‘Yes,’ she said, as a delicate mango and walnut salad was placed in front of her. ‘That’s my name.’
‘So why don’t you tell me something about yourself, Tamsyn Wilson?’
Picking up a golden fork to half-heartedly push her food around the plate, Tamsyn wondered what the Greek tycoon would say if she told him the truth. That if her parents had been married, her real surname would have been one of the most memorable in the world. But she had never used it. She’d never had the right to use it—not then and certainly not now. She looked into his cobalt eyes and tried to suppress the insane flutter of her heart. ‘What would you like to know?’
He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘Why don’t we start with the obvious. You say you’re no longer working at the Bluebird Club?’
‘I told you—I was sacked.’
‘So what are you doing instead?’
Perhaps if she hadn’t been feeling so out of place then Tamsyn might have engaged in small-talk. She might have skated over her nomadic existence and pretended she was just like every other woman there. But somehow those words wouldn’t come. Maybe Xan Constantinides was too unsettling a presence and those cobalt eyes too deeply penetrating. Because the idea of putting a positive spin on a life which had felt like it was spiralling out of control lately, suddenly seemed too big an ask. Why bother trying to impress someone who was only deigning to speak to her because she was soon to be related to the Sheikh?
‘Oh, I have a terribly glamorous life—you wouldn’t believe,’ she said airily. ‘I work in a coffee bar by day and stack supermarket shelves by night.’
He frowned. ‘Those sound like very long hours.’
‘Go straight to the top of the class, Mr Constantinides—they are.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Aren’t you qualified to do anything other than waitress work?’
She put the golden fork back down on the plate with a clatter, her starter untasted. ‘Actually, no, I’m not. Exams were never really my number one concern when I was at school.’
‘So why not retrain to do something else?’ he questioned as he lifted up his own goblet, his steady cobalt gaze surveying her over its jewelled rim. ‘You seem bright enough.’
Tamsyn nearly laughed out loud and not just because the remark was deeply patronising. That was the trouble with rich people. They had no idea how the world really worked. They’d been cushioned by their wealth and privilege for so long, that they couldn’t put themselves in someone else’s shoes. ‘And who’s going to fund me while I do that?’ she questioned, trying to keep her voice from shaking. ‘When I’ve just had a rent raise from my landlord? And before you tell me to move to somewhere cheaper, I’ve lived in London all my life and can’t imagine going anywhere else. Some problems don’t have easy solutions, I’m afraid. Not unless you’re prepared to throw wads of cash at them, which isn’t an option for most people. Welcome to the real world, Mr Constantinides.’
Xan wondered if she was aware that her defiant words were causing her chest to heave, making it difficult for him not to stare openly at the silk-covered perfection of her breasts. With an effort he focussed his gaze on his wine glass, twirling the stem between his fingers and watching as the different jewels sparkled in the light from the overhead chandeliers. ‘It’s true I have made a sizeable amount of money,’ he conceded. ‘But that certainly doesn’t guarantee a trouble-free life.’
‘You mean like someone forgetting to peel your grapes for you, or your private jet failing to take off on time?’
‘That’s a rather predictable response, Tamsyn,’ he mused softly. ‘You know, I’m almost disappointed. I was hoping for something a little more original.’
‘Oh, dear,’ she said, pushing out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. ‘The billionaire is disappointed. We can’t have that, can we?’
He met the hectic glitter of her green gaze and the pooling at his groin increased. Xan shifted in his seat. He had tried to be polite but she was having none of it and he suspected he knew why. Because something was flowing between them. Something powerful. The kind of physical attraction he’d been encountering from women ever since he’d reached puberty though it had never felt like this before. Women didn’t usually glare at him as if he was the devil incarnate, or try to rub him up the wrong way. He suspected that Tamsyn’s supposed dislike of him was masking a much deeper response and that her darkened eyes were telling the real story. A flicker of a smile curved his lips. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. And why not? Why not enjoy one final taste of freedom before destiny beckoned?
But he didn’t intend spending the entire meal fighting with her and not simply because fighting was a bore. Because he understood the psychology of women only too well. They always wanted what they thought they couldn’t have. She needed to understand that she was in danger of missing out if she continued to be insolent towards him. He would make her wait and make her squirm, so that by the time she came to him she would be so aroused that...
The pressure at his groin was almost unbearable as, very deliberately, he turned his back on her and began to speak to the Italian heiress to his right.
IT WAS JUST a wedding. That was all. Just a few more hours to get through before she could go home. That’s what Tamsyn kept telling herself as she made her way towards the grand throne room, in yet another outfit which Hannah had insisted she wear. She supposed her sister must have secretly had all these clothes made for her before she arrived, but she couldn’t deny that the long, floaty dress suited her. Unlike the dramatic emerald gown she’d worn to the rehearsal dinner last night, this one was a much gentler hue. The soft grey colour of a pigeon’s wing, the bodice and silk-chiffon skirt were sprinkled with tiny crystals which sparkled like stars as she moved.
Tonight, the jewels she’d been loaned were diamonds—some more chandelier drop earrings, along with a priceless choker which blazed like ice fire around her neck. And just like last night, when Tamsyn glanced in the mirror before leaving her suite, she didn’t recognise the image reflected back at her. To the outside world she looked sleek, expensive and polished but inside she felt....disgruntled. And although she hated the reason for her discontentment, she wasn’t deluded enough to deny it. Because wasn’t the truth that her irritation had been caused by Xan Constantinides ignoring her throughout most of the pre-wedding dinner? He’d been laughing and joking in Italian with that stunning woman on his other side and making out like she was invisible. And yes, she had been behaving in a particularly waspish manner beforehand, but even so...
She’d made her escape as soon as the food part of the evening was over. She’d gone back to her suite of rooms and run herself a deep and perfumed bath—then spent most of the night tossing and turning as the image of a man with black hair and cobalt eyes kept haunting her thoughts. More than once she’d awoken to find the tips of her breasts all pointy and aching and a molten heat throbbing between her thighs, causing her to writhe frustratedly between the fine cotton sheets. She’d told herself she needed to pull herself together and put the infuriating Greek right out of her mind, but somehow it wasn’t turning out to be that easy.
The moment she entered the throne room, Xan Constantinides was the first person she saw, despite the fact that the Sheikh was already at the front of the gilded throne room, waiting for his bride. Tamsyn’s heart gave a powerful lurch as she willed her face not to register any emotion.
He looked...
She swallowed against the sudden rawness in her throat. He looked delectable.