How to Lose a Fiance

by Stefanie London

  “Strange. I wonder what caused that.”

  He stalked over and placed a hand on either side of her thighs, hemming her in. She continued to look smug as hell. “Do you usually sneak into people’s rooms at night?”

  “Technically, it was the morning.” She cocked her head. “You snore like a chainsaw, you know. Might want to get that checked out.”

  She was lying, the little minx. He could see it in her eyes. “The next time you decide to sneak in there, it won’t be to plant a fox.”

  “No? Do you think I’m suddenly going to be so overcome with desire that I can’t stop myself from coming to you in the middle of the night?”

  “I would say ‘coming with,’ but yeah, close enough.” He was being totally cocky and not at all serious, but it didn’t stop a surge of something primal through him. Okay, so maybe it was a little serious. Sophia was gorgeous and it had been a long time since he had anyone in his bed. Something told him they would be very compatible.

  One step at a time.

  Her cheeks flushed a delightful shade of rosy pink. “You’ve got a dirty mind, Mr. Kourakis.”

  “And a dirtier mouth.” He grinned when her nostrils flared, a flash of something a hell of a lot like excitement lighting up her eyes for a moment. “No fox given.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, now we’re starting with the fox puns, are we? I don’t think I’ll be able to take that for a whole week.”

  He stepped back and held out a hand, helping her down from the counter. Her flat sandals made a slight slapping sound when she landed. Damn. She was impossibly pretty.

  Pretty enough to hide a multitude of lies. Remember that.

  Okay, so he couldn’t trust her. But then again, she didn’t trust him…so at least they were on an even playing field.

  “Ready to start the day?” he asked, grabbing an apple from the bowl sitting atop his counter and biting into it. The sweet flesh hit his tongue, bursting with flavor.

  “Sure. Do I need to bring anything?”

  “Just your passport.”

  She blinked. “My passport?”

  “Uh-huh. It’s a requirement when one leaves a country,” he teased.

  “Where exactly are you taking me?”

  “Surprise.” He dabbed at a dribble of juice with the back of his hand. The entire time he’d been eating, her eyes were trained on his mouth.

  “But I haven’t packed.”

  “Are you really going to bring clown pants on vacation?” He raised a brow.

  “Well, no. But…” She had the decency to look a little sheepish. “The only normal outfit I brought with me was this dress that I wore on the plane on the way over.”

  “It’s no problem. Taken care of.” He turned to head out of the kitchen before she could protest. “Just grab your passport. And hurry up—the plane’s waiting.”

  Within the hour, they were in the air. Sophia had walked onto the plane, clutching her bag to her chest and looking more than a little awestruck. The Precision Investments private jet was a Gulfstream G150, which seated eight at maximum capacity, meaning the executive team could fit comfortably for flights to their annual strategy-planning retreat. Dion believed that at some point in life, a man’s success should reward him with the ability to avoid flying with the general public.

  Once the plane leveled at cruising altitude, two members of the on-call cabin crew came through with refreshments.

  “Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?” she asked, accepting a cup of coffee from the crew member. “I’ve never flown private before.”

  “You could have flown private on the way over,” he reminded her. Outside the plane, blue skies were decorated with puffs of wispy white cloud that whipped past as they sliced through the air. “I did offer.”

  “Wasn’t really fitting of my image.” She lifted a shoulder. “Besides, the last thing I needed was your staff telling you that I dressed normally on the flight.”

  He snorted. “You thought of everything, didn’t you?”

  “Not everything. Otherwise I wouldn’t be on this plane now.”

  He didn’t detect any malice in her voice. Did that mean she was actually giving him a chance this week? “You really want to ruin my surprise?”

  “I told you, I don’t like anticipation.” Her eyes skated over him, and something told him that Sophia needed a lesson in how anticipation could be the most incredible thing in the world.

  She looked at him differently now. Before, as her alter ego, her gaze had either been furtive or intentionally forceful. Both approaches meant to hide the real her. Now, when she looked at him, there was curiosity. Interest. Perhaps even a hint of attraction, though he imagined she would be doing her best to suppress it.

  “Paris.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Really?”

  “I worried it was a bit cliché, but I got the impression you hadn’t seen much of Europe before, and really, Europe is nothing without Paris.”

  “I’d only left America once before I came to meet you. I accompanied my father on a trip to Niagara Falls, and we crossed the border into Canada.” Her eyes darkened a moment. “I only got to see the inside of a casino.”

  “You went to Niagara Falls and didn’t see the falls?” He raised a brow.

  “It wasn’t a vacation.” Her lips pressed into a rigid line.

  “Well, this is a vacation. In fact…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his smartphone to switch it off. “It’s a vacation for both of us.”

  That wasn’t totally the truth. Running his own company meant there was no such thing as true time off. Invariably, something would require his attention. But he’d left everything in Nico’s capable hands, and he would simply log on in the middle of the night while Sophia slept. During her waking hours, he was hers.

  “I get the impression that doesn’t happen very often,” she said.

  “It doesn’t.”

  “Your business means a lot to you.”

  The statement took him by surprise. “It’s everything to me. To build what I have in such a short space of time takes incredible sacrifice. I know people see me as the charming guy, always hosting cocktail parties and working a room, but that’s work. All the dinners and the introductions and the conversations… It’s work.”

  That was the truth of it. Everything in his life—even, to some degree, his relationship with Elias—was work. He didn’t regret it at all. But it struck him then that if work suddenly vanished, he would have nothing, which was a far more sobering thought than he was prepared for.

  “When you grow up with no family, you tend to crave something to be part of.” He had no idea why he was telling her this. But it was like she’d yanked a stopper out of him, and the words flowed out before he could think about the consequences. “I never had control over my life growing up. I was at the mercy of the orphanage’s schedule and rules. I woke when they said to, I ate when they said to, and I went to bed when they said to.”

  “Doesn’t sound all that different from my life,” Sophia said softly. “I’ve never had control over anything.”

  And Dion was contributing to her feeling of helplessness. Guilt slashed through him, but he tamped the feeling down. Sophia would be able to do whatever she liked if they were married. He had no interest in tracking her every move or telling her what she could and couldn’t do.

  “Well, we have a week in Paris ahead of us. The itinerary is wide open. What do you want to do?”

  “Oh, I…well…everything.” The smile lit up her face better than if she’d been wrapped in fairy lights.

  “Then everything is what we will do.”

  …

  It was hard not to be swept up in the glamour of it all. Private plane. Skipping lines. A limo waiting at the front of Charles de Gaulle. They rounded the corner at Rue de Vaugirard and coasted by the Luxembourg Gardens. Sophia held her breath, palms pressed to the window as the buildings rolled slowly past. It was like everything she’d ev
er imagined—white buildings with quaint Juliet balconies and windows that poked out of the roof in a neat little row like tin soldiers. Was she really here? Or would she wake up when the sharp sting of her thumb and forefinger proved her imagination was, indeed, too active?

  The car pulled up in front of an apartment building overlooking the garden. “Welcome,” the driver said. “I will have your things taken up to the apartment. Your guest coordinator is upstairs, and we have a light afternoon snack prepared for you.”

  Sophia shook her head in wonderment. Unlike when she’d flown in the past, the private jet hadn’t left her feeling disheveled and tired. Probably because there’d been no snaking check-in lines and arduous security processes. No trudging along, trying to dodge other bustling travelers.

  Dion got out of the car and held the door for Sophia. Feeling every bit like the heroine of a romantic movie, she stepped out onto the street. It was way too easy to see herself strolling along the sidewalk, coffee in hand and a baguette sticking out of her bag, a handsome man on her arm.

  A handsome man, not this handsome man.

  “Shall we?” He held out his hand, and she took it, shutting down the disparaging voice in her head so for once in her damn life she could enjoy herself.

  The princess-related feelings only grew stronger. The building was pretty in that spectacular French way, but the apartment itself was something else. Modern and sleek, the white walls were broken by pieces of colorful artwork—paintings in shades of poppy red and lilac and soft blue. Another wall had a gallery of black-and-white photos in thin, brushed-gold frames. And the furniture was just as divine—two black leather Herman Miller Eames chairs faced the windows overlooking the garden. The only reason she even recognized the chairs was because her father had an imitation one that he told everybody was real.

  “Welcome to the sixth arrondissement.” A woman wearing a charcoal shift dress and black heels smiled warmly. Sophia adored her smooth French accent.

  “We’re very pleased to be here,” Dion said graciously.

  “Let me give you a quick tour. Outside through these windows are the Luxembourg Gardens. Unfortunately, the Notre Dame will not likely be open while you’re here due to the recent fire. But we’re walking distance from some other beautiful churches, such as Saint-Séverin and Saint-Étienne-du-Mont, as well as the Odéon-Théâtre, many museums, restaurants, and shops. We have a list of recommended dining locations personally selected for you.” The woman walked through the open-plan living area, past a chic black and silver galley-style kitchen to a small alcove with several sets of doors. “You have all three bedrooms at your disposal in case you would like to have any guests stay with you.”

  “It will only be the two of us,” Dion corrected her.

  The way he said it, his voice calm as a lake on a breezeless day, sent a ripple through her. It was almost like he’d been thinking about getting her alone. Having her alone…for an entire week. She swallowed and found her hand toying with the neckline of her dress. Had the room shot up several hundred degrees all of a sudden? It sure felt like it.

  “We have the master bedroom set up for you.” The woman led them into a large room with a huge king-size bed framed by shelves and shelves of books against an exposed-brick wall. Dion’s travel suitcase was sitting in the corner of the room. “We received your email yesterday, Mr. Kourakis. A selection of items in Ms. Andreou’s size have been placed into the main closet, along with matching accessories.”

  Rows of floaty dresses in a rainbow of shades hung neatly from thin gold hangers. One dress glittered with thousands of tiny champagne-colored beads and was trimmed with a layer of netting so fine it looked like a wisp of smoke. Beneath the dresses was a three-tiered shelf with an assortment of strappy sandals and elegant pumps.

  They were beautiful…but something about the dresses reminded her of home. Of her father’s insistence that she look the part at every turn. That she play a role for him.

  Sophia brushed her hands along the dresses, her breath catching in her throat.

  “If you have any questions at all, we have a concierge line for this apartment which is available at all hours.” The guest coordinator continued, “All the details are in the book on the coffee table. If you need any reservations made, transport, meals…anything, please don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Thank you.” Dion nodded.

  When they were left alone, Sophia found her mind swirling. Mixed emotions clattered around in her head—the thought of being here, alone, with Dion filled her with bristling energy and anticipation. But on the other hand, she didn’t want to keep being a doll to be dressed up by whatever man she was meant to be pleasing. Absently, she rubbed the hem of a vibrant cobalt blue silk dress between her finger and thumb. It caught the light, looking more like liquid than fabric.

  An illusion, just like her.

  “Surprise.” Dion leaned against the doorframe of the bedroom, watching her with a stance that appeared relaxed and eyes that were anything but.

  “I don’t even know what to say.”

  He chuckled. “You can say anything you like.”

  “A full wardrobe isn’t going to change my mind,” she said, looking over at him. “My father makes sure I have one of those at home.”

  His long legs were encased in a pair of dark denim jeans. The hem pulled up slightly to reveal a pair of striped socks beneath tan dress shoes, which matched the leather belt highlighting his trim waist. Further up, a white cotton shirt encased his muscular torso, which—thanks to their night in the pool—she knew to be perfectly sculpted. Perfectly hard and ridged and…

  Sophia swallowed.

  Don’t be fooled by good looks. You’re smarter than that.

  But knowing they would be here alone—no staff, no one to interrupt them—had sent off some kind of response in her body, a building sensation like the mounting of an idea that had her very, very excited. Too excited, considering nothing was going to happen. She would agree to Dion hospitality, and she would stick to her guns.

  Her fingers released the silk dress.

  “Why don’t we take a walk in the gardens?” he suggested. “I saw an ice cream cart out front.”

  Now that she could get on board with.

  “Give me a moment to get changed?”

  “Of course.” He nodded and backed out of the room. “No clown pants this time?”

  She laughed. “No clown pants, I promise.”

  As Dion winked and shut the door behind him, Sophia’s gaze rested on the expansive bed dominating the room. Both of their suitcases were here. Clearly the guest coordinator assumed they’d be sleeping together.

  Her body temperature shot up a few hundred more degrees at the mental image of tangled limbs and hard pressing lips and hands fisted in hair. Would it be so bad to indulge a little? What happens in Paris stays in Paris and all that.

  She immediately cast the thought out of her head. No, the only way she’d get out of this situation with her freedom intact was to make it clear to Dion Kourakis that while he might be good at persuading the rest of the world, he would not persuade her.

  At the end of the week, she’d remain strong in her desire to go back home unwed.

  Chapter Eleven

  The first two days of their trip had been a whirlwind—vising the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, Le Cinq, Sacré-Cœur. Champagne and pastries and baguettes and people watching. Dion couldn’t remember the last time he’d behaved like a tourist. In fact, he’d been to Paris four times in the last year, and not once had he set foot in a museum or a church or a gallery.

  Experiencing it all with Sophia was like opening his eyes to a new world. Seeing the joy and wonder that she saw. Feeling the excitement that she felt.

  They’d decided to take it slower on day three and had sat in a café for almost three hours over breakfast—drinking strong coffee, eating buttery croissants, and watching the world go by. On the way back to the apartment, they’d passed a quaint gift shop, and Sophia’
s eyes had lit up at the stack of puzzles in the window. So he’d gone inside and bought her one, laughing at the strange look the cashier had given him when he’d asked the man to stick a piece of paper over the picture on the cover.

  “You know, I thought the mystery-puzzle hobby was part of your act,” he said as they walked into the apartment and settled in at the large glass table. Sophia eagerly pulled the box out of the bag and opened it up. “Granted, it wasn’t quite as disturbing as the whole taxidermy thing.”

  “Relieved that you won’t have to go to the bathroom with a bird watching you?” Her eyes glinted mischievously.

  “You have no idea,” he said drily. “I much prefer the puzzles.”

  “My grandmother actually got me my first ‘mystery’ jigsaw,” she said, tipping the pieces all over the table. Dion stooped down to pick up one that had raced over the edge. “I would get bored during the summer break, and she wanted something to occupy me for a few hours that wasn’t television or video games. So she bought me a jigsaw, taped a piece of paper over the image on the front, and bet me that I couldn’t solve it.”

  Dion laughed. “Quickest way to fire up a bored kid is to give them a challenge.”

  “Well, it certainly worked. I was quiet all afternoon and evening, determined to prove her wrong.” Sophia’s dark eyes twinkled. “Then it became a routine. Every school break when I stayed with her, a new box would appear.”

  An automatic twinge of jealousy ricocheted through Dion. All he’d wanted as a boy was someone to do those things for him. Small acts of kindness that became tradition, something that could be carved out as a special memory and passed on as a way of preserving it forever.

  “What else did you learn from her?”

  “She taught me a lot of things, actually. I love baking because of her—not sweets, but bread. To me there’s nothing better than a fresh, crusty loaf of bread right out of the oven,” Sophia said. “And she taught me how to garden. She used to have a vegetable patch in her backyard, even though it was very small. There was barely any place to put your feet that wasn’t soil with vegetables growing in it. I grew up with dirt under my fingernails and bits of twig stuck in my hair and the juice of homegrown strawberries running down my chin.”