Anne McAllister - The Santorini Bride

Martha could imagine.

“I didn’t give a damn.”

Martha could imagine that, too.

“But when she saw I meant it, that I was not going to marry her unless she produced a real obvious pregnancy, she suddenly ‘discovered’—” Theo’s lip curled on the word “—she was only late, that she wasn’t pregnant at all.” He snorted in disbelief. “It was on account of all the stress of wondering where our relationship was going, she said.” He gave a cynical shake of his head. “It wasn’t going anywhere,” he said flatly. “And it still isn’t. And you, Ms. Antonides, are going to make sure of it.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. You’re going to stay right here—” he hit the word with both feet, making it clear that he meant not only the house, but his bedroom “—and make sure Agnetta—and Cassandra—know I have a woman in my life.”

“But you—”

“You want a place to stay. You can stay here—as long as Agnetta and Cassie stay. As my very devoted girlfriend. Got it?” Theo’s black eyes fixed on her with a hard look that dared her to disagree.

Martha didn’t. Her thoughts were in a whirl. She couldn’t change her ticket. It had nearly wiped out her savings as it was. Only by booking her return for three weeks hence had she been able to cut the cost a little. Paying for a room for three weeks was out of the question.

Now she wouldn’t have to—if she agreed to stay here in the house.

“Here?” she said warily. “In this house?”

“In this room,” Theo clarified.

Which meant, in his bed.

There was only one bed in the room. She looked at it now. Theo’s gaze followed hers. It was a big bed with crisp white sheets and a Mediterranean-blue coverlet.

As if he read the direction of her thoughts, he began, “I don’t expect—”

But Martha was getting an idea of her own. “Those magazine articles—” she began, heart quickening.

“What about them?” Theo snapped.

“Were they true?”

“What?” He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“I was just wondering how they knew?” she gave him a speculative look. “I mean, did they do research? Ask women? How did they decide you were the world’s sexiest sailor?”

“How the hell should I know!” Theo threw his hands in the air. “Are you insane?”

Maybe, Martha thought. But she didn’t intend to admit it. She chewed her lip, thoughts roiling, making her brain buzz.

“You don’t have to worry about it,” Theo said abruptly. “I expect you to stay in my room and sleep in my bed. But I don’t expect you to—” He broke off, and Martha was surprised to see something that might have been a flush climb up his neck.

She cocked her head. “Have a no-strings affair with you?”

He nodded curtly.

“What if I want one?”

Jaw dropping, he stared at her. “What!”

“I said, what if I want one,” Martha repeated brazenly. “If you’re the world’s sexiest sailor, if hordes of women are, by your own testimony, trying to get into your bed, well, why shouldn’t I want in, too. I’d be a fool not to.”

He shook his head. “You are nuts.”

“Maybe I am,” she said recklessly. “So what? What’s it to you? You don’t want to get involved with me. Fine. I don’t want to get involved with you, either. No relationship, like you said. Just fun and games, that’s all. I’m on the pill. So, no consequences. So—” she lifted her chin in determined challenge “—why not?”

Theo Savas didn’t say a word. He just stared at her.

In the face of his unrelenting stupefied silence, Martha found her bravado cracking.

Was she that unappealing? Was she so appallingly awful that he couldn’t even imagine making love. Having sex, she corrected herself quickly—with her?

Now she was the one who felt hot blood rise in her cheeks. They burned fiercely, but she’d said the words so she made herself stand her ground.

What else, after all, could she do? She couldn’t afford to leave.

“Those are my terms,” she said baldly. “Take them or leave them.”

Still he didn’t speak for so long that she considered picking up the lamp and bashing him over the head with it. Then at last he flexed his shoulders and straightened just a little.

“Let me get this straight.” His voice was a drawl now. “I let you stay here for the week and in exchange you want a no-strings affair?”

“That’s right,” Martha said firmly. “Except I want to stay three weeks.”

A dark masculine eyebrow hiked into the fringe of his hair.

“It’s the least you can do. I told you. My flight leaves in three weeks. I want to stay that long. And,” she added recklessly, “I want some mind-blowing sex in the meantime.”

Thank God her vigilant parents, her overprotective brothers and all the other guardians of her virtue couldn’t hear her now!

But she almost wished bloody Julian could! He was the reason she was saying this. He had driven her to it.

But she knew it wasn’t just about Julian. It was about her, too.

She was twenty-four years old, but she’d been cosseted, protected and coddled her entire life. And everything in that life had, until yesterday, gone according to plan.

Yesterday—the memory of Julian naked in the shower with some faceless, nameless woman, someone who was Not Her—had proved to Martha that her dreams were no more than that. They had no substance. They were airy fluff.

She had always assumed that she would find the deep lasting love her parents had—the love that had so far eluded all her siblings, especially her sister Cristina who used to go through men like Martha went through tubes of cadmium blue. She had always been determined not to be another Cristina. So when she’d met Julian, when he had teased her, charmed her, flirted with her, she’d dared to hope he would be The One.

“Of course I’m the one,” he’d agreed the first evening they’d met, his grin devastating, his pale-blue eyes dancing. “Let me show you.”

That was the first time he’d tried to get her into bed.

But Martha had declined. She wasn’t even close to ready for intimacy like that. She wanted it, certainly. But only if she was sure. Then she would commit. Love and sex were all part of the same fabric in her mind. And over the past five months she’d held out—until she was sure.

And what a mistake that was!

She’d been an idiot. A blind naive idiot.

Obviously sex and love had nothing whatever to do with each other! Just ask Julian.

So, fine. She could learn from her mistakes. And in the meantime she would learn from the world’s sexiest sailor. Though to be honest, Theo Savas looked less sexy than stunned as he stared at her.

Martha stared back, resolute and implacable.

Theo’s eyes narrowed fractionally, as if assessing her resolve and, perhaps, something else. But finally he nodded and a slow smile lifted the corners of his supremely kissable lips—the lips whose kiss had inspired her outrageous demand in the first place.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart. Three weeks, no strings. Mind-blowing sex. No Agnetta and no Cassandra and no manipulating mother,” he said with supreme satisfaction. “I think we’ve got ourselves a heck of a deal.”

“She’s not exactly your style, is she?” Agnetta edged a little closer so that if Theo turned away, leaning on the wall of the roof and watching the sunset, his arm would brush her breasts.

She had made the move with mathematical precision, and Theo found himself admiring her perseverance and determination even as he displayed his own and kept his gaze determinedly on the swiftly sinking sun.

He probably shouldn’t have let her finagle this jaunt to the rooftop after dinner. He knew damned well why she was begging to see the view—and it had nothing to do with the sunset.