Heiress's Defiance

by Lynn Raye Harris

  When he thought of her nipples beaded tight against the silk of her dress, he grew hard. He would have taken her on her desk if she’d given him the chance. Just like two weeks ago, before her assistant had walked in on them.

  Damn her for being so infuriatingly stubborn. He’d been surprised when she’d pushed him away—and then he’d been uncharacteristically hurt, though he told himself it was ridiculous to be so. She did not know his background, did not know she was pushing his buttons pretty hard. All she knew was how scared she was of what might happen if she gave in.

  He meant to go home, but he found himself walking in the opposite direction. The wind picked up and the clouds grew darker. Soon, it would rain, and he’d be soaked to the skin. He almost welcomed it, if it would help to cool this heat in his blood.

  But it didn’t rain, though the air was thick with the promise of it. Eventually he found himself on the street in front of her building; he couldn’t quite believe it had been his destination all along. But it had.

  He walked up to the door and hit the bell for her apartment.

  Her voice came on the intercom a few moments later. “Yes?”

  “Have you eaten?”

  He heard the intake of her breath. “Christos? It’s nine o’clock! What are you doing here?”

  “Asking if you’ve eaten, or if you worked late and skipped dinner.”

  She paused. “I ate an apple.”

  “Not good enough, Lucilla. You need real food. Tonight, I am your delivery boy.”

  “You brought dinner?” He could hear the surprise in her voice.

  “Yes.”

  “Confident, aren’t you?” she asked, echoing his own words from earlier back to him.

  “Not at all,” he told her truthfully. “But I am here and I’ve brought an offering. Let me in, fair Lucilla, or banish me. Your choice.”

  “I’m angry with you.”

  “I know this. I brought a peace offering.”

  She didn’t answer. But the door buzzed as she freed the lock and Christos went inside.

  Lucilla’s heart turned over. She glanced in the mirror by her apartment door and frowned. She’d come home and changed into yoga pants and a soft T-shirt so she could curl up on the sofa and read the reports from her staff.

  She had not expected company. She had certainly not expected Christos. She heard his footsteps on the stairs and yanked the door open. He was still wearing his suit from earlier, and his hair was gorgeously tousled from the breeze outside. He came up the last step and stopped. Then he held up a bag.

  “Souvlaki, pita, rice, dolmades and baklava.”

  Lucilla blinked. “Don’t tell me you cook.”

  “I do, actually. But I didn’t cook this. Still, I promise it’s good.”

  She pulled the door wider and he came inside, smelling like the night air and something spicy, too. She closed it behind him and then headed for the kitchen because she did not know what to say. When she got there, she began to pull out plates and silverware. Christos took the food from the bag and set the containers in a row on her island.

  It was almost companionable, which seemed strange considering they were enemies.

  Enemies who were powerfully attracted to each other, apparently. So attracted that she’d gone against every bit of good sense she possessed and let him in.

  She spied the bottle of wine she’d planned to open earlier. She’d been texting Antonio and forgot all about it. A sliver of guilt threatened to prick her as she remembered what they’d been texting about.

  Christos. Specifically, getting rid of Christos.

  “Wine?” she asked, picking up the bottle. Because she certainly needed it now.

  Christos flashed her a smile that made her insides quiver. “Sounds good.”

  She fished in the cabinet for the opener. But her hands were trembling too much to do a proper job and she swore softly as she failed to get the corkscrew seated for the second time.

  “Here, let me.” Christos was beside her, his big body almost startling as he invaded her space. He took the corkscrew from her hands, took the bottle, too, and then deftly inserted the device. She watched as he expertly worked the cork free.

  “You must have been a waiter once.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed. Though not for long.”

  “Didn’t like it, huh?”

  His expression was coolly amused. “No, I bought the restaurant.”

  She should have known. “You went from being a waiter to being the owner. How long did that take?”

  “Six months.”

  Lucilla wanted to whistle. “You do have a hell of a reputation, Christos.”

  That much was certainly true. Everything she’d learned about him since she’d started researching him only made him seem more formidable—and yes, even somewhat supernatural—than before. Christos achieved things that others could not. He did not fail, and he did not leave a business in worse shape than when he arrived. He always improved upon what he’d been given.

  She knew that—and yet she knew she could do the same thing, at least where the Chatsfield empire was concerned. She knew the business backward and forward because she’d worked pretty much every position in the hotels there was, from chambermaid to front desk and beyond. She’d been preparing for it her entire adult life, but her father didn’t have faith in her ability.

  It still stung, even after all these weeks, and she bit down on the bitter flood of acid in her throat. Thinking about her father would only make her angry and upset, and she’d prefer to keep her wits about her. She had a very dark, very handsome, very dangerous man in her kitchen.

  And she still had no idea why he was here. Or why she’d let him in.

  Christos stood so near, his scent wrapping around her, invading her senses. He handed her a glass of wine, clinking his with hers. “It’s because I deliver on my promises,” he said, sipping the wine. “All of them.”

  And there it was again, that liquid slide of heat infusing her limbs. Weakening her with longing. She never knew when it was going to hit, but it seemed to do so way too often of late.

  It made her grumpy. “How do you manage to make everything you say sound as if it has a double meaning?”

  He laughed. “Perhaps because it does.”

  “Why are you here, Christos?”

  His eyes glittered hot. “For the same reason you let me in, Lucilla mou.”

  Heat spread over her skin like an incoming tide. “I let you in because you had food.”

  “Of course.” He set his wine down and shed his suit jacket. Her heart nearly stopped in her chest as she wondered what he might do next—but he only rolled up his sleeves, revealing powerful forearms, and then picked up a plate and dished out some food. “Here, try these dolmades. You will think you are in heaven.”

  Lucilla blinked. How could he think of food right now when all she could think of was heat and skin and sex? He’d put that thought in her head, damn him. She had not let him in for any other reason than because he’d brought dinner.

  Riiightt …

  Lucilla shook off her incriminating thoughts and joined him at the island. She slipped onto a barstool and speared a grape leaf stuffed with mint, rice and lamb. It was delicious, slightly warm, and she quickly took another bite.

  “It’s fabulous,” she said, surprised at how hungry she was. She often ate something small in the evenings, but even she had to admit that an apple wasn’t quite enough. She’d been busy and she’d put off getting up and rummaging in the refrigerator for something more when the doorbell rang.

  “Yes, it is. Did you try the souvlaki yet?”

  She stabbed a bit of the spiced lamb. “Oh, wow, it melts in your mouth.”

  His eyes narrowed as he watched her chew and she suddenly felt hot again. Outside, a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky.

  “Indeed it does.”

  They ate in silence for a few moments while outside the sky rumbled and cracked. Lucilla studied the food on
her plate rather than looking at Christos.

  Dammit, this was silly. She was a grown woman, not a teenager with a crush. She could look at him. Just lift her head and—

  He was watching her, his blue eyes warm and deep as an ocean for a change. The heat flashing through her grew hotter.

  “Don’t stare at me,” she said.

  He took a leisurely drink of his wine. “Why not? You are beautiful. I like looking at you.”

  “I’m not one of your conquests, Christos. Save the compliments.”

  He shrugged and set his wine down again. “Tell me why you are so different from your siblings.”

  Her heart thumped. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “You’re very serious, very studious. Your name is never linked with scandal. You’ve had no embarrassing entanglements, no public meltdowns. And you don’t seem to want attention. In fact, you shrink from it. I compliment you and you get angry.”

  Lucilla didn’t know what to say. A ball of emotion rolled in the pit of her stomach. It shouldn’t surprise her that he knew things about her, but it somehow did.

  Worse, he’d observed things that no amount of research could have told him. Like her inability to accept compliments. To her, they always seemed like false promises. Things people said in order to deflect you from the fact they weren’t going to be there for you when you needed them. She didn’t need compliments when she had accomplishments.

  Lucilla dragged in a breath. There were some things she didn’t like to talk about, some hurts that went too deep. Inside, she would always be the little girl who wasn’t lovable enough. Her mother had left them all, and her father had happily let her and Antonio take on the task of raising their siblings while he’d caroused in London. He’d never thanked them for it, either.

  Her coping mechanism had always been to be the good girl. Because how could her parents fail to love the good girl? If she were good enough, she’d thought, maybe her mother would come back.

  She took a swallow of her wine. Oh, she knew what a naive thought that was now. But as a girl, it had been very defining. Her entire life had revolved around that thought for so long that it was ingrained in her.

  “Not every Chatsfield needs attention,” she said softly. “Perhaps I’m one who does not. And I can accept compliments. I just prefer them to have meaning rather than be a means to an end.”

  “And who says my compliment has no meaning? You? I assure you that you are very beautiful indeed. I want you, Lucilla. I think you know this.”

  “How do I know you aren’t just saying it?” Because he was a spider on a web, a puppet master dangling the strings—he’d managed everyone thus far. What if he was managing her, too? Managing her with the things she needed most—companionship and belonging.

  “I thought I proved that already.”

  She snorted. “An erection? All you need do is close your eyes and think of rubber-dress girl and you’re there. I’m not so stupid I don’t get that trick.”

  He looked incredulous. And then he reached for her hand, threaded his fingers in hers and raised it to press his lips to the skin on the inside of her wrist. A shiver ricocheted through her. “Believe me when I tell you that the only reason I might think of her when I’m with you is to calm a raging erection. Not the other way around.”

  “You are such a liar,” she breathed.

  His eyes were intense. “I dare you to test me, Lucilla. Take me to your bedroom and test me.”

  Her heart skipped wildly. She couldn’t answer that challenge. “Tell me you didn’t sleep with her. I bet you can’t.”

  He shook his head. “No, I can’t.”

  “I knew it.”

  “And what has this to do with you and me and right now?”

  Another bolt of lightning flashed outside the window and the lights flickered. She extracted her hand. “I won’t be a conquest. I see no point in it.”

  He stabbed another bite of lamb and chewed it. “Really? This from the woman who’s been having lots and lots of sex?”

  Her color rose. “I don’t need you if I’m getting off with other men, do I?”

  “I’m better than they are, Lucilla.”

  “You are so arrogant.”

  “No, just truthful. If I were your lover, you wouldn’t be getting excited by another man the way you are with me.” He grinned. “These lovers are inadequate.”

  Her ears were hot. But the wine was working its magic, making her feel languid and relaxed for the first time in days. Outside, the rain came down hard. Inside, she felt warm and cozy and even a tiny bit content. “Maybe I’m just insatiable.”

  He dropped his fork and groaned. “Don’t put that thought in my head. It makes my imagination run wild.”

  She wanted to ask what kinds of things he was imagining. But that was a very bad idea. Lucilla took another sip of wine. “If you were anyone else …”

  “And who is the liar now, Lucilla?” His voice was soft and mocking—but not in a mean way. In a way that made her insides curl and twist.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I think you do.” He leaned forward and caressed her cheek. “For all your talk, you are a workaholic. You work late, you go home alone every night and you come in early every day. You aren’t having sex with anyone, insatiably or otherwise.”

  She wanted to deny it. But there was really no point. “It’s not polite to call a girl a liar.”

  “No? I didn’t think politeness was one of my strong points, anyway.”

  “It definitely isn’t. Besides, if you knew I wasn’t having sex with anyone, why did you take such pains to tell me how much better you are than my imaginary lovers?”

  He laughed, and the warmth of the sound slid down her spine. “Did you think I would pass up an opportunity to tell you how good I could make you feel?” He shook his head. “Not a chance.”

  “You really are full of yourself.”

  “There’s one way to find out, isn’t there?”

  She crossed her arms and leaned back on the stool. “You never stop trying to bait me into it, do you?”

  “I’m a man. It’s what we do when we want a woman.”

  His words made her shiver deep inside. Oh, how she wanted to just let go and see where this could lead. It had been so long since any man had touched her that she was almost willing to throw caution to the wind and let Christos be the one to break the long drought.

  “Maybe we should talk about something else for a while,” she said, desperate to change the subject before she climbed in his lap or did something equally outrageous.

  “What do you wish to discuss?”

  “I don’t know. Tell me about your life. Tell me why you came to London when you could be lounging on a beach in Greece.”

  “If I were lounging on a beach in Greece, I would not be very successful, now would I?”

  “You could afford to lounge a bit, I’m sure. Aren’t you already successful?” He’d built up a pretty amazing fortune, according to her sources. Yet here he was, working for her father. Except that wasn’t quite true. Christos was like a rock star of the corporate world. He commanded a very high price and what he did could hardly be called working for anyone.

  He worked for himself. When he was satisfied he’d done all he could, he moved on and took the next challenge someone presented him with.

  “I am. But if I were to lounge on beaches, as you suggest, I wouldn’t have the sort of work ethic conducive to being successful.”

  She snorted. “Surely you can take a vacation here and there.”

  His eyes were unfathomable. “I don’t need a vacation, Lucilla mou. I need to work.”

  “It sounds very tiring.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “And when did you last take a vacation?”

  “Last year. I took a long weekend and went to Spain.”

  “To the Chatsfield Preitalle, yes?”

  She was silent for a long moment. “Yes.”

  He shook his head. “
You are every bit as bad as I am. And I like this about you. Unlike the rest of your siblings, you understand how to work.”

  She propped an elbow on the island and leaned on it. “I thought I was spoiled.”

  “You are. But that doesn’t mean you haven’t learned the value of hard work.”

  “Sometimes you make no sense, Christos.”

  He straightened. “It makes perfect sense. You work because the Chatsfield means something to you. But you’ve never had to really work.”

  She would not tell him about tending to Nicolo when he’d been in agony after his accident. There’d been a time when she was the only person Nicolo would let near him, and that had meant a lot of sleepless nights in addition to full days of care. Sadly, Nicolo didn’t let anyone near these days. It worried her, but he was a grown man now and he would do things in his own time.

  And then there was Cara, who’d been a baby when their mother had walked out. Lucilla knew what it was like to work to raise a child, even though the child had not technically been hers. Oh, yes, she knew all about work, but she wasn’t going to tell Christos these things. They were none of his business.

  “I’ll have you know I was a chambermaid for a month.” She said it coolly, proudly.

  He snorted. “Yes, but always with the understanding that you could stop at any time. That you would not go hungry if you did. You’ve never had to do things to survive, Lucilla. That is the difference.”

  She could only stare at him. At his handsome face and high cheekbones, at the way his eyes flashed. And she understood something about him that she never had before. It made her heart twist in sympathy. “You did, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  She reached for his hand impulsively, squeezed his fingers. He was looking at her curiously, as if she was a rare species and he had to be very quiet or scare her away.

  “I’m sorry these things happened to you.”

  She felt him tense beneath her touch. “Nothing terrible happened to me, glykia mou. I had to work hard or I wouldn’t have had money to eat. That’s not a bad thing. It’s a very normal thing for anyone not born into privilege.”