A Perfect Wife: International Billionaires V: The Greeks

by Caro LaFever

  Along with absolute acceptance.

  She believed him.

  His father hadn’t. He’d believed Phaidra. Instead of listening to his fifteen-year-old son, his father had immediately trusted every cunning word falling from his young wife’s mouth.

  Your son attacked me. Seduced me.

  Your son isn’t worthy of you.

  Your son should be banished.

  His father’s family had believed her too. She’d managed to cut him right out of his inheritance. She’d managed to turn him into a homeless orphan, a boy on the run. Yet more than anything, she’d managed to cut out his heart. Cut out his soul.

  For six years, from the moment she’d entered his nine-year-old life, he’d worshiped Phaidra. Adored her as only a needy and unloved child could. He’d transferred the love he’d lost when his mother disappeared and gave it to his stepmother. In return, she’d taken his childhood away the moment she’d walked into his bedroom and told him it was time he became a man. Time he turned his love for her into a man’s love, not a child’s.

  The sick, ugly thing she’d unleashed in him—as he ran from the room, as he ran from what she wanted—the sick, ugly thing had filled him where his heart and soul used to reside.

  Not until this moment had he wanted either his heart or soul back.

  Not until now.

  The witch’s mouth moved over his and somehow, the churning anger he’d lived with for so long slid off his soul. Her sipping, sucking lips pulled all the hate from him, the sick ugliness he’d lived with for what seemed like forever, and replaced it with—

  His heart.

  His soul.

  “Agápi̱ mou,” he groaned. His shaking hands ran through her moonbeam hair, tugging her into his steaming, lusting body.

  She crooned and rubbed against him, wanting him.

  She wanted him.

  “Natalie.” He managed to pull himself away from her enthrallment. But only to make sure. To make sure she wanted him, needed him as much as he needed her.

  The violet of her gaze was glazed with a lavender so lush and soft he wanted to fall into her, into her eyes, and never come out. A wisp of a smile curved her lips and he nearly fell to his knees, a helpless slave to her passion.

  “Natalie,” he croaked. “You want me?”

  For a hushed moment, he floated, his heart and soul light and filled with a glow of…

  “No.”

  The word shot through him, piercing the ragged heart and soul she’d just managed to resurrect. The violet turned dark with distaste and disgust.

  He should be angry, he thought dimly. He should shout at her for tempting him again. Scream and yell at this Circe demon who’d somehow found a way to suck the sickness inside him out only to leave him hollow and lifeless.

  Now there was nothing inside. Nothing except pure emptiness.

  “No.” She stepped back and glanced down at the ground. “I don’t want this.”

  He managed a faint chuckle. “No, no, mágissa. What you don’t want is me.”

  * * *

  Natalie stared into the round bathroom mirror.

  She took in a deep breath.

  The scarlet lace on the edge of her nightgown fluttered. The color of the lace matched the color of the silk. She’d purchased this thing in a fit of whimsy and unacknowledged hope the one time they’d gone into Thívai. The last time she’d tried to carry off a femme fatale act had been years ago with her ex-boyfriend, who’d laughed when she came out of his dinky apartment bathroom.

  That had been the last moment she’d tried to become something she was not.

  A shiver of anxiety slithered across her skin and her knees wobbled.

  What you don’t want is me.

  The memory of his harsh words and the misery in his brown eyes; the memory surged inside her, stiffening her spine and her knees. Making her decision for her.

  She’d hurt him.

  It was hard to believe the Natalie Globenko she’d grown to know—the one with no curves and no womanly charms—could possibly have the power to attract a man like Aetos Zenos, much less hurt him. A man who had plenty of charm when he grinned. A man who was legendary in his pursuit of gorgeous women.

  A man, who, apparently, wanted her.

  Natalie, you want me?

  No, she didn’t want him. Or more accurately, she didn’t want to want him. He was a mass of anger and complexity and had wounds so deep and bitter…No.

  No sane woman would want a man like Aetos Zenos.

  A single strand of sanity had managed to yank her from his embrace earlier today. She’d been touched to the soul by his confession, by his clear need for someone to embrace his truth and tell him he’d done nothing wrong. She hadn’t thought in those moments she’d reached for him and kissed him. All she wanted was to take him into her embrace and let him know the young boy he’d been was not at fault.

  Yet at that moment, a tiny thread of warning had whispered loudly. The whisper had drowned his question in a wave of fear and doubt.

  Natalie, you want me?

  The whisper had said, he will destroy you.

  So, she’d saved herself. But by saving herself, she’d sacrificed any hope of reaching him and healing him.

  He’d been silent after her rejection.

  Completely cold. Completely lifeless. Completely withdrawn.

  How could she blame him? She’d been throwing out such a wide range of signals, no man would be able to understand what she wanted. Hell, she couldn’t figure out what she wanted. She’d held her angst and indecision inside herself as they’d paced back to the farmhouse. Avoiding him had been easy during the dinner with his relatives. He’d been just as studiously avoiding her. After the meal, the family had gathered around the tree and proceeded to start decorating. Laughter and teasing and loving had encircled the tree like a living entity all its own. The love of family had bloomed in the room, wrapping around each individual who formed the whole.

  Except for him. Except for her.

  Leaning against the doorway, a glass of wine in his hand, he’d brooded.

  Sitting between his giagiá and pappoús on the sofa, she’d yearned.

  Nat stared into the bathroom mirror at two worried blue eyes and sighed.

  She wasn’t sane. She wasn’t thinking clearly. She knew that.

  An emotion bigger than thoughts and decisions welled deep inside her. She knew what it was, this emotion running deeper and stronger than any mental calculation. There wasn’t one argument her brain could shout loud enough to overcome this emotion. The emotion she’d been rejecting for weeks.

  Love.

  She’d fallen in love with Aetos Zenos.

  Not the kind of silly love she’d imagined as a kid. The kind of love where your Prince Charming showed up and you lived happily-ever-after. The kind of love she’d stopped believing in when she’d found out the truth about her father. And not the kind of stoic love she’d given since that time. Thinking love was a duty. Covering for her irresponsible father, taking care of her ailing mother, helping to raise her sullen brother.

  Neither described what she felt at this moment.

  Loving Aetos wasn’t bliss. Loving Aetos wasn’t duty.

  Loving him was giving. Giving her everything to another. Giving away her own selfish fears and hopes and replacing them with his hopes, soothing his fears. Giving everything with only the desire to make him whole with her love.

  She was going to let him sweep her away.

  An ocean of tears filled her throat.

  She was absolutely sure of what she was being swept away into. It wasn’t going to be a pretty ending for her. Aetos Zenos and Natalie Globenko weren’t meant to live happily-ever-after. Not by the longest shot an Olympic athlete could ever throw a javelin.

  She knew, with absolute certainty; he was essentially honorable.

  She knew, with absolute certainty; he’d no longer hated her and didn’t really intend to hurt her.

  But he would.<
br />
  Exactly as he hurt his family, he would eventually hurt her.

  Nat swept a shaking hand through her hair. She’d left it loose. The curls swung around her shoulders, clung to the lace, slid down her bare back. She’d remembered how he’d twisted her curls around his fingers when he’d kissed her, kissed her like she was everything to him.

  She wasn’t everything to him. She couldn’t be.

  Still, no matter how much pain there was in her future, she had no choice. She would give him her hair, her body, the body of no curves and no charm, the body he inexplicably wanted. She would give him herself, her heart and everything she had. All so that for a few moments, for a few hours, he would be whole, he would have everything he needed right now.

  This was the only thing she could do.

  Because she loved him.

  Before she twisted her thoughts any further, she reached for the door and stepped into the tiny hall. The farmhouse was dark, the relatives back in their respective homes, the grandparents cozily tucked into their bed. The wooden floor beneath her feet was cool, chilled by the mountain air whispering through the old house. In contrast, her breath felt hot in her throat, burning her tongue and mouth with an acidic tang. The bedroom door lay half open and the light of the fire’s dancing flames shone on the wool of the rug, the end of the bed.

  She forced herself to take the last steps into the room. Into his sight.

  He was wearing his customary cotton T-shirt. The blue-and-green quilt fell to his hips and he was propped up on both of their pillows, reading.

  Poetry.

  She must have made some sound, some tender puff of air. He glanced over to see her standing in the doorway. His body tensed; his expression went rigid. Blunt male fingers tightened around the book.

  Natalie stood still, trying desperately for a smile.

  “What the hell are you doing?” His harsh words froze the beginning smile off her face.

  In one quick second, a fierce wave of pure anger rushed through her. How dare he reject this sacrifice she was willing to give him? How dare he act in his usual rude, impatient manner when she was offering her heart and her body? “I’m seducing you. What the hell does it look like?”

  He blinked. The gold of his lashes lay on his olive skin for a moment and the contrast lit a burn of pure desire in the depths of her stomach. The pure lust mixed with the pure anger to combust like a bomb inside her. Slamming the door behind her, she marched to the bed and ripped the book from his fingers.

  She slammed the book on the stone ledge above his head.

  Next, she slammed her body down on his.

  All his muscles went taut under the covers lying between them. Her nose pressed on the skin of his neck and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

  What was she supposed to do now? She hadn’t thought about anything other than getting ready and getting into the bedroom. She should have done some slinky move or slid the nightgown off her body.

  But she couldn’t have undressed in front of him. She didn’t have that amount of courage.

  The movement came first on her belly. The gentle rumble made his stomach tighten. Then, she felt it rise to his chest, the breath whisking into his lungs and up to his mouth. The laughter rolled from him, the heave of his body pushed against her breasts.

  The flush of embarrassment rose from her gut to her throat and she knew for certain her entire face resembled nothing short of the bright-red tomatoes his grandmother served at every meal.

  Why she ever thought she could seduce this man was beyond her.

  But what could she do? Stand up and show him her reddened cheeks? Stumble back to the bathroom and the safety of her flannel nightie?

  Straightening her arms, pushing on the bed, she glared into his laughter. His eyes danced with gold and his teeth gleamed white in the firelight. The lamp by the bed shone on his olive skin and glistened in the blond shadow of hair on his jaw. “Shut up.”

  The laugh came harder, as his arms surrounded her, tugging her back from her try at escaping his ridicule. “No, no, mágissa. I’m not going to let you boss me around this time.”

  “What are you calling me?” She tugged once more with no success and finally gave in, tucking her head into the notch between his shoulder and neck. What else could she do? She didn’t want to leave; she didn’t want to stay. She didn’t want him and yet she loved him.

  He ignored her question and slowly, the rumble of his humor subsided. The crackle of the fire warmed and his arms felt right around her, holding her to him. She didn’t think she imagined a soft kiss on the top of her hair. And she didn’t dream of the slight massaging motion of his fingers on her back. His touch was real.

  His hips pressed up. And then, again.

  There could be no imagining or dreaming about what punched into her stomach.

  “Hmm.” She nuzzled his pine-scented skin, embarrassment and anxiety slowly slipping away.

  He chuckled. “It appears you are seducing me, exactly as you wanted.”

  His admission gave her enough courage to look at him again. The chestnut eyes stared back into hers, the light of humor continuing to sparkle in them. His mouth curved at one side in a slight smile, giving him the charm of a fallen god.

  “Do you want to?” she said in a hushed tone, wanting to make sure, needing to make sure.

  His mouth’s curve turned down and a wary light appeared in the depths of brown. “I don’t think it’s ever been an issue about what I want. It’s always been about what you want.”

  The hard length pressing against her confirmed his confession. Now the flush on her skin wasn’t embarrassment, it was a joy-filled knowing.

  Aetos Zenos did want her. Natalie Globenko.

  Astonishment held her in its grip for a moment. She’d thought when they’d kissed. She’d hoped when she noticed the heat in his gaze. She’d dreamed when she slid the silk nightie on and made her decision. Still, the confirmation gripped her hard and fast.

  The wary look deepened at her silence. “I’ll ask again. One more time. Do you want me?”

  “Nai.” Before he could react to her confession, she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his.

  His lips were soft, slack with surprise. Warm, with a hidden wet waiting for her tongue. Something passed between them when their tongues met. Some current and connection that felt as real as any lightning bolt, as real as the pull of magnetic forces coming together.

  The last bit of icy fear melted in the pit of her soul.

  She loved him. Loved him.

  His hands roamed her body, slipping over the silk and heating her skin beneath. His mouth firmed and became fierce in his need, his tongue diving in to taste her and take her. His heat and scent lifted off him in waves of masculine desire and she felt as if she were sinking into him.

  She needed to be closer, tighter.

  Her body writhed on top of his, hating the layers of cloth lying between them. But she was too engrossed in his kiss, in his touch, to take the time to get rid of the impediments. She couldn’t get enough of his taste; the mint of his toothpaste, the lingering cut of red wine. Underlying both, the pure, sweet sex of the man.

  Suddenly, he wrenched his lips from hers.

  Her hands flew to his face and tried to tug him back to her mouth.

  He laughed. A short hot blast of air on her cheeks. His dark eyes gleamed with a golden glow of passion as well as determination. “Natalie, stop.”

  “What?” Her heart stopped with a thunk. Then sunk down and down and down.

  “I’m not going to let you push me over the edge.”

  “Why not?” Seriously? The man was going to stop this now, when she’d finally taken the last step into oblivion and certain disaster in the future. He was going to stop her from loving and giving herself to him. The sliver of icy fear rose again and chilled inside her and for a moment, she thought this might be for the best.

  In the next second, hot fury ran through her at his rejection, burning t
he ice to vapor.

  Before she could yell or hit or kill, the damned man rolled her over on the bed, whipping the covers down as he did it. His powerful, athletic body pinned her to the soft mattress, his hard erection searing through her silk nightie.

  All yelling, hitting, killing impulses vanished to be replaced with confusion.

  She frowned.

  “Don’t frown, téleia gynaíka mou.” His mouth slipped across the skin of her cheek as if he were tasting a fine wine or suckling a ripe grape.

  “What are you doing?”

  He glanced up, the richness of his gaze glowing with pleasure. “I’m going to take this slow. No matter what you do or say.”

  “Take this slow?” Her brain refused to work because her body was way too busy sending a multitude of signals.

  Like the strength of his erection on her belly.

  Like the streak of sweat rolling down his strong neck.

  Like the way his hands were cupping her non-existent breasts.

  “For once in my life,” his voice slurred as his gaze dropped to where his hands held her. “I’m going to do this slowly.”

  Before her scrambled brain could wrap itself around his meaning…for once in his life…? Aetos Zenos proceeded to show her what it meant to do this slow.

  When had he stripped her? She’d been too busy with his mouth to notice.

  When had he become naked? She’d been too fascinated with how the light and heat of the fire turned his hair to a tawny mass of curls to comprehend.

  When had he put on a condom? She’d found it impossible to keep her brain working when all her senses were so alive.

  His voice curled around her, the English words falling away into a swirl of Greek. His mother tongue slid along the vowels, caressing them with praise and passion, as his sinewy hands and long, blunt fingers fondled her body.

  She couldn’t catch her breath. Had already lost her soul.

  “Afí̱ mou.” His hoarse cry broke from his throat and he stared at her. His eyes were glazed with a need as fierce and bright as the need she felt inside herself. She didn’t know the word, but knew his meaning by the way he stared at her.

  Touch me.