?

  Granted, she still wasn’t my type. Her eyes were too large...much too distracting. They were the type of turquoise-blue that made you question their authenticity. Framed with long eyelashes that begged the same question. And then there were her lips. Full and sensual, with a natural bruised rose hue, and deeply alluring despite the absence of gloss.

  The dichotomy of fully made-up eyes and bare lips had absorbed my attention for much too long at that altar. And it had irritated me even further that since our arrival at the reception those lips had been buried beneath a hideous layer of frosty peach.

  But it hadn’t stopped me puzzling over why the two aspects of her initial appearance had been so at odds with each other. Or why she’d seemed...startled by our very brief kiss on the altar.

  False innocence wrapped around her true character? A character that contained more than a little fire.

  My mind flicked to other hints I’d glimpsed over the last few hours. While I was yet to discover what lay beneath the layers of the wedding gown, there were more than enough hints to authenticate her voluptuousness.

  Yet to discover...

  The peculiar buzz that had been ignited during that fleeting kiss notched up a fraction, the fact that the brief contact still lingered on my lips drawing another frown.

  ‘Your new wife is looking a little...unhappy. Perhaps you should see about fixing that?’

  About to state that I had nothing to fix, that her happiness was none of my concern, I found my gaze flicked to the table. Despite the picture of poise she was trying to project she looked pale, her eyes flitting nervously. A quick scrutiny of our guests showed she was the object of several stares and blatant whispers.

  A helpless prey in a jungle of predators.

  My feet moved almost of their own accord, the niggling urge to reverse that look on her face irritating me even as I moved towards her, effectively silencing the whispers with quelling stares.

  Regardless of how this union had come about, rumours couldn’t be allowed to run rife. This was how undermining started.

  As I neared, silence fell. Her gaze shifted, met mine. Her chin lifted, a wisp of bewilderment and skittishness evaporating and her eyes flashing with defiance.

  For some absurd reason it sparked something to life inside me. Something I fully intended to ignore.

  Defiance or bewilderment, the deed was done. She and her family had capitalised on an agreement made under duress and bagged themselves a windfall. She should be celebrating.

  Instead I caught another trace of apprehension as I stopped beside her chair. Eyes growing wide, she looked up at me. The graceful line of her neck—another alluring feature that seemed to demand attention—rippled as she swallowed.

  Thee mou, if this was an act then she was a good actress!

  Aware of our audience, and a burning need to find out, I held out my hand to her. ‘The traditional first dance is coming up, I believe.’ The earlier we could get this spectacle out of the way, the quicker I could resume my life.

  Her gaze darted to the dance floor, her reluctance clear. ‘Is that...really necessary?’

  Something about her reluctance and her whole demeanour grated. She was behaving as if I was contaminated!

  ‘Enough with this pretence. That wide-eyed innocent thing will only work for so long. Give it up, Calypso.’

  She offered me her hand, but the eyes that met mine as she stood sparkled with renewed fire. ‘No one calls me Calypso. My name is Callie,’ she stated firmly.

  I attempted to ignore the slim fingers in mine, the smooth softness of her palm and the way it kicked to life something inside me as I led her to the middle of the dance floor.

  ‘I’m your new husband—surely I don’t fall under the category of no one?’ I curled my arm around her waist, a singular need to press her close escalating inside me as the band struck up a waltz.

  She stiffened. ‘Are you insinuating that you’re special?’

  For some reason my lips quirked. ‘By your tone, I’m guessing I’m not. Not even special enough for you to grant me the simple gift of addressing you as I please?’

  Her lips firmed again, drawing my attention to their plumpness. Reminding me of that all too fleeting taste of them.

  ‘And what am I to call you? Other than stranger or husband?’

  For some reason the fiery huskiness of her voice drew another smile. A puzzle in itself, since humour was the last emotion I should have been experiencing. I was in this situation because of money and shameless greed.

  ‘Call me Axios. Or Ax, as most people do. I doubt we will reach the stage of coining terms of endearment.’

  ‘On that I think we’re agreed,’ she replied, her gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder.

  Another scrabble of irritation threatened to rise, but I suppressed it when I noticed that once again, beneath the show of sharp claws, she was trembling, her wide eyes a little too bright. As if she was holding on to her composure by a thread.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ I asked. Again I questioned my need to know. Or care.

  ‘What could possibly be wrong?’

  She didn’t bother to meet my gaze. If anything, she attempted to detach herself, which ought to have been impossible, considering how close we were dancing. But I was learning that my new wife had several...interesting facets.

  ‘It is polite to look at me when you address me.’

  She maintained her stance for another few seconds, then her blue eyes rose to mine. The urge to stare into them, to commit every fleck and expression to memory, charged through me, this time bringing a wave of heat to my groin.

  I inhaled slowly, forcing myself to ignore that unsettling sensation and address her as I would any acquaintance.

 
Even though she wasn’t.

  Even though she’d taken my name and we were effectively bound together for twelve long months.

  ‘This thing will go smoother if we attempt to be civil with one another. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘I’m not a puppet. I cannot act a certain way on command.’

  ‘But you can dispense with that little-girl-lost look. And I find it curious that you would choose to refer to puppets. Perhaps you’re familiar with knowing exactly which strings to tug to get what you want?’

  Unlike me, she didn’t attempt to disguise her frown. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘This whole scheme, orchestrated by you and your family, has gone off without a hitch. Feel free to stop acting now.’

  She inhaled sharply, her eyes darting to the guests dancing around us. ‘Please keep your voice down.’

  ‘Afraid you’ll be found out? Are you really so blind to the fact that every single guest is speculating wildly about how two people who’ve never met are now married?’

  Her plump lips pressed together for a moment. ‘I can’t control what other people think. But I do care about perpetuating unfounded rumours.’

  ‘Do you, yineka mou?’

  Her blue eyes shadowed and her gaze quickly flicked away. ‘Can you not call me that, please?’

  ‘Why not? Are you not my wife?’

  The more the term fell from my lips the deeper it bored into me, as if rooting for a place to settle. Of course the search would be futile, because this was far from what I wanted.

  The strain and stress of trying to save his failing company while keeping his family and his marriage together had driven my grandfather into an early grave, his spirit broken long before the heart attack that had suddenly taken him. It was the same stress that had nearly broken my own father, forcing him to step down after a mere two years as CEO.

  I didn’t intend to weigh myself down with similar baggage.

  I refocused on Calypso, attempting to ignore the effect of her soft curves against my body as she asked, ‘So, what happens after this?’

  ‘“This”?’

  ‘After we’re done here,’ she elaborated.

  Unbidden, my thoughts flew ahead. To when the evening would turn exclusive and intimate. When wedding euphoria traditionally took on another, more carnal dimension.

  A traditions I wouldn’t be indulging in.

  ‘Do you plan on getting back into your helicopter and leaving me here?’

  The carefully disguised hope in her voice threw me back to that day in my father’s office a month ago, when an agreement that bore all the hallmarks of blackmail had crash-landed into my life and threatened the Xenakis name and business. Did she really think she and her family could take financial advantage and then sail off into the sunset?

  The silent vow I’d taken that day to ensure neither Calypso nor her father escaped unscathed resurged as I looked down into her face. A face struggling for composure and a body twitching nervously beneath my hand.

  I pulled her closer, steadied her at her slight stumble, and lowered my lips to her ear.

  ‘It’s our wedding night, matia mou. How would it look if we didn’t stay under the same roof? Sleep in the same bed?’

  My lips brushed the delicate shell of her ear and she shivered. A moment later wide, alluring eyes sought mine.

  ‘Sleep in the same bed? But you don’t even know me. What...what’s the rush?’

  I opened my mouth to tell her there was no rush. That giving her my name was the final payment she and her family would extract from me. Instead I shrugged, noting absently that a part of me was enjoying this a little too much.

  ‘Other than ensuring there will be nothing to be held over my head when the whim takes your father? Are you suggesting a period of getting to know one another before we decide if we must consummate this marriage?’

  She gave a little start. ‘If? Don’t you mean when?’ she whispered fiercely, her eyes wider, searching.

  Again the words to answer, to state that this dance was as close as we would get for the duration of our agreement, remained unsaid on the tip of my tongue. If she believed I would further compound this debacle by gracing her bed, so be it. She would discover differently later.

  Absurdly, the pleasure in that thought of delivering disappointment never arrived. Instead I was unarmed by a disturbing throbbing in my groin, by the temptation to take a different approach. To gather her closer, breathe in the alluring perfume that clung to her silken skin.

  I did just that, nudging her close with a firm clasp on her lower back. And heard her sharp intake of breath.

  Pulling back, I glanced at her pale face. ‘Are you all right?’

  Her swift nod assured me that she was lying, and the wild darting of her gaze confirmed that belief.

  ‘Calypso?’

  ‘I... I’m fine. Just a little headache. That’s all.’

  I frowned. ‘Then why are you touching your stomach?’

  Her hand quickly relocated from her midriff to my shoulder, her smile little more than a grimace. ‘It’s nothing, I assure you.’

  About to refute that assurance, I was forestalled by the end of the music and the applause that followed. And then by the arrival of Iona Petras.

  My introduction to Calypso’s mother, along with everyone else in the Petras clan, had been stiff and perfunctory, with no disguising exactly what this bloodless transaction was.

  Everyone except Calypso.

  ‘May I have a private moment with my daughter?’ the older woman asked, although I got the feeling it was more an order than a request, giving me a momentary glimpse of where Calypso had inherited her quiet fire.

  My fingers started to tighten on Calypso’s waist, as a peculiar reluctance to let her go assailed me. I strenuously denied it and released her. ‘By all means.’

  A silent conversation passed between mother and daughter before Calypso held out her hand. Without so much as a glance my way, they exited the ballroom.

  A fine irritant, like a tiny pebble in my shoe, stayed with me throughout all my inane conversations with people I didn’t know and another five-minute ribbing from Neo. By the time my father approached I had the notion that my jaw would crack from being ground so tight.

  ‘Am I mistaken or do you two seem to be getting along?’ my father asked.

  ‘You are mistaken,’ I quipped, unwilling to admit how that dance and the feel of Calypso in my arms had fired up my blood.

  He grimaced. ‘I was hoping this would be less of an ordeal for you if you got along.’

  ‘I said I’d do what needs to be done. And I will.’

  Despite that small, startling flame of anticipation burning inside me.

  Despite the fact that I’d completely dismissed any occurrence of a wedding night until exactly five minutes ago.

  That sensation of her slender back beneath my hand...that pulse beating at her throat... The shivers she couldn’t control.

  The fire of anticipation flared higher, resisting every attempt to dampen it down.

  But did I need to?

  This abhorrent agreement hadn’t, thankfully, included a stipulation for consummation. But would it be a true marriage without it?

  Enough!

  Wrestling with myself over this was beneath me. Everything Yiannis Petras had asked for had been delivered. They would get nothing more from me.

  That declaration lasted until my new wife walked back into the room and attempted to dismiss me with a vacant smile, even while her eyes challenged me.

  Something locked into place inside me.

  A challenge that needed answering.

  Without stopping to question the wisdom of doing it, I crossed the wide room to where she stood. Took the hand loosely fisted by her side and brushed my lips over her knuckles.


  Satisfaction sizzled through me when her breath caught. ‘Say your goodbyes, Calypso. It’s time to leave.’

  * * *

  ‘So what now?’ I cringed inwardly at the nerves in my voice.

  The helicopter ride—my first—from Nicrete to Agistros, the large island apparently owned entirely by Axios, had been breathtaking and exhilarating, and thankfully had not required much conversation. Largely because Axios had piloted the aircraft and I’d felt too nervous to disturb him, even if there’d been anything to talk about.

  My mind was still a jumble after our charged snippets of conversation and that little slip on the dance floor, when he pulled me close and the ache in my belly manifested itself, and my last unsettling conversation with my mother.

  But most of all it was the look in Axios’s eyes before he’d whisked me away from the reception and down to the waiting helicopter that kept my heart banging against my ribs.

  That look was far too unsettling and electrifying for me to rest easy.

  Especially not after landing on a dedicated cliff-side helipad on this island that boasted its own dormant volcano and a jaw-dropping villa that seemed almost too beautiful to be real.

  I thought it was the setting sun that leant it that fairy tale look and made the unevenly staggered storeys seem to go on for ever. But every single facet of it turned out to be real, from the blush-hued stone, the towering arched windows, the rooftop infinity pool that seemed to blend into the sky and the endless reception rooms and bedroom suites, each holding priceless ancient works of art interspersed with the work of new cutting-edge artists whose work I loved.

  Every jaw-dropping fact I’d read about Axios Xenakis had seemed amplified the moment he’d stepped out of the helicopter, and his aura was intensifying with each second as he walked me around Villa Almyra, exuding flawless power and authority.

  Now, standing in the luxury sitting room adjoining what I assumed to be the master bedroom, I couldn’t hold my words back.

  He didn’t answer for the longest time. He shrugged off the bespoke jacket he’d worn for the wedding ceremony. Then strolled over to the extensive drinks cabinet.