by Julia James
She ran from their attraction...
But can she resist the billionaire’s deal?
Dutiful heiress Talia Grantham shared one earth-shattering evening with sinful stranger Luke Xenakis, knowing that they could never be anything more. So she’s stunned when the enigmatic Greek returns, having bought her father’s business out from under him! Arrogant Luke offers Talia a job to save her family home... She can’t turn down the arrangement—or deny their inescapable, life-changing chemistry!
Escape with this intense revenge romance...
Luke’s eyes were still burning, blazing down at Talia. She stared at him, breathless, heart pounding, mouth bee-stung with the naked passion in his kiss, lips parting helplessly.
“Do you see, now, why I’ve been the way I have to you?” The hoarseness was still in his voice. “Because it was the only way—the only way!—to stop me doing what I’ve just done. It was my only protection—”
His hands fell away from her, and she swayed in their absence. Blood was pounding in her ears, racing in her veins. She was dazed—crazed.
He gave that harsh, humorless laugh again. “So tell me now to go—”
His voice changed, his stance changed. The darkness in his eyes changed.
“Or tell me to stay...”
Julia James lives in England and adores the peaceful verdant countryside and the wild shores of Cornwall. She also loves the Mediterranean—so rich in myth and history, with its sunbaked landscapes and olive groves, ancient ruins and azure seas. “The perfect setting for romance!” she says. “Rivaled only by the lush tropical heat of the Caribbean—palms swaying by a silver-sand beach lapped by turquoise waters... What more could lovers want?”
Books by Julia James
Harlequin Presents
Securing the Greek’s Legacy
The Forbidden Touch of Sanguardo
Captivated by the Greek
A Tycoon to Be Reckoned With
A Cinderella for the Greek
Tycoon’s Ring of Convenience
Billionaire’s Mediterranean Proposal
Secret Heirs of Billionaires
The Greek’s Secret Son
Mistress to Wife?
Claiming His Scandalous Love-Child
Carrying His Scandalous Heir
One Night With Consequences
Heiress’s Pregnancy Scandal
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
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Julia James
Irresistible Bargain with the Greek
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EPILOGUE
EXCERPT FROM REDEEMED BY HER INNOCENCE BY BELLA FRANCES
PROLOGUE
THE BEDROOM WAS still in shadow, the thick drapes masking the early dawn outside. On feet she could hardly drag forward Talia forced herself to the door. Every cell of her body screamed in silent protest, but she made herself do what she knew she had to do.
Leave.
Leave the man sleeping in the wide bed, the bare, lean-muscled torso that she had caressed in ecstasy exposed by the half-drawn cover.
Emotion stabbed her like a knife eviscerating her insides. To walk out on him—oh, dear God—to make herself walk out on the man who had swept her off her feet, who had taken her to a paradise she had never dreamt existed! The man who had offered her for such a pitifully few blissful hours the hope of something she had never known.
Escape—blissful, wondrous escape—from the prison in which she was trapped.
The prison to which she was returning now.
Because she could do nothing else.
As she turned the door handle as quietly as she could she could feel her phone vibrating yet again in her evening bag. It summoned her back home to the prison in which she had to live.
The knife twisted again. It mocked the wonders of the night she had just spent in this man’s arms—how he had taken one look at her and with that single look she had known she would do what she had never done in all her life: give herself fully and rapturously to him without hesitation or doubt.
She had let him sweep her away from the party, their eyes only for each other, glorying in the sensual desire that had consumed her, that she had never known before in all her life. More—oh, surely more than only physical passion!
Another twist of the knife stabbed yet more achingly. There had been a connection between them as tangible as their bodies entwining in blazing passion in the night—something that had drawn them to each other. An ease in conversation, a natural communication that had brought smiling laughter bubbling up in her, a warmth and closeness that had been more than the physical union of their bodies...
The final twist of the knife almost made her cry out with the pain of it as she silently eased the bedroom door open, unable to tear her eyes from the man she would never see again.
Could never see again.
And now the anguish flooded through her veins, drowning her. She could never do what they had so ecstatically talked of in the long, long reaches of the night.
‘Come with me!’ he had said, his eyes alight. ‘This night is only the start of what we shall have together! Come with me to the Caribbean—a thousand islands to explore! We’ll see them all! And every single one will be for us! Come with me...’
She heard his voice, warm and vibrant, ringing in her head.
‘Come with me!’
Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle the sob that rose in her throat. Impossible! It was impossible for her to go with him.
Impossible to do anything but what she was doing now.
Leaving him.
CHAPTER ONE
The previous evening
LUKE XENAKIS GLANCED up at the Victorian warehouse, converted now into highly fashionable loft apartments in the old London Docklands. He’d come here from the City, straight from that final meeting with his broker—the one that had taken him over ten long, punishing years to achieve. And now, at last—Thee mou!—at last he had done what he had set out to do.
Emotion speared through him, hard and vicious. Finally he was exerting his death-grip on his enemy’s throat.
A life for a life.
His ancestors would have had no hesitation in making that bitter truth a literal one. Luke’s mouth twisted as he entered the building. But in these more civilised days there had to be other ways to exert savage justice upon those who so deserved it. And now—tonight—that justice was finally being served upon his enemy.
Within twenty-four hours the man would be destroyed.
Wiped out financially. Ruined.
The twist in his mouth turned to a smile. A savage smile.
He headed up the echoing iron staircase to the topmost loft apartment, from which he could already hear the thump of pounding music, driving all other thoughts out of his head.
It was just what he wanted now.
The start of his new life...
* * *
Talia paused
in the entrance lobby to the loft apartment, hesitant suddenly. Should she really dive into the party inside? Then she rallied her nerve.
I need this.
Tonight, at least, for the space of a few hours she would lose herself. Forget the pressures of her life—pressures that were increasing all the time, it seemed.
She sighed inwardly. She knew why. Her poor mother’s nerves were more jagged than ever, and her father’s perpetually short temper was even shorter these last few months. Why, Talia had no idea, and she didn’t want to know. She spent all her energy trying to soothe her nervy mother and placate her tyrannical father so he would not turn on her mother.
It was wearying and stressful, but she had no option, she thought bitterly as she paused on the threshold of the party. No option but to go along with what her father wanted of her or it would be her mother who would pay the price of his vicious ill humour and displeasure.
So I have to go on being Natasha Grantham, ornamental daughter of the wildly successful property magnate Gerald Grantham, of Grantham Land. I have to be part of the image he puts out, along with his elegant, fashionable wife, his huge riverside mansion in the Thames Valley and this even more huge villa in Marbella. And the luxury apartments all over the world, the fleet of exorbitantly lavish cars, the yacht and the private jet. All of this so that others can envy his success and wealth and achievement.
It was all her father cared about—his success and his image. Certainly not about his wife and daughter.
The pitiful thing, Talia thought bleakly, was that whereas she was painfully aware of that bleak truth, her mother persisted in believing the fiction that he was devoted to them. She made endless excuses for him—the pressure of work, the demands of his business, he was doing it all for them. But Talia knew that her father was devoted only to one person and one cause: himself.
She and her mother were merely possessions—props to make him look good. Her mother, Maxine, was expected to be a glittering society hostess, and she was to be the decorative dutiful daughter, working for him as his interior designer, overseeing the refurbishment of his property purchases as he directed, and available on demand for the endless social functions he required her to attend. In exchange she was allowed to live rent-free in one of his many London flats, with an allowance to cover her wardrobe expenses.
Talia’s eyes shadowed again. The world saw her as a pampered princess, her daddy’s darling—but the reality was brutally different. She was a pawn in the ruthless power game at which her father excelled as he controlled every aspect of her life with an iron fist.
To get any time away from his demands was precious to her. Like tonight. On an impulse that was quite unlike her, she’d taken up a casually worded invitation from someone she knew in the world of interior design to come to this party. It was not her usual scene at all. Typically, on the rare nights she had to herself, she stayed in, or occasionally went to a concert or the theatre, either on her own or with a girlfriend.
Never with a man.
She never dated. Only once had she indulged in an affair, in her early twenties, but her father had ruthlessly used his influence to ruin the young man’s career, and then told Talia what he had done. She had learnt her lesson.
Now, at twenty-six, it was hard to accept that she could never indulge in a relationship of her own choosing. All around her partygoers were mingling with each other, dancing, flirting, hooking up. Restlessness filled her.
How long can I endure my life as it is?
Never had the gilded cage she lived in seemed more unbearable. Never had she felt so trapped, so stifled. Never had she felt more desperate to escape.
And tonight, dear God, she would escape it. She would immerse herself in the party and dance the night away. Her mother was at the Thames-side mansion, her father abroad—probably with one of his mistresses.
The longer he was away the better!
She took a breath, plunging forward. Through the crush she could see, way across the huge room, beneath the iron girder rafters of the loft apartment and the steel columns dividing up the space, an area that had been set up as a bar.
As she made her way towards it, squeezing past people, she could feel male eyes on her. It was a familiar feeling—all her life she’d known that her glorious chestnut hair, tawny eyes, fine-boned features and flawless skin were part and parcel of the image her father wanted her to present to the world, reflecting well on himself for having a beautiful ornamental daughter to show off.
Usually she dressed at his diktat, in suits and dresses that were too fussy for her own taste. But tonight she was defying his rules. She gave her head a little shake, feeling her long hair, loosened from its customary upswept style, snaking lushly down over her bare back, framing her face. She’d used more make-up than she usually did, accentuating her eyes, her cheekbones, her rich red mouth.
The strapless dark burgundy dress she was wearing—shorter than she typically wore, and far more figure-hugging—had been an impulse purchase that afternoon, bought from a second-hand designer boutique she favoured because it helped her spend less of her allowance than her father realised, and little by little she could squirrel away some funds into a personal bank account he could not monitor. Just in case one day she could make a break for freedom...
She yanked her mind from that tantalising, though as yet hopeless dream, and focussed on reaching the bar. She could feel her hips sway as she stalked forward on vertiginous five-inch heels. Reaching the bar, she paused, resting her lavishly braceleted wrists on the downlit surface. She wanted a drink. Not to get drunk, but simply to signal to herself that tonight she was going to please herself. Let go a little. Lighten the endless crushing pressure of her life.
Live a little for herself, just for once.
‘White wine spritzer, please,’ she said, and smiled at the barman.
‘And a sloe gin for me, please, while you’re at it.’
The voice that had spoken behind her was deep and very slightly accented. She found herself half turning—and then stilled.
The man standing there was tall—easily six foot plus—and without her volition Talia felt her eyes widening in raw, female appreciation. It was an instinctive, visceral response to what she was seeing.
Dark hair, dark eyes, tough jaw, a blade of a nose and a sculpted mouth, wide shoulders, a broad chest, narrow hips, and long, long legs...
The man’s gaze flicked from the barman to her, and an even more visceral reaction swept through her. In the assessing sweep of his eyes she saw instantly—felt tangibly—that he liked what he was seeing and was making no attempt to hide it. He let his dark gold-flecked eyes rest on her almost with a sense of entitlement, and she felt an answering quiver go through her that was shocking in its intensity.
It was as if he knew she would welcome his blatant approval of her appearance. As if he knew she would return it. As if he had no idea that she was Gerald Grantham’s daughter, who was never free to follow her own impulses, whatever they might be. Whatever a man like this might incite in her...
She felt a strange quiver go through her, a flush of heat rush up her body—of which she had become suddenly, vividly aware beneath his dark assessing gaze. She was conscious of the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the expanse of shoulders and throat exposed to his gaze and the wanton fall of lush hair down her naked back...
She felt her breath catch—half in shock at her own uncontrollable reaction, half in unstoppable response to the way this man was looking at her. She knew her pupils were dilating as part of her instant, overpowering reaction to his physical appeal, and there was nothing she could do to disguise it.
What is happening?
The words seared across her consciousness. This was like nothing she had ever experienced! Not even with the one lover she had ever had.
She saw him complete his appraising sweep of her, and then he was rea
ching out a hand to close it around the ice-dewed tumbler being set down for him on the bar, raising it to his mouth in a leisurely fashion.
‘To a suddenly more interesting evening,’ he said, and tilted the tumbler at her.
The dark glint in his eye revealed his intentions and the tug at his mouth showed satisfaction.
For a second Talia felt something clench inside her—a kind of hollowing out that went right to the core of her and made it impossible for her to break the dark, binding hold of his eyes.
Oh, God, what has he done to make me react like this?
With a final effort she schooled her expression and, making no reply—which would have been impossible anyway, struck as she was with sudden breathlessness—reached for her wine glass, which was also now on the bar. Did her lifting of the glass make her hand tremble slightly? Or was it the after-effect of that assessing perusal?
She took a mouthful of her spritzer—a larger gulp than she’d intended. But she felt she needed it. Badly.
She realised the man was holding out his free hand towards her. He was wearing dark trousers and a white, deceptively simple shirt that she could tell was expensively tailored. It was open-necked, the cuffs turned back, exposing tanned, sinewy wrists, and he was sporting a watch she recognised as a luxury brand. Even the kind of people who frequented flashy, fashionable parties like this could not easily afford such a custom-made timepiece.
The dark eyes were resting on her still. The glint was gone, and now there was only speculation in his gaze.
‘Luke,’ he said, his hand still extended.
He was clearly waiting for her to respond in kind. And he seemed to have every confidence that she would.
As if of its own volition, she felt her hand take his. Felt the coolness of his fingers, the strength in them. A door seemed to be opening—a door that beckoned enticingly, alluringly.
‘Talia.’ She smiled.
Quite deliberately she used the name she had adopted as her own. Her father always called her Natasha, in place of her given name, Natalia, which was preferred by her mother. But ‘Talia’ was neither her father’s dutiful imprisoned daughter nor her mother’s protective guardian. ‘Talia’ was herself—and tonight...oh, tonight, on this brief, rare opportunity to be herself, it seemed fitting.
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