Modern Romance Collection: July 2017 Books 1 - 4. Sharon Kendrick

she was terrified. Terrified about sharing an apartment with him and unsure how she would cope. At times she felt more like a child than a grown woman who would soon have a child of her own. Was that normal? she wondered.

      But she pushed her reservations aside as she sat down to the Greek feast which had been provided by the hotel and it was a relief to be able to eat after what seemed like weeks of sickness. She could feel her strength returning as she worked her way through the delicious salads, though she could manage only half of one of the rich baklava cakes which were produced at the end of the meal. Despite the relatively small guest list, it somehow managed to feel like a real wedding and Ariston had even asked if she wanted her mother there. Keeley had been torn by his unexpected suggestion. She had felt a wave of something symbolic at the thought of her mother witnessing her marriage, until a last-minute chest infection had put paid to the idea. And maybe that was best. Even if she had been aware of what was going on around her, what would her mum have cared about seeing her married, when she’d made such a mockery of marriage herself?

      Keeley had wondered why Ariston hadn’t suggested a short trip to the register office with the minimum fuss and no guests other than a couple of anonymous witnesses gathered from the street. Wouldn’t that have been more appropriate in the circumstances? But his reply had been quietly emphatic.

      ‘Maybe I want to make a statement.’

      ‘A statement?’

      ‘That’s right. Shout it from the rooftops. What is it they say? Fake it to make it.’

      ‘By putting your stamp on me, you mean?’ she questioned acidly. ‘Branding me as a Kavakos possession—just like you did the night you had sex with me?’

      His eyes had glittered like sunlight on a dark Greek sea. ‘Humour me, Keeley, won’t you? Just this once.’

      And somehow she had done exactly that. She’d even managed to smile when he stood to make a speech, his fleeting reference to shotguns getting an affectionate laugh, especially from his brother.

      ‘It’s funny,’ Pavlos said afterwards, with a bemused shake of his head. ‘Ariston always vowed he would never marry and he said it like he really meant it. I’d never have guessed there was anything going on between you two. Not after that day at the art gallery when you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.’

      And Keeley didn’t have the heart to disillusion him. She wondered what he’d say if he realised that Ariston had bedded her simply to ensure that Pavlos would never want her for himself, and that she had been too stupid and weak to resist him. Yet his need to control had backfired on him because he was now saddled to a woman he didn’t really want, though he hid it well. As he raised his glass to toast his new bride, Keeley should have resented his ability to put on such a convincing show of unity—but the reality was a stupid, empty ache in her heart as she found herself yearning for something which could never be hers. He looked like a groom and acted like a groom—but the cold glitter in his blue eyes told its own story.

      He will never care for you, she told herself. So don’t ever forget it.

      During the drive to his apartment, she tugged the scarlet flowers from her head and shook little bits of confetti from her blonde hair. But she couldn’t shake off her detachment as she and Ariston walked into the impressive foyer of his apartment building, where doormen and porters sprang to instant attention and a few men in suits shot her bemused glances. She hugged her pashmina around her shoulders in a vain attempt to hide as much of the scarlet dress as possible. Why on earth hadn’t she changed into something more sensible first?

      A private elevator zoomed them up to the penthouse suite, with its impressive views over many of London’s iconic buildings and its seemingly endless suites of rooms. There was even a swimming pool and a gym in the basement—and the outside terraces were filled with a jungle of plants which temporarily made you forget that you were in the heart of the city. She had been there only once before—an awkward visit to oversee the installation of her new clothes in a large room which was now called her dressing room and where every item had been hung in neat and colour-coordinated lines by Ariston’s housekeeper.

      She hugged the pashmina as they stood in a hallway as big as her bedsit, where a marble statue of a man appeared to be glaring at her balefully.

      ‘So now what do we do?’ she said bluntly.

      ‘Why don’t you go and change out of that dress?’ he suggested. ‘You’ve been shivering since we left the reception. Come with me and I’ll remind you where our bedroom is.’

      Our? She looked up at him. Had he mentioned that to her before, or had she just not been concentrating? Probably not. His housekeeper had been hovering helpfully during her previous visit, so maybe it had only been alluded to. ‘You mean we’re going to be...sharing?’

      ‘Don’t be naïve, Keeley.’ He glittered her a smile. ‘Of course we are. I want to have sex with you. I thought I’d made that clear. That, surely, is the whole point of being man and wife.’

      ‘But the vows we made weren’t real.’

      ‘No? Then we could make them real. Remember what I said about faking it to make it?’ He gave an odd kind of laugh. ‘And don’t widen your eyes at me like that, koukla mou. You look like one of those women in an old film who has been tied to the railway line and only just noticed the train approaching. I don’t intend behaving like a caveman, if that’s what concerns you.’

      ‘But you said—’

      ‘I said I wanted to have sex with you. And I do. But it has to be consensual. You would need to give yourself to me wholeheartedly—and consciously,’ he added with a cool smile. ‘I’m not talking about one of those middle-of-the-night encounters, where two bodies collide...and before you know it we’re having mind-blowing sex without a single word being exchanged.’

      ‘You mean...’ the tip of her tongue snaked over her top lip as she followed him along the corridor, to a room which contained a vast bed which reminded her of a sacrificial altar ‘...like the night our child was conceived?’

      He gave a short laugh. ‘That’s exactly what I mean. But this time I want us both to be fully aware of what’s happening.’ There was a pause as he turned around to face her. ‘Unless silent submission is what secretly turns you on?’

      ‘I already told you—I have practically no experience of sex,’ she said, because suddenly it became important that he stopped thinking of her as some kind of stereotype and started treating her like a real person. ‘I...’ She bit her lip and said it before she had time to think about the consequences. ‘I’d never even had an orgasm before I slept with you.’

      He looked at her and she could see a glint of something incomprehensible in his narrowed blue eyes.

      ‘Maybe that’s the reason why I’m not trying hard to seduce you,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘Maybe I want you to stop staring at me as if I was the big, bad wolf and to relax a little. Your dressing room is next door—so why don’t you get out of your wedding dress and slip into something more comfortable?’

      ‘Like...what?’

      ‘Whatever makes you feel good. But don’t worry,’ he said drily. ‘I’m sure I’ll be able to keep my hands off you, if that’s what you want.’

      ‘That’s what I want,’ she said, seeing his tight smile before he turned away and closed the door behind him. And wasn’t human nature a funny thing? She’d been gearing herself up to fight off his advances, but the news that he wasn’t actually going to make any left her with a distinct feeling of disappointment. She never knew where she stood with him. She felt as if she were walking along an emotional tightrope. Was that intentional—or just the way he always was around women? She undid the side zip of the red wedding dress, trying to get her head around the fact that this vast room with its amazing views over the darkening city was hers.

      No. Not hers. His. He owned everything. The dress she stood in and the leather shoes she gratefully kicked off.

      But