A helpless prey in a jungle of predators.
My feet moved almost of their own accord, the niggling urge to reverse that look on her face irritating me even as I moved towards her, effectively silencing the whispers with quelling stares.
Regardless of how this union had come about, rumours couldn’t be allowed to run rife. This was how undermining started.
As I neared, silence fell. Her gaze shifted, met mine. Her chin lifted, a wisp of bewilderment and skittishness evaporating and her eyes flashing with defiance.
For some absurd reason it sparked something to life inside me. Something I fully intended to ignore.
Defiance or bewilderment, the deed was done. She and her family had capitalised on an agreement made under duress and bagged themselves a windfall. She should be celebrating.
Instead I caught another trace of apprehension as I stopped beside her chair. Eyes growing wide, she looked up at me. The graceful line of her neck—another alluring feature that seemed to demand attention—rippled as she swallowed.
Thee mou, if this was an act then she was a good actress!
Aware of our audience, and a burning need to find out, I held out my hand to her. ‘The traditional first dance is coming up, I believe.’ The earlier we could get this spectacle out of the way, the quicker I could resume my life.
Her gaze darted to the dance floor, her reluctance clear. ‘Is that…really necessary?’
Something about her reluctance and her whole demeanour grated. She was behaving as if I was contaminated!
‘Enough with this pretence. That wide-eyed innocent thing will only work for so long. Give it up, Calypso.’
She offered me her hand, but the eyes that met mine as she stood sparkled with renewed fire. ‘No one calls me Calypso. My name is Callie,’ she stated firmly.
I attempted to ignore the slim fingers in mine, the smooth softness of her palm and the way it kicked to life something inside me as I led her to the middle of the dance floor.
‘I’m your new husband—surely I don’t fall under the category of no one?’ I curled my arm around her waist, a singular need to press her close escalating inside me as the band struck up a waltz.
She stiffened. ‘Are you insinuating that you’re special?’
For some reason my lips quirked. ‘By your tone, I’m guessing I’m not. Not even special enough for you to grant me the simple gift of addressing you as I please?’
Her lips firmed again, drawing my attention to their plumpness. Reminding me of that all too fleeting taste of them.
‘And what am I to call you? Other than stranger or husband?’
For some reason the fiery huskiness of her voice drew another smile. A puzzle in itself, since humour was the last emotion I should have been experiencing. I was in this situation because of money and shameless greed.
‘Call me Axios. Or Ax, as most people do. I doubt we will reach the stage of coining terms of endearment.’
‘On that I think we’re agreed,’ she replied, her gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder.
Another scrabble of irritation threatened to rise, but I suppressed it when I noticed that once again, beneath the show of sharp claws, she was trembling, her wide eyes a little too bright. As if she was holding on to her composure by a thread.
‘Is something wrong?’ I asked. Again I questioned my need to know. Or care.
‘What could possibly be wrong?’
She didn’t bother to meet my gaze. If anything, she attempted to detach herself, which ought to have been impossible, considering how close we were dancing. But I was learning that my new wife had several…interesting facets.
‘It is polite to look at me when you address me.’
She maintained her stance for another few seconds, then her blue eyes rose to mine. The urge to stare into them, to commit every fleck and expression to memory, charged through me, this time bringing a wave of heat to my groin.
I inhaled slowly, forcing myself to ignore that unsettling sensation and address her as I would any acquaintance.
Even though she wasn’t.
Even though she’d taken my name and we were effectively bound together for twelve long months.
‘This thing will go smoother if we attempt to be civil with one another. Don’t you agree?’
‘I’m not a puppet. I cannot act a certain way on command.’
‘But you can dispense with that little-girl-lost look. And I find it curious that you would choose to refer to puppets. Perhaps you’re familiar with knowing exactly which strings to tug to get what you want?’
Unlike me, she didn’t attempt to disguise her frown. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘This whole scheme, orchestrated by you and your family, has gone off without a hitch. Feel free to stop acting now.’
She inhaled sharply, her eyes darting to the guests dancing around us. ‘Please keep your voice down.’
‘Afraid you’ll be found out? Are you really so blind to the fact that every single guest is speculating wildly about how two people who’ve never met are now married?’
Her plump lips pressed together for a moment. ‘I can’t control what other people think. But I do care about perpetuating unfounded rumours.’
‘Do you, yineka mou?’
Her blue eyes shadowed and her gaze quickly flicked away. ‘Can you not call me that, please?’
‘Why not? Are you not my wife?’
The more the term fell from my lips the deeper it bored into me, as if rooting for a place to settle. Of course the search would be futile, because this was far from what I wanted.
The strain and stress of trying to save his failing company while keeping his family and his marriage together had driven my grandfather into an early grave, his spirit broken long before the heart attack that had suddenly taken him. It was the same stress that had nearly broken my own father, forcing him to step down after a mere two years as CEO.
I didn’t intend to weigh myself down with similar baggage.
I refocused on Calypso, attempting to ignore the effect of her soft curves against my body as she asked, ‘So, what happens after this?’
‘“This”?’
‘After we’re done here,’ she elaborated.
Unbidden, my thoughts flew ahead. To when the evening would turn exclusive and intimate. When wedding euphoria traditionally took on another, more carnal dimension.
A traditions I wouldn’t be indulging in.
‘Do you plan on getting back into your helicopter and leaving me here?’
The carefully disguised hope in her voice threw me back to that day in my father’s office a month ago, when an agreement that bore all the hallmarks of blackmail had crash-landed into my life and threatened the Xenakis name and business. Did she really think she and her family could take financial advantage and then sail off into the sunset?
The silent vow I’d taken that day to ensure neither Calypso nor her father escaped unscathed resurged as I looked down into her face. A face struggling for composure and a body twitching