What the Greek Can't Resist

by Maya Blake

  Perla’s breath stalled as she caught the familiar scent again. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. God, please give me strength because I’m seriously losing it here.

  When her elderly neighbour and only friend Mrs Clinton’s hand covered hers, she gratefully clutched it. The discerning woman had wisely put herself between Perla and Morgan’s parents but she felt their heartbreak with every fibre of her being.

  For their sake, for the kindness and open warmth they’d shown her, she had to keep it together. They were the reason she’d borne this humiliation for so long. Morgan had known that. Had banked on it, in fact, and used it as the perfect blackmail tool when she’d threatened to leave him—

  ‘Not long before it starts. Don’t worry, dear; in less than an hour, it’ll be over. I went through the same thing with my Harry,’ she whispered. ‘Everyone means well, but they don’t know the best they can do in times like these is to leave you alone, do they?’

  Perla attempted a response and only managed a garbled croak. Mrs Clinton patted her hand again reassuringly. With relief, she heard the organ starting up. As she stood, Perla caught the scent again, and quickly locked her knees as she swayed.

  She glanced to the side and saw a tall, imposing man with a thin scar above his right eye standing next to a striking blonde.

  Sakis Pantelides, the man who’d phoned two weeks ago with news of her husband’s death. His condolences had been genuine enough but after her discovery of just what Morgan had done to his company, Perla wasn’t so sure his attendance here was an offer of support.

  Her gaze shifted to the proprietorial arm he kept around the woman, his fiancée, Brianna Moneypenny, and she felt a twinge of shame-laced jealousy.

  He caught her gaze and he gave a short nod in greeting before returning his attention to the front.

  She faced forward again, but the unsettling feeling that had gripped her nape escalated. The feeling grew as the ceremony progressed. By the time the priest announced the eulogy reading, Perla’s stomach churned with sick nerves. She pushed it away. Whatever emotional turmoil she was experiencing had nothing to do with the Pantelides family and everything to do with what she’d done on Tuesday night. And those memories had no place here in this chapel, today.

  No matter what Morgan had put her through, she had to do this without breaking down. She had to endure this for his parents’ sake.

  They’d offered her the only home she’d ever known, and the warmth she’d only ever dreamed about as a child.

  Another pat from Mrs Clinton gave her the strength to keep upright. She thought she heard a sharp intake of breath behind her but Perla didn’t turn around. She needed every ounce of focus to stride past the coffin holding her dead husband...the husband who, while he’d been alive, had taken great pleasure in humiliating her; the husband who even in death...seemed to be mocking her.

  She got to the lectern and unfolded the piece of paper. Nerves gripped her and, although she knew it was rude, she couldn’t look up from the sheet. She had a feeling she would lose her nerve if her gaze strayed from the paper in her hand.

  Clearing her throat, she moved closer to the microphone.

  ‘I met Morgan at the uni bar on my first day on campus. I was the wide-eyed, clueless outsider who had no clue what went into a half-fat, double-shot pumpkin spice latte—except maybe the pumpkin—and he was the second-year city dude every girl wanted to date. Even though he didn’t ask me out until I was in my last year, I think I fell in love with him at first sight...’

  Perla carried on reading, refusing to dwell on how overwhelmingly wrong she’d been about the man she’d married; how utterly gullible she must have been to have had the wool pulled over her eyes so effectively until it was too late.

  But now was not the time to think of past mistakes. She read on, saying the right thing, honouring the man who right from the very beginning of their marriage had had no intention of honouring her.

  ‘...I’ll always remember Morgan with a pint in his hand and a twinkle in his eye, telling rude jokes in the uni bar. That was the man I fell in love with and he’ll always remain in my heart.’

  Unshed tears clogged her throat again. Swallowing, she folded the sheet and finally gathered the courage to look up.

  ‘Thank you all for coming—’

  She choked to a halt as her gaze clashed with a pair of sinful, painfully familiar hazel eyes.

  No.

  Oh, God, no...

  Her knees gave way. Frantically, she clutched at the lectern. She felt her hand begin to slip. Someone shouted and moved towards her. Unable to breathe or halt her crumpling legs, she cried out. Several people rushed towards her. Hands grabbed her before she fell, righted her, helped her down from the dais.

  And, through it all, Arion Pantelides stared at her from where he stood next to the man she’d guessed was Sakis Pantelides, icy condemnation blazing from his eyes and washing over her until her whole body went numb.

  * * *

  Ari tried to breathe past the vice squeezing his chest, past the thick anger and acrid bitterness lashing his insides. The pain that rose alongside it, he refused to acknowledge.

  Why would he feel pain? He had no one to blame but himself. After all life had thrown at him, he’d dared to believe he could reach out and seek goodness when there was none to be had. Only disappointment. Only heartache. Only disgust.

  But still the anger came, thick and fast and strong, as he stared at Pearl...no, Perla Lowell, the woman who’d lied about her name and slithered into his bed while her husband’s body was barely cold.

  Disgust roiled through him. Even now, the memory of what they’d done to each other made fiery desire pool in his groin. Gritting his teeth, he forced his fists to unclench as he stamped down on the emotion.

  He’d let himself down, spectacularly and utterly. On the most sacred of days, when he should’ve been honouring his past, he’d allowed himself to succumb to temptation.

  Temptation with absolutely the wrong woman.

  One who’d turned out to be as duplicitous and as sullied as the husband she was burying.

  ‘Do you know what’s going on with her?’ His younger brother, Sakis, slid a glance at him.

  Ari kept his gaze fixed ahead, jaw clenched tight. ‘It’s her husband’s funeral. I’d have thought it was obvious she’s drowning in grief.’ How bitter those words tasted in his mouth. Because he knew they were the last emotion Perla Lowell was feeling. A woman who could do what she’d done with him forty-eight hours before putting her dead husband in the ground?

  No, grief didn’t even get a look-in.

  Whereas he... Theos.

  His gut clenched hard at the merciless lash of memories. He’d gorged himself on her, greedy in his need to forget, to blank the pain that had eviscerated him with each heartbeat.

  Turning away from the spectacle playing out on the altar, he followed the trickle of guests who’d started to leave the chapel.

  ‘Are you sure that’s all?’ Sakis demanded. ‘I could’ve sworn she totally freaked out only when she saw you.’

  Ari rounded on him as they exited into dappled sunshine. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  ‘I don’t know, brother, but she seemed to be fixated on you. I thought maybe you knew her.’

  ‘I’ve never been to this backwater until today, and I only came because you insisted you couldn’t make it. What are you doing here, anyway?’

  ‘It was my fault. I insisted.’ Brianna, his beautiful soon-to-be sister-in-law spoke up. ‘I thought, as Lowell’s former employer, Sakis should be here. We tried to call you to let you know but your phone was off and the staff at Macdonald Hall said you’d checked out yesterday.’

  His jaw clenched harder at the reminder.

  He’d been running a fool’s errand, desperately
trying to track down the woman who’d run out on him in the middle of the night. A day and a half, he’d driven up and down the damned countryside, searching for the Mini whose red paint was a poor match for the vibrant hair colour of the woman who’d made him lose his mind and forget his pain for a few blissful hours.

  Theos! How could he not have seen that it was all an illusion? They said sex made fools of men. They’d said nothing about the deadly blade of memory and the consequences of a desperate search for oblivion.

  Bringing his mind into focus, he lowered his gaze away from his brother’s blatant curiosity.

  ‘We’ve paid our respects, now can we get the hell out of here?’ he rasped.

  Sakis nodded at a few guests before he answered him. ‘Why, what’s the hurry?’

  ‘I have a seven o’clock meeting first thing in the morning, then I fly out to Miami.’

  Sakis frowned. ‘It’s only two o’clock in the afternoon, Ari.’

  His body didn’t know that because he’d been up all day and all night, searching...chasing a dream that didn’t exist.

  He was losing it. He needed to get out of there before he marched back into that tiny chapel and roared his fury at that red-headed witch inside.

  ‘I know what time it is. If you want to stay, feel free. I’ll send the chopper back to Macdonald Hall for you two.’ He couldn’t get out of here fast enough, although every single bone in his body wanted to confront the duplicitous widow and give her a hefty piece of his mind.

  With a nod at his brother and Brianna, he cut his way through the gawping crowd, uncaring that his face was set in a formidable scowl.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of red hair heading his way. Although anger rose up within him, it took a monumental effort not to turn his head and see if it was Perla.

  Clenching his fist, he stalked faster towards his limo, the need to be gone a fierce, urgent demand.

  ‘Arion, wait!’ Her husky voice was almost lost in the cacophony of the funeral spectacle. And it was a spectacle. Morgan Lowell’s starring role in his own death via a drug overdose had ensured the media would make a meal of his funeral, even with the scant facts they knew.

  Ari froze with one hand on the car door. Slowly, he sucked in a deep breath and turned to face her.

  The widow in black. How very apt.

  The widow whose bright, fiery red hair shone in the daylight with an unholy, tempting light, the same way it had gleamed temptingly across his pillow three nights ago.

  Against his will, his body stirred. Blood pounded through his veins, momentarily deafening him with the roar of arousal. Before he could stop himself, his gaze raked over her.

  Although her dress was funeral black, demure, almost plain to the point of drab, he wasn’t fooled. He knew what lay beneath, the hot curves and the treacherous thighs, the delight he would uncover should he...

  No. Never in a thousand years would he bring himself to touch her. They’d come together in a moment he’d thought was sacred, monumentally divine. Instead, it’d turned out to be a tawdry roll in the hay for her.

  ‘Hello...Arion. I’m guessing your surname is Pantelides.’ Green eyes searched his with wariness.

  ‘And I now know your full name is Perla Lowell. So tell me, what role are you playing here now? Because we both know the grieving widow routine is just a front, don’t we? Perhaps you’re silently amused because you have saucy underwear underneath that staid black?’

  She gasped, an expression that looked shockingly like deep hurt flashing across her face.

  Theos, how utterly convincing she was. But not convincing enough to make him forget he’d nearly lost his mind hanging on for dear life as she rode him with merciless enthusiasm a little over forty-eight hours ago.

  ‘How dare you?’ She finally found her voice, even though it shook with her words.

  ‘Very easily. I was the guy you were screwing when you should’ve been home mourning your husband. Now what the hell do you want?’

  Her complexion had paled but then her skin was translucent thanks to her colouring. And yes, his words had been cruel, deliberately so. But she’d sullied his own memory of what the date had meant to him for ever.

  And that he found hard to forgive.

  ‘I was going to apologise for the...um...small deception. And to thank you for your discretion. But I see I needn’t have bothered. You’re nothing but a vile, bitter man, one who sees nothing wrong in bringing further pain and anguish on an already difficult day. So if you were truly on your way out of here, I guess the only thing I have to say is good riddance.’

  Ari hardened his heart against the words. She was in the wrong here, not him. She was clearly deluded if she thought he had something to be ashamed of. Turning, he yanked the back door open.

  Before he slid in, he glanced at her one last time. ‘Have fun revelling in your role of grieving widow. But when the crowd is gone and you think of reprising your other role, be sure to stay away from Macdonald Hall. Before the hour’s out, I intend to supply the management with your name and ensure you’re never allowed to set foot in there again.’

  * * *

  Fugue state.

  Perla was sure that perfectly described her condition as she drifted through the wake, shaking hands, accepting condolences and agreeing that yes, Morgan had been a lovely man and a generous husband. On occasion, she even smiled at a distant uncle or great-aunt’s fond anecdote.

  The part of her that had reeled at Ari Pantelides’s scathing condemnation an hour ago had long been suppressed under a blanket of fierce denial with Do Not Disturb signs hammered all over it.

  At the time, she’d barely been able to contain the belief that he thought her some kind of scarlet woman or a trollop who frequented bars in the hope of landing a hot body for the night.

  She audibly choked at the thought.

  Mrs Clinton, who’d faithfully stuck by her side once they’d returned to the house she’d shared with Morgan and now shared with his parents, gave her a firm rub on the back. ‘You’re almost there, dear girl. Give it another half hour and I’ll start dropping heavy hints that you should be left alone. Enough is enough.’

  She glanced at the old dear’s face. Perla had never confided the true state of her marriage with Mrs Clinton, or anyone for that matter. The very thought of it made humiliation rise like a tide inside her.

  But she’d long suspected that the older woman somehow knew. Seeing the sympathy in her old rheumy eyes, Perla felt tears well up in hers.

  Suddenly, as if the bough had broken, she couldn’t stop the tide of hot, gulping tears that rose from deep inside.

  ‘Oh, my dear.’ Warm arms hugged her, providing the solace she’d been so cruelly denied throughout her marriage. The solace she’d imagined she’d found in a luxury penthouse suite three days ago, but had turned out to be another cruel illusion.

  ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t...I didn’t mean to...’

  ‘Nonsense! You have every right to do whatever you want on a day like this. Propriety be damned.’

  Hysterical laughter bubbled up from her throat but she quickly smothered it. When a glass containing a caramel-coloured liquid that smelled suspiciously like brandy appeared in front of her, she glanced up.

  The exquisitely beautiful woman who’d introduced herself as Brianna Moneypenny, soon-to-be Brianna Pantelides, held out the drink, sympathy shining from her expertly made-up eyes.

  Perla wiped her own eyes, acutely conscious that she was messing up the make-up she’d carefully applied to hide the shadows under her eyes.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No need to thank me. I’ve helped myself to a shot too. This is the third funeral Sakis and I have attended in the last month. My emotions are beyond shredded.’ She sat down next to Perla, gracefully crossed her legs and offer
ed a kind smile. ‘It’s nothing compared to what you must be feeling, of course, and if there’s anything we can do, please don’t hesitate to ask.’

  ‘I...thank you. And please extend my thanks to your fiancé and...and the other Mr Pantelides for taking the time to come...’ Perla’s voice drifted off, simply because she couldn’t think straight when her mind churned with thoughts of Arion Pantelides and the accusations he’d thrown at her. And even though she’d seen him get into his car, she couldn’t stop her gaze from scouring the room, almost afraid to find out if he’d returned to tear a few more strips off her.

  ‘Arion has left but I’ll let him know,’ Brianna said. A quick glance at her showed a sharp intellect that made Perla hope against hope that the other woman wasn’t putting two with two and coming up with the perfect answer.

  As it was, Perla felt as if she had the dreaded letter A branded on her forehead.

  ‘Of course. I appreciate that he must be busy.’ She didn’t add that, in the light of what Morgan had done, they were the last people she’d expected to attend his funeral. Instead, she took a hasty sip of the brandy for much needed fortitude, and nearly choked when liquid fire burned down her throat.

  ‘Well, he is. But he volunteered to come down here when he thought Sakis couldn’t make it. And yet he seemed to have a bee in his bonnet about something. To be honest, it’s the first time I’ve seen him that ruffled.’ The speculation in her voice made Perla wish she’d worn her hair down to hide the colour rising in her face. ‘It was quite a sight to behold.’

  ‘Um, well...whatever it is, I hope he resolves it soon.’

  ‘Hmm, so do I—’

  ‘Brianna.’ Sakis Pantelides chose that moment to approach them and offer his own condolences. Perla fought to find the appropriate response despite the nerves tearing through her stomach.

  Then she watched as he turned to his fiancée, his face transforming with a very visible devotion that made Perla’s heart lurch with jealousy and pain.