The Greek's Unwilling Bride Read Free Page A

too many insolent men who’d let money and power go to their heads.
    Hadn’t she spent almost a year playing the fool for one of them?
    The rest of the wedding party was passing by now, bridesmaids giggling among themselves in a pastel Hurry of blues and pinks, the groomsmen grinning foolishly, impossibly young and good-looking in their formal wear. Annie went by with her ex and paused only long enough for a quick hug after which Laurel fell back into the crowd, letting it surge past her because she knew he’d be coming along next, the jerk who’d stared at her and stripped her naked with his eyes...and yes, there he was, bringing up the rear of the little procession with one of the bridesmaids, a child no more than half his age, clinging to his arm like a limpet.
    The girl was staring up at him with eyes like saucers while he treated her to a full measure of his charm, smiling at her with his too-white teeth glinting against his too-tanned skin. Laurel frowned. The child was positively transfixed by the body-by-health club, tan-by-sunlamp and attitude-by-bank-balance. And Mr. Macho was eating up the adulation.
    Bastard, Laurel thought coldly, eyeing him through the crowd, and before she had time to think about it, she stepped out in the aisle in front of him.
    The bridesmaid was so busy making goo-goo eyes at her dazzling escort that she had to skid to a stop when he halted.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” the girl asked.
    â€œNothing,” he answered, his eyes never leaving Laurel’s.
    The girl looked at Laurel. Young as she was, awareness glinted in her eyes.
    â€œCome on, Damian. We have to catch up to the others.”
    He nodded. “You go on, Elaine. “I’ll be right along.”
    â€œIt’s Aileen.”
    â€œAileen,” he said, his eyes still on Laurel. “Go ahead. I’ll be just behind you.”
    The girl shot Laurel a sullen glare. “Sure.” Then she picked up her skirts and hurried along after the others.
    Close up, Laurel could see that the man’s eyes were a shade of blue she’d never seen before, cool and pale, the irises as black-ringed as if they’d been circled with kohl. Ice, she thought, chips of polar sea ice.
    A pulse began to pound in her throat. I should have stayed where I was, she thought suddenly, instead of stepping out to confront him...
    â€œYes?” he said.
    His voice, low and touched with a slight accent, was a perfect match for the chilly removal of his gaze.
    The church was empty now. A few feet away, just beyond the doors, Laurel could hear the sounds of laughter but here, in the silence and the lengthening shadows of late afternoon, she could hear only the thump-thump of her heart.
    â€œWas there something you wished to say to me?”
    His words were polite but the coldness in them made Laurel’s breath catch. For a second, she thought of turning and running but she’d never run from anything in her life. Besides, why should she let this stranger get the best of her?
    There was nothing to be afraid of, nothing at all.
    So she drew herself up to her full five foot ten, tossed her hair back from her face and fixed him with a look of cool hauteur, the same one she wore like a mask when she was on public display, and that had helped make her a star on runways from here to Milan.
    â€œOnly that you look pathetic,” she said regally, “toying with that little girl.”
    â€œToying with...?”
    â€œReally,” she said, permitting her voice to take on a purr of amusement, “don’t you think you ought to play games with someone who’s old enough to recognize you for what you are?”
    The man looked at her for a long moment, so long that she foolishly began to think she’d scored a couple of points. Then he smiled in a way that sent her heart skidding up into her throat and he stepped forward, until he was only a hand’s span away.
    â€œWhat is your