Tessa Radley - Billionaire Heirs - The Kyriakos Virgin Bride

He swivelled on his heel, arrogance in every line of that hard, lean body, and balled his hands on his hips, watching her from behind inscrutable eyes. “I really don’t care about the last time you went joyriding.”

“God, I hate you!”

Pandora itched to smack that insolent, cold-as-marble mask. But her hands were trembling so much she doubted she would succeed. Where had she ever gotten the idea that his eyes were tender, loving? That the hard slash of his mouth revealed passion and humour? That this stranger loved her?

The urge for straight talk that had raised its head less than ten minutes ago vanished. He didn’t deserve any explanation of her terror. He didn’t deserve to hear about … about … about the other stuff she needed to tell him. His thuggish behaviour, his lack of consideration for her, had put him beyond the pale. She didn’t owe him a thing. He could take his talk and stick it where it hurt most—she wasn’t staying around.

Reaching for her handbag, Pandora struggled to unzip it. Her shaking fingers groped and encountered the smooth cover of her cell phone. She pulled the phone out, clutching it like a lifeline.

“I’m going to phone my father and then this nonsense is going to stop. He’ll send someone to come fetch me.”

Zac’s gaze dropped to the phone in her hand. “There’s no reception on the island.”

“The island? We ‘re on an island?” Pandora’s voice rose until she could hear the shrill tinge of hysteria he’d mentioned so scathingly.

“Yes, Kiranos. My hideaway. Only my close family knows of its existence. It’s where I come to unwind. No phones, no bodyguards—only the simple pleasures in life.” The gaze that rested on her face was filled with grim contemplation. “Just peace and quiet.”

“I don’t believe that!” She swept a quick look around and then out over the expanse of sea. And swallowed. “You’re far too important to put yourself out of reach.” Pandora hated the sliver of doubt that crept into her voice as she considered that this unknown Zac might well have set up this godforsaken place to be out of touch with the rest of the world.

“Believe it. Cell phones are useless on Kiranos.”

Kiranos … an island. She struggled to come to terms with his unwelcome revelation. He’d brought her here to talk and be alone. Realisation dawned. He’d never intended to have a brief conversation and take her to the airport.

An island. Bang went her plan of getting on the next flight … unless she wanted to swim for it. Her gaze swept the vista ahead of her. No other landmasses. No ships.

A few quick steps took her to the wall of glass that translated into a set of sliding doors. Another step, and she stood on a narrow, windy deck suspended high above the rocky beach below. She stared over the glass balustrade at the endless stretch of water that gleamed like liquid gold far below. No, she’d never make the distance across the sea. She was trapped. Trapped with the formidable stranger who was her husband.

The only way she was going to get off this piece of rock with its moat of seawater was to convince him to release her. To talk —oh, God, that word again—her way out of it.

And she had to succeed.

With an impatient huff, she flipped the cover of the cell phone shut and stepped back inside to where Zac waited, unsmiling.

“So what am I supposed to do here?”

“Relax. Sunbathe. Gaze at your navel.” He glanced at her from under those impossibly long lashes and added softly, “Make love ….”

She flinched and dropped the phone. It thudded onto the floor. Zac bent to scoop it up.

Putting her hands on her hips, she faced him down. “You’re mad, you know that? Totally psycho. You kidnap me, put me in a helicopter … now you expect me to make love? I hate—”

“You hate me. I know, I know. That refrain is becoming a bore.” But a muscle worked in his cheek.

Emotion choked her, a painful knot in her throat. “You know nothing. But you think you know it all.” To her horror, she felt the tightness of tears at the back of her throat. “Why, Zac? Why did you marry me? Obviously not because you loved me! Why did you bring me here with a drummed-up excuse that you wanted to talk? Why can’t you let me go? What’s so special about a virgin in this day and age, for goodness’ sake?”

He stared at her, his eyes empty holes in that hard face.

Another swallow to ease the sudden dryness in her mouth. So perhaps it would be better to start the talk thing he’d been so hot on sooner rather than later. She didn’t care for this silent, inscrutable Zac.

She tried another tack. “Tell me about this prophecy you and Dimitri were talking about. I deserve to know, don’t you think?”

“Okay.” Zac sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. His shoulders sagged and suddenly he looked so weary, so disillusioned, that Pandora was tempted to rush to him, throw her arms around him and comfort him. Then she came to her senses. Why on earth was she feeling sorry for him?

This was Zac.

Zac who’d laughed with her, hugged her and pretended to love her. Zac who’d lied to her. Zac whom she’d married yesterday in the wedding of the decade, promising never to forsake. Zac who’d brought her to this rock with a castle on it to talk to her. Well, now he could damn well talk.

“Go on,” she invited with a barbed little smile.

He ignored the taunt.

“Let me get us something to drink.” Moments later he was back with two short, squat glasses filled with blocks of ice and mineral water. He set them down on the wooden coffee table and shrugged off his jacket.

Pandora couldn’t help noticing how the white T-shirt clung to his broad shoulders. Quickly she averted her gaze, picked up her glass and took a long sip. “You were going to tell me about this prophecy,” she reminded.

He inclined his head. “It’s a legend rather than a prophecy. Sit down, it will take time.”

Pandora sank down onto the leather sofa and Zac settled himself opposite her. “I told you that my great-grandfather repaired the family fortunes after the first World War?”

Pandora nodded, her interest caught despite her resolve not to be sucked in by his explanations. “Orestes Kyriakos married a wealthy Russian princess and used some of her funds to rebuild the Kyriakos Shipping fleet.”

“That’s right. After the Suez Canal was opened, Orestes followed in the footsteps of Aristotle Onassis and Stavros Niarchos and built his first supertanker to transport crude oil. When my grandfather, Socrates, took over Kyriakos Shipping, he continued to commission more supertankers. And by the time the oil crisis hit in the early seventies, Socrates had gone into the production of crude oil. He established three refineries and he left those to my cousin, Tariq, whose mother—my aunt—married the Emir of Zayed.”

“I didn’t realise that.”

“Socrates’s remaining grandson, Angelo, inherited three islands and a string of resorts that Socrates owned.” He paused. “But I digress. My father lacked the magic Kyriakos touch—he lost more money than he ever managed to make. My grandfather called him an idle playboy and took me out of his care when I was six years old. Said he didn’t want my father’s sloth rubbing off on me. He considered my father a disgrace to the Kyriakos name and disinherited him in his will. He raised me, didn’t want me to be the failure my father was.”

“Didn’t your mother object when he took you away?”

Zac glanced at her sideways. “My mother had an addictive personality. She was in and out of rehab—she had enough alcohol problems without worrying about me. She was hardly more than a child when she married my father at seventeen and fell pregnant with me soon after.”