The Greek Tycoon's Disobedient Bride. Lynne Graham
‘I expect you to behave in public!’
‘I expect you to behave in private,’ Ophelia responded with spirit. ‘You told me to act like a wife and that’s what you’re getting. No bride in her right mind would put up with this kind of treatment on what is supposed to be her honeymoon!’
Lysander startled her by throwing back his arrogant dark head and laughing with husky appreciation. ‘If I make it back tonight, I promise not to ignore you,’ he murmured huskily, his slumberous metallic eyes full of sensual promise.
Her rising temper was punctured by the shock of that unsettlingly direct masculine response as it made nonsense of her attempt to call him to book and shame him for his attitude. Ophelia went red to the roots of her hair. ‘That isn’t what I meant,’ she hissed. ‘You are not welcome in my bed. There’s not going to be any more of that kind of nonsense—’
In silent answer, Lysander clamped her up against the hard contours of his lean, muscular frame and ravished her soft mouth with devouring hunger. A glittering ripple of white-hot heat and energy snaked through her, and she fought a pitched battle with her response before the sudden sound of the passenger door opening made both of them pull apart in a simultaneous action…
VIRGIN BRIDES, ARROGANT HUSBANDS
Demure but defiant… Can three international playboys
tame their disobedient brides?
Lysander, the gorgeous, dynamic Greek tycoon…
Nikolai, the ruthless, charismatic Russian magnate…
Leandro, the sexy, aristocratic Spanish billionaire…
Proud, masculine and passionate,
these men are used to having it all. But enter Ophelia,
Abbey and Molly, three feisty virgins to whom their
wealth and power mean little. In stories filled with
drama, desire and secrets of the past, find out how
these arrogant husbands capture their hearts…
THE GREEK TYCOON’S DISOBEDIENT BRIDE
THE RUTHLESS MAGNATE’S VIRGIN MISTRESS
THE SPANISH BILLIONAIRE’S PREGNANT WIFE
THE GREEK TYCOON’S DISOBEDIENT BRIDE
BY
LYNNE GRAHAM
MILLS & BOON
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PROLOGUE
THE Greek billionaire Lysander Metaxis strode into the luxurious salon of his fabulous yacht, where his personal staff awaited him. It was half past seven in the morning. Aware that their hugely wealthy and dynamic employer usually started work at six and rarely slept more than five hours, everyone was striving to look wide awake.
His senior PA, Dmitri, presented him with a folder. ‘I hope you’ll be pleased, sir.’
His lean, dark, handsome face intent, Lysander withdrew the photographs of Madrigal Court. Dense woodland on all sides screened the Elizabethan manor house from curious eyes, but not from the air. His only previous acquaintance with the ancient building was through his mother’s childhood photograph albums. The superb definition of the aerial shots revealed the extensive deterioration that had taken place in recent decades.
His metallic-bronze gaze grew steadily harder and colder, for it was clear that the listed building was in serious need of repair. The roof was in a mess, the brickwork required attention and there was a suspicious bulge in a gable wall. Yet, Gladys Stewart had repeatedly refused to sell the property to his late father, Aristide. However, the old lady was dying now and he could only assume that her demise would finally make the purchase of the house possible.
Madrigal Court had belonged to his mother’s family for over four hundred years before financial adversity had forced its sale. Over time the reacquisition of Madrigal Court had become a matter of Metaxis family honour. And family honour was an issue that Lysander, who was Greek to his backbone, held in very high regard. His ruthlessness was legendary and he was a dangerous man to cross. But even though he was one of the richest men in the world, he had never forgotten his humble beginnings or the cruel neglect he had endured before fortune had smiled on him and given him Virginia and Aristide Metaxis as adoptive parents.
The acknowledgement of that inestimable debt spawned dark brooding thoughts, which cast disturbing shadows across Lysander’s usual emotional coolness. Recent developments had made buying back Virginia’s ancestral home a burning mission, as opposed to an ambition to be attained at some unspecified future date. Whatever it took he had to get the house back and quickly. All of a sudden time was of the essence, he conceded bleakly.
A stunning brunette, clad in a transparent wrap that concealed nothing of her astonishing figure, strolled in. Her caressing fingertips inscribed a provocative pattern on the back of his hand. ‘Come back to bed,’ she whispered invitingly.
Almost imperceptibly, Lysander stiffened. ‘I’m busy,’ he drawled without expression.
His staff exchanged significant glances. No woman ever held Lysander’s attention for longer than a few weeks. His current lover might not know it yet, but shewas already history.
‘Dmitri…’ Lysander lifted his well-shaped dark head ‘…who authorised polythene tunnels to be installed inside the walled garden?’
The PA stepped forward and frowned down at the photo in frank bewilderment. ‘Er…isn’t that part of Madrigal Court’s grounds, sir? I’m afraid I have no idea.’
Lysander dealt Dmitri a fulminating appraisal and told him to get the Metaxis legal team on the phone for a conference call. For his UK lawyers, it became a day of unalloyed misery and grovelling apology. The rolling of heads was threatened, sacrifices were made. They promised immediate action, but the Greek tycoon commanded them to do nothing for the present. When he wanted action, he would choose the timing.
CHAPTER ONE
‘THE Metaxis family are waiting for me to die.’ Feverish hatred burned in Gladys Stewart’s embittered gaze. ‘Vultures—that’s what they are!’
‘Well, whoever they are they’ll have to wait a little longer,’ the nurse informed the older woman cheerfully while she checked her blood pressure. ‘You have great vitality.’
‘You’ve got no business interrupting a private conversation!’ her patient hissed in a tone of pure vitriol, her thin hands clenching on the bedclothes. ‘I was addressing my granddaughter. Ophelia…where are you? Ophelia?’
A young woman with unusual pale blue eyes was engaged in piling up discarded bed linen. Directing an apologetic glance at the district nurse, she moved forward. Small in stature, she wore a loose sweater and trousers that only hinted at her hourglass figure. Hair the colour of ripe wheat was tied up with a piece of gardening twine. But