He frowned. ‘You’ve lost me,’ he drawled.
‘When you said if we were to consummate this marriage? Are you incapable of doing so? If so perhaps you should get one of your staff to show me where I’m to sleep.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d think you just issued me a challenge,’ he drawled, in a voice that ruffled the tight nerves beneath my skin.
His scent filled my nostrils, his calm breathing propelling my attention to his sculpted chest, to the pulse beating steadily at his throat. To the magnificent vitality of his skin and the sheer animalistic aura breaching my tightly controlled space. Screaming at me to notice his masculinity. And not just to notice. He drew me with a power I’d never known before. I didn’t just want to breathe him in. I wanted to touch. Explore. Taste.
That sensation was so strong I stepped back, eager to diffuse it.
The hands that held me stemmed my movement, and hard on the heels of my immobility came the realisation that I wanted to stay right where I was. But I didn’t want him to know that.
‘Well? Are you?’ I taunted.
A mysterious smile tilted one corner of his lips before his hands slid down to my elbows. ‘It should be easy enough to prove, matia mou.’
Just like that I was hit with the reality that this was my wedding night. That I was all but taunting him into...possessing me.
The thought sent a shiver through me. Coupled with something else. Something way too close to the forbidden desire that had coursed through me when I’d allowed myself to dream of this day some time in the dim and distant future, when I was out from under my father’s thumb and free to have a boyfriend. A lover. A husband.
But how could that be? The man I’d imagined bore no resemblance to this formidable man, who wore arrogance and power as if it were a second skin. Theos, even his frown was attention-absorbing.
‘Are you cold?’ he asked.
I shook my head. Like everything else in this stunning villa, the temperature was perfect, blending with the early summer breeze.
‘Then what’s wrong?’ he rasped, his eyes turning speculative again, as they had when I almost gave myself away on the dance floor.
The pain had thankfully receded, but other questions loomed just as large. The subject of my virginity and how that would factor into things, for one.
I pushed it away, seizing on another pressing need. ‘I want you to tell me exactly what your agreement with my father is.’
One eyebrow rose. ‘Isn’t that a case of shutting the barn door after the horse has bolted? What’s the point of rehashing the subject?’
It was time to come clean. ‘I... I may have let you operate under the assumption that I know what’s going on.’
Surprise flickered through his eyes before they narrowed. ‘Are you saying you don’t?’
‘Not the exact details, no.’
Scepticism flared. ‘You expect me to believe that? When you walked willingly by his side up the aisle?’
‘Tell me you’ve never done something against your will and I’ll call you a liar,’ I replied.
The flare of his nostrils confirmed what I suspected—that this marriage was as much without his approval as it was without mine.
‘Assuming it was solely your father who pushed for this, what steps did you take to stop him?’
None. Because my protests, like everything else, had fallen on deaf ears. I didn’t say the words out loud, his timely reminder that, despite the promise I’d made, my mother’s fate was in my father’s hands, stilling my tongue. My hesitation gave Axios the answer he needed.
‘I didn’t, and the details don’t matter. We are where we are. But I know there’s an agreement between you. I simply want you to spell it out for me so I know what I’m dealing with.’
He stared at me, his measuring gaze weighted. I shouldn’t have been relieved, even a little pleased to see the cynicism fade a little, but I was.
‘Maybe he didn’t tell you. How very like Petras to want to keep the spoils all for himself,’ he muttered almost absently, before dropping his hands from my arms to say abruptly, ‘Under an agreement signed between your grandfather and mine, Yiannis Petras, or any appointed representative after his death, can collect on a debt owed by my family. Your father wanted twenty-five percent of my company or the cash equivalent. We settled on one hundred million euros. And you.’
I couldn’t hide my gasp at the confirmation that I’d been sold like a chattel.
Again, his cynicism receded. ‘He really didn’t tell you? Are you saying you’re a victim in this?’ he breathed.