by Lynne Graham
Lynne Graham
THE PETRAKOS BRIDE
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
PROLOGUE
SURROUNDED by fawning celebrity guests and reverential relations at his engagement party, Giannis Petrakos felt as claustrophobic as a lion in a circus ring. His great-grandmother was beckoning him. The old lady was famous for her forthright opinions, and he guessed that she was eager to tell him what she thought of his fiancée. Grim amusement assailed Giannis; as one of the richest men in the world, he had learned to prize the sheer rarity value of such honesty.
Tiny in stature, Dorkas Petrakos settled snapping black eyes on her darkly handsome great-grandson as he towered over her. ‘Krista is a very beautiful young woman. Every man here envies you.’
Giannis inclined his arrogant dark head in acknowledgement of the obvious, and waited for the axe to fall.
‘But what sort of mother will she make for your children?’ Dorkas enquired.
Giannis almost winced, for neither he nor Krista was ready to settle down to that extent. It had never occurred to him to consider his fiancée in the light of her maternal instincts. Perhaps in a few years they would have a child. But if that did not happen Giannis was prepared to choose a suitable successor to inherit his power and fortune from his extensive array of relatives. When it came to reproduction he had not a sentimental bone in his body.
‘You think that doesn’t matter. You think I’m out of date and out of touch,’ the old lady opined, with a hint of aggression. ‘But Krista is vain and selfish.’
His stubborn jawline tensed; such strong censure of his chosen bride was unwelcome. It struck him as unfortunate that just at that moment Krista should once again be visibly revelling in being the centre of attention. His fiancée could not pass a mirror or a camera without striking a pose. Blessed with turquoise eyes and white-blonde hair, Krista, with her stunning beauty, had attracted notice from the instant that she’d strolled into the public eye as a teenager. Heiress to the Spyridou electronics empire, and the only child of doting parents, Krista had been indulged from birth. How could his great-grandmother possibly understand her?
No two women could have had less in common. Born the daughter of a fisherman, Dorkas had grown up in grinding poverty and had held fast to her unpretentious values. Her refusal to conform to the ever more snobbish standards of her descendants and her blunt tongue had ensured that she was widely regarded by them as a social embarrassment. But there had always been a special bond between Dorkas and Giannis, formed most unexpectedly when he’d been a wildly rebellious teenager bent on self-destruction.
‘You say nothing. But if you lost all your money and your fine houses and cars and aeroplanes tomorrow, would Krista still be by your side?’ the old lady asked him drily. ‘I think she’d run so fast you couldn’t catch her!’
As he rose to leave his great-grandmother Giannis almost laughed out loud, for in such a scenario Krista would only be a burden, awash with self-pity and recrimination. She was, undeniably, the product of her rarefied luxury environment. Did Dorkas truly believe that it was possible for him to find a woman impervious to the draw of his fabulous wealth? But the implication that Krista, however affluent in her own right, had an eye to the main chance touched his ego like the sting of a tiny needle sliding below the skin.
With a nod to his security chief, Nemos, to protect his privacy, Giannis strolled out on to the roof terrace. He enjoyed the fresh air while he questioned the bleak edge that had overtaken his mood. After all, he had no doubts about marrying Krista Spyridou. How could he have? Everyone regarded her as the perfect match for him. She had a classy pedigree and she was a terrific hostess. They belonged to the same exclusive world and she understood the rules. No matter what happened there would not be a divorce. In that way the Petrakos power-base of wealth and influence would be protected for another generation.
Yet Giannis did not forget that at nineteen years old, to the horror of his family and hers, he had dated Krista Spyridou and dumped her. The most beautiful girl in the world, he had discovered, seemed to have little else to offer. Indeed, he had decided that she was as cold as charity in bed—and out of it.
‘Please don’t wreck my hair…’ That had been a favourite refrain.
‘I really, really need my beauty sleep…’
‘If you must…’
‘I hate getting sweaty…’
Krista would never set his bedsheets on fire with enthusiasm, Giannis reflected wryly. Her lack of passion had been a deal-breaker when he was an idealistic teenager, powered by Dorkas’s assurance that his perfect woman was out there, just waiting for him to find her. Well, nobody could say he hadn’t looked. In fact, Giannis had packed in more than a decade of riotous womanising before reaching certain cynical and unapologetically selfish conclusions: his perfect woman did not exist. Also, he now saw Krista’s flaws as positives that would ensure his marriage made the minimum possible impact on his lifestyle.
He was used to doing exactly as he liked when he liked. Marriage to Krista wouldn’t change that; she would not cling or inflict unreasonable expectations on him, nor would she throw screaming tantrums demanding attention, love or fidelity. She would never care enough to do so. And what better wife could be found for a workaholic male who thrived on the high-powered pressure of business than a wife happy for him to keep his sexual options open? Krista would be much too busy pampering and clothing her perfect body to feel neglected by her billionaire husband.
As soon as Giannis rejoined the party Krista sped to his side, to beg him to share another photo opportunity. Not an ounce of his impatience showed on his lean, aristocratic face. Although he detested publicity, he was prepared to allow her her way at their engagement celebration.
Relieved by his lack of objection, Krista tucked a hand over his arm and became chatty. ‘Is that horrid old crone in the corner from your tribe or mine?’ she asked with a giggle.
Giannis glanced across the exquisitely furnished room and his eyes stilled on the little old lady dressed in unrelieved black and sitting erect. Horrid old crone? As Dorkas seldom left the island of Libos she was rarely recognised outside the family circle. His brilliant but semi-veiled dark eyes flashed smouldering gold.
‘Why?’
‘She actually asked me if I could cook. Hello!’ Krista rolled her eyes with the supreme scorn of a young woman accustomed to being waited on hand and foot. ‘Then she asked if I would be waiting for you when you got back from the office! As if…’ she mocked. ‘Someone should’ve left that old biddy at home. She embarrassed me. I do hope she won’t be at our wedding.’
‘If she isn’t, I won’t be either.’ His response was smooth as silk.
Giannis watched his fiancée take a few seconds to comprehend what he was telling her. Shaken, Krista gave him an appalled look. Her long manicured nails dug into his sleeve in a panic before he could walk away. ‘Giannis, I—’
‘That old lady is my great-grandmother, and worthy of your deepest respect,’ Giannis delivered with cold emphasis.
Aghast at having offended him, Krista grovelled. To the list of her flaws he added the sins of vulgarity and insincerity.
CHAPTER ONE
IN THE best of moods, and read
y for her second day temping at Petrakos Industries, Maddie bounced on to the bathroom scales and stilled to look hopefully down at the gauge. She winced at the reading. Possibly it hadn’t been a good idea to jump on them. She got off again. Shedding her nightdress and her watch, she reset the weighing machine and stepped on as lightly as possible. Disappointingly, the weight was identical.
‘You can’t keep body and soul together on that salad stuff,’ old Mrs Evans who lived on the ground floor had opined, when Maddie had joined her and her daughter for a delicious three-course Sunday lunch, complete with all the trimmings, just a couple of days earlier.
Perhaps the ‘salad stuff’ would have been safer? Or possibly the bar of chocolate she had eaten on the way home from the supermarket the night before had been an over-indulgence too far? Could extra weight go on that fast? In truth, the long hours she worked just to pay the rent raised her healthy appetite to starvation proportions, and she still did not earn enough to eat well. Her despondent green eyes travelled across the expanse of her full-breasted, generous-hipped reflection. Generous mouth tightening, she looped impatient fingers through her torrent of long red hair, then anchored it back with a clip and got dressed at speed.
The black jeans and white blouse had a closer fit than she liked over her opulent curves, and she frowned. When a fire had broken out at her last address she had lost almost everything she possessed. Although she was trying to build up a new wardrobe by buying from charity shops, it wasn’t easy on a low income. As she turned away from the mirror her attention fell on the photo of her late sister by her bed, and she scolded herself for being so precious about her appearance when she was lucky to have her health.
‘Look on the bright side,’ had been her grandmother’s most constant refrain while she was growing up.
‘Every cloud has a silver lining,’ her grandfather had often chipped in with determination.
Yet Maddie and her grandparents had known a lot of heartbreak in their lives. Suzy, Maddie’s beloved twin, had been diagnosed with leukaemia soon after the girls’ eighth birthday. The stress of coping with Suzy’s illness had destroyed their parents’ marriage. Their paternal grandparents had taken charge, supporting Suzy through her gruelling treatment, her period of remission, and finally the last stages of her life. And ultimately it had been Suzy’s fierce determination to get the most out of the time she’d had left that had taught Maddie the importance of hanging on to a cheerful outlook.
As she waited at the bus stop Maddie was struggling to subdue a juvenile tingle of excitement while she wondered if this would be the day she caught a glimpse of the legendary Giannis Petrakos again. Honestly, when she thought about him she felt more like a schoolgirl than a twenty-three-year-old grown-up! It was embarrassing to recall that she had once cherished a newspaper photo of the startlingly handsome Greek shipping tycoon. But she had been a teenager, and she’d developed a hopeless crush on him.
Petrakos Industries was a towering contemporary office block in the City of London. Maddie had never worked anywhere quite so imposing before, and the standards demanded of the staff were equally high. Even though she was only a temp, and generally entrusted with only menial tasks, her lack of qualifications had produced frowns on her first day. As always, she tried to compensate by being very hardworking and enthusiastic. She would have done just about anything to get a permanent job with such a company, because a decent salary would make a big difference to her life.
‘Another five hundred jobs are being moved to Eastern Europe to cut costs,’ a female voice lamented outside the room where Maddie was engaged in inputting onto a computer database. ‘The press will go mental over it—’
‘Petrakos Industries is in the top three most successful companies in the world,’ male tones chipped in reprovingly. ‘Giannis Petrakos may be a ruthless bastard, but he’s invincible in business. Don’t forget that his shark-like instincts are likely to deliver us an even bigger bonus this year.’
‘Do you ever think about anything other than money?’ the woman censured. ‘Petrakos is a super-wealthy guy with about as much human emotion as a piece of granite.’
Maddie was tempted to go to the door and protest that point. But in her guise as an unwilling eavesdropper she knew she could scarcely do so. What was more, while she might long to sing Giannis Petrakos’s praises, it was certainly not her place to talk about his private endeavours. Suppressing a sigh, she returned her attention to the database.
After lunch she and her agency co-worker, Stacy, were sent to the top floor to help out. A brunette manager called Annabel told Stacy that she would be serving refreshments at an afternoon meeting.
‘I’m a temp, not a waitress!’ Stacy declared pugnaciously.
‘Your role as a temp is to do as you are asked,’ Annabel retorted crisply. ‘Petrakos Industries requires a high degree of flexibility from all employees—’
‘I’m not an employee…I’m a temp—and I don’t serve the tea—’
‘Not to worry,’ Maddie slotted in hastily, keen to bring the battle to an end before Stacy argued both of them out of a job. ‘I’ll do it.’
In receipt of that offer, Annabel defrosted only marginally, and angled a pointed look of disapproval at Maddie’s jeans. ‘The company dress code doesn’t allow jeans, but I suppose you’ll have to do.’
‘You should’ve slapped that madam down hard for being so cheeky about your clothes,’ Stacy opined the minute the two girls were alone. ‘You’re doing her a favour.’
Maddie grimaced. ‘It was a fair comment. But with my skirt in the wash I only have jeans left to wear.’
‘I bet she’s just jealous of your looks,’ Stacy contended with scorn. ‘Those men walking out of the lift couldn’t take their eyes off you, and she didn’t like it.’
Maddie went red with embarrassment. ‘I think she was just uptight about the meeting.’
‘You should make the most out of what you’ve got,’ Stacy told her impatiently. ‘With your face and body, I’d be coining it in as a glamour model or a lap dancer.’
Inwardly cringing at the concept of that amount of naked exposure, Maddie said nothing. Sometimes she thought she had been born into the wrong body, for she was very uncomfortable with the masculine notice awakened by her hourglass curves.
As she crouched down to remove a china tea-set from the cupboard where it was stored, Annabel thrust wide the door to issue further instructions. ‘Mr Petrakos will be present at the meeting. When you enter the boardroom, serve the refreshments quietly and quickly.’
Striding past in advance of his personal staff, Giannis caught a glimpse of the redhead just before the boardroom kitchen door flipped shut on her. In that split second a razor-sharp image of her imprinted itself on his brain: bright hair that gleamed like beaten copper and gold against her pale alabaster skin and fell in splendour halfway down her spine; the luscious pout of voluptuous breasts that segued down into an improbably tiny waist and then flared out again into the ripe fullness of a very feminine derrière.
A powerful wave of testosterone-charged response assailed Giannis. He always controlled his sexuality, and he was startled by the heady rush of blood to his groin. He assumed his response was a rude reminder of a private truth: he liked women with a little more flesh than the very slender models who invariably came his way. Even so, that disruptive surge of sexual arousal irritated him, and he banished the image of her from his mind. Most probably, he acknowledged, he just needed a woman.
Taut with nerves at the prospect of finally seeing Giannis Petrakos again, Maddie immediately doubled up the amount of coffee in the flask she was preparing. Very strong and very sweet: that was how he liked it. For just a moment memories took over and she smiled, but she blinked back the tears that were pricking at the back of her eyes.
Under cover of the spirited dialogue taking place round the vast conference table, she eased the trolley into the boardroom and gently closed the door. Only then did she allow herself to look in the di
rection of the male poised by the windows, and even though she had promised herself that she would simply steal one tiny glance, she was transfixed. In the tailored perfection of a black pinstripe business suit, he looked downright magnificent.
If anything, Maddie conceded rather dizzily, he was even more staggeringly beautiful than when she had first seen him. Nine years had eradicated all trace of the boy from his lean strong face, and his powerful muscular frame had filled out. But he still held his proud dark head at an imperious angle that she instantly recognized, and his eyes were unforgettable. As dark as bitter aloes and set deep below straight ebony brows. His gaze was coolly trained on the current speaker. He had incredible eyes: in certain lights or when he laughed they were the same colour as gilded bronze.
‘Why aren’t you serving?’ someone hissed in her ear.
Maddie unfroze, and jerked as though she had been slapped. As she reached for the first cup and saucer Giannis Petrakos glanced at her, and she stilled again. Her tummy flipped and her heart began to thump, making it hard for her to breathe. For the space of a heartbeat her surroundings vanished. All she was conscious of was the unfamiliar heaviness of her breasts, the dryness of her mouth, and the almost painful little twist of sensation making its presence felt low in her pelvis. She lowered her lashes in an instant of genuine confusion. It shook her that it took an almost physical effort to force her attention back to her task.
Coffee—strong, black, sweet, she reminded herself, while she wondered what on earth had come over her. And then, guessing, she felt a giant wave of shamed pink colour spreading up from her throat all the way over her dismayed face to her hairline. My goodness, she would never dare to look at him again! Dragging in a jerky breath, she poured his coffee, almost absentmindedly added four heaped spoonfuls of sugar, stirred it, and forced her feet in his direction.
Giannis had been bored, but now his ennui had fled. Had he not seen her again, he was sure he would not have thought of her. But her presence a scant twenty feet away put paid to that possibility. In a fluid movement he sat down at the table. Was she a private caterer? Or a member of the caterer’s staff? Looking at her, he speedily lost interest in the finer details of her identity. Although she was decidedly pocket-sized in the height department, she had a gorgeous face, and the lushness of her full pink lips was a fitting match for the striking symmetry of her abundant curves. Her eyes were the colour of the green glass he had collected as a kid from the seashore. His shapely mouth curled as he recalled his exquisite mother’s ridicule at receiving such a childish gift, but when he read the tiny curvaceous redhead’s reverent gaze that unpleasant recollection of his disturbing childhood totally vanished.
