by Maya Blake
Her scent arrived first, whispering seductively through the late-afternoon air to wrap its mingled lilac and Nag Champa tendrils around his senses. That scent had triggered a primal reaction in him the first time he’d inhaled it, and he’d had an uncharacteristic urge to discover exactly what his assistant dabbed on her skin before coming to work. A curiosity that had led to him discovering the name of her perfume and investigating the ingredients. Somehow Christos knew he would never smell Nag Champa without associating it with Alexis Sutton.
‘You’re back,’ came her voice. He latched onto her unique blend of sultriness and firmness that evoked far too vivid thoughts of erotic intimacy. Thoughts that should’ve had no place here and now perhaps, but anything was better than thinking about his grandfather’s state of health. About how hard he’d have to fight if the stubborn old fool refused to heed his doctor’s advice.
So he pivoted to face her. And received another bolt of unwelcome sensation.
She was dressed in a thigh-skimming floral sundress, its short wispy sleeves leaving her arms bare. Unbidden, his gaze wandered down, his gut tightening as he took in her long, beautiful bare legs and pedicured feet. Further images pushed through his resistance, of those stunning legs wrapped around his waist, their grip exquisitely intimate, promising the kind of raw passion he’d found elusive in his lovers long before he’d closed his electronic black book. Dragging his gaze upward in a wild bid to overcome the heat climbing up his body and its reaction behind his fly, he bit back a curse when he found her twirling her damp, unbound hair into a rope. She’d taken a shower, stood naked beneath his shower jets and washed that sexy body in his bathroom while he’d been out.
Realising he was in extreme danger of putting his burgeoning erection on show, he dragged his mind from the bathroom to the living room.
He wondered how long she’d been standing there. Wondered what those far too perceptive eyes had seen. ‘You have news.’ It wasn’t a question. And for a fraction of a second he wanted to be annoyed. But then wasn’t this the exact trait he’d valued in her above all else? The reason his professional life ran much smoother now than it had in the years before her, when he’d suddenly seemed to attract seemingly intelligent assistants who nevertheless began to see him as a meal ticket almost as soon as they sat behind their desk?
A means to an end. That was all he’d ever been to the people who should’ve had his welfare at heart. And in a roundabout way, wasn’t that what Alexis had extracted from him too?
Perhaps he was being disingenuous. After all, wasn’t it he who’d proposed this situation? But then she hadn’t exactly rejected the idea. She’d found a way to make the situation work for her. So was he really scraping the barrel to find fault with the very thing he’d orchestrated? And for a commendable goal, no less?
What was wrong with being wanted for himself, for once, with no strings attached? He sucked in a breath as the unwanted answer arrived. The only thing she’d demanded was help for her children’s care home. And he...selfishly wanted that sort of care and consideration for himself.
Thee mou, was he that much of a monster? He allowed the sourness in his chest to expand. He was the recent recipient of bad news. He had a right to handle it whatever way he saw fit.
So he poured himself another drink, took a sip before he answered. And as he did, a curious little notion thrust itself into his thoughts. This was why he’d come here. Because he’d known she would ask about his grandfather. That he’d answer, and, in so doing, perhaps ease the burden of having to carry this alone.
Because that was their pattern, wasn’t it? Over the years, she’d toss out questions about cases he was working on, seemingly under the guise of offhand conversation. He would answer. And before long, the conundrum would unravel itself as she waltzed out of his office, her curvy hips swinging and those long legs he was having trouble dragging his gaze from making his blood heat.
He pursed his lips, unwilling to admit to himself that she’d become...vital. That made him dependent. Dependence led to nothing but disappointment. His father had hammered that reality home time and again. And his mother, after years of being beaten down, had given up entirely, leaving a young and helpless Christos to fend for himself.
‘A heart condition,’ he bit out, the need to get the words out chafing his skin. ‘Any strain could lead to his condition worsening.’
Concern clouded her face. ‘Shouldn’t he be in hospital seeking treatment?’
His throat tightened, strangling the words. ‘The only treatment is an operation. Which he’s refusing, apparently.’
‘But...can’t you do anything?’
The very question he’d posed to his grandfather’s doctor. ‘I can’t force him. As long as he’s kept calm the decline will be slow.’
She advanced further into the room, her hand dropping from her hair after pushing the heavy, silky mass from her face. Now that he’d seen her hair loose, he was at risk of becoming absorbed with the way the chestnut waves gleamed in the sunlight.
‘But he won’t get better either, so what can you do?’
‘He instructed his doctor to tell me that under no circumstances was I to attempt to sway him into seeking further medical help. He’s taking his condition under advisement...until after his birthday, which is in two weeks.’
‘What? But that’s...emotional blackmail.’
A smile twisted his lips. ‘Of sorts, yes.’
‘What options do you have?’
‘None. It looks like Costas has won this round. Until he can be convinced otherwise, he’s very much in charge.’
Christos watched her eyes widen. She knew him well enough to know he didn’t like operating under another’s thumb.
He rotated tense shoulders. ‘I need a shower. Then I need to talk to my grandfather.’ It wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to having but then, when had any conversation with his family been easy? He could count on the fingers of one hand the moments of joy in his life. Most of them had happened while he was alone. All of them were tied to this island. A part of him he wasn’t willing to deny any more accepted that this was why he wanted Drakonisos so badly.
Alexis nodded. Then, for the first time since she’d walked in, she looked...hesitant. As if she wanted to offer an opinion. Or an empathetic shoulder to cry on.
Christos knew which option he wanted. He wanted to forget the last forty minutes. Wanted to turn back time. To the plane? No, to that moment in his penthouse two months ago. On his sofa. That hadn’t been a solitary moment. That had been an intense pleasure they’d shared. And it had felt...very good indeed.
‘Can I do anything?’ she said eventually, and he was hit with acute disappointment. Because he would’ve liked her to offer comfort of a different sort.
Aware he was reverting to his baser instincts, once more, he prowled forward. ‘You know your way around, ne? If not, I’m sure the staff will point you in the right direction. I’ll find you when I’m done.’
He walked past her. Past the evocative scent lingering on her skin. Those alluring eyes trailing after him. And even as he undressed and stepped beneath the shower, he couldn’t dispel her image from his mind. The image of the lips he wanted to drown in, so he could forget his grandfather’s mortality hung in the balance.
Tight-jawed after several minutes of failing to bring himself under control, he twisted the shower knob to cold, then solemnly accepted his punishment.
* * *
His grandfather, most likely alerted to Christos’s conversation with his doctor, was waiting for him. And the first salvo Costas delivered sent him reeling.
‘I’m sorry, can you repeat that?’ Christos asked in shock.
‘You’re not deaf. You’ve known of my desire to see you married with a family of your own since you were a child, Christos. You have until the party to convince me that you’re not trying to deceive me wi
th this so-called marriage of yours, or I’ll hand over Drakonisos to your cousin. He’s already got a family, after all.’
Thought of a possible double loss of his grandfather and his beloved island drove a cold sweat down his spine but he refused to cower. ‘Perhaps I should let you and then simply buy it off Georgios,’ he countered.
‘You can try. You won’t succeed. Contingencies are written into my will.’
‘Why are you doing this to me, Pappous?’
His grandfather’s lips twisted. ‘You forget that I was married for over half a century. I know what lust looks like, Christos.’
‘So you want me to prove myself to you by pawing my wife in front of you?’ As distasteful as the words sounded, he couldn’t stop the sliver of red-hot desire that slithered through him. And as much as he wanted to despise himself for it, he couldn’t quite summon the outrage.
His grandfather grimaced. ‘I’m not that crass, Christos. But you didn’t deny that you’re living apart. And you dancing around each other only supports my impression that all this is just a production put on to placate me. I’m simply giving you an opportunity to prove me wrong.’
Christos knew that to argue with his grandfather—the man who knew him better than any other living soul—would be useless.
His only solution was to step up to the plate and deliver.
That traitorous sliver grew into a solid vein, pulsing with excitement and...anticipation.
* * *
‘Where are we going?’
Christos took her hand in his—because if there were spies in England reporting his activities back to Costas, then there were spies in his grandfather’s household—and led her into the living room. ‘Costas is determined this party is going ahead.’
She frowned. ‘You couldn’t talk him out of it?’
‘Since I don’t relish banging my head against a brick wall, I didn’t even try.’
‘Okay...’ Her hand trembled within his and her gaze dropped to the fingers he was slowly—unbeknownst to him—meshing with his.
‘First things first, we need to prepare you for the party.’
She frowned. ‘Prepare me?’
He nodded to the large TV screen. ‘There are three stylists at your disposal. Choose what you need, no expense spared.’
‘I have my own clothes, Christos.’
‘As my assistant, you have a clothing allowance. Why should this be any different as my wife?’
Shadows crossed her eyes, gone before he could work out which expression they’d projected. A minute later, her pursed-lipped smile was contained, her nod diplomatic as she settled down on the sofa, crossed her long shapely legs and stared coolly back at him. ‘Okay, let’s get on with it, then,’ she said.
Again that image of her in the plane returned, more forceful than before. He banished it before it could take control of his blood again, sending it streaming south. He pressed the remote and the first designer appeared on the screen.
He let the effusive greetings wash over him while he watched Alexis. His reference to work hadn’t quite pleased her. Why? Because she wasn’t averse to making this...personal? He shifted in his seat, the pervasive heat in his groin determined to make its presence felt despite his iron control.
Focusing his attention on the screen, he cut across the greetings. ‘This isn’t about me, Agatha. Save your enthusiasm for Alexis. She’s the one in need of your services.’
He saw Alexis’s eyes widen a touch before she regained control. ‘I prefer simple lines in evening gowns,’ she said, her voice a touch husky.
Agatha, after a moment of frank appraisal, nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’ She clicked her fingers to someone off-screen and a clothes rail appeared beside her. ‘I have several here for you. Is the event black tie?’
Alexis glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. He shook his head, settled deeper into his seat and, to his eternal surprise, didn’t die of boredom as the designer began displaying gown after gown for her inspection.
What he did do was observe Alexis, perhaps more keenly than he’d ever done before. And during that scrutiny, he was reminded that he didn’t know much about her, save for her curious need to save a certain orphanage, the rumours about her entanglement with her previous boss and the fact that his assistant was currently single.
His wife.
For the duration of their time on Drakonisos, he needed to stop thinking of Alexis as his executive assistant and more as his wife. After all, if he was putting distance between himself and that truth, so would others.
He returned his attention to the clothing audition, saw the gown Agatha held. ‘My wife will take that one. Add it to the pile,’ he said of a turquoise gown that he was certain would look exquisite against her flawless skin.
On screen, Agatha gaped in surprise. Beside him, Alexis’s breath caught.
He reclaimed her hand, meshing his fingers through hers. ‘Do you like it?’ he asked, voice pitched low as he nodded at the gown.
Eyes wide and a touch guarded, Alexis nodded. ‘It’s beautiful. I was about to add it to the collection.’
He raised their joint hands, brushed his lips over her knuckles. Felt a shiver unravel through her. ‘Good. Keep going,’ he instructed, settling back with her hand on his thigh.
‘I...um...can I see that peach one?’
Christos curbed a smile, the wicked thought that he’d come within striking distance of ruffling Alexis’s feathers pleasing him. When she attempted to extract her fingers surreptitiously a minute later, he tightened his grip.
Eight gowns later, Agatha was dispatched with instructions to courier them to Drakonisos and he was dialling the next designer. Marlene was equally effusive, just as predictably stunned when he addressed Alexis as his wife.
While he hadn’t purposefully hidden his marriage from the world, his notorious need for privacy had made tabloid journalists give up on unearthing gossip about him a long time ago. It seemed he’d done too good a job if no one in his native Greece knew he was no longer single.
Twelve gowns later, Alexis determinedly pulled her fingers from his. Reluctantly, he let go. ‘I think I have enough to be getting on with.’
‘Of course, Mrs Drakakis. And may I offer my congratulations again on your marriage?’ Marlene said.
Alexis gave a stiff nod. ‘Thank you.’
Christos was busy absorbing the primitive possessiveness mushrooming through his system at hearing her addressed as Mrs Drakakis when Alexis clicked off the screen and turned to him. ‘What are you doing?’
The arm he’d thrown over the back of the seat rested inches from her shoulder, his fingers brushing her silky hair. Unable to resist, he let the strands caress the back of his hand, mildly stunned by the sudden pulse of arousal on recalling how it had felt to bury his fingers in that glorious chestnut mass. ‘Marlene is a rabid gossip. News of our marriage will be all over Athens before the hour is out. Since Georgios has been busier than I thought, we have a lot of ground to make up.’
Her lower lip disappeared between her teeth, sparking further fireworks in his blood. ‘You know her well enough to trust her to be your carrier pigeon?’
He shrugged. ‘We’ve crossed paths a few times.’
Her nostrils fluttered and her lashes swept down. ‘Do I want to know?’
‘Not if I want to tarnish my image as the soul of discretion. But I’m pleased you’re jealous,’ he teased.
She scowled. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not jealous. I meant do I want to know in case I have to...in case we cross paths?’
It felt like the most natural thing in the world to brush his fingers over her hot cheek. To watch her eyes turn liquid, hear her breath become a little jagged. A perfect reaction for anyone who might be watching. Regardless, the push and pull of it, the fact that Alexis wasn’t falling eagerly into his arms like every woman he’
d known since reaching sexual maturity, was a unique experience he was growing addicted to. ‘You look a little...hot, glykia mou. Perhaps a swim before we get ready for dinner?’ he asked.
She frowned. ‘What’s going on, Christos? You’re acting...different.’
He shrugged. ‘Perhaps it’s the island air.’
When her gaze remained sceptical, his gut tightened. After several moments, she nodded. ‘A swim would be nice.’
He chose the larger of the two pools at the villa because it was overlooked by his grandfather’s suite. Or so he told himself twenty minutes later when they stopped beside twin loungers and he took her hand and lifted it to his lips.
He tightened his grip when she attempted to pull away. ‘Stop. Costas is watching.’
She stilled, then swallowed. ‘That doesn’t mean you...that we have to—’
He stopped her words by passing a thumb over her lips. ‘On the contrary, yineka mou, it means exactly that.’
‘Christos—’
‘I like the breathy way you say my name. I’m almost convinced you want to kiss me just as much as I want to kiss you.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
* * *
A smile slashed his face, but Alexis noticed the slight tension around the edges. For some reason, it made her shiver in anticipation. He clearly felt it course through her, his eyes darkening in direct response.
Then every single word of protest locked in her throat as he slowly tilted her face up, as his fierce gaze combed her face, lingering with blatant sensuality on her lips. Lips that tingled with every second he held them both in suspense. In the far recesses of her mind, she knew this was just for show. But, sweet heaven, her every reaction felt real, right down to the sharp sting in her nipples, the hot need burning between her thighs. That essential urge to raise her hands, place them on his warm, virile skin, experience the sleek movement of his hard-packed muscles.
