Harlequin Presents--July 2021--Box Set 1 of 2

by Natalie Anderson

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHRISTOS STEELED HIMSELF against that firm demand. He’d hoped for a little breathing room before his grandfather went for the jugular, but no. Just like him, Costas didn’t believe in beating about the bush.

  He looked around him, then out of the window past the gardens to the sea, willing the serenity he usually felt when he was on this particular piece of rock to reappear. He was wealthy enough to travel to any corner of the world he desired, had acquired property in those places that pleased his senses the most. Yet he’d never experienced the sort of...grounded calm he did when he was here. Fate and souls and love and destiny weren’t phenomena he set much store by, but the closest he’d come to being emotional about anything was this place. The place his grandfather was dangling from his fingertips like a snowflake over a volcano. Daring him to act. Daring him to—

  ‘Christos?’

  He wiped a hand across his jaw. He was on edge. And not just because of his grandfather. This woman whose voice flowed over him like warm silk was equally culpable. She didn’t know that the sensual web she’d accused him of wielding went both ways. That the harder he tried, the more elusive his renowned iron will became.

  That moments before they’d disembarked his plane had intensified his craving for her. He’d blamed their discovery on Costas but, truth be told, he’d lost all sense of time and place the moment he’d touched her.

  Just like that night on his sofa.

  Perhaps choosing to cut all ties with the women who normally populated his electronic diary this last year had been a mistake.

  And perhaps Costas would’ve discovered your sham marriage much earlier too, if you’d been seen with other women. And without help from Georgios.

  His lips twisted at the grim truth, his gaze dropping to the set of engagement and wedding rings on her finger before he passed his thumb over the wide platinum band encircling his own.

  Then, he inhaled deeply. ‘My grandfather knows that, of everything he owns, Drakonisos is the only thing I desire.’

  She frowned. ‘This island?’

  He nodded. ‘And it seems he’s determined to make me jump through the biggest of hoops to get it.’

  ‘By pitting you against your cousin?’ Her frown deepened. ‘I admit I don’t know him very well, but I wouldn’t have thought Costas would do something like that purely for his amusement.’

  He felt a peculiar pang in his chest at her astuteness. ‘Nor would I. Which means either my cousin is succeeding in pouring poison into his ear or...’

  ‘Or what?’

  ‘Or the situation has a few more facets than I initially realised.’

  Her frown evaporated to be filled by apprehension. ‘You think this is part of him facing his own mortality.’

  A different ache tightened his chest, and he nodded again. ‘Yes.’

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘I won’t know until I talk to his doctor. If it’s the former, I can handle it...’

  ‘And if it’s the latter?’ she asked, her eyes wide on his.

  He didn’t answer immediately, purely because he had no answer to give. His grandfather had been a constant in his life, a formidable force to whom he’d unburdened his innermost fears as a child. In his teenage years and early adulthood, they’d been mostly at loggerheads once Christos had made it clear he was choosing his own path and not following the one his grandfather had wanted for him. But even then Costas had remained in his life. He hadn’t cut him off as his parents had. Or used him as a pawn in whatever game took his fancy.

  Until now.

  They were Drakakis men after all, and Christos knew he didn’t have to look far to see where his own father had inherited his cut-throat characteristics from.

  And yet, for whatever reason, his grandfather had supported him. Hell, he’d done more than that. He’d claimed Christos as his own when his father had merely seen him as a chess piece to be used when he pleased, then set aside to gather dust.

  The thought that Costas wouldn’t be around for much longer, for whatever reason...

  He shook his head free of that thought. ‘If it’s the latter, we’ll discuss it.’

  His grandfather’s comment at the table echoed in his head, the confirmation that Costas might not believe their marriage to be real raising the hairs on his nape.

  Drakanisos was his. He couldn’t lose it. Couldn’t lose the old man who lived on it either.

  The thought burrowed deep inside him, wrapping tight around his chest until his breathing grew constricted. Until all of a sudden that one emotion he’d thought alien to him, love of the familial kind, and the possible absence of it, took on a wraithlike shape in his mind.

  He whirled to face her, wishing for something...anything to distract from that harrowing possibility. Then couldn’t seem to look away. Thee mou, had her skin always been this flawless, her brown eyes flecked with such beguiling strands of gold? He knew about the temptation of her lips, the suppleness of her hips, the delicious sensation of her warm breath over his face. The sound of her moans—

  ‘I’m going to call the doctor. Dinner won’t be served until late, so you have a few hours to yourself.’

  He exited the suite before she saw the physical manifestation of his thoughts or the turbulence of his emotions, experiencing a twinge of shame for sneering at her for suspecting the churning thoughts gripping him now.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t encounter any staff member before he made it to the sanctuary of his study. Still, it took a minute to summon the control to calm his thoughts and pluck his phone from his pocket.

  Twenty minutes later, he had his answers. And that grip on his chest had grown into a vice. Costas had a heart condition. A long-term one he’d been ignoring and downplaying for the better part of a year. Unless he had an operation within the next three months, his prognosis would worsen irreparably.

  Christos wasn’t aware he’d wandered back into the suite until he arrived in front of the liquor cabinet in his private living room. His hand shook as he poured himself a stiff whisky, tipped his head back and downed it. Thrusting the glass back on the shelf, he braced his hands on the surface, attempted to calm his rioting thoughts even as the words the doctor had uttered dropped like anvils onto his shoulders.

  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, stoo
d 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 with 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 wer
e 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?’