He lifted a shoulder. “Because you were right. Doing that isn’t going to bring back our father. And at the end of the day, the fact is, Dad was sick. Markovic didn’t kill him, the disease did.”
“And you are better than that.” His brother’s look was pointed. “I was waiting for you to realize that.”
“Someone else helped me realize it.”
Coburn’s eyes sharpened on him. “She’s miserable, H. You did a number on her.”
His heart turned over in his chest. “I know. I plan to fix it.” He just wasn’t at all sure what the outcome would be. It had his insides tied into a knot.
They talked about tomorrow. About the future of Grant and their roles in it. Harrison would stay as involved as he could for as long as he could. But the CEO role was Coburn’s—permanently. If politics didn’t work out for him, well, they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.
Coburn walked him to the door. His eyes were full of life. Full of challenge. He’d been needing it for a long time.
Harrison did something he hadn’t done in as long as he could remember. He wrapped his arm around his brother and hugged him hard. Then he walked out into the night before Coburn saw the tears stinging his eyes.
* * *
Masserias was buzzing on a Thursday night with every table in the restaurant taken and the overflow spilling to the bar. The patrons were in a universally upbeat mood, it seemed, enjoying good food and wine before the weekend.
Frankie took the order from her table, walked to the computer and punched it in. She was grateful for the infusion of energy, had volunteered to take this shift from a sick waitress to help her parents out, because if she stayed at home and moped for another night she was going to turn into a permanent case of pathetic.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Her father’s voice carried to her from the bar where he was mixing drinks with Salvatore. The bemused tone in his voice drew her eye.
“What?”
He pointed at the TV mounted on the wall to one side of the bar. Frankie skimmed the headline. Harrison Grant to join the presidential race as an independent candidate.
She moved closer, her heart stirring to life in her chest. Her father turned up the volume so the announcer’s voice could be heard over the crowd. “Grant confirmed the long-anticipated news today that he will run as an independent candidate for president. The CEO, whose grandfather was a congressman and whose father took his life the night before his announcement he would run for Governor, of New York, gave an emotional speech about the financial well-being of a nation he described as ‘struggling to find its identity.’”
Her heart, which hadn’t come close to repairing itself, swelled with an ache so painful it winded her. A clip of Harrison at the podium filled the screen. “I believe in a nation where things can be better. Where we can all believe in who we are again, where we can have faith in the principles this country was founded on. And that starts with the people.” He paused, his gaze trained on the cameras. “Someone recently reminded me of the goodness of people—how every decision we make impacts not only us but the people around us. And that goodness—that caring for each other—is what the fabric of this nation was built on. It’s what we need to go forward. My vision is about putting the people first again with a back-to-basics fiscal policy shaped by the principles that created this country. We all want to contribute. We all want to make our mark. And we will.”
Her heart throbbed in her chest. The announcer wound up the story and invited a panel of guests to discuss how Harrison’s entry into the race would affect the dynamics. Her father slapped his hand on his thigh. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said again. “He’s actually going to do it.”
Her eyes were burning. She turned away from the screen, but not before a tear slipped from her eye and eagle-eyed Salvatore saw it. A dark look spread across his face. He knew how badly she was hurting.
“Franks—”
She waved him off. “I need that Bellini.”
An order was up for her in the kitchen. She waited for the chef to set the last plate on the counter. Someone recently reminded me of the goodness of people. He’d been talking about her, she was sure of it. Tears streamed down her face. She grabbed a napkin from the counter and mopped them up. She was so happy for him and so utterly miserable at the same time. She wanted him to heal, wanted him to move on, but she wanted it to be with her. She might only be twenty-three but she knew when someone was your soul mate. The problem was, you couldn’t make someone love you. She knew that, too.
She composed herself, picked up the plates and headed back into the dining room to deliver them. Table served, she went to collect her Bellini at the bar. It was waiting for her. She slid it onto her tray.
“Aww, hell.”
“What?” She turned in the direction of Salvatore’s scowl. A dark-haired male clad in a black trench coat was talking to her mother. He was too arresting, too handsome to ignore. He looked exactly like he had the night he’d walked into the office and all hell had broken loose. Except he had a bouquet of red roses in his hands.
Her mind lost all conscious thought, including the fact she was holding a tray. The Bellini hit the floor with a loud crash that had all eyes on her.
It was the roses that did her in.
Her gaze locked with Harrison’s. He looked so serious, so intent it stopped her heart in her chest. You could hear a pin drop in the room as eyes moved from her to the man who’d just been on TV. The need to escape the attention, to do something, sent her to her knees. She right-sided the tray and started picking up the pieces of glass. Salvatore dropped to his knees beside her and brushed her hands away. “Forget about the goddamned glass,” he muttered. “Go talk to him before I kill him.”
She got to her feet. Most of the crowd in the restaurant had gone back to their conversations, but there were a few who were too interested in the news of the day to want to miss a thing. Her pulse fluttered wildly in her throat as Harrison headed toward her.
He stopped in front of her, his gaze eating her up. “My effect on you hasn’t seemed to change.”
She swallowed hard, pride kicking in. “Don’t be so sure about that.”
“Oh, I am.”
Heat invaded every cell of her body, thrumming through her veins. “Congratulations on your announcement,” she said stiffly. “You have everybody in a flutter.”
He reached out and ran a finger down her cheek. “The only one I’m interested in having in a flutter is you.”
She flinched away from his touch. “You ended that on Monday or have you forgotten?”
His gaze darkened. “Do you think we can have this conversation in private?”
“No.” She shook her head, too hurt, too unwilling to go there with him when he’d made it clear they were over. “You can’t push me away then expect me to fall into your arms again when it’s convenient for you, Harrison.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it? You told me it was never going to work. Don’t come to me on some high then break my heart again. I can’t take it.”
“I’ve changed.” His voice vibrated with emotion. “You’ve changed me, Frankie. You’ve made me see how wrong my thinking was. How capable I am of feeling.”
Her heart started to melt despite herself. He saw it, pressed his advantage. “Give me another chance. I promise I deserve it.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, holding in the surge of hope that took ahold of her. “Why should I? What’s going to be different this time?”
“Me.” He stepped closer until he was occupying her personal space. Every cell in her body reacted to him. Begged her for him. His eyes were the deepest black she’d ever seen them, except now, she realized, they were clear, without a shadow of doubt in them.
“My head has been so messed up. I’ve had so many decisions to make, so many ghosts to put to rest, I couldn’t think straight. But you,” he said, reaching for her hand, “you are the only thing th
at’s been right.”
She shook her head, wanting him so badly it hurt. “I can’t be a part of your endless circle of revenge. It will eventually tear you apart and me along with it.”
“It won’t. I’m stepping down as Grant CEO. But I have gained the board’s assurance that Siberius will remain a separate company. Leonid’s wish will be fulfilled.”
Something shifted inside her. She had dangled that possibility in front of him that night in bed, hoping he would see he had alternatives. But he had shut her down so completely she had given up hope. “And Markovic? What did you do with him?”
His jaw hardened. “I put him on notice that if his behavior ever gets beyond my tolerance, I will take him apart. Meanwhile, I left him enough lifelines to stay alive.”
“Why?” She could hardly get the word past the lump in her throat.
“Because one tragedy does not equal another. Of all the crimes Anton Markovic has perpetrated on my family, killing my father was not one of them. My father was teetering on the edge. I needed someone to blame instead of facing my own rage. My sadness.”
She saw for the first time the vulnerable edge to his decisive, steely exterior. It was there just behind the blazing confidence in his eyes, that soft amber light she’d discovered in the office that day. She swallowed hard as she digested it all. The things he’d done had proved beyond words that he did want to move beyond the darkness. That he meant what he was saying.
But she had no idea where to start. He did. He put the roses on the bar, took her hand and dragged her from the room.
“Harrison...”
“Where?” he growled. “I’ve had enough of an audience today.”
“The staff room,” she offered weakly, pointing at a door past the kitchen. He opened the door, but there was someone in there. Cursing, he found the next available door and yanked it open. It was a supply closet. He pulled her in and closed the door behind them. She was too full of emotion to do anything but stand there, back against the wall in the tiny space as he curled a hand around her nape and brought her to him. The glitter in his eyes made her insides contract. “I love you, Francesca Masseria. Your goodness, your passion, everything about you. You have healed a broken part of me I thought forever lost.”
Her heart leaped into her mouth and stayed there. She couldn’t get a word past her lips. Not one.
“The next year is going to be crazy,” he continued, “and I know it’s a lot to ask of you, but I want you by my side during this. Actually,” he amended, “that’s not true. I want you by my side always.”
Her breath escaped in a long, harsh expenditure of air. “Harrison—”
He let go of her, reached inside his jacket and came out with a box. Her brain went haywire. “You aren’t going to—”
“Propose in a supply closet?” He dropped to his knee. “I tried to go somewhere private.”
“Yes, but—”
He flipped the box open. A sparkling sapphire winked back at her, surrounded by the most perfect row of white fire. She stared at it. Stared at the powerful, ruthless man at her feet who’d just declared his intentions to run this country.
“Marry me,” he murmured. “Be my anchor in this storm because I need you there.”
Could she be a Grant? Could she be a politician’s wife? He was asking her to take a leap just like she had asked him that night in Long Island. And although the idea scared the hell out of her, her heart wouldn’t let her do anything but follow it.
“The answer is yes,” she said softly, “if you promise me that when things get dark, you won’t shut me out. You will talk to me.”
She thought she saw moisture build at the corner of his eyes. It made hot tears gather in hers. “I promise,” he said, his voice steady and sure.
She stuck out her hand. Held her breath as he slid the sapphire on her ring finger. Because it had to fit. They fit perfectly. She was strong where he was weak and he was all-powerful in the spaces between.
It fit.
He rose to his feet. She threw herself into his arms, every bit of pent-up emotion bursting out of her as he anchored her against him and kissed her. Sure and never-ending it was heaven.
His palms moved lower on her hips, settled her more intimately against him. Frankie drew in a breath at the white-hot heat that consumed her at his blatant arousal. “We are not doing this here.”
“No,” he murmured against her lips, “I value my life. But I need five more minutes.”
When way more than five minutes had passed, they emerged from the closet, clothes intact, a bloom in Frankie’s cheeks that made Salvatore’s face darken when they walked back into the dining room. She held up her left hand and the glare faded. “You are a lucky man, Grant. By the skin of your teeth.”
Her brother’s face relaxed into a beaming smile as he stepped forward and shook Harrison’s hand. The bubbly came out and the night devolved into a restaurant-wide celebration, on the house.
Her father and Harrison spent the night talking politics while her mother plied her about dress choices between customers. But Frankie wasn’t ready to think about any of that. She wanted to savor every minute of the weight of Harrison’s ring on her finger.
She heard her father say something about hosting a rally here at the restaurant for Harrison’s campaign. “We’ve created a monster,” she said rolling her eyes.
Salvatore gave their father an amused look. “He should have run a long time ago. Let him live vicariously through your fiancé.”
Fiancé. The glow lasted all the way home to Harrison’s penthouse. In the elevator where they almost lost control completely, then in the bedroom where her fiancé disposed of her clothes so fast her head spun. She lay back on the bed, watching him as he prowled toward her. “Maybe you should come work for me on my campaign. I can live out my fantasy. Daily...”
She dug her fingers in his hair as he pressed a kiss to her throat. “I have never dropped a drink in my life until tonight. I’m done working for you, Harrison. You have me entirely on edge.”
His gaze glittered. “Actually,” he murmured, “I completely agree. The only place I want you off balance is here. Under me.”
She could offer her full cooperation on that. Her insides contracted with the need to have him after a week full of misery. But it was his clear, unclouded gaze that touched her the deepest. In that moment, she knew she could do it. She could be a Grant, and maybe, if the stars aligned, she could be a president’s wife. Because she was the woman who’d conquered the heart of the beast. The woman who’d helped heal him.
She smiled and closed her eyes as he dragged her down into the tempest with him. They’d said it was impossible. What did they know?
* * * * *
Read on for an extract from SEDUCED INTO THE GREEK’S WORLD by Dani Collins.
CHAPTER ONE
HER LAUGH WAS so pure and spontaneous it caused Demitri Makricosta to look away from the Italian beauty flirting with him and seek out the source of the sound. As a connoisseur of fake laughter, often given to offering imitations himself, he found the naturalness of the woman’s chuckle utterly engaging. It was feminine without being girlish or giggly, warm and sexy without being a put-on.
For a moment he didn’t take in anything else but her. Short blond hair swung and fell as she tipped the precision cut backward. Her skin held a pale, translucent quality that made him think her cheek would feel cool but downy soft against his lips. He wondered how her skin smelled. Like summer fruit, maybe. Her profile was feminine and cute, right up to the tilt of her nose, while the rest of her was a study in mouthwatering curves.
Encased in a Makricosta uniform.
Damn, damn and damn.
The disappointment that flooded through him was surprisingly acute.
He took a more thorough tour of her uniform, wishing he didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t the pencil skirt and wispy red jacket over a bowed white top that the French staff wore here in Paris, which gave him a beat of hope. But if sh
e’d been corporate, she’d have only a scarf or tie in company colors as part of her business ensemble.
Unfortunately, those long pants and the warm blazer belonged to one of the Canadian outfits. The Makricosta Elite in Montreal, if he wasn’t mistaken—and he shouldn’t have any doubt because he had final say on every marketing decision in the family hotel chain right down to the front-line image of the staff.^^
He didn’t want to recognize it. That was the problem. His male interest was seriously piqued by the woman wearing it.
Which wasn’t like him. Women were fairly interchangeable for him. He never wondered, “Who is she? What’s her story?” Especially when he already had a female hand resting on his cuff and a voice murmuring, “Bello? What is it?”
“I thought I recognized someone,” he prevaricated, sending his companion a placating smile before glancing once more at the laughing woman—his employee—across the lobby.
She was nodding at someone, tucking her hair coquettishly behind her ear, saying something about email that he read on her lips as noise from different sources echoed across the foyer’s marble floor and pillars.
Curious what kind of man was keeping that bright look on her face, Demitri leaned back on the velvet settee, losing the touch of his prospective afternoon delight as he did.
Gideon.
Shock went through him as he recognized his brother-in-law. Not that Gideon looked as though he was encouraging the woman, but Demitri still rose to his feet in brotherly indignation. His sister had been through a lot, especially a few years ago when Gideon’s PA had intimated to Adara that she and Gideon were having an affair. Demitri wasn’t going to sit here while some fresh tart made a play for Adara’s husband.
“I do recognize him,” he stated grimly. “Excuse me.”
But Gideon and the blonde were already parting ways by the time he rounded the colonnade and approached. The woman swung away with a brisk walk toward the front desk while Gideon glanced up in time to catch sight of Demitri. His expression hardened with determination.
That was when Demitri remembered he was avoiding the man.
Tempted by Her Billionaire Boss (The Tenacious Tycoons) Page 17
