Margaret Mayo - The Santorini Marriage Bargain

‘Do you want the downfall of Diakos Holdings to be on your conscience?’

‘That’s not fair,’ Rhianne retorted immediately, her eyes sparking blue flashes. ‘That’s blackmail. I’ll tell you the decision I’ve reached,’ she said quietly, trying to ignore the way her body reacted to his nearness. She really would have to make the rules very clear if she wanted any peace of mind. ‘I’ll agree to marry you—but with certain conditions.’

Zarek’s well-shaped brows rose, and Rhianne knew that he was wondering whether he would like what she had to say. She knew that he wouldn’t. Zarek would expect nothing less than a normal marriage, with her in bed beside him every night.

It couldn’t be done. All her life she’d been waiting for Mr Right. Zarek wasn’t that person. She hardly knew him. He’d almost run her over, and then made amends by offering her a job. But if he thought it gave him some prior claim on her body then he was deeply mistaken.

‘Our marriage would be in name only,’ she said. ‘A pure business deal. Nothing more, nothing less.’

Margaret Mayowas reading Mills & Boon® romances long before she began to write them. In fact she never had any plans to become a writer. After an idea for a short story popped into her head she was thrilled when it turned into a full-scale novel. Now, over twenty-five years later, she is still happily writing and says she has no intention of stopping.

She lives with her husband Ken in a rural part of Staffordshire, England. She has two children: Adrian, who now lives in America, and Tina. Margaret’s hobbies are reading, photography, and more recently watercolour painting—which she says has honed her observational skills and is a definite advantage when it comes to writing.

Recent titles by the same author:

THE ITALIAN’S RUTHLESS BABY BARGAIN

THE BILLIONAIRE’S BLACKMAIL BARGAIN

BEDDED AT HIS CONVENIENCE

THE RICH MAN’S RELUCTANT MISTRESS

Dear Reader

I hope you will enjoy reading Rhianne and Zarek’s story as much as I have enjoyed writing it. It’s hard to believe that this is my 75th book—time has flown so quickly. I’m often asked where I get my ideas from, and quite honestly I don’t always know. In the early days of my writing career I always had another story ready in my mind before I’d finished the previous one. These days it takes a little longer, but when the ideas do come they appear in my mind as if by magic. This story was born simply because I thought I’d like a Greek setting and a marriage of convenience—and once I had worked out how Rhianne and Zarek met, the rest fell into place.

Warmest wishes

Margaret

BY

MARGARET MAYO

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CHAPTER ONE

RHIANNE heard the screech of brakes before she saw the car. By then it was too late. Lost in her own world of misery she had not thought to look before she stepped off the pavement. Urged on by the front fender of the car, she spun across the road and for a few moments lay curled in blessed silence. It was as though everything in the whole world had stopped. No traffic noise, no voices, no birds singing. Nothing except a strange calm. She wasn’t even hurting.

Then came the voice. A deep, gruff male voice. ‘Why the hell didn’t you look where you were going?’

Why the hell didn’t she look? Rhianne struggled to turn her head and glare at the owner of the voice. He was clearly the man who had knocked her down. Beyond him was his car with the door still open, the engine still running. ‘Why didn’t I look?’ Her tone matched his for hardness. And why shouldn’t it when he was behaving as though she was the one at fault. ‘Why the hell didn’t you look? Call yourself a driver. This is a busy main road. You should have had your wits about you.’

‘Are you hurt?’

The belated question angered her still further. She closed her eyes, needing to shut out the handsome face that had come a little too close. The man was on his haunches now, peering at her, making her feel like an insect under a microscope.

‘Hello. Can you hear me?’

So he thought she’d passed out! Rhianne snapped her eyes open again and scrambled to her feet. She felt wobbly but nothing appeared to be broken. At least she didn’t think so. Her legs still held her up and she could move her arms. Her hip felt a little sore and she guessed she’d be bruised tomorrow, but other than that she was okay.

No thanks to Mr Fast Car Driver.

When she looked about her she saw that a crowd had gathered, each face filled with concern and curiosity. But the only face she saw clearly was that of the man who’d given her his hand to help her up—the hand she had ignored. The man who was now looking at her with a frown digging deep into his forehead.

‘It was my fault. I apologise.’ Eyes that were neither grey nor brown but somewhere in between looked intently at her. Eyes that under other circumstances she might have found attractive. At this moment in time, however, she saw only the eyes of a man who was instrumental in her having made a silly fool of herself. It hadn’t been entirely his fault but she wasn’t going to admit it.

She could hear the murmur of voices as the crowd dispersed; they were happy that she hadn’t been seriously injured and were now prepared to carry on their daily lives as though nothing had happened.

Rhianne wished that nothing had happened, that nothing had changed, that she was still in the job she loved and that she hadn’t made that awful discovery about Angus.

‘Apology accepted,’ she answered, belatedly realising that the man was still looking closely at her.

‘It was, of course, an error of judgement on my part. I apologise most profusely. If there is anything I can do to—’

Rhianne registered for the first time that the man wasn’t English. He was olive-skinned and dark-haired—hair that could do with cutting, she noticed, hair that looked as though it wanted to curl, and he had a deep, attractive accent that she couldn’t quite place. ‘Not a thing. I’m not hurt; you can go, I—’ Suddenly the world spun around her, and she put a hand to her head.

Immediately a pair of strong arms supported her, held her against a body that was strong and firm. Even in her woozy state she recognised that this man seriously looked after himself. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath and then wished she hadn’t when the scent of his cologne filled her nostrils. She knew that whenever she smelled this same scent again it would forever remind her of this moment.

Smells did this to her. Lavender reminded her of a holiday she’d once had in Jersey, tobacco reminded her of her grandfather. When she was tiny he used to pick her up and swing her around with his pipe still in his mouth.

‘You are hurt,’ he insisted. ‘Allow me to take you home; it is the least I can do. Or do you need a doctor, should I take you to—’

‘No, it is nothing,’ she exclaimed.