The Greek Tycoon's Virgin Wife

CHAPTER TWO

PREPARATIONS FOR THE current Fashion Design Awards ensured Ilana spent most of the weekend in the workroom as she checked and re-checked the selection of garments both she and her partner, Micki, had chosen to enter in the various sections.

The judging process comprised examination of the fabric, stitching and finishing by a panel of experts who provided a grading in advance of the final catwalk judging.

Which meant ensuring every detail was perfect…or as near to perfect as it was possible to get.

Winning in any category added to a designer’s status, lifting interest and sales. Although for Ilana, the focus was on fashioning quality fabric into faultlessly assembled stylish garments.

As a child she’d adored dressing her dolls, and with Liliana’s help she had made patterns and cut and fashioned her own range of dolls’ clothes, progressing to designing and making her own outfits.

A degree in fashion design followed by an apprenticeship with one of Australia’s top designers had eventually provided the opportunity to work overseas for a few years…Paris, Milan and London, before she returned to Sydney, where she’d set up her own workroom.

Diligence and hard work had seen her acquire recognition among her peers, with the Arabelle label rated highly among the social set.

While Ilana possessed the talent and expertise with design, needle and thread, it was her childhood friend, Micki Taylor, whose business nous completed their successful partnership.

Micki’s flair for selecting the right accessories was faultless, for she had the ability to put together a successful fashion showing that lifted it above the rest.

Ilana loved the creative aspect of transforming a vision into reality. To be able to look at a fabric and visualise the finished garment was a gift…one she didn’t regard lightly. Colour, fabric, style. She lived to make it work and come alive. Infinitely special to the woman who bought it. Any accolades and awards were a bonus.

The week leading up to the design-awards night involved long hours double-checking everything was covered, including back-up plans should a contracted model call in sick…or any one of several things that could go wrong.

Days when she seemed to only take time out to eat and sleep, she reflected wearily as she entered her apartment early Tuesday evening after a fraught day.

The thought of a long soak in a bubble bath and a decent meal was tempting, except it wasn’t going to happen.

Instead she only had time for a quick shower, a change into a cocktail dress in café-au-lait lace, the application of make-up and fixing her hair into a simple knot before driving to Double Bay to attend the evening’s gallery showing with Liliana.

A prestigious affair, invitation-only, it heralded the grand opening of new premises in three adjoining villas whose interiors had been gutted and converted into a spacious gallery owned by an established family known in the art world for discovering and fostering artists.

Cars lined the wide, tree-lined street in suburban Double Bay, and Ilana circled the block twice before finding a space.

Two security guards flanked the gallery entrance, one of whom checked her name off the invitation list whilst the other indicated the foyer.

‘Darling.’ The family’s eldest son took her hand and leaned in close to brush his cheek against her own. ‘Welcome.’

‘Jean-Paul.’

Jean preceded each male name in the family…Jean-Marc, the patriarch, his two sons, Jean-Paul and Jean-Pierre.

People mingled in groups sipping champagne and accepting proffered canapés from uniformed staff. Muted music emitted from concealed speakers, a suitable background to the guests’ conversation.

A waitress offered a tray laden with flutes of champagne and orange juice. As much as she needed the lift of champagne, she selected the latter. There were trays of canapes making the rounds and she accepted a napkin, added a few bite-size morsels and sampled each of them in relatively quick succession.

‘There you are, darling.’ Liliana appeared at her side, and Ilana leant forward as they pressed cheeks.

‘The architect and interior decorators have done well,’ she offered quietly, and caught her mother’s warm smile.

‘I agree.’ Liliana indicated the wide glass-panelled walls, the planned lay-out. ‘It’s quite something.’

Ilana cast a quick glance at the mingling guests. ‘A good crowd.’

‘Who would refuse Jean-Marc’s invitation?’

The effusive family patriarch was something of a legend in the art field, possessed of a shrewd mind and an almost unfailing instinct for the success of an artist’s work.

Many of his patrons had made a small fortune from his advice, and the opening of new premises was a cause célèbre.

‘Come take a look,’ Liliana bade as she drew Ilana forward.

‘You’ve seen something you like.’

Her mother chuckled. ‘How can you tell?’

She offered an answering laugh. ‘The gleam in your eyes.’

‘I’ll aim for solemn interest in the hope Jean-Marc will negotiate the price.’

Together they moved slowly, pausing to speak to a friend, smile at an acquaintance, until Liliana stopped in front of an exquisite landscape, all trees and sky and almost alive. A lifelike vision in oils, each detail seemingly applied with a master’s stroke.

‘You’re going to buy it.’ A statement, rather than a query, and Ilana could picture the perfect location in her mother’s home.

‘Yes,’ Liliana conceded with a faint smile. ‘The formal dining room.’

The colours would blend beautifully, and she said so.

‘My thoughts, exactly.’ Liliana glanced up as Jean-Paul appeared at her side.

‘Is that a yes, Liliana?’

‘Definitely.’ Her mother waited a bit. ‘With a little negotiation.’

‘I’m sure my father will be amenable.’

A promised five-per-cent discount was offered on the invitation for each purchase…whether Liliana could bargain further was debatable.

A discreet reserved sticker was attached…to be replaced with sold when the purchase became a done deal.

There were other paintings, beautifully showcased, featuring many categories…some impossibly bold, extrovert in the extreme with great slashes of colour and without any definition.

Traditional, a young child’s face with huge sad eyes and a single tear. An incredible seascape, with wild, turbulent, white-tipped angry waves depicted in such detail one could almost sense the salt-spray stinging the skin.

A modern piece depicting the agony of war in a riveting portrayal too close to home.

Emotion, sadness, joy. They were all exigent, portrayed on canvas.

Ilana exchanged an empty flute for one filled with champagne, and filched another three canapés from a proffered tray.

‘I should go talk with Jean-Marc.’

‘Sure. Catch you soon.’ She’d wander a little, savour the light, fizzing bubbles, and maybe something would catch her eye.

It did, but not in the way she wanted it to. The painting held a haunting quality, dark and far too stark for anyone’s peace of mind.

‘Interesting,’ a deep, familiar male voice offered, and she stood still, wondering why her self-defence mechanism had failed to alert Xandro Caramanis’ presence.

Then it kicked in with a vengeance, and sensation scudded down her spine, sending little licks of flame from somewhere deep inside. They touched her central nervous system and sped rapidly through her body, warming her skin.

‘Tell me,’ Xandro drawled, ‘what you see.’

He was standing close, within touching distance, and she had the feeling if she leaned back fractionally her shoulders would bump against his chest.

It would be so easy to take a slight step forward…but then he’d know, and she couldn’t bear him to guess the effect he had on her.

‘Too much.’

Why hadn’t she expected him to be here tonight? Xandro Caramanis represented serious money…very serious money.

Naturally he would have received a coveted invitation.

He moved to her side. ‘A painful memory, do you think? Or a warning?’

‘Perhaps both?’

‘Not exactly comfortable viewing.’

‘No.’

His height and breadth of shoulder made her think of a warrior…and wondered if the male body beneath the fine tailoring hid powerful musculature.

Somehow artificial enhancement and Xandro Caramanis just didn’t mesh.

The thought did nothing for her peace of mind.

She should excuse herself and move away. To remain attempting idle conversation didn’t appeal. Besides, she didn’t need the added tension.

Ilana turned slightly towards him, and immediately wished she hadn’t.

His facial features were compelling, with arresting bone sculpture, an intensely sexual mouth and dark eyes that saw too much.

‘You look tired.’

‘How kind of you to care,’ she managed with intended facetiousness.

‘Does it bother you that I might?’

‘Not in the least.’

His soft laughter was barely audible. ‘Have dinner with me.’

She thought of the banana she’d hastily peeled and eaten as she rode the lift down to the basement car park, and the few gulps of bottled water, followed by orange juice, champagne and exotic canapés. Hardly an adequate meal.

Where was the harm in light, careless banter in a room filled with guests? ‘Will it damage your ego if I refuse?’

His mouth curved into a musing smile. ‘I’ll accept a raincheck.’

‘I wasn’t aware I’d requested one.’

‘Next week,’ Xandro continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

‘I’ll be in touch.’

‘When you’ve checked your social diary?’

He regarded her steadily. ‘Name an evening.’

Instinct warned she was treading dangerous territory. He possessed a waiting, watching quality that made him impossible to read. ‘And you’ll set aside any previous obligations?’

‘Yes.’

Her stomach executed a backward flip, trembled a little, then didn’t rest easy.

He didn’t move, didn’t touch her…but she felt as if he did. Everything faded from her vision, and the noise, the filtered music grew silent.

The air between them seemed electric, and for a moment she could have sworn time stood still.

How long did they remain there in silence? Seconds, a minute? Two?

Then she saw his features relax, his mouth curved a little at the edges, and she became aware his attention had shifted slightly.

‘Liliana.’

The sound of his voice brought the large room and its milling occupants into focus, and she felt the tension begin to ebb from her body as she slowly turned towards her mother.

What just happened here?

Nothing.

Something. She sensed it…felt it.

‘Xandro.’ Liliana’s smile was genuine. ‘Have you seen anything you like?’

You’re wrong.

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Get over it. He’s playing a game…and you’re it.

The challenge.

Like he has so few in his life, he needs to hunt the unattainable?

‘Yes. Something I intend to reserve for myself.’

He was talking about a painting…wasn’t he?

Or had the flute of champagne addled her brain and she was the only one who imagined a hidden meaning?

Coffee, hot, strong and sweet. Preferably black. It might clear her head…and keep her awake. Which she didn’t want, when she desperately needed a reasonable night’s sleep.

She could excuse herself and leave. Liliana knew how hectic the past few weeks had been, and how many more long hours she still needed to put in before awards night.

Yet stubborn pride stiffened her spine, and she indicated the far end of the spacious gallery. ‘There’s something I want to have another look at.’

Ilana had the instinctive feeling she didn’t fool him in the slightest as she offered a dismissive smile before turning to thread her way through the guests.

She ensured she maintained a leisurely pace, and pretended a genuine interest. She smiled, pausing every now and then to exchange pleasantries with an acquaintance.

Talking the talk, she reflected a trifle wryly. Working the room. Accepting good wishes for the upcoming design awards.

How long had she been here? Two hours…a little more?

It was almost ten when she caught Liliana’s attention and indicated her intention to leave.

One of the bouncers stepped forward as she exited the main entrance. ‘Is your car parked close by, miss?’

‘Not far from my own.’ The male voice was far too familiar. ‘We’ll walk together.’

She didn’t want his company, didn’t need to suffer his disturbing presence. ‘I’ll be fine.’

Touch me and I’ll hit you, Ilana vowed silently as she stepped out briskly. If he’d deliberately timed his exit to coincide with her own…

She made no attempt at conversation, and it irked unbearably he chose silence, when she so badly wanted the opportunity to snub him.

How long did it take to reach her car? Minutes…five at the most, and she breathed a faint sigh of relief as she deactivated the alarm and reached for the door, only to have her hand collide with his own.

Warm, hard, strong beneath her fingers, and she snatched her hand back as if she’d been burned by a flame.

‘Thank you.’ Two polite, succinct, stilted words as he pulled open the door for her to slide in behind the wheel.

Xandro leant forward and placed a business card on the dashboard. ‘My private cellphone number.’

An invitation to call him?

Offer her business card in exchange for his?

As if!

Ilana slid a key into the ignition and fired the engine as he closed the door, aware as she drove away the mild headache she’d harboured for the past half-hour had turned into a full-blown migraine.

Great. That was all she needed.

Too little sleep, too much tension…

It was a relief to reach her apartment, undress, remove her make-up and pop a couple of painkillers.

Tomorrow, she reflected as she hit the pillow, was another day.

CHAPTER THREE

ORDERED CHAOS REIGNED in the workroom.

Fingers flew, soft and not-so-soft curses registered beneath the music flowing from one of the city’s popular radio stations, the steam iron hissed in harmony with the rain hitting the tin roof.

Ilana checked schedules, confirmed the agency supplying the models, and ensured the van-hire firm had the pick-up time right.

It would all come together on the night…it always did, she allowed wryly. But today…well, the day before awards night meant blood, sweat and a few tears.

‘Delivery boy out front.’

A frown creased Ilana’s forehead. Delivery? All the deliveries were in for the day.

Micki’s assistant went out the front and returned with a generous bouquet of pink and cream tightly budded roses.

Liliana?

Ilana detached the card from the Cellophane.

Xandro. There was no mistaking the name written by a male hand…following a personalised message: Good luck.

‘Wow. Nice. Who?’ demanded Micki.

Thinking quickly on her feet, she pocketed the card and managed a smile. ‘Good-luck wishes for tomorrow night.’ She moved to the tiny alcove that served as a minuscule kitchen and withdrew a vase from the storage cupboard.

It was a kind gesture…if only simple kindness were his motivation. Somehow she doubted anything about Xandro Caramanis could be simple.

There was little time to even think as Saturday dawned and team Arabelle went into action with preparations for the evening’s awards.

Practice didn’t make perfect, for it failed to factor in the many variables that could cause a hitch or three, or more.

An hour before the first model was due to hit the catwalk saw the backstage dressing room filled to capacity with racks of clothes, anxious designers, a fraught seamstress or two, hair and make-up assistants lobbying for room in front of inadequate mirrors. Not to mention cellphones pealing and chirping every few minutes.

Bedlam didn’t begin to cover it.

And it would get worse.

There was hardly room to move, and too many bodies in too small a space made for short tempers…successfully muted by background music piped into the large hotel ballroom seating over a thousand guests.

Organisation and co-ordination were the order of the night. Each designer had a list detailing each category and order of appearance.

‘Sorry I’m late.’

Ilana heard the voice, vaguely recognised it, turned…and felt her heart sink.

Danika was the replacement model?

Oh, my.

OK, so they’d handle it.

But not too well, Ilana determined as she sought to batten down a sense of frustration at Danika’s continuing contretemps.

‘These shoes aren’t right.’

‘That belt…are you out of your mind?’

Swept-up hairstyle, when Danika insisted on wearing it loose.

‘Definitely not that faux jewellery…get me something else.’

Muted grumbles from various designers were enhanced by eye-rolling and unladylike muttered oaths.

Out the front, everything was fine.

Backstage, it was something else.

‘If she makes one more complaint,’ Micki threatened as Danika took the catwalk, ‘Just one more, I’ll have her for breakfast.’

‘On cinnamon toast, or dipped in eggs Benedict?’ Ilana queried with wry cynicism.

‘Preferably drowned in my coffee.’

‘Espresso or chai latte?’

Micki rolled her eyes. ‘You’re a riot.’

‘An hour, and it’ll all be over,’ she reminded.

Minutes later Micki handed the model bangles and earrings, which received an expressive sigh in resignation.

‘Not until the fat lady sings,’ Micki assured as Danika disappeared out onto the stage.

Applause could be heard above the music.

One by one the models returned, effected a quick change and readied themselves for the next category.

Cocktail wear, then evening wear.

Ilana had created a stunning gown in red, with a finely pleated bodice, a draped full-length skirt with a side-split reaching almost to the hip.

To give due credit, Danika showcased it with incredible panache.

‘I’ll take this instead of my fee.’

‘It’s an original and part of a collection.’ And not intended as barter.

‘Precisely why I’ll have it.’

‘Impossible.’ Micki stepped forward and slid down the hidden zip fastening. ‘The gown is to feature in next season’s showing.’

Danika offered a supercilious glare. ‘Make another.’

Deep breaths…one, two…‘Then it won’t be an original,’ Ilana said calmly.

‘Tough.’

Bridal-wear became the final category, and Arabelle opted for the traditional, with exquisite lace, a demure neckline, and tiny covered buttons from nape to tailbone. A soft, flowing full-length skirt overlayed with lace moved like a dream with every step the model took.

The finale awaited the final judging…emotion and tension ran high among the assembled designers as to which one of them would win in each given category.

Meanwhile the models hovered, ready to don the winning garment.

This was the moment everyone had been waiting for, and the organisers played up the drama, building the excitement as the judging numbers were handed in.

Then the winning categories were announced…from the beginning, and the model reappeared on stage with the designer to generous applause.

The suspense was killing, and Ilana clutched Micki’s hand as the evening-wear category was announced.

Arabelle won with the red gown.

And Arabelle took out the bridal category.

It was an incredible moment as Ilana and Micki went up on stage and stood together, wearing their signature black leggings and blousson tops and stiletto-heeled boots as Danika paraded the catwalk.

The presentation, the short speech. Elation, joy, nerves and relief.

Then it was time for the whole congratulatory thing as photographers’ cameras flashed in split-second unison.

‘Darling, I’m so very proud of you.’ Liliana hugged her tight. Others followed, until Ilana thought her head might spin.

‘Congratulations.’

The male voice was a familiar one, and she felt the thud of an increased pulse-beat as she turned slowly to meet Xandro’s steady gaze.

His presence was unexpected. Tonight’s event wasn’t something a heterosexual male would consider attending alone in normal circumstances.

Several questions raced through her brain. Could he be joining Danika later? Perhaps going on to a nightclub?

Or was he with someone else?

He didn’t lack for female partners, that was for sure!

Oh, for heaven’s sake…stop it! What if he is with someone else? As if you care!

So why this slight jolt of wishful longing? Almost as if some deeply hidden imp was bent on teasing her subconscious with what it might be like with this man.

‘Thanks.’

He emanated leashed strength and a degree of latent sensuality. It was a lethal combination, and much too much for any feminine peace of mind.

Beneath the sophisticated façade lay the heart and soul of a modern-day warrior. Ruthless, forceful and all-powerful. Only a fool would attempt to toy with him.

It was easy to see why women fell at his feet.

Fascination, the thrill of the chase…and the instinctive knowledge he knew precisely how to touch, with his hands, his mouth, to gift the ultimate pleasure. And take it for his own.

Flame and heat, searing, exultant at its zenith. But afterwards…what then?

‘Are you done?’ His barely audible voice held a faintly teasing quality, and she wondered with sudden shock just how long she’d stood there looking at him.

Please God, surely it was only seconds?

Soft warmth flooded her cheeks as she battled for composure, and she glimpsed his faint smile an instant before he lowered his head and brushed his mouth against her own.

His lips were warm, and she felt the teasing sweep of his tongue as it lightly caressed the shape of her mouth in a kiss that tore the breath from her throat. For it held the hint of more, so much more.

All she needed to do was tease the edge of his tongue with her own in silent invitation.

Except she didn’t. Couldn’t.

A faint tremor shook her body, and she prayed fervently he didn’t sense it.

Ilana was unprepared for the way his mouth hardened against her own as he cupped her face with his hands and went in deep, conveying evocative intimacy with practised ease.

It rocked her senses, and she was aware of a quickened pulse-beat, the seemingly loud thudding of her heart as she became lost in a sensual pool so intense there was only the man and the sensations he aroused.

Worse was her own unbidden response…something which surprised and devastated, given no man, not even her ex-fiancé, had managed to reach so deep into her emotions.

Almost as if he knew, he lightened his touch, withdrawing a little until he lifted his head.

For a moment she could only look at him, her eyes wide and impossibly dark as she caught something in his expression she was unable to define.

Then it was over as he released her, and she tried valiantly to assure herself it meant little.

Just a kiss, when celebratory hugs and kisses were being gifted in abundance.

And knew she lied.

His kiss struck a chord and stirred emotions in a place where she’d locked and thrown away the key.

A strangled sound escaped her throat, and for a moment she couldn’t tear her eyes from his.

Please, an inner voice decried. I don’t want this.

There was nothing she could read in his dark gaze, and she managed a faint smile as her attention was caught by another well-wisher.

Except his touch lingered, and she felt as if she was acting on autopilot long after he withdrew from sight. Why had he kissed her like that?

To impress her?

Or was he merely playing a game with her in order to make Danika jealous?

The latter thought brought a surge of anger and fostered a sense of deep resentment. There was no way she’d allow herself to be used as a pawn by any man…especially Xandro Caramanis!

What was more, she’d tell him so.

Arabelle’s win brought an invitation to participate in a charity fundraiser, requests to view her summer designs and firm bookings for months ahead.

‘I’ll go backstage and help the girls load our clothes into the van,’ Micki indicated quietly, and Ilana inclined her head.

‘I’ll come with you.’

The atmosphere was lighter, the models had changed into their own gear and most had left, together with the hair-stylists and make-up girls.

Camaraderie reigned, and, if there was disappointment from the designers who didn’t place, it didn’t show.

Ilana and Micki’s assistants had everything in hand. Shoes, accessories, faux jewellery were all individually boxed. Garments restored to their dress-bags, and it was only a matter of shifting them out to the van for transporting back to the workroom.

‘A word before I leave.’

Ilana summoned a smile as she turned to face Danika. ‘Thanks for filling in,’ she reiterated, and the model’s shoulders lifted in a dismissive gesture.

‘It’s what I do.’

And not the purpose of the conversation, if the model’s venomous glare was any indication.

‘Hands off Xandro.’

Her gaze was remarkably steady. ‘They were never on him.’ True. His hands had been on her.

If looks could kill, she’d drop dead on the floor.

With an elegant flounce Danika swivelled towards the exit and swiftly moved out of sight.

It was no secret the model had the hots for the Greek-born tycoon. Along with many of the city’s socialites.

Except Ilana Girard…the one young woman from whom Danika had nothing to fear.

The irony of it brought forth a wry smile.

‘We’re done.’ Micki lifted a hand and Ilana met it mid-air. ‘Now let’s party!’ She named a bar within walking distance, linked arms with Ilana and headed towards the exit. ‘Liliana will be there, of course.’ She waited a beat. ‘And Xandro.’

Ilana’s heart gave a sudden jolt, then settled into a faster beat. ‘Why Xandro?’

Micki lifted up a hand and ticked off a finger as she listed a few reasons. ‘Because he kissed you like a man determined to have more of you. He happened to be deep in conversation with your mother when I extended the invitation. And it’s high time you started dating again.’

‘You took it on yourself to arrange my life?’

‘Just the night,’ her friend and partner assured with a wicked grin. ‘What follows is none of my business.’

‘Nothing, absolutely nothing is going to happen.’

‘Uh-huh.’

Ilana shot her a dark glance. ‘I’m not interested.’

‘Ah,’ Micki allowed quietly. ‘But he is.’

‘I very much doubt it was more than a challenge.’ Her voice held wry humour. ‘Kiss the ice maiden and see if you can make her melt.’

‘And did you? Melt?’

In an ignominious puddle. Not that she’d admit it to anyone. ‘He’s practised in the art of kissing.’

‘No toe-curling, gut-wrenching, off-the-planet reaction?’

In spades, and then some.

She managed a light shrug. ‘Not really.’

Team Arabelle were already seated when Ilana and Micki walked into the trendy bar, and there was champagne on ice, finger food spread out on the table.

Xandro rose to his feet, indicated a seat next to his own, and before Ilana could refuse Micki took the chair opposite, leaving no choice.

There were champagne toasts, much light-hearted laughter…and her stomach executed a painful somersault as Xandro touched his flute to her own and held it there a few seconds too long. His eyes were dark, unreadable, and she felt suddenly out of her depth.

He was seated too close, his thigh only a few centimetres from her own, and she was far too aware of his potent masculinity.

Ambivalent feelings coursed through her veins, teasing her with what could be…if only she had the courage to reach out for it.

Followed by the fear of opening her vulnerable heart to a man who might destroy her.

It was far wiser to refrain from having anything to do with any man…Xandro Caramanis in particular.

At midnight the girls began making a move to end the evening, and together they converged on the pavement, caught up in ‘good-night’ hugs.

‘I’ll drive you home.’

Ilana spared Xandro a fixed glance and shook her head. ‘I’ll take a cab.’

‘No, you won’t.’

Was it her imagination, or did everyone suddenly disperse with discreet speed? Even Liliana.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

Xandro took her hand in his. ‘My car is parked close by.’

‘Are you always so bossy?’

‘Let’s just go with I gave Liliana my word to see you safely home.’

Ilana found herself seated in a luxury vehicle before she had time to think about it. The result of a little too much champagne, or clever manipulation?

Music filtered softly through the car’s speaker system, and she leaned back against the head-rest and closed her eyes as she reflected on the evening…the clothes, the models, the judging. Winning.

And Xandro’s kiss.

Wow…was the word that came readily to mind.

What would he be like as a lover?

Not that she intended to find out.

Hell, she dared not go there. Instinct warned she’d never survive with her emotions intact.

Besides, how could she ever forget Grant Baxter’s dire threat after she’d opted out of their wedding?

I’ll kill you if you date another man.

For two years she hadn’t wanted to get close to any male of the species.

She assured herself nothing had changed.

Except it had. And she didn’t know what to do about it.