The Greek Prince's Chosen Wife. Sandra Marton

      Sandra Marton

      THE GREEK PRINCE’S CHOSEN WIFE

      BILLI

NARIES’ BRIDES Pregnant by their princes…

      

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

      My special thanks to Nadia-Anastasia Fahmi

       for her generous help with Greek idioms. Any errors are, of course, entirely mine!

      Sandra

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER ONE

      DAMIAN was getting out of a taxi the first time he saw her.

      He was in a black mood, something he’d grown accustomed to the last three months, a mood so dark he’d stopped noticing anything that even hinted at beauty.

      But a man would have to be dead not to notice this woman.

      Stunning, was his first thought. What he could see of her, anyway. Black wraparound sunglasses covered much of her face but her mouth was lusciously full with enough sexual promise to make a monk think of quitting the cloister.

      Her hair was long. Silky-looking. A dichromatic mix of chestnut and gold that fell over her shoulders in a careless tumble.

      And she was tall. Five-nine, five-ten with a model’s bearing. A model’s way of wearing her clothes, too, so that the expensive butterscotch leather blazer, slim-cut black trousers and high-heeled black boots made her look like she’d stepped straight out of the pages of Vogue.

      A few short months ago, he’d have done more than look. He’d have walked up to her, smiled, asked if she, too, were lunching at Portofino’s…

      But not today.

      Not for the foreseeable future, he thought, his mouth thinning.

      No matter what she looked like behind those dark glasses, he wasn’t interested.

      He swung away, handed the taxi driver a couple of bills. A driver behind his cab bleated his horn; Damian shot a look at the car, edged past it, stepped onto the curb…

      And saw that the woman had taken off her sunglasses. She was looking straight at him, her gaze focused and steady.

      She wasn’t stunning.

      She was spectacular.

      Her face was a perfect oval, her cheekbones sharp as blades, her nose straight and aristocratic. Her eyes were incredible. Wide-set. Deep green. Heavily lashed.

      And then there was that mouth. The things that mouth might do…

      Hell!

      Damian turned hard so quickly he couldn’t believe it but then, he’d gone three months without a woman.

      It was the longest he’d gone without sex since he’d been introduced to its mysteries the Christmas he was sixteen, when one of his father’s many mistresses had seduced him.

      The difference was that he’d been a boy then.

      He was a man now. A man with cold hatred in his heart and no wish for a woman in his life, not yet, not even one this beautiful, this desirable…

      “Hey, dude, this is New York! You think you own the sidewalk?”

      Damian swung around, ready and eager for a fight, saw the speaker…and felt his tension drain away.

      “Reyes,” he said, smiling.

      Lucas Reyes smiled in return. “In the flesh.”

      Damian’s smile became a grin. He held out his hand, said, “Oh, what the hell,” and pulled his old friend into a bear hug.

      “It’s good to see you.”

      “The same here.” Lucas pulled back, his smile tilting. “Ready for lunch?”

      “Aren’t I always ready for a meal at Portofino’s?”

      “Yeah. Sure. I just—I meant…” Lucas cleared his throat. “You okay?”

      “I’m fine.”

      “You should have called. By the time I read about the, ah, the accident…”

      Damian stiffened. “Forget it.”

      “That was one hell of a thing, man. To lose your fiancée…”

      “I said, forget it.”

      “I didn’t know her, but—”

      “Lucas. I don’t want to talk about it.”

      “If that’s how you want it—”

      “It’s exactly how I want it,” Damian said, with such cold surety that Lucas knew enough to back off.

      “Okay,” he said, forcing a smile. “In that case…I told Antonio to give us the back booth.”

      Damian forced a smile of his own. “Fine. Maybe they’ll even have Trippa alla Savoiarda on the menu today.”

      Lucas shuddered. “What’s the problem, Aristedes? Pasta’s not good enough for you?”

      “Tripe’s delicious,” Damian said and just that easily, they fell into the banter that comes with old friendships.

      “Just like old times,” Lucas said.

      Nothing would ever be like old times again, Damian thought, but he grinned, too, and let it go at that.

      The back booth was as comfortable as ever and the tripe was on the menu. Damian didn’t order it; he never had. Tripe made him shudder the same as Lucas.

      The teasing was just part of their relationship.

      Still, after they’d ordered, after his double vodka on the rocks and Lucas’s whiskey, straight up, had arrived, he and Lucas both fell silent.

      “So,” Lucas finally said, “what’s new?”

      Damian shrugged. “Nothing much. How about you?”

      “Oh, you know. I was in Tahiti last week, checking out a property on the beach…”

      “A tough life,” Damian said, and smiled.

      “Yeah, well, somebody has to do it.”

      More silence. Lucas cleared his throat.

      “I saw Nicolo and Aimee over the weekend. At that dinner party. Everyone was sorry you didn’t come.”

      “How are they?” Damian said, deliberately ignoring the comment.

      “Great. The baby’s great, too.”

      Silence again. Lucas took a sip of his whiskey.

      “Nicolo said he’d tried to call you but—”

      “Yes. I got his messages.”

      “I tried, too. For weeks. I’m glad you finally picked up the phone yesterday.”

      “Right,” Damian