A Perfect Man: International Billionaires IV: The Greeks

by Caro LaFever

  “I thought we were all done.” Her little bow mouth drooped as if she’d been forced to do manual labor and couldn’t go on for one more minute.

  “Not quite.” Alex waved at the elegantly-clad attendant to choose the next item.

  The last item he’d picked out for her to try on.

  The red dress glowed like a ripe cherry. Interlocking golden chains clenched around the waist and a trail of ruby beads lined the edge of the long sleeves. The low-cut bodice would cling to every one of her curves while the bell skirt cutting off at mid-thigh would highlight her extremely pretty legs.

  The dress screamed Sophia to him.

  All fire and blaze.

  All heat and zap.

  All Sophia.

  “I don’t think it will fit.” She peered at the bright red garment as the attendant held it out for inspection. Her round cheeks went pale instead of the rosy color they should be. His sisters and his mother would come running into the Paris apartment with rosy cheeks and big grins after one of their many shopping outings.

  Why was Sophia Feuer such a puzzle in every single way?

  “Try it on.” He kept his tone cordial and light. “I think it will fit.”

  “It’s not the right color.”

  Says the woman wearing the god-awful yellow T-shirt. He coughed.

  The attendant, who’d been remarkably patient since they’d entered the shop five hours ago, smiled. “The gown will fit, Mademoiselle. I know my clothes and we did take measurements when you first arrived.”

  That had been a touch-and-go moment. He’d even had to whisper lease in her ear before she submitted to being led away to the dressing room. Once that fight had been won, though, there’d been surprisingly little rebellion until now. She’d obediently pulled on a string of wool slacks that emphasized the length of her leg. He’d sat in the sleek leather chair provided and sipped on champagne as she’d marched out from the dressing room in a variety of jewel-toned sweaters that complimented her shining brown eyes and red-tinged hair.

  “I’m not sure I like the gold belt.”

  “I noticed a very nice pair of gold high heels in the display by the door that will match the belt.”

  His words lit the attendant’s face into a smile. “Oui, Monsieur. Those would work well with this outfit.” She rushed away.

  Sophia’s bow mouth went flat and her eyes glared.

  “What?” he said, his hands raised. “You like shoes.”

  “I have plenty of shoes.”

  “But not Paris shoes, hmm? And not a pair of gold ones either.”

  The glare turned deadly. Why? He had no idea. His statements were factually correct. Every one of them.

  She loved shoes.

  There were no better shoes than Parisian shoes.

  And he’d noticed she’d noticed the golden heels as they’d walked into the shop hours ago.

  He straightened in his chair, ready for a firecracker blast, but before Sophia could respond, the attendant ran back into the anteroom they’d taken over. “Here. These will be ideal with the dress.”

  The stiletto heels were wrapped in spiraled lamé and the pointed toes gleamed with a subtle line of gemstones.

  “Go on, krotída mou.” Alex watched her as she gazed with wary appreciation at the shimmering shoes. “You know you want to.”

  “Fine.” Exactly as she had in his bedroom the night of their golden ball, she grabbed the clothing and clomped back into the dressing room.

  “Well.” The attendant gave him a nervous smile. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased.”

  “Oui, I’m also sure.”

  She might be pleased. More likely, she would not.

  For some reason, Ms. Feuer did not like dresses. Any kind of dress.

  Why?

  The tragic story apparently.

  One that he became more and more intent on hearing, he reluctantly realized.

  As every beautiful gown had been brought out, every time, mutiny had crossed her face and he’d immediately wanted to know why. Much to his relief, he hadn’t had to mouth lease even once, yet the curiosity built inside him. Because after her usual scowl, the woman had taken each of the elegant Parisian dresses and stomped back to the dressing room without a word.

  No mutiny. No blast of furious words. No tiny fists clenched or pursed pink lips or snapping brown eyes.

  Perhaps the woman was finally getting a clue.

  Maybe it was as simple as that.

  He’d lived with four sisters. He’d grown up in a sea of chiffon and glitter and lipstick. In a world where the female, with all of her wonder and whirl, dominated. Alex Stravoudas knew clothes as well as he knew architecture. As he’d proved to himself, and to her, every time she came pacing out of the dressing room.

  When she’d come out the first time, he’d been lucky to be sitting down. His reaction would have been hard to conceal.

  He loved Sophia in dresses.

  First had come the hand-crocheted cream dress, with its lovely geometric design and ribbed neckline that emphasized her delicate shoulders. Then the classic Parisian black dress. Yet this time the color was subtly altered by a rich touch of warmth making her skin gleam in the chandelier lights like pearl. He’d loved the teal halter-top with the layers of tulle puffing out from her tiny waist. His krotída mou had caught him looking at her amazing cleavage and had blushed a fiery red.

  He should have made some snarky comment at that point, should have taken the moment to poke her pride and spur her temper. Keep the anger going up and up until she became so vicious and nasty he’d have no interest in her.

  Instead, he’d kept his mouth shut.

  The tragic story must be told and along with that determination had come another.

  He’d abandoned all doubts. The moment he’d heard her hum as she took her first bite of her crêpe, the moment he’d groaned an instant response, at that moment, he’d known.

  He wanted to have sex with Sophia Feuer.

  And he was an idiot to fight the feeling.

  No sex throughout his engagement, and the subsequent month he’d been busy stoking his anger at Sophia, certainly contributed to his need. If he wanted to fool himself, he could lay the blame entirely on that situation.

  But honesty prevailed.

  He’d never stared at Melanie as she ate and thought about making her hum in another way. He didn’t think about tearing off Sophia’s clothes only because they were atrocious. And he couldn’t imagine himself in bed with anyone other than his firecracker.

  For now.

  Because, obviously, this must be some odd kind of phase he was passing through. He normally didn’t ponder how a woman’s abundant breasts were going to fit into his hand or appreciate the visual of plump thighs spreading for him. However, it appeared his tastes had changed.

  For now.

  “Okay.” Her voice came low and rough. “I put it on.”

  Alex had known the dress was perfect for her. He hadn’t realized how perfect.

  The heels drew attention to the curves of her legs. His gaze trailed the curves from her calves to her dimpled knees to the beginning of the thighs currently starring in his pornography-laced thoughts.

  His cock roared approval while his brain twisted around a question.

  Why had this dress, of all the dresses, caused her to rebel? Why? Because it was completely perfect for her.

  Why couldn’t she see this?

  “You’re beautiful, Sophia.” His words were simple and sincere. “Beautiful.”

  Her face turned white. “Don’t say that.”

  Alex stared as her mouth tightened and a sheen of tears filled her eyes. The tragic story was clearly more tragic than he’d imagined. This needed to be dealt with, and even though a month ago, he would have laughed at the idea, he now wanted to fix this for her. “Sophia—”

  “I don’t like the color red, okay?” Her hands fisted at her sides. “Sue me.”

  “Sophia—”

  “You lik
e it? Fine. Buy it for all I care.” She whirled around and made for the dressing room. “I’m finished here.”

  The scrolled white door slammed shut.

  The attendant pasted on a smile. “I thought she looked magnifique.”

  “Oui, she did.” Alex pushed himself out of the chair and handed her his credit card. “We’ll take everything. Including the red dress.”

  A flash of delight crossed the attendant’s face. Her commission fee would be astronomical. “Wonderful.”

  He smiled and a flush of another kind of delight filled her cheeks. She was a pretty woman and in other circumstances, he’d be interested.

  The slam of the dressing room door came again. From the corner of his eye, he caught the nauseating clash of yellow on sallow skin.

  “I’m leaving,” Sophia huffed.

  Why? The one-word question swirled around in his head to the point it made him dizzy. Why did this woman hold such fascination for him? At any other time, he’d have chosen this elegant, young lady with her blushing cheeks and charmed gaze instead of the grumpy, frumpy woman stalking past him.

  Not this time, though. Not right now.

  “If you would send the clothes to this address.” He slipped her a card while giving her the last gift of his smile.

  “Assurément.” The attendant gave him another dazzled gaze before processing the order.

  The front door slammed.

  “Clearly, I’m lagging behind.” Grabbing his credit card back, he slid on his coat and headed for the door.

  In the five hours they’d spent at Élodie the sunlight had turned sullen, with dark and heavy clouds threatening rain. A light drizzle began, but he wanted to show Sophia one more place before they went to the family apartment. A place that she, hopefully, enjoyed a bit more than the apparent torture of this afternoon.

  Alex shook his head at the inexplicability of the female marching a block in front of him. Any other woman of his acquaintance would have been swooning in his arms after spending half a day buying Parisian clothes he was going to pay for.

  Any other woman but—

  “Sophia.”

  His call only made her stubby legs move faster. Alex sighed into the collar of his coat at her stubbornness. Since she was heading toward Rue de Bretagne, though, right where he wanted to go, he figured he’d let her cool off before demanding she stop where he needed her to stop.

  The drizzle turned to rain.

  Her long ponytail bopped, the dark brown turning to black. The end of the navy blue peacoat hid her butt, yet he still saw the muscles moving beneath the wool. His imagination heated: her lush, pink ass in his hands, the arch of her back, delicate and creamy, the length of her hair streaming across her shoulders, her round face pressed into a pillow. Her low hum as he smoothed his fingers between her cheeks.

  The image was unusually vivid, so picture perfect clear, his cock rose in instant response. Hard, hot, completely engorged.

  Alex Stravoudas. Walking along a cold, rainy Paris street. Fully erect.

  There had never been once, in his entire life, even as a horny teenager, never once had he become fully erect suddenly, for no apparent reason.

  A laugh erupted from him.

  The tiny figure stomping in front of him stopped and turned.

  Her scowl scrunched her face, an unpainted face. Her hair looked like she’d run a comb through it sometime last month. The corner of the ugly yellow shirt peeked out of the coat.

  His cock impossibly hardened further.

  Alex laughed once more.

  “Why are you laughing at me?” His firecracker’s scowl turned fierce.

  “I’m not laughing at you.” He chuckled in rueful acknowledgment of what had just occurred to him. “I’m laughing at myself.”

  Her dark brows frowned in apparent confusion. “Huh?”

  Never, in his entire life, had he suffered a moment of concern about whether a woman wanted to go to bed with him or not. They always did. He had money, could charm, and had passable looks. So he’d never had an issue.

  He did now.

  If he told Sophia what he was thinking, she would label him an arrogant asshole. But even if he never told her what he thought, he’d still have a problem.

  His cock wanted her.

  Alex Stravoudas, amazingly, wanted her.

  However, he’d make a large wager that if he proposed bed to Ms. Feuer she’d whack him on the side of his head. Then she’d march off in a huff, leaving his previous confidence with women and sex lying in the dust.

  Another piece of his life his krotída mou had blown up.

  Chapter 11

  “It’s cold and I’m wet.” Sophie shivered in her coat and frowned at Alexander the Great.

  “You’re also going to be hungry soon.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Stop going on about my eating habits.”

  “I like your eating habits.” He grinned in the face of her obvious irritation. “And I know you’re going to enjoy this place. We’re going to enjoy ourselves.”

  “Yeah, sure.” She stared down the narrow alley and then back at the metal archway. “You promised me I’d enjoy myself before and look how awful that was.”

  “Awful.” He drawled out the word, a hint of tease brimming in the vowels. “You are surprising. In so many ways.”

  She ignored him and read the crooked sign instead. “Marché des Enfants Rouges. You want me to go and examine red babies?”

  He laughed again. And again she realized she loved it when he truly laughed. Not the fake laugh he’d used on the plane when he was meeting with Henry and their PAs. Not the arrogant laugh he gave his clients. No, his real laugh came rich and round, from his belly and not his calculating mind.

  Before she could stop herself, she glanced from the sign to him.

  He was smiling. The real smile. The one that lit his blue eyes to blazing beauty and made his wide mouth something she very much wanted to go on her tiptoes and touch.

  With her own.

  She yanked her attention away. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

  “Sophia.” He exhaled in clear exasperation.

  Ignoring him once more, she pushed open the gate and marched up the long narrow lane decorated with a line of potted chrysanthemums, their bright yellow and red colors trying to appear cheerful in the dripping rain.

  Cheerful. Ha.

  She was acting like a brat. She knew this. Rather than being a nitwit, she should enjoy being in Paris. So what if she hated clothes shopping? So what if the last five hours had been horrible? So what if the dratted man walking behind her was a know-it-all manipulator?

  She was in Paris.

  She was going to spend the next week with the best pastry chefs in the world.

  Plus, she couldn’t blame Alexander Stravoudas for not knowing why she hated clothes shopping and hated red dresses in particular. He didn’t know and since she wasn’t ever going to share the gory details, she was stuck with the clothes he’d bought her until their deal was done. Including that horrible red dress. A red dress he was going to demand she wear at some point. She’d seen the look in his eye when she’d walked out of the dressing room for the last time. She’d seen the gleam of—

  Sexual interest.

  Mr. Perfect was sexually interested in her.

  Her tummy flipped into a frenzy at the thought. She hadn’t imagined the something in his eyes when they’d been eating breakfast. Alexander wanted to have sex with her. She was sure of it.

  Well, almost sure.

  Because she was talking about the Perfect Man here. The guy that dated beauties and blondes and the best. Not that Sophie wasn’t confident in herself. She was. Kind of. But she was also a realist.

  She was short. Round. And nothing close to being perfect for the Perfect Man.

  Rain drizzled on her neck and shoulders, making her shiver.

  “Cold?” His warm voice came from right behind her. “We’ll be out of the rain in a second.”


  His hand, his big, brute hand, brushed her ponytail and then down. The touch lingered on the small of her back. Even through her heavy wool coat, she felt the linger.

  Her steps faltered to a stop. He closed in, right behind her.

  She didn’t have a lot of sex radar; her girlfriends teased her about that. Still, she had enough to recognize what this was.

  He was interested.

  What are you going to do about it?

  The question banged into her brain, leaving confusion and excitement and incredulous disbelief in its wake. Before she could stop herself, she peeked at him. At his mouth, specifically. His sunny smile had been replaced with a sultry, sexy slant.

  She looked up farther, into his eyes. The cerulean color blazed with…

  Desire.

  Her heart chugged into a violent gallop and her gaze flickered to his lush lips once more.

  He leaned in, close to her ear. “Do you want to kiss me?”

  The warmth of his breath brushed her skin and she shivered again. The rain fell, curtaining them in a haze of privacy.

  What are you going to do about this?

  “You want to kiss me, don’t you?” The confidence, the arrogance in his voice, blasted the answer from her brain.

  No. She did not want to do this.

  No. She did not want to be one of Alexander the Great’s conquests.

  And decidedly, NO. She did not want Mr. Perfect gloating about the fact he’d bedded the woman who’d spotted him for what he really was.

  A con man. A charmer. The last man she would ever trust with her body.

  She turned her head away. “No, I don’t want to kiss you.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the male mouth turn grim.

  “Ever again.” Yanking herself from the warm cocoon of his body, she marched forward.

  There. She’d made her decision. She’d answered the question. Alexander Stravoudas had her reluctant cooperation for the next few months, but he was never going to get her body. He was never going to get the chance to crow about the fact he’d finally charmed Sophia Feuer into his bed; the last woman on earth who’d resisted him.

  The flowers lining the old brick wall sparkled in the rain.