The Giannakis Bride (11 page)

Deep down Brianna knew that to be true. “You’re right again,” she said bleakly. “I guess I just haven’t wanted to admit it.”

“You always gave her the benefit of the doubt. It’s what families do for one another. And that’s why it cuts so deep when family betrays you. Trust me, I ought to know.”

“What do you mean?”

His expression changed. Grew guarded; forbidding almost. “It’s a long story that can wait for another day. Go to bed, Brianna. You look worn-out.”

He went to drop a kiss on her cheek, but just as the fragments in a kaleidoscope could assume a different pattern with the merest twist of the wrist, so her connection with him underwent swift change. In the brief second before he’d masked it, she’d glimpsed pain in his eyes, and a loneliness that matched her own.

Unable to help herself, she cradled his face and turned it so that their parted lips met. And meshed. And lingered.

At first he resisted. Held her firmly by the shoulders and tried to step away. But his determination was no match for hers. She wrapped her arms around his waist, hung on tight and refused to let him go.

He tasted of coffee and wine and sexual hunger kept severely in check; a potent aphrodisiac that shot straight to her bloodstream and surged through her veins like wildfire. With an inarticulate whisper, she sank against him, pressing her breasts to the solid plane of his chest and tilting her hips so that her body nested against his where he was most susceptible.

He almost weakened. His hand slid down her spine to cup her bottom and hold her hard and fast. His fingers plucked at her skirt, inching it high enough to give him access to the smooth bare skin of her thigh.

She felt a shock of damp warmth at her core. A trembling weakness in her limbs. An aching in her breasts. A bone-deep hunger that had waited years too long for satisfaction.

And then it was over. Cool night air replaced the heat of his mouth, his hands. “I’m trying my utmost to do the decent thing and abide by your rules,” he ground out savagely, “but if you persist with this, I’m going to take you right here on the floor, and if you wake up tomorrow full of regret, you’ll have only yourself to blame.”

“I thought you wanted me,” she quavered.

“I’ve always wanted you, Brianna, and not just because I desire you sexually. I want you in my life and in my daughter’s. I want you to wear my ring and bear my children. In other words,
khriso
mou
, I’m in this for the long haul. When you can tell me you feel the same way, we’ll make love, but not before.”

She bit her lip, humiliated. “I don’t make a habit of throwing myself at men.”

“That’s good to know, because I’d break the neck of any man I saw as competition, and I don’t relish the idea of spending the rest of my life behind bars. Greek prisons aren’t known for their creature comforts.” He turned her around and gave her a smart swat on the behind. “I’ll see you at breakfast. Now get to bed before my baser instincts get the better of me.”

In the week following, they established a routine that allowed them to take care of business, maintain an uninterrupted schedule of visits with Poppy and still leave enough time for their unhurried rediscovery of each other.

Each day, he drove them both into the city and dropped Brianna off at the clinic where she spent sweet, tranquil hours with her niece. Sometimes she read to her, or sang, or wound up the music box, or set the mobile in motion. Other times she’d carry her to the window and they’d wave to people in the gardens below and wait for
Dimitrios’s
car to turn into the forecourt. And sometimes, she’d simply sit and watch her as she slept, and pray that she’d be able to save this precious child’s life.

Whenever they could steal time for themselves,
Dimitrios
showed her Athens. Not just the popular sights, but places the tourists seldom discovered. Tiny
tavernas
tucked away behind bougainvillea-draped walls, that served wonderful intimate dinners by candlelight. Narrow streets lined with ateliers full of exquisite paintings and sculptures by little-known artists who loved what they created more than they cared about fame and fortune. Out-of-the-way little churches in dusty squares, where old women knelt on their bony knees and prayed for their dead husbands and new-born great-grandchildren.

To preserve the privacy she and
Dimitrios
treasured, Brianna hid behind large concealing sunglasses. With her hair tied back, and her casual skirts and tops and flat-heeled sandals, she blended in with the crowd, another unremarkable woman wandering the city with her man. Only once did a photographer recognize her, and
Dimitrios
made short work of him.

One morning, he took her to his corporate headquarters, just off
Syntagma
Square, and introduced her to his colleagues. Not surprisingly, that day she caused a stir.

“Did you see their faces?” she exclaimed, afterward.

“They’d better get used to it, is all I can say, because if I have my way, they’ll be seeing a lot more of you.”

They were alone in the elevator at the time, and he seized the opportunity to back her up against the padded leather wall and kiss her so thoroughly that she turned liquid with pleasure.

If the warning ping! of the doors opening to admit another passenger hadn’t interrupted the moment, what might have happened next didn’t bear thinking about. Bad enough that she was all rosy and breathless, with her nipples visibly advertising their presence under her cotton blouse.

“You’re so bad!” she muttered, slipping her sunglasses in place as they left the building and stepped out into the midday sun.

He grinned unrepentantly. “Small wonder, my dear. The novelty of my self-imposed chastity is taking a terrible toll.”

For her, too. His smile, his touch, his kiss, his every glance, filled her with a riot of sensation. She melted in the warmth of his smile. Went weak at the knees when he kissed her. Ached for him in the lonely luxury of her bed.

Yet she worried they were hurtling along at too fast a pace when they should have been taking the time to be sure, really sure, they were getting it right this time. Because it was no longer just about the two of them. Poppy was part of the mix, and she’d already lost one mother. She didn’t deserve to lose another. No child did.

On the Thursday she met again with Noelle and began the round of preliminary tests at the clinic. For the next two days, she was weighed, measured and X-rayed. Poked and prodded by an endless stream of technicians and doctors who took endless blood samples. Quizzed about everything from her childhood ailments, to her diet, to possible allergies, to her menstrual cycle.

“I warned you we’d be thorough,” Noelle said with a smile.

And with every passing hour, Brianna and
Dimitrios
grew closer. Whatever the interruptions during the day, they always made time to be together last thing at night. Walking the beach after dark, stolen kisses and touches that set her on fire, and hard-won restraint: these formed the foundation of their new understanding, the pattern of their renewal, even though every inch of her body screamed for the ultimate intimacy, the easing of a perpetual ache that only he could bring.

When they’d first met, she’d fallen in love with his cosmopolitan tastes, his sharp intelligence, his wit and charm. She’d been seduced by the deep, exotic purr of his voice, and his masculine beauty. By his passion and sensitivity.

This time she loved him for all that and more. For laying bare all the misunderstandings and lies that had come between them, and for taking the time to court her, just as he’d promised he would. Most of all, though, she loved him for the father he’d become.

He stole her heart with his gentleness with his little girl; with his patience and tenderness. She loved how his big hands cradled Poppy’s little body; how he snuggled her against his shoulder. She loved his tone of voice, his face as he watched her sleep, his pain when she cried. Everything to do with his daughter made Brianna want to put her arms around him and give him comfort and support however she could. With her body, her heart, her soul, her life.

Somehow she resisted, knowing it was too soon. There was too much else going on and all of it so steeped in emotion that it was hard to separate sex from stress; empathy from love. She had to be cautious. He’d broken her heart once. She’d never survive his doing it a second time.

“You’re going to wear yourself to a shadow worrying about the two of them, if you’re not careful,” Erika informed reprovingly.

But her words, Brianna noticed, lacked the bite of a week ago. “I can’t help it, Erika,” she replied. “They both mean too much to me. In any case, you worry, too. I know you do.”

“Because I belong with them. But how long before you grow tired of the whole business and walk out, just like the other one did?”

“I’m not my sister, Erika, and I don’t play fast and loose with other people’s lives, especially not a child’s. I love that little girl as if she were my own.”

“Hmm,” came the reply on a disparaging sniff. “Time will tell, I suppose.”

The next morning, though, she scooped up the last hot breakfast scone and deposited it on Brianna’s plate before
Dimitrios
could reach for it.

“I do believe you’re winning her over,” he remarked, sotto voce, as the housekeeper went to refill their coffee cups.

From the other side of the breakfast room, Erika said sharply, “I heard that!”

But there was no real sting in her tone. In fact, when she turned back to the table, the hint of a smile played over her mouth.

Moved by the small gesture of acceptance, Brianna realized that this was what real families were all about—affectionate teasing and loyalty and devotion and the willingness to give one another a chance. Why hadn’t Cecily recognized the gift she’d been given, and grabbed hold of it with both hands?

Brianna knew why. Because her poor sister had never learned how to love unselfishly. She and Brianna had only ever known the fickle approval of a parent perennially dissatisfied with her lot in life. To their mother, they’d always been either a burden or the means to an end; something she could exploit to her own advantage. If the desired results didn’t bring her the rewards she felt she deserved, her children paid the price. And Cecily had continued along the same path with Poppy, showering her with attention when it suited and ignoring her when it didn’t.

Well, no more, Brianna decided, as she lay in bed that night. The destructive pattern of behavior ended here.

“I’ve made my decision,
Dimitrios
,” she announced, the next morning. “About us. And if your offer to make me a permanent part of your life still stands, I’d very much like to see if we can make it work.”

He regarded her solemnly. “So soon? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“You’ve really thought it through?”

“I’ve really thought it through,” she confirmed, somewhat disconcerted by his measured response. She’d expected a little more enthusiasm. Unbridled ecstasy, even. After all, picking up where they’d left off four years earlier had been his suggestion, not hers.

“In case I haven’t made it clear,” he said, holding her in his serous gaze, “I’m not looking for an affair. I want you as my wife.”

As proposals went, this one left something to be desired, enough that she looked at him blankly, wondering if she hadn’t heard him correctly. “Your what?”

“My wife, Brianna. As in
Kyria
Dimitrios
Giannakis
.”

No mistaking it, this time. He couldn’t have made himself any clearer if he’d had it emblazoned in gold on his forehead.

Elation fizzed through her veins, heady as champagne.
Dimitrios
, her husband? She’d buried that particular dream a long time ago, yet here it was, resurrected from the ashes. A modern-day miracle.

If something sounds too good to be true, Carter’s voice whispered in her head, just as it had often enough in the past, take care, because it probably is. Look for the hidden agenda, Brianna. Don’t be so ready to take everything at face value.

But she turned a deaf ear. He’d been referring to business; to the dog-eat-dog world of international modeling. This was different. This was about matters of the heart. About love and commitment. What for so long had seemed a hopeless fantasy had suddenly turned into a reality, and she wanted to jump up and dance with sheer happiness. She wanted
Dimitrios
to catch her in his arms and swing her off her feet and smother her in kisses.

Instead he remained seated, spelling out his terms with the uncompromising exactitude he no doubt brought to his corporate acquisitions.

Except…she wasn’t a corporate acquisition. Was she?

Her skin prickled as if a cold wind had drafted up her spine. Reining in her initial
uprush
of delight, she said, “I wouldn’t have it any other way,
Dimitrios
. I’m really not interested in being your live-in mistress.”

“You’ll be taking on a husband with a ready-made family, not to mention a new country and a whole new life that leaves no room for your celebrity career. I want more children, Brianna, and I expect my wife to be a hands-on mother.”

“Well, just in case I haven’t made it clear to you,” she retorted, adopting an equally direct manner, “I consider being a wife and a mother far more of a career than walking the runways of Milan and Paris. But while you might not hold that world in very high regard, let me point out in its defense that it taught me a lot about dedication, patience, and self-discipline. As I see it, they’re qualities which should meet your exacting standards at the same time that they stand me in very good stead as a wife and mother.”