After the Greek Affair

by Chantelle Shaw

  This time she was sure she had not imagined Loukas’s slight hesitation before he spoke, but his voice was level and even politely apologetic as he murmured, ‘I’m afraid so.’

  Belle did not know what to say. She felt winded, as if someone had punched her and forced all the air from her lungs. She was stunned by the news that Larissa had had a change of heart. She stared down at the cheque, her vision suddenly blurred.

  It was ridiculous to cry, she told herself fiercely. But this was to have been her big chance. Larissa’s wedding was the society wedding of the year.

  Loukas Christakis was one of the richest men in Greece; recent reports suggested that he had moved up to billionaire status—which was an astounding achievement considering that he had been born into poverty. He was regarded as a national hero in his own country and a celebrity in the US, where he had started his property development empire. Everyone who was anyone had been invited to the marriage of his only sister.

  ‘I’ve never met half the people on the guest list,’ Larissa had confided to Belle. ‘If I’m honest I would have been happy with a smaller affair. But I know Loukas is determined to make my wedding the most memorable day of my life and so I feel I can’t complain.’

  The commission to design the bride’s dress for such a high profile wedding had been guaranteed to give Wedding Belle huge media attention. Belle knew it could have been the making of her fledgling business, bringing in new orders and providing a vital lifeline when the bank was threatening to call in her loan.

  But her disappointment was due to more than a lost business opportunity, she thought bleakly. She had taken an instant liking to Larissa, and had felt deeply sympathetic when she’d heard how the Greek girl had been let down by her first designer. In London, Larissa had excitedly pored over Belle’s portfolio, and had rummaged among the samples of vintage French lace, marabou feathers and other trimmings like a child in a sweetshop. Her enthusiasm had been infectious—so what had happened between then and now to cause her to choose a different designer? It didn’t make sense, Belle brooded. Something did not feel right.

  She frowned as she recalled something Larissa had said when she had visited the Wedding Belle studio. ‘Loukas wants Jacqueline Jameson to make my dress.’

  She’d recognised the name, of course. Jacqueline Jameson was a favourite designer of celebrities across the globe, and at least four Hollywood actresses had worn her dresses to last year’s most prestigious film awards. Belle had felt flattered when Larissa had insisted that she wanted to get married in a Belle Andersen creation, but it seemed that at the last minute she had changed her mind—or given in to her brother.

  She stared suspiciously at the arrogant features of the man sitting opposite her, noting the hard line of his jaw and the glint of steel in his eyes. Had Loukas got his own way? Had he put pressure on his sister to employ the designer of his choice? From what Larissa had told her it sounded as though Loukas had hijacked the wedding and was determined to turn it into a showcase to demonstrate his wealth and success, so it followed that he would want Larissa to pick an internationally acclaimed designer to make her dress.

  There was only one way to find out exactly what was going on, and that was to ask Larissa, Belle decided, opening her handbag and taking out her phone.

  Across the table she was aware that Loukas no longer looked relaxed, but had tensed and was watching her intently. ‘You need to make a call right now?’ he queried, his heavy brows drawing together.

  ‘I had an arrangement with your sister,’ she informed him, relieved that she sounded so calm when her insides were churning. ‘I’d just like to check with Larissa that she is happy with her decision to commission another designer instead of me.’ She hesitated, and felt a little shiver run down her spine when her eyes clashed with his hard grey gaze. ‘Assuming that Larissa did actually make that decision and it wasn’t made for her.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘IT ISN’T necessary to involve my sister.’

  Belle gasped as Loukas reached across the table and plucked her phone from her hand. She made a wild grab for it, but he was too quick for her and held it out of her reach, unperturbed by her furious glare.

  ‘How dare you? Give that back. What do you mean, it’s not necessary to involve Larissa? Surely she is the one person who should be involved? This is about what she wants, after all—or have you forgotten that fact?’ she said sharply.

  Loukas’s eyes narrowed at her tone. Many years ago he had been a poor immigrant, living in one of the most deprived areas of New York, but now he was a billionaire business tycoon and he was used to being treated with deference by everyone he met. He did not appreciate having his head snapped off by a diminutive English dressmaker whose business was hanging by a thread.

  ‘I know what is best for my sister—and with respect, Ms Andersen, I’m pretty sure that person is not you,’ he said bluntly.

  Belle blinked at him, shocked by his arrogant assumption that he knew his sister’s mind better than Larissa did herself. But why was she surprised? she wondered. Loukas Christakis had a reputation as a ruthless individual who had fought his way to the top and had no compunction about trampling on anyone who got in his way.

  He was watching her with a calculating, predatory look in his slate-grey eyes that was unnerving. But Belle had spent too many years being bossed around by the man she was glad she no longer had to call her father; she had finally broken free of John Townsend and she refused to be intimidated by any man.

  ‘Larissa hasn’t changed her mind, has she?’ she challenged him fiercely. ‘You’ve decided you want Jacqueline Jameson to make her dress. But why? Have you ever seen any of my dresses? Why are you so certain that I can’t make Larissa the perfect wedding gown she’s hoping for?’

  Loukas’s jaw tightened at Belle’s belligerent tone, but to his annoyance his conscience pricked. She had a point. ‘No, I haven’t seen any of your work,’ he admitted.

  Despite her anger at his attitude, Belle found her eyes drawn to his broad shoulders. He must work out, she thought, feeling a tightening sensation in the pit of her stomach when she lowered her gaze to his well-defined biceps. His skin was a deep bronze colour and his forearms were covered in fine black hairs. What would it feel like to have those strong, muscular arms around her? whispered the little voice in her head that seemed hell-bent on unsettling her.

  She suddenly realised that Loukas was speaking again and hastily forced her mind away from his undeniably sexy body.

  ‘But you’re right; I would prefer Jacqueline to design Larissa’s dress. She is a personal friend as well as an internationally acclaimed designer. I’ve never heard of you,’ he said bluntly. ‘All I know is that Wedding Belle has only existed for three years. To be frank, I’m not sure you have the experience to design a top-quality wedding dress for my sister and complete the commission to such a tight deadline. Jacqueline has run her design company for twenty years, and I know I can trust her to produce a stunning bridal gown in time for the wedding.’

  ‘I can do that—if only you would give me the chance.’ Belle leaned forward, her eyes fixed on Loukas. ‘I’m prepared to work night and day to ensure that Larissa has her dream dress.’ When his harsh expression did not alter she shook her head in frustration. ‘Larissa chose me. Surely that counts for something? She’s an adult who should be free to make her own decisions. What right do you have to organise her life for her?’

  ‘My sister has already been let down by the first designer she chose. Having spent days trying to console her when the wedding dress she had been promised never materialised, I think I have every right to ensure she is not disappointed again,’ Loukas snapped. ‘I realise you must have hoped that this commission would benefit your business, but I have paid you a substantial fee for your wasted time today.’

  Belle’s eyes dropped to the slip of paper in her hand. ‘So this cheque is actually a bribe?’ she said in an appalled voice. She hadn’t understood why Loukas had given
her enough money to pay for a luxury world cruise rather than simply reimburse her for her plane ticket to Greece, but it made sense now. ‘You expect me to take the money and disappear back to England. Larissa will have no choice at this late stage but to agree to Jacqueline Jameson making her dress, and you’ll have your own way. My God!’ She stared at him disgustedly. ‘What are you? Some kind of control freak?’

  The crack of Loukas’s palm onto the wooden table was as loud as a gunshot and caused Belle almost to jump out of her skin. ‘I refuse to apologise for wanting to protect my sister,’ he growled, his face taut with anger. ‘She trusted Toula Demakis, but all the damned woman was interested in was getting as much money as she could out of her. Now the wedding is five weeks away, and I am not prepared to risk Larissa being let down again.’

  Belle’s heart sank when she saw the implacable expression on Loukas’s face. ‘It’s true that Wedding Belle isn’t doing as well as I’d hoped when I started out,’ she admitted honestly. ‘But many businesses are struggling because of the economic recession.’

  She had been so excited three years ago when, soon after graduating from art school, she had used the small inheritance from her mother to pay the first year’s rent on the studio. Not even John’s scathing comment that she did not stand a chance in the cut-throat world of fashion design had dented her optimism. She hadn’t cared about his opinion. The revelation that he was not her father had freed her from his tyranny and she no longer had to put up with him trying to control her life.

  Why did some men feel the need to exert their power? she wondered, darting a glance at Loukas’s arrogant features. He had said he wanted to protect his sister, but it seemed to Belle that—like John Townsend—Loukas had a pig-headed desire always to have his own way. There seemed little point in trying to persuade him to listen to her, she thought wearily. But the memory of Larissa’s excitement when she had visited the studio in London prompted her to try.

  ‘I can’t deny that a high-profile wedding could do wonders for my business. But that’s not why I want to make Larissa’s dress.’ She ignored Loukas’s sceptical expression and leaned across the table, an intent expression on her face. ‘I love what I do. Making wedding dresses isn’t just a job, it’s my passion, and even if Larissa’s wedding was going to be a small affair, with only a handful of guests and no media interest, I’d still be glad that she chose me as her designer.’

  She tore the cheque in half and pushed the pieces across the table towards him. ‘I’m not interested in your money. I want to design Larissa’s dress because I like her. We clicked instantly when she came to my studio, and I’m excited about showing her my ideas.’

  She met his steel-grey gaze unflinchingly, honesty and a fierce determination to convince him that she was genuine blazing in her eyes. ‘Give me a chance, Mr Christakis, and I promise I won’t let your sister down.’

  Her eyes were the cerulean blue of the sky on a summer’s day, Loukas noted. His attention was locked on her lovely face, as if he was in the grip of a sorcerer’s spell and could not look away from her. He was utterly fascinated by her animated features when she spoke, the way she moved her hands in quick, darting gestures to emphasise a point. She reminded him of a beautiful, fragile butterfly—like the ones that often settled on the bougainvillaea bushes growing over the walls of his villa—and he was sure that if he tried to capture her she would fly away and evade him.

  Why was he indulging in such fanciful nonsense? he asked himself irritably. He was captivated by Belle Andersen—drawn by some invisible force to lean forward across the table so that his face was inches from hers. She had spoken of passion for her work, but the word evoked an image in his head of her lying on his bed, her slender body naked, her face flushed and her incredible blue eyes darkened with desire.

  Her skin was as smooth as porcelain, her soft pink lips—slightly parted, he noted—a temptation he was struggling to resist. The atmosphere between them simmered with sexual tension, and the voices of the other customers in the bar faded and did not impinge on his ferocious awareness of her.

  ‘Are you married, Ms Andersen?’

  Belle blinked, the sound of Loukas’s voice releasing her from the enchantment of his mesmerising sensuality so that she was once more aware of her surroundings. She heard the clink of glasses as a waiter passed by their table, the cry of a gull strutting along the quay.

  Dear heaven! She closed her eyes briefly and dragged oxygen into her lungs, her heart hammering. For a few heart-stopping seconds she had thought that Loukas was going to kiss her. His face was so close to hers that when he spoke his breath whispered across her lips, and she imagined him closing the gap between them and slanting his mouth over hers. She felt almost bereft that he had not.

  ‘No…no, I’m not,’ she mumbled, finding herself reluctant to sit back in her seat and break the tangible, indefinable something that quivered in the air between them. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I wondered whether your passion…’ he hesitated fractionally, his eyes lingering on her mouth ‘…for designing wedding gowns stems from your own experience as a bride.’

  Belle shook her head firmly. ‘My passion is for art and creativity. I am inspired by history. At the moment I’m especially influenced by the sumptuous extravagance of the Palace of Versailles at the time of Louis XIV. The château is renowned as one of the most stunning examples of eighteenth-century French art. I’ve visited several times and come away with ideas that I’ve incorporated into my designs. My aspiration is to transform the images in my head and make dresses that are incredibly beautiful, yet wearable. I think a bride needs to feel comfortable on her big day and confident that her dress works on a practical level—’

  She broke off and gave a rueful smile when she realised that she had been talking non-stop. ‘There you are,’ she said sheepishly, embarrassed by a display of enthusiasm that she was sure made her sound like a gauche teenager rather than a professional businesswoman. ‘I’m afraid I tend to get carried away by my passion.’

  In the silence that followed her words she was aware of the tension that smouldered like glowing embers between her and Loukas, ready to catch light at any moment. Her senses seemed to be attuned to him, so that she was conscious of the faint acceleration of his breathing and the subtle scent of his cologne. Her heart-rate quickened and she could feel her cheeks grow warm, as if molten heat was coursing through her veins. What was the matter with her? she asked herself angrily. She had met attractive men before. But none had ever made such an impact on her as Loukas Christakis.

  Belle’s passion for her designing was undeniable, Loukas brooded, unable to tear his eyes from her lovely face. Maybe he should he forget his reservations about employing an unknown designer and trust Larissa’s judgement?

  ‘How did my sister come to hear of you?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘She saw some of my dresses featured in the fashion magazine Style Icon.’

  Loukas’s brows rose in surprise. ‘You must be more well-known than I thought if your work caught the attention of the editor of Style Icon. The magazine is reputed to be the world’s top-selling fashion bible.’

  ‘Well, it was a bit of luck, really,’ Belle explained honestly. ‘My brother was working on a wedding shoot for the magazine. You might have heard of him? Dan Townsend? He’s making quite a name for himself as a fashion photographer. When one of the designers dropped out at the last minute, Dan persuaded the editor of Style Icon to use some dresses from my collection.’

  Against his will Loukas found himself intrigued by Belle. Her personal life was of no interest to him, he reminded himself, yet for some inexplicable reason he wanted to know more about her. ‘Why do you and your brother have different names?’

  Belle hesitated. There was no shame in admitting the truth, she reminded herself. The fact that she was illegitimate was not her fault. It had been her choice to change her surname by deed poll from Townsend to her mother’s maiden name of Andersen when she had discov
ered the truth of her identity.

  ‘We have different fathers.’

  It was the one thing that had saddened her when she had learned that John was not her biological father. But Dan had insisted it did not matter. ‘You’re still my sister, even if technically we’re only half-siblings,’ he had told her gently. ‘And look on the bright side—at least you’re not related to the most unpleasant man on the planet. I have to live with the knowledge that because Mum chose to remain married to my father you never knew your father.’

  Nor would she ever know now. Her mother had died and taken the identity of the man she had had an affair with to her grave, Belle thought sadly. She had no way of finding out who her real father was, although she had thought about him endlessly during the past three years—since John had made his stunning revelation on the day of her mother’s funeral that she was not his daughter.

  If only Gudrun had told her the truth… She quickly blocked off that pathway of thought. It was pointless to feel angry with her mother, ridiculous to feel betrayed by the woman she had adored. Gudrun had obviously believed she was doing the right thing when she had allowed Belle to grow up believing that John Townsend was her father.

  But her mother had been forced to make a stark choice, Belle acknowledged. She knew now that John had threatened to deny Gudrun any contact with Dan if she broke up their marriage. He had agreed to bring up the child she had conceived with her lover as his own if she stayed with him.

  No woman should ever be faced with the prospect of losing her child, Belle brooded. Gudrun had put her love for her son before her personal happiness, but because of that Belle had endured a miserable childhood, wondering why the man she believed was her father seemed to despise her. What a tangled mess it had been, she thought sadly. All brought about because her mother had married the wrong man. Gudrun’s diary had revealed that she had known within a few months of the wedding that her marriage to John had been a mistake, but by then she had been pregnant with Dan and so had been trapped in a loveless relationship.