His Forbidden Bride

GREEK TYCOONS

Why won't he claim her as his bride?

This is one occasion in Andreas Stephanos's life when he cannot have what

he real y wants. Better not let Zoe Lambert know that he's real y the heir to

a shipping fortune,or al ow the intense physical desire between them to be

indulged. There is a compel ing reason the Greek tycoon can never bed or

wed Zoe….

GREEK TYCOONS

"So, what keeps you warm in bed at night?"

Zoe flushed. "I don't think that's any of your damned business. And I thought the point of this lunch was for me to find out about
you
."

"Ask what you want," he said. "I am ready to answer."

"Wel , your second name might be a start." She tried to sound casual, not easy when her nerves seemed to be stretched on wires.
Oh, what's the

matter with me
? she wondered savagely.
Any other single girl on holiday

would relish being chatted up by someone with half his attraction and sheer

charisma. Why can't I just… go with the flow
?

"My second name is Stephanos," he said. "Andreas Stephanos."

They're the men who have everything— except a bride…

Wealth, power, charm— what else could a handsome tycoon need?

In THE GREEK TYCOONS miniseries you have already met some

gorgeous Greek multimil ionaires who are in need of wives.

This tycoon has met his match, and he's decided he
has
to have her..

.whatever
that takes!

ISBN 0-373-12400-7

HIS FORBIDDEN BRIDE

First North American Publication 2004

Copyright © 2004 by Sara Craven

'I've been giving matters a lot of thought,' said George. 'And I feel very

strongly that you and I should get married.'

Zoe Lambert, who had just taken a mouthful of Chardonnay, managed by a

superhuman effort not to choke to death.

If anyone else had made a similarly preposterous suggestion, she would

have laughed them to scorn. But she couldn't do that to George, sitting

across from her at the table in the wine bar, with his untidy brown hair, and

crooked tie.

George was her friend, one of the few she had at Bishop Cross Sixth Form

Col ege, where he was a member of the maths department, and after the

weekly staff meeting they usually went for a drink together, but they'd never

had a date as such. Nor was there the slightest spark of attraction between

them. And even if she'd ever been marginally tempted to fal in love with

George, the thought of his mother would have stopped her dead in her

tracks.

George's mother was a frail widow with a tungsten core, and she took no

prisoners in her bid to keep her son safely at home with her, an obedient

and enslaved bachelor. None of George's sporadic romantic interests had

ever thrived under the frost of her pale blue gaze, and she planned that

none of them ever would. And those steely eyes would narrow to slits if she

found out that her only son was in the town's one and only wine bar with Zoe

Lambert of all people, let alone proposing marriage.

She took a deep breath. 'George,' she said gently. 'I don't think…'

'After al ,' George went on, unheedingly, warming to his theme. 'You're going

to find things difficult now that you're—alone. You were so brave al the time

your mother was—il . Now I'd like to look after you. I don't want you .to worry

any more about anything.'

Except your mother poisoning my food, thought Zoe. Urged on, no doubt, by

her best friend, my aunt Megan.

She winced inwardly as she recal ed her aunt's chil ing demeanour at the

funeral two weeks earlier. Megan Arnold had curtly accepted the

commiserations from her late sister's friends and neighbours, but had barely

addressed a word to the niece who was now her only living relative.

Back at the cottage, after the service, she had refused al offers of food and

drink, staring instead, in silent and narrow-eyed appraisal, at her

surroundings.

'Never mind, dearie,' Mrs Gibb, who'd cleaned the cottage each week for

Gina Lambert over the past ten years, whispered consolingly as she went

past a mute and bewildered Zoe with a plate of sandwiches. 'Grief takes

some people in funny ways.'

But Zoe could see no evidence of grieving in her aunt's stony face. Megan

Arnold had stayed aloof during her younger sister's months of il ness. And if

she was mourning now, she kept it wel hidden. And there'd been no sign of

her since the funeral either.

Zoe shook away these unpleasant and uneasy reflections, pushed a strand

of dark blonde hair back from her face, and looked steadily at her

unexpected suitor with clear grey eyes.

'Are you saying that you've fallen in love with me, George?' she asked

mildly.

'Wel —I'm very fond of you, Zoe.' He played with the stem of his glass,

looking embarrassed. 'And I have the most tremendous respect for you. You

must know that. But I don't think I'm the type for this head-over-heels stuff,'

he added awkwardly. 'And I suspect you aren't either. I real y think it's more

important for people to be—friends.'

'Yes,' she said. 'I can understand that. And you could be right.'
But not about
me
, she thought
Oh, please God, not about me
.

She swal owed. 'George, you're terribly kind, and I do appreciate everything

you've said, but I'm not going to make any immediate decisions about the

future.' She paused. 'Losing my mother is stil too raw, and I'm not seeing

things altogether clearly yet.'

'Wel , I realise that, natural y.' He reached across the table and patted her

hand, swiftly and nervously. 'And I won't put any pressure on you, I swear. I'd

just like you to—think about what I've said. Wil you do that?'

'Yes,' Zoe told him, mental y crossing her fingers. 'Of course I wil .'

My first marriage proposal, she thought. How utterly bizarre.

He was silent for a moment. 'If you did think you could marry me at some

point,' he said hesitantly, 'I wouldn't want to—rush you into anything,

afterwards. I'd be prepared to wait—as long as you wanted.'

Zoe bit her lip as she looked back at the kind, anxious face. 'George,' she

said. 'I truly do not deserve you.' And meant it.

It was hard to think about anything else as the local bus jolted its way

through the lanes half an hour later, but she knew she had to try. Because

George's extraordinary proposal was only one of her current problems. And

possibly the least pressing, bless him.

She had come to Astencombe to share her mother's cottage three years

ago when she had left university, and not long before Gina Lambert's

condition had first been diagnosed. But the property was only rented. It had

belonged to Aunt Megan's late husband, Peter Arnold, and he had agreed

the original lease with his sister-in-law.

Zoe suspected this had always been a bone of contention with his wife, and,

since his death, Aunt Megan had raised the rent slowly and steadily each

year, although as a wealthy and childless widow she could not possibly need

the money. She had also insisted that maintenance and repairs were the

responsibility of her tenant.

Gina, also a widow, had eked out her husband's meagre company pension

with her skill as a landscape artist, but it had been a precarious living, and

Zoe's salary as an English teacher had been a welcome addition to the

household budget. Particularly when the time had come when her mother

had no longer been able to paint.

Finding a local job and living at home was not what she'd planned to do

original y, of course. At university she'd met Mick, who'd intended, after

graduation, to travel round the world for a year, taking what work he could

find to earn his living on the way. He'd wanted her to go with him, and she'd

been sorely tempted.

In fact, she'd gone home for the weekend to tel her mother what she meant

to do, but had arrived to find Gina oddly quiet, and frail-looking. She had

stoutly denied there was anything the matter, but Zoe had soon learned

through the village grapevine that Aunt Megan had made one of her periodic

descents the day before, and, as Adele who lived next door had put it,

'There'd been words.'

Zoe had spent the whole weekend trying to tel her mother about her plans,

and failing. Instead, obeying an instinct she barely understood, she had

found herself informing Mick that she'd changed her mind about the trip.

She'd hoped against hope that he loved her enough not to want to go

without her, but she'd been rudely disappointed.

Mick, she realised with shocked hurt, was not about to change his

mind—just his choice of travel ing companion. And the love she'd blithely

thought was hers for ever had proved a very transient affair instead. Within

days she'd been comprehensively replaced in his bed and affections.

But it had taught her a valuable lesson about men, she thought wryly, and

maybe it was better to be dumped in England than the middle of the Hindu

Kush. Since Mick, she'd had no serious involvement with anyone. And now

she'd been proposed to by George, who did not love her either. History, it

seemed, was repeating itself.

If I'm not careful, I shal get a complex, she told herself.

Looking back, however, she had no regrets about sacrificing her

independence. The job and the vil age might have their limitations, but she

was so thankful that she'd been there for her mother through the initial tests,

the hospital treatments, and subsequent brief remission. And through her

merciful y short filial illness. Even at the last Gina's warmth and optimism

had not deserted her, and Zoe had many memories to treasure in spite of

her sadness.

But the fact remained that she'd reached the end of a chapter in her life.

And she didn't see the rest of her life being devoted to Bishops Cross

col ege. She had the contents of the cottage, and a little money to come

from her mother's will as soon as it was proved. Maybe this was her chance

to move on, and make a new life for herself.

One thing was certain. Aunt Megan would not be sorry to see the back of

her.

How could two sisters be so total y unalike? she wondered sadly. True, her

aunt was the elder by twelve years, but there had never seemed to be any

sibling feeling between them.

'I think Megan liked being an only child,' Gina had explained ruefully when