Sweet on the Greek: An Interracial Romance (Just for Him Book 3)

by Talia Hibbert

  The only thing he can’t do is lose.

  For millionaire footballer Nikolas Christou, one look is all it takes: the minute he sees Aria Granger, he’s a goner. Playboy Nik knows lust—intimately—but his need for Aria goes far beyond that. Of course, the plus-sized beauty isn’t interested in romance… but Nik isn’t interested in giving up.

  Aria Granger has sworn off relationships for her own good. After all, her ex nearly murdered her best friend, so clearly her taste is questionable. When charming, gorgeous Nik bounds into her life, Aria can't decide if he's as innocent as he seems... or if her bullsh*t-ometer is broken.

  The super-sweet sports star claims he needs a fake girlfriend to protect him from 'misunderstandings'. And Aria, with her tattoos, piercings and dangerous scowl, fits the bill. But there's no way a guy as handsome as Nik can be that bad at handling relationships.

  Can he?

  Sweet on the Greek

  Just for Him Book 3

  Talia Hibbert

  Nixon House

  SWEET ON THE GREEK: Talia Hibbert

  Copyright (c) 2018 by Nixon House

  Credits: Cover by Cosmic Letterz

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or within the public domain. Any resemblance to actual events or actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  No portion of this book may be reprinted, including by any electronic or mechanical means, or in information storage and retrieval systems, without express written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

  Created with Vellum

  For my reckless hero.

  Just for Him

  The Series

  BAD FOR THE BOSS

  Nobody tells him no. Until her.

  UNDONE BY THE EX-CON

  To protect her brother, Lizzie must seduce the man she despises…

  Contents

  Content Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Thank You

  Become a V.I.P.

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Talia Hibbert

  Content Note

  Please be aware: this book contains topics that could potentially trigger certain audiences, including:

  - discussion of stalking, attempted murder, and associated trauma

  - depictions of counselling

  - depictions of excessive alcohol use

  - discussion of drugs

  - biphobia (challenged on the page)

  Prologue

  December 2017

  Dr. Browne leant back in his seat, pen and notepad at the ready. He looked at Aria and said, “Why don’t you tell me about what happened in November?”

  She shrugged. Gazed around the room, stalling. Putting off the inevitable moment when she’d blurt everything out in embarrassing detail.

  Aria Granger usually didn’t have trouble keeping her mouth shut—far from it—but therapy was really loosening her up. And she didn’t like it at all.

  Her gaze settled on the desk to her left, a few metres away from the cozy sitting area they currently occupied. The sofa she sat on was squishy and plush and welcoming as hell, but that desk over there was all business. Browne had one of those odd ornaments that moved—a row of metal balls hanging from a frame, where one ball would swing into the next, and so on. Fancy having a thing like that. She’d only ever seen them on TV.

  “Aria?” he prompted gently. He was being very... not quiet, but soft. As if she were a nervous pet, tame, but currently unsettled. He was careful not to scare her, confident that she’d come to him soon.

  “November,” she said slowly, if only to stop him talking. She couldn’t bear that tone in a man’s voice. “November… well. I finally got a tattoo on my shin. I’d been thinking about it for ages, and I’m kind of running out of space for big pieces. But the idea of a needle on my shin—it proper set me wrong. Know what I mean? Shins are funny things, aren’t they? I don’t even like touching my own shins. Goes right through me.”

  He watched her with the appearance of patience. She felt slightly guilty. She’d told Jenny that she’d take this seriously—and Theo, bless his heart, was paying by the hour. Not that he couldn’t afford it, but still.

  “I managed, in the end,” she said. “My boss did it for me, Tara. She’s got a light touch, so it wasn’t that bad. Wasn’t good, but it wasn’t bad. That’s usually the way, isn’t it? You build things up in your mind, and then everything turns out fine.”

  Doctor Browne scrawled a few words onto his notepad. Or maybe it was a few sentences. Maybe he’d scribbled down the hook to Independent Women—she had no idea, because she couldn’t read upside down and even if she could, his handwriting was an absolute state.

  What could he have to say right now, anyway? Client is a dizzy cow? Or maybe, Client thinks she’s slick but I’m on to her. She was probably better off not knowing. Curiosity killed the cat and all that. Only, she found it hard to leave things unknown, these days. Really hard. Unanswered questions made her itch. And that wasn’t healthy at all, now was it?

  With a sigh, Aria started again. “In November, my best friend was kidnapped.”

  He nodded calmly. Maybe he already knew. Was Jenny seeing this guy too? Or would that be unethical—like, a conflict, or a confidentiality issue, or something? She had no idea. She’d Google it.

  “Tell me about that,” he prompted.

  Talk about opening a can of worms. “Alright. I had this boyfriend—Simon. He was okay. He met Jen a few times—she was my roommate, you see. We’re like sisters, have been forever. Anyway, it’s a long story but... he’d been stalking her for a while, and he got with me for greater access to her. I had no idea, like none—I mean, obviously, but you know. Wow. I was fucking oblivious. So eventually, he goes right off the deep end and kidnaps her. There was a big police stand-off and everything, I was there. He was going to kill her. He held a gun to her head.”

  Doctor Browne offered Aria a wad of tissues, his moustache quivering sympathetically. She accepted them slowly, because she was confused. Then she noticed the hot trickle of tears rolling down her cheek. Oh, dear. Her eyeliner was probably done for.

  She patted at her eyes awkwardly. What she really wanted to do was blow her nose, hard, but it would be all snotty and messy and she’d need a thousand more tissues. Nose blowing was one of those things that didn’t mean much but felt oddly private. She willed the snot to dry up on its own somehow.

  “So, everything turned out kind of alright—I mean, Jenny’s fine and Simon’s...” she swallowed. “Dealt with. Or whatever. Everyone’s back to normal. Actually, Jen’s great. She’s engaged, isn’t that fabulous? I’m planning the wedding. It’s quite soon. I’m rushed off my feet, to be honest. I’ve never planned a wedding before, but if I left it to her she’d turn up at the registry office in an ivory pinafore or some such nonsense. She doesn�
��t like a fuss. But I think she deserves a fuss.”

  “I see.” Browne nodded. “Quite a whirlwind, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but I think they’re really in love.”

  “Oh, no,” Browne said. “I meant the kidnapping and associated events. It must have come as a huge shock. For someone you cared about, this Simon, to—“

  Aria couldn’t let the good doctor finish a sentence like that, because she might come over all anxious. Or furious. Or nauseous. Difficult to predict, these days. If it wasn’t guilt churning her gut, it was disgust turning her blood to ice. Best to cut off this line of inquiry completely.

  “It wasn’t that serious,” she said. Her voice was just right: calm, almost blasé. “I was upset about Jenny, obviously, but I didn’t give a fu—sorry. I didn’t care about Simon, not like that.”

  Dr. Browne looked calm and blank, which meant he didn’t believe her at all. “I understand. But for an intimate relationship to end in such a manner...”

  “It’s not like I was in love with him or anything,” she said quickly. Which wasn’t strictly true—but Aria was starting to think her love didn’t mean much, anyway. “I barely even liked him. He gave me what I needed without too much trouble. He seemed harmless and he didn’t want too much from me.”

  Here came guilt, her new best friend, bubbling up her throat like sour vomit. She dug her nails into her palm, relying on the pain to protect her from actual vomit. The doctor probably thought she’d meant sex, when she said he gave me what I needed. And Aria did love sex. But what she needed—what she lost her head over, again and again—was affection.

  And wasn’t that pathetic? She’d put her best friend’s life in danger because she was desperate for someone to love her.

  Ah, she was so sick of being disgusted with herself.

  Doctor Browne gave her a carefully non-judgmental look and asked, “Do you often enter into relationships with people you don’t like?”

  Aria shrugged. “Sure. Just like everyone else.”

  “Everyone else?”

  “Yeah. You talk to your colleagues every day, your neighbours, your mother-in-law or whoever. You spend time together, exchange words, affect each other’s energy—that’s a relationship. And the whole time you hate each other’s guts, or at least find each other really fucking irritating, but it doesn’t matter. Because this isn’t preschool and building relationships is about more than just liking somebody. So yeah, I sleep with guys I don’t like. Sometimes they give the best orgasms.”

  Dr. Browne nodded. He shuffled his papers. Then he said, “I can see that you have a history of depression.”

  Aria gave him a winning smile. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  He didn’t smile back. “How have you been feeling, in the weeks since these events?”

  “Fine,” she said. He didn’t reply. “I mean it. Really fine. I know when things are getting bad, and I’m okay right now.” Because usually, when she was low, flirting made her feel better for a little while. But recently, flirting—or anything vaguely romantic—made her want to scratch her own skin off. Maybe something was wrong with her, but it was definitely something new.

  She’d get over it. Probably.

  “How do you feel about the situation?” Doctor Browne asked. His eyes were cool and piercing, grey as the good old English sky. He stared at her with an impressive imitation of care.

  “I feel guilty,” she said.

  He nodded and murmured, “That’s completely natural.”

  Then he said some other shit, shit that was meant to alleviate the guilt. But Aria didn’t listen, because she didn’t want to hear it.

  She didn’t want to alleviate the guilt.

  She didn’t ever want to forget.

  Chapter One

  Three months later

  La Christou needed a better photographer, or better marketing or something.

  From the wedding packages the hotel had sent over, Aria had believed it to be a jewel of a find: a luxurious but intimate venue on the western coast of Greece, famed for its ravishing gardens. But now that she was here, she what it truly was: a fantasy come to life.

  Good. Good. Jennifer deserved nothing less.

  The ceremony was held in the ballroom. Aria had spent countless hours over the past few months on video calls with La Christou’s events manager, and they had decided that the vast, cool room of marble and aged gold would be best. They had been right.

  The ballroom seemed smaller now, filled with friends and family, elegant floral arrangements spilling from every available fixture. Orchestral music filled the air as

  Aria and Keynes, the best man, walked down aisle arm in arm. Keynes gave her a wink as he moved to stand beside the groom, Theo. Aria tried not to grin back. He was impossible.

  She took up her position, breathed out, breathed in, breathed out—and on cue, the music changed. Swelled into something achingly romantic, a touch dramatic, the violins easing out a gentle, courtly welcome.

  The double doors at the far end of the room swung open for the last time, the only time that counted. And Jennifer appeared.

  She stood for a moment, framed by the doorway and the golden light spilling through it, her dark skin gleaming, her smile radiant. A bouquet of peach roses and pure white lilies was clasped in her hands, trailing like a waterfall, but even that couldn’t draw attention away from how utterly stunning Jen looked.

  Aria tore her gaze from her best friend, just for a moment, to take a peek at the groom. Theo was watching his bride with rapt attention, his eyes wide, his lips caught half-way to a smile as if joy and disbelief warred inside him. When the handsome, older man raised a hand to swipe hurriedly at one cheek, Aria realised that Theo—powerful, wealthy, always-in-control Theo—was crying.

  She rolled her lips in to hide a smile. Damn right he better cry. He was about to marry Jennifer Johnson. There wasn’t a luckier man on the planet.

  Jen reached the altar and flashed Aria a smile, her own eyes as teary as her husband-to-be’s. Aria grinned back, too ecstatic to bother with a demure expression, and never mind that the ceremony was being filmed. Her shamelessly cheesy smile would have to remain immortalised, because this might be the happiest she’d ever been.

  Until Jen turned to face Theo and the scars on the side of her face caught the light. Just a few small, dark, teardrop-shaped marks scattered erratically over her skin. No attempt had been made to cover to cover them. Jen was proud of them.

  Aria wasn’t. Those scars had come, after all, from her ex-boyfriend’s backfiring gun.

  The priest began the ceremony and Aria watched the glowing couple, pinning a smile onto her face. She wouldn’t ruin Jenny’s wedding video by allowing even a hint of her disquiet to show. No-one could ever know.

  Aria took a breath and heard Theo say, “I, Jyu Theodore Chamberlain, take you, Jennifer Abigail Johnson…”

  She took another breath and let the words calm her. Felt the strength of Theo’s love, his incandescent happiness, and let it fill her heart with gladness. There. That was better.

  Crisis averted. For now.

  “Aren’t you a vision,” Keynes drawled. “Skulking in the shadows, admiring your handiwork.”

  Aria narrowed her eyes as the best man drew closer. His suit jacket was nowhere to be seen. His bow-tie hung loose around his neck and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing caramel skin dusted with tawny hair.

  “Fuck off,” she said.

  He came to lean against the cool, marble pillar beside her. “You first. Got a light?”

  “Nope.”

  “Doesn’t matter; I have. Got a fag?” The word sounded preposterous, uttered in his private-schoolboy accent, but she’d gotten used to Keynes over the months since they’d first met. In fact, if this were primary school, he’d be her second-best friend by now.

  Still, she glowered at him. “You’re interrupting my brooding.”

  “That’s the idea, love. Got a fag, or not?”

  “You kn
ow I have.”

  “Yep.” He produced a lighter from his pocket—a sickeningly slick little thing, silver and gold. No common-or-garden plastic Bic for Mr. Olusegun-Keynes.

  With a sigh, Aria hiked up the gauzy skirt of her sunshine-yellow gown.

  Keynes averted his eyes with all the drama of a stage dame. “Behave yourself, madam. You know I’m immune to your wiles.”

  “More’s the pity,” she muttered, snatching a cigarette from her garter. “I’ve only got one. We’ll have to share.”

  “One, because?”

  “Because your sister scared me into almost-quitting, and I’m trying to be good.”

  “Don’t listen to her.” Keynes lit the cigarette as Aria held it to her lips. “She’s all talk. Once she’s had a few drinks—”

  “Stop enabling. I’m quitting, and so should you.”

  Keynes plucked the cigarette from her fingers and took a drag. Then he said, smoke trailing from his full lips like dragon’s breath, “I have quit, love. But enough about me. What are you doing over here?”