Claiming My Hidden Son / Bride Behind The Billion-Dollar Veil. Clare Connelly

have sworn my answer would be yes until actually faced with the question. But the word stuck in my throat, refusing to emerge as he sauntered towards me, taking a moment to discard the crystal tumbler so both his hands were free to capture my shoulders when he stopped in front of me.

      ‘What I’m hoping for is that you will stop dishing out those enigmatic smiles and tell me what you meant earlier,’ I said.

      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.

      The label smarted. ‘I’m not a victim. But, no, he didn’t tell me.’

      Jaw gritted, he shoved a hand through his hair. ‘So you don’t know that under the terms of the agreement he’ll also receive the deeds to Kosima?’

      ‘What is Kosima?’

      A bleak expression darkened his face. Whatever Kosima was, it held an emotional attachment for him.

      ‘It’s the private island where my grandfather was born. It was his favourite place on earth. Your grandfather knew that when he and my grandfather struck their unholy agreement. I assume he passed the information on to your father.’

      My heart lurched with guilt, and for a wild moment I wanted to ease his pain. ‘And my father demanded it as part of the agreement?’

      Again his lips twisted, before his gaze slanted over me from head to toe. ‘Of course. Just as he demanded that I marry you.’

      This time my heart lurched for a different reason. He truly hadn’t wanted this marriage—was entangled in it against his will just as I was.

      About to stress that I had known absolutely nothing about this, that my father’s avaricious demands were nothing to do with me, I heard that stern warning from my father slam into my brain. I didn’t doubt that he would make my mother’s life even more of a living hell than it was now.

      The realisation that nothing had changed, that nothing would change, settled on me like a heavy, claustrophobic cloak.

      ‘Why did you go through with it?’ I asked. When he frowned, I hurried to add, ‘You obviously hate what my family has done to you, so why…?’

      My disjointed thoughts rumbled to a halt, my insides twisting with dread. A caged lion was an unpredictable creature, and from the first moment I’d set eyes on him I’d felt his banked fury.

      Now I knew why.

      His eyes blazed grey fire at me. ‘You think I didn’t try to find a way that didn’t involve tying myself down for twelve months or handing over a multi-million-euro pay-out your father has done nothing to earn?’ he sliced at me.

      My breath caught. ‘Why twelve months? Why not three…or even six?’

      His mouth tightened. ‘Ask your father. He had the power to nullify some or all aspects of this agreement. He chose not to. And he counted on me not fighting this in court because adverse publicity is the last thing my company needs right now. Your grandfather was an unreasonable man who my own grandfather had the misfortune of partnering with.’

      ‘I