Bridal Bargains: The Tycoon's Bride / The Purchased Wife / The Price Of A Bride. Michelle ReidЧитать онлайн книгу.
catching a later flight. But what really astonished her was the way Andreas took personal responsibility for the baby by seeing to her needs throughout the whole journey.
He was more relaxed than she had ever seen him before. A bit quiet, maybe, but very attentive. So much so that it was a shame that she was still feeling so annoyed with him, because she suspected that he was doing all of this as a way to make up for his bewildering attitude.
Yet he hadn’t apologised for it, or explained it. He blew hot and cold on her so swiftly that it seemed to be easier to withdraw and keep herself aloof from him rather than risk having it happen all over again.
‘Here, let me help you …’ Cradling the baby in one big arm, he offered Claire the steadying strength of the other to help her negotiate the long step down from the helicopter.
With one hand out of action and because she was wearing her only good suit today—a summer-blue silk-linen mix with a fitted jacket and skirt that would not allow her much flexibility in her steps—she needed his help, so she couldn’t refuse. But feeling that rock-solid forearm flex beneath her palm had such a disturbing effect on her that she removed her hand just as soon as she could do it.
But, worse, she knew that he had sensed her reluctance to touch him when she saw his mouth tighten as he turned away to carry Melanie away from the noise of the rotor blades.
Smothering a heavy sigh, Claire followed more slowly, feeling decidedly at odds with herself and most definitely at odds with him. She hadn’t slept last night for worrying and fretting about this whole crazy situation. Now she felt tired and fed up and …
‘Oh,’ she gasped, coming to a surprised standstill at his side as she focused at last on her new surroundings.
Set in vast formal gardens, the house stood like a statement to all that was right in grace and architectural posture. No one feature had been allowed to dominate. The walls were painted in the softest cream, the woodwork glossy white, and the roof was constructed in flat grey slate rather than the terracotta she would have expected. A first-floor veranda ran right across the front of the house, casting gentle shade onto the terrace below, where the palest blue-cushioned wooden garden furniture waited invitingly.
Over to one side of the house, she could see a large swimming pool shimmering in the afternoon sunshine, and even spied a second pool under a high domed glass roof attached to the house itself. If there was a road nearby, she could neither see nor hear any evidence of it, but a long straight driveway led off into the distance, lined on either side by tall cypress trees.
‘But this is lovely,’ she murmured.
‘Praise indeed,’ he drawled with cutting sarcasm. ‘I was beginning to think that nothing was going to please you.’
With that he turned his back on her again to walk off towards the house. With a small grimace, Claire followed, half allowing him his right to have lost his grasp on all of that quiet patience he had been doling out to her all day.
He had stepped beneath the shaded end of the terrace before pausing to allow her to catch up with him, his long, lean body making a half turn so he could watch her approach through slightly hooded eyes.
Glancing up and noticing his scrutiny, Claire felt a self-conscious flush of heat wash through her system and quickly looked away again. What was he seeing when he looked at her like that? she wondered. A very big mistake walking towards him?
While she saw a tall, dark, very handsome man with cold black eyes, an unsmiling mouth, and a proud tilt to his chiselled chin that seemed to be trying to tell her something.
Though what that something was, she couldn’t have said. The man was a complete enigma.
Hot-cold. Soothe-cut. Approach and retreat. She listed these characteristics of his behaviour with a rueful tilt to her unhappy mouth that seemed to further annoy him. He shifted slightly, looking stiffly tense. The baby woke up with a start and gave a small cry. Claire covered the final few yards in a couple of light dancing steps, her mothering instincts alerted without her even being aware of it.
In the end she wasn’t needed. When he glanced down at the baby to find her eyes were open, all the hardness simply melted clean out of him as he lifted a finger to gently touch the baby’s small, pointed chin.
But what really took Claire’s breath away was the way Melanie’s sweet little smile appeared. She knows him already! she realised with a shock.
‘Hey,’ she complained, peering over his arm so she could look at her sister. ‘Those smiles are supposed to belong to me!’ she scolded.
As she heard her voice, Melanie’s eyes found her face and stuck firmly to it. ‘That’s better,’ Claire grinned, so engrossed in the baby that, far from being disturbed by his closeness, she didn’t even notice the way she was leaning against Andreas so she could monopolise the baby’s attention.
If she had, she would have realised how still he had gone. How his hooded eyes had become even more hooded as he settled them on the top of her golden head.
‘What a seductive picture,’ a beautifully cultured but coldly sarcastic voice intruded. ‘I wish I had my camera,’ it drawled. ‘Then I could capture the image for posterity and you could hang it on the wall as an example of perfect family harmony …’
Two heads came up, one dark, one fair, both faces revealing different expressions. Claire’s was startled by this totally unexpected attack; Andreas’s was—resigned.
‘Desmona …’ he greeted smoothly. ‘How—nice to see you.’
But it wasn’t nice. Desmona wasn’t nice and Andreas wasn’t being nice. The warm Greek air had suddenly turned chilly and Claire shivered accordingly as she watched the other woman begin walking towards them along the shaded terrace.
She was outstandingly beautiful. A tall and willowy silver-blonde in her early thirties, at a guess, whose silver-blue-silk-encased body glided gracefully as she moved. Money, class and a lifetime of believing herself to be special were reflected in that walk, Claire noted.
Though it was Desmona’s eyes that held her thoroughly captivated. If Andreas’s eyes could remind her of black ice sometimes, then the silver-grey ones looking at her now could have been set in permafrost, and they intimidated enough to have Claire inching backwards in wary retreat.
The back of her head hit a firmly cushioned shoulder at the same time as an arm curved around her, angling across her rigid back so long, lean brown fingers could rest on her narrow waist. Claire never even considered the idea of moving away from him—not while those silvery eyes were fixed on her anyway.
Was she family? Did she live here? she wondered curiously.
I hope not, she prayed, with a small shudder.
‘This, Claire,’ Andreas informed her levelly, ‘is my sister-in-law Desmona Markopoulou …’
Sister-in-law? With a small start, she flashed him a frowning glance. She was sure he had told her that he was the only grandson.
‘Widowed sister-in-law.’ It was Desmona herself who unwittingly cleared the puzzle as she came to a smooth stop just in front of them. But Claire didn’t even like the way she said that.
‘May I be the first to welcome you to your new home?’ Desmona murmured graciously.
‘Thank you,’ Claire politely replied.
She was offered a long-fingered, very slender white hand. Claire’s own palm began to tingle in anticipation of having to brush against the other woman’s satin-smooth skin.
Then the need to touch each other at all was suddenly saved when Claire remembered belatedly that her right hand was in a sling—at about the same moment that Desmona noticed it.
‘Oh, you are injured,’ she remarked. Her English was superb, spoken with an accent that was barely noticeable.
Claire smiled nervously. ‘An accident.’ She didn’t bother to elaborate.