by Maisey Yates
He looked at her, that lost look in his eyes fading as suddenly as it had appeared. Now his gaze was unreadable, unexpressive. Like he was looking over a new yacht, or sports car. Well, no, not even that. He got a bit more passionate over sports cars. And dark chocolate. That was one thing they had in common. Or at least something they’d had in common.
Handy, because she was short on sports cars, but she did have a lot of dark chocolate. Occupational hazard. Although, she’d stopped trying to tempt him with treats a while ago. About the time she’d realized she was staring at him like an idiot and he only had eyes for her sister.
“You will have to do.”
The way he said it made her want to melt into a puddle and slither out of the room. She was being compared to Rachel, again, and being found utterly lacking. “Thanks. And you’re welcome.”
“Don’t expect me to be happy about any of this.” He started to pace. “My bride has walked out on me. Chosen my rival over me. And she didn’t even have the courtesy to text me about it. Rather she contacted you.”
“I’m her sister.”
“And I’m the man she was supposed to love,” he bit out.
She put her hand on his arm, a flash of heat racing from her fingertips and through her body. She pulled back as though she’d been burned.
She hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected to feel that intense, scorching heat. After all, she’d stopped carrying a torch for Ajax years ago. Though, that didn’t change the fact that he was an incredibly handsome man. The heat was only due to a physical attraction. She was only human. She imagined any woman who touched him would feel the same way.
Thank God she knew how to hide that moment of insanity. She’d spent years cultivating her mask, one that kept the press at a distance. One that kept her from getting hurt. One of indifference. A smooth, cutting smile on hand whenever she needed it. One that said: Oh, you again. Can’t be bothered.
Oh, dear Lord. I proposed to him.
That thought made her smile slip.
But it wasn’t as if she’d done it for herself. Not for herself personally, anyway. Everything was on the line. The future of Holt, of Leah’s Lollies, and Ajax’s dreams and hard work. And that mattered to her. She wasn’t in love with him anymore, hadn’t been for years. But she cared. About Holt. About her own business.
“Why, Leah? What are you getting out of this?”
“Well, jeez, Ajax, Rachel has clearly lost her mind. She’s run off with this man that you and I both know is probably not with her by coincidence. A man who would do this just to hurt you. He would, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes,” he said.
“My father loves Rachel, but he’s frankly blind to her faults.”
“Does she have them?” Ajax asked dryly.
“She’s far too trusting, I think, which you and I know full well is a fault. Alexios would take advantage of that to get to you and to get his hands on Holt to keep you from expanding your business. He’ll hurt her. And I can’t allow that. I doubt you can, either.”
“Of course not.”
“So then it’s settled. We have to marry before she does. You can still graft yourself into my family tree, which we both know you want. Otherwise we both lose Holt. You especially lose. You lose Rachel, and Holt, to Christofides.”
“I didn’t know Holt mattered to you so much, Leah.”
“In terms of it being my family legacy, it does. I can’t just let it pass into some stranger’s control. But more than legacy, my father owns half the stock in my business, and it’s all rolled into the Holt corporate umbrella. Suddenly a stranger has control over me and my business.”
“And if Rachel wants Holt?”
“She doesn’t. It doesn’t mean to her what it means to you and me—you know that. She was going to be your right hand socially, but I doubt she ever spent a day in those offices of her own free will.”
“True enough. But I didn’t require that of her. A hostess, someone to give me a softer face—that I needed.”
She looked at the granite lines etched by his mouth, his eyes. Yes, he most certainly did need a hostess.
She took a breath, putting her hard, practiced expression in place. “Well, that’s not happening now. And do you want some other man to have your wife and your business?”
Ajax took a step toward her, dark eyes trained on hers, and she felt something inside her melt.
“Other than Holt, Leah, what do you want?”
“To preserve Leah’s Lollies. Holt owns a quarter of my stock. And in addition to my candy stores being linked to Holt, I am a Holt. It’s my legacy. It’s ours, not just yours.”
“It was meant to be mine and Rachel’s.”
“I know.”
“And you trust me with your stocks, do you? Alexios is quite the financial genius—perhaps he would serve you better than I would. Rachel seems to think so.”
“You’ll do right by me and my shops, Ajax. I have no doubt.”
“I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll sell my stocks off. You think they’ll be profitable enough for me?”
“Of course I do. I sell things that are expensive and bad for you. I think I’ll be in business forever.”
He arched a dark brow, something in his expression changing. “A sure success, then. There is very little some people love more than indulging a vice.”
“Yes. Well, and if I may, allow me to continue my argument for marriage.”
“Please,” he said, no emotions on display.
“You’re right. Everything is in place. Everything. You taking the reins at Holt. The guests. The minister. The cake. There’s... I donated a lot of candy. A gift.”
“Nice of you.”
“Well, now I’m donating a bride. Which might be a bit more than nice.”
“If I accept.”
“Oh.”
Ajax looked at Leah, the woman who, up until ten minutes ago, had been about to become his sister-in-law. Now she was talking about being his wife. Leah. He scarcely thought of her as a woman. In his mind, she was still a round sixteen-year-old girl with curly hair, braces and a sweet tooth.
He could remember, very clearly, having a piece of candy waiting for him with his gardening tools every day when he’d first started working at the Holt Estate. And what had started as a childish game had continued as a tradition. When he’d started interning at the corporate headquarters in New York there had been a piece of candy on his desk. And when he’d branched off on his own, an entire bouquet, and yes, it could only be described as a bouquet, of chocolate had been waiting in his office.
Yes, whenever one of her little gifts showed up, he pictured Leah, the girl. Sweet, uncomplicated Leah, who looked at him and saw someone worth smiling at. But that vision didn’t match the reality standing in front of him.
Now she was a woman, he supposed. She was twenty-three. Some of her roundness had melted away, but not all. Her hair was still a mass of dark curls, albeit sleeker than when she’d been a teenager. And there was a hardness to her that had never been there before.
Still, she was nothing like Rachel. Beautiful, willowy Rachel.
Rachel, the woman he’d set his sights on so many years ago. The woman he’d spent so many years planning to marry. She had been standing there, at the end of his path, his goal, for so long that having her removed left him feeling lost. Aimless.
She was the only woman he’d ever loved.
And she had left him. Along with her, she would take Holt, and every piece of the plan, of his life would be broken off in chunks and scattered around his feet.
If he let it happen. If he didn’t accept Leah’s offer.
It was a bad day for his pride. That he needed help saving a deal he’d spent years working toward because his bride had decided to skip the wedding, burned
. She’d left him to be with someone else. His biggest business rival.
This wedding, their union, made it feel like pieces were finally fitting together. Like the pieces of his life had united into one smooth picture, the end of the plan in sight.
Everything he wanted. Everything he’d worked for, in his grasp at last. His reward for rigid control, for never deviating from the path since he’d first put his foot down on it.
But Rachel hadn’t seen things that way. Obviously.
He supposed, if he thought about it, it made sense. Rachel was passionate. About life, about everything. But she’d never been passionate with him. And she’d never been bothered by his reserve with her. He’d imagined she was responding to the way he was naturally. Now he wondered.
Still, pride wouldn’t see his plans come to fruition. They wouldn’t bring Rachel back, either. Refusing Leah was of no benefit to him. It simply wasn’t logical.
However, he had a hard time thinking of her as a wife. As the sort of woman he would share his life with, take to events, take to bed.
Leah was not the woman he’d imagined himself with. Not ever.
“Well, come on, Ajax, don’t keep a girl waiting like this,” she said, a small smile curving up the edge of her lips. As though she were unruffled. As though all of this was just an interesting diversion. He wondered when she’d become so calculating. When she’d traded in that sweetness for the hard, cutting edge of a businesswoman.
“I accept.” There was no logical reason not to. And above anything else, he was a man of logic. Emotion could never be allowed to rule. “I will make a call and have the seamstress come and fit Rachel’s dress to you.”
Leah’s cheeks turned pink, although her expression remained stone cold. “Could you cut a foot off the hem and add the fabric around the middle?”
She was exaggerating and yet, she had a point. Rachel was long and angular, while the top of Leah’s head came just below his shoulder. It could not be ignored; she was certainly a larger size than her sister. Though she wasn’t proportioned unattractively. Round in the appropriate places. He’d just never given it much thought.
“What size, then? I will order you a new one.”
“I’ll make a call,” she said, her cheeks still pink. “It will have to be off-the-rack, of course. We only have two hours, but it’s doable. All things considered, the fit of my dress will be the least scandalous thing about this wedding.”
“You are still a Holt heiress,” he said.
“Yes, we’re practically interchangeable. Except, clearly, for the dress size.”
“That is not what I meant. You are not interchangeable.” He gritted his teeth. “You are not Rachel.” Rachel, who, in his mind, was the embodiment of his perfect life. He’d imagined that when he reached this day, when he reached her, standing at the head of the aisle, his struggle, his fight to stay on the path, to stay in control, would be over. That he would finally have reached a destination instead of walking endlessly.
He’d never touched her, not beyond a casual kiss, but things between them had been understood, for the past six years. They hadn’t spent all of their time together, hadn’t acted as a couple. Rachel hadn’t wanted to feel tied down. She’d wanted to live her life. But he’d been confident that in the end she would come back to him.
He had been wrong. And he hated being wrong.
“I’m sorry about that. Not that I’m not her, but that she left. I am.”
“Of course you are. Now you’re stuck with me.”
She looked up at him, whiskey-colored eyes glittering. He didn’t know why she looked like she was about to cry. Because of the situation? Though she had been part of creating it, it wasn’t like he had asked for her to stand in. Or because of his comments? Either way, he didn’t like it.
Joseph Holt had become a mentor to him when he’d been a teenager, and his family had, in many ways, become his family. He would never do anything to hurt the Holt family. Ever.
“It is not too late to back out, Leah. I will not hold you to a rash statement made in the heat of an emotional moment.”
“It is all very emotional.”
“I meant for you.”
She blinked. “For you, as well. Do you feel nothing?”
“I feel—of course I do. But I do not make decisions based on emotion, which is why I’m prepared to marry you instead of Rachel. It’s logical.” It kept his plan going until he could shift things. Until he could get everything re-sorted in his mind. Planning kept him on point, in control, and control was everything.
He knew what happened when control was lost. Knew what happened when a man lived for feeling.
“Yes. Well, while the situation overall might be emotional, I didn’t offer out of a sense of emotion.”
“Holt is mine. By right. By promise. I’m not family by blood, but your father trained me for this.”
“I know. And I’ve worked too hard to elevate Leah’s Lollies to this position to see it mowed down in a firefight.”
He looked at Leah and wondered if he’d underestimated her. He knew she had a business mind, whereas Rachel most certainly put the social in socialite and had used the money her father had given her to become a silent partner in a few ventures that helped expand her web of personal connections.
It was one of the reasons Rachel had been such a valuable prospect for a wife. She did what he did not. She connected with people, made friends easily, and used charisma to make happen what she wanted to see done.
She was, in essence, the perfect accessory to his life. Leah on the other hand, was more focused on the business end. She would possibly want a hand in the decision making at Holt, which would be her right, since ownership was to be shared between him and his wife.
But then, he would get a stake in Leah’s Lollies, which, in spite of his line of questioning, he knew was quite successful. And with his assets? Mass production of her products was entirely possible.
In terms of how he would benefit, there was the chance it could be very profitable for him. As for Leah...it could be extremely profitable for her.
“What else do you know, Leah?” he asked.
“A lot. I see things. I know how much this means to you. I know you didn’t spend years working under my father to not end up as head of Holt.”
It was true. Joseph Holt had become his mentor when he’d been a sixteen-year-old boy with little schooling and no money, working on the grounds of the opulent Holt Estate in Rhodes. He’d only just left his father’s mansion, fled the island he’d grown up on, which was filled with so much corruption not even the police could help him. He’d been rooming with other teenagers who’d been disowned by their families, for varying reasons. Working. Paying rent. And he’d protected them all, because he’d known about the evil that was out there waiting.
They’d lived and worked like that until better jobs had taken them better places.
For Ajax, that better place had been provided by Joseph Holt. Every summer and winter, the Holts came and stayed on the estate. Unlike other wealthy families he’d worked for, they’d been kind, friendly with their staff. Especially Joseph Holt, who had taken the time to speak with everyone, get to know everyone.
And he’d taken a special interest in Ajax. Had, in many ways, become the father he’d never had. But more than that, he’d taught him an interest in business. Had sent him to college. Had, like he’d done for his daughters, given him money as venture capital. Ajax had spent three years working at Holt in the United States, and after that, he’d gone on to get his own business off the ground, dealing in retail stores, rather than manufacturing.
Ajax had made his success thanks to Joseph, knowing all the while that in the end, Holt would be a part of his stable of assets. As would Rachel.
He had lost one of those things today; he would not lose
the other.
“You do see a lot, Leah. And I think you have inherited your father’s ability to spot a good business deal. And his inability to pass it up.”
She lifted her chin, dark hair shimmering in the light, the glossy curls sliding from her shoulders to tumble down her back. “I am a Holt, Ajax.”
“As is Rachel.”
“I am not my sister. Not even close. That you will have to remember.”
He looked her over. Still, he couldn’t help but see that image of a young teenager, sitting in her father’s office with a book on her lap, her hair, not glossy or gently curled, but frizzy and barely contained by a rubber band. Or her following him around the estate, chatting his ear off about a new idea she had for a business, asking him if he thought it might work.
If you put your mind to it, Leah, it will work.
That was what he’d always told her. He hadn’t realized how true it was. Just how dangerous she could be when she set her mind on something.
“I am in no danger of forgetting.”
“I’ll need...” She cleared her throat. “Well, that is, I have to get ready now.”
CHAPTER TWO
LEAH’S HANDS SHOOK as she picked up the bouquet, the one that was meant to have been her sister’s. Thank God she never could have in a million years worn her sister’s dress or shoes.
And this was the first time ever she’d been glad she couldn’t have. She didn’t want her sister’s flowers, groom, dress and shoes.
As it was, the dress and shoes were Leah’s. The flowers and groom...they weren’t.
Her stomach cramped painfully and she looked in the mirror. Her eyes looked overly large for her face, and as frightened as she felt. She didn’t have her mask up. Because she was very suddenly confronted with the reality of what she was doing.
On paper, in the moment, it had been very black-and-white. Alexios couldn’t be allowed to succeed in gaining access to Holt. If he was using Rachel, it couldn’t be a reward.
