The Fallen Greek BrideAt the Greek Boss's Bidding

by Jane Porter

  His pace was clipped, almost aggressive, bringing to mind a conversation she’d had with him a few days ago. She’d told him she was amazed by his progress and his confident stride. He’d shrugged the compliment off, answering, “Greeks like to do things well or not at all.”

  She couldn’t help smiling as she remembered his careless confidence, bordering on Greek arrogance. But it had been a truthful answer and it suited him, especially now, as she watched him walk through the garden.

  “Kristian, I’m here,” she called to him, “I’m at the wall overlooking the valley.”

  It didn’t take him long to reach her. He was still wearing the white short-sleeve T-shirt and gray baggy sweat pants he’d worked out in. His dark hair fell forward on his brow and his skin looked burnished with a healthy glow. Her gaze searched his face, looking for signs of exhaustion or strain. There were none. He just looked fit, relaxed, even happy. “You had a grueling workout,” she said.

  “It was hard, but it felt good.”

  “Pirro can be brutal.”

  Kristian shrugged. “He knows I like to be challenged.”

  “But you feel okay?”

  White teeth flashed and creases fanned from his eyes. “I feel great.”

  And there went her heart again, with that painful little flutter of attraction, admiration and sorrow. He wasn’t hers. He’d never be hers. All she had to do was watch one of his exhausting physical therapy sessions to see that his desire to heal was for his Cosima. And although that knowledge stung, she knew before long she’d be back in her office and immersed in her administrative duties there.

  The desk would be a good place for her. At her desk she’d be busy with the phone and computer and email. She wouldn’t feel these disturbing emotions there.

  “You were in the training room earlier,” he said. “Everything all right?”

  The soft breeze was sending tendrils of hair flying around her face, and she caught one and held it back by her ear. “I just wanted to check with Pirro—see if he had any instructions for me over the weekend.”

  “Did he?”

  “No.”

  “I guess that means we’ve the weekend free.”

  “Are you making big plans, then?” she asked, teasing him, knowing perfectly well his routine didn’t vary much. He was most confident doing things he knew, walking paths he’d become familiar with.

  “I’m looking forward to dinner,” he admitted.

  “Wow. Sounds exciting.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted, his hard features softening at her gentle mockery. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Me? No. Never. You’re Mr. Kristian Koumantaros—one of Greece’s most powerful men—how could I even consider poking fun at you?”

  “You would,” he said, grooves paralleling his mouth. “You do.”

  “Mr. Koumantaros, you must be thinking of someone else.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “I’m just a simple nurse, completely devoted to your wellbeing.”

  “Are you?”

  “Of course. Have I not convinced you of that yet?” She’d meant to continue in her playful vein, but this time the words came out differently, her voice betraying her by dropping, cracking, revealing a tremor of raw emotion she didn’t ever want him to hear.

  Instead of answering, he reached out and touched her face. The unexpected touch shocked her, and she reared back, but his fingers followed, and slowly he slid his palm across her cheek.

  The warmth in his hand made her face burn. She shivered at the explosion of heat within her even as her skin felt alive with bites of fire and ice.

  “Kristian,” she protested huskily, more heat washing through her—heat and need and something else. Something dangerously like desire.

  She’d tried so hard to suppress these feelings, knowing if she acknowledged the tremendous attraction her control would shatter.

  Her control couldn’t shatter.

  “No,” she whispered, trying to turn her cheek away even as she longed to press her face to his hand, to feel more of the comfort and bittersweet pleasure.

  She liked him.

  She liked him very much. Too much. And, staring up into his face, she felt her fingers curl into her palm, fighting the urge to reach up and touch that beautiful scarred face of his.

  Kristian, with his black hair and noble but scarred face, and his eyes that didn’t see.

  She began talking, to try to cover the sudden awkwardness between them. “These past two weeks you’ve made such great strides—literally, figuratively. You’ve no idea how proud I am of you, how much I admire you.”

  “That sounds suspiciously like a goodbye speech.”

  “It’s not, but I will have to be leaving soon. You’re virtually independent, and you’ll soon be ready to return to your life in Athens.”

  “I don’t like Athens.”

  “But your work—”

  “I can do it here.”

  “But your family—”

  “Gone.”

  She felt the tension between them grow. “Your friends,” she said quietly, firmly. “And you do have those, Kristian. You have many people who miss you and want you back where you belong.” Chief among them Cosima.

  Averting his head, he stood tall and silent. His brows tugged and his jaw firmed, and slowly he turned his face toward her again. “When?”

  “When what?”

  “When do you intend to leave?”

  She shrugged uncomfortably. “Soon.” She took a quick breath. “Sooner than I expected.”

  “And when is that? Next week? The week after that?”

  She twisted her fingers together. “Let’s talk about this later.”

  “It’s that soon?”

  She nodded.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “It’s work. I’ve a problem in Paris, and my case manager is fed up, threatening to walk off the job. I can’t afford to lose her. I need to go and try to sort things out.”

  “So when is this? When do you plan to go?”

  Elizabeth hesitated. “I was thinking about Monday.” The lump was back in her throat, making it almost impossible to breathe. “After Pirro returns.”

  Kristian just stood there—big, imposing, and strangely silent.

  “I’ve already contacted Cosima,” she continued. “I told her that I’ve done all I can do and that it’d be wrong to continue to take her money.” Elizabeth didn’t add that she’d actually authorized her London office to refund Cosima’s money, because it was Kristian who’d done the work, not she. It was Kristian’s own miracle.

  “Monday is just days away,” Kristian said, his voice hard, increasingly distant.

  “I know. It is sudden.” She took a quick breath, feeling a stab of intense regret. She wished she could reach out and touch him, reassure him, but it wasn’t her place. There were lines that couldn’t be crossed, professional boundaries that she had to respect, despite her growing feelings for him. “You know you don’t need me, Kristian. I’m just in your way—”

  “No.”

  “Yes. But you must know I’m in awe of you. You said you’d walk in two weeks, and I said you couldn’t. I said you’d need a walker, and you said you wouldn’t.” She laughed, thinking back to those first two intense and overwhelming days. “You’ve made a believer out of me.”

  He said nothing for a long moment, and then shook his head. “I wish I could make a believer out of you,” he said, speaking so quietly the words were nearly inaudible.

  “Monday is still three days from now,” she said, injecting a note of false cheer. “Do we have to think about Monday today? Can’t we think of something else? A game of blindman’s bluff?”

  Kristian’s jaw drew tight, and then eased. He laughed most reluctantly. “You’re a horrible woman.”

  “Yes, I know,” she answered, grateful for humor.

  “Most challenging, Cratchett.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

 
“Then you take it wrong.”

  Elizabeth smiled. When he teased her, when he played her game with her, it amused her to no end. Moments ago she’d felt so low, and yet she was comforted and encouraged now.

  She loved his company. It was as simple as that. He was clever and sophisticated, handsome and entertaining. And once he’d determined to return to the land of the living, he had done so with a vengeance.

  For the past week she’d tried to temper her happiness with reminders that soon he’d be returning to Athens, and marriage to Cosima, but it hadn’t stopped her heart from doing a quick double-beat every time she heard his voice or saw him enter a room.

  “I’m not sure of the exact time,” Kristian said, “but I imagine it’s probably close to five.”

  Elizabeth glanced at her silver watch. “It’s ten past five now.”

  “I’ve made plans for dinner. It will mean dressing now. Can you be ready by six?”

  “Is this for dinner here?”

  “No.”

  “We’re going out?” She gazed incredulously at the valley far below and the steep descent down. Sure, Pirro traveled up and down once a week to work with Kristian. But she couldn’t imagine Kristian bumping around on the back of a mule or in a donkey’s cart.

  His expression didn’t change. “Is that a problem?”

  “No.” But it kind of was a problem, she thought, glancing at the dwindling light. Where would they possibly go to eat? It would take them hours to get down the mountain, and it would be dark soon. But maybe Kristian hadn’t thought of that, as his world was always dark.

  Kristian heard the hesitation in Elizabeth’s voice and he tensed, his posture going rigid. He resented not being able to see her, particularly at times like this. It hadn’t been until he couldn’t see that he’d learned how much he’d depended on his eyes, on visual cues, to make decisions.

  Why was she less than enthusiastic about dinner?

  Did she not want to go with him? Or was she upset about something?

  If only he could see her face, read her expression, he’d know what her hesitation meant. But, as it was, he felt as though he were stumbling blindly about. His jaw hardened. He hated this feeling of confusion and helplessness. He wasn’t a helpless person, but everything was so different now, so much harder than before.

  Like sleep.

  And the nightmares that woke him up endlessly. Or, worse, the nightmares he couldn’t wake from—the dreams that haunted him for hours when, even when he told himself to wake, even when he said in the dream, This is just a dream, he couldn’t let go, couldn’t open his eyes and see. Day or night, it was all the same. Black. Endless pitch-black.

  “If you’d rather not go…” he said, his voice growing cooler, more distant. He couldn’t exactly blame her if she didn’t want another evening alone with him. She might say he didn’t look like Frankenstein, but the scar on his face felt thick, and it ran at an angle, as though his face had been pieced together, stitched with rough thread.

  “No, Kristian. No, that’s not it at all,” she protested, her hand briefly touching his arm before just as swiftly pulling away. And yet that light, faint touch was enough. It warmed him. Connected him. Made him feel real. And, God knew, between the darkness and the nightmares and the grief of losing Andreas, he didn’t feel real, or good, very often anymore.

  “I’d like to go,” she continued. “I want to go. I just wasn’t sure what to wear. Is there a dress code? Casual or elegant? How are you going to dress?”

  He pressed the tip of his cane into the ground, wanting to touch her instead, wanting to feel the softness of her cheek, the silky texture that made him think of crushed rose petals and velvet and the softest lace edged satin. His body ached, his chest grew tight, pinched around his heart.

  “I won’t be casual.” His voice came out rough, almost raw, and he winced. He’d developed edges and shadows that threatened to consume him. “But you should dress so that you’re comfortable. It could be a late night.”

  * * *

  In her bedroom, Elizabeth practically spun in circles.

  They were going out, and it could be a late night. So where were they going and exactly how late was late?

  Her stomach flipped over, and she felt downright giddy as she bathed and toweled off. It was ridiculous, preposterous to feel this way—and yet she couldn’t help the flurry of excitement. It had been a little over two weeks since she’d arrived, and she was looking forward to dinner out.

  Knowing that Kristian wouldn’t be dressed casually, she flipped through her clothes in the wardrobe until she decided she’d wear the only dress she’d brought—a black cocktail-length dress with a pale lace inset.

  Standing before the mirror, she blew her wet hair dry and battled to keep her chaotic emotions in check.

  You’re just his nurse, she reminded herself. Nothing more than that. But her bright eyes in the mirror and the quick beat of her pulse belied that statement.

  Her hair shimmered. Elizabeth was going to leave it down, but worried she wouldn’t appear professional. At the last minute she plaited her hair into two slender braids, then twisted the braids into an elegant figure-eight at the back of her head, before pulling some blonde wisps from her crown so they fell softly around her face.

  Gathering a light black silk shawl and her small handbag, she headed for the monastery’s library. As she walked through the long arched hallways she heard a distant thumping sound, a dull roar that steadily grew louder, until the sound was directly above and vibrating through the entire estate. Then abruptly the thumping stopped and everything was quiet again.

  Elizabeth discovered Kristian already in the library, waiting for her.

  He’d also showered and changed, was dressed now in elegant black pants and a crisp white dress shirt, with a fine leather black belt and black leather shoes. With his dark hair combed and his face cleanshaven, Elizabeth didn’t think she’d ever met a man so fit, strong, or so darkly handsome.

  “Am I underdressed?” he asked, lifting his hands as if to ask for her approval.

  “No.” Her heart turned over. God, he was beautiful. Did he have any idea how stunning he really was?

  Kristian moved toward her, his cane folded, tucked under his arm. He looked so confident, so very sure of himself. “What are you wearing…besides high heels?”

  “You could tell by the way I walked?” she guessed.

  “Mmmm. Very sexy.”

  Blushing, she looked up into his face, glad he couldn’t see the way she looked at him. She loved looking at him, and she didn’t even know what she loved most about his face. It was just the way it came together—that proud brow, the jet-black eyebrows, the strong cheekbones above firm, mobile lips.

  “I’m wearing a dress,” she said, feeling suddenly shy. She’d never been shy around men before—had never felt intimidated by any man, not even her Greek former husband. “It’s black velvet with some lace at the bodice. Reminds me of the 1920s flapper-style dress.”

  “You must look incredible.”

  The compliment, as well as the deep sincerity in Kristian’s voice, brought tears to her eyes.

  Kristian was so much more than any man she’d ever met. It wasn’t his wealth or sophistication that impressed her, either—although she did admit that he wore his clothes with ease and elegance, and she’d heard his brilliant trading and investments meant he’d tripled his family fortune—those weren’t qualities she respected, much less admired.

  She liked different things—simple things. Like the way his voice conveyed so much, and how closely he listened to her when she talked to him. His precise word choice indicated he paid attention to virtually everything.

  “Not half as incredible as you do,” she answered.

  His mouth quirked. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  He held out his arm and she took it. His body was so much bigger than hers, and warm, the muscles in his arm dense and hard. Together they headed through the hall to the fr
ont entrance, where Pano stood, ready to open the front door.

  At the door Kristian paused briefly, head tipped as he gazed down at her. “Your chariot awaits,” he said, and with another step they crossed the monastery’s threshold and went outside—to a white and silver helicopter.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A HELICOPTER.

  On the top of one of Taygetos’s peaks.

  She blinked, shook her head, and looked again, thinking that maybe she’d imagined it. But, no, the silver and white body glinted in the last rays of the setting sun.

  “I wondered how you got up and down the mountain,” she said. “You didn’t seem the type to enjoy donkey rides.”

  Kristian’s deep laugh hummed all the way through her. “I suppose I could have sent the helicopter for you.”

  “No, no. I would have hated to miss hours bumping and jolting around in a wood cart.

  He laughed again, as though deeply amused. “Have you been in a helicopter before?”

  “I have,” she said. “Yes.” Her parents had access to a helicopter in New York. But that was part of the affluent life she’d left behind. “It’s been a while, though.”

  The pilot indicated they were safe to board, and Elizabeth walked Kristian to the door. Once on board, he easily found his seatbelt and fastened the clip. And it wasn’t until they’d lifted off, heading straight up and then over, between the mountain peaks, that Elizabeth remembered that the worst of Kristian’s injuries had come from the helicopter crash instead of the actual avalanche.

  Turning, she glanced into his face to see what he was feeling. He seemed perhaps a little paler than he had earlier, but other than that he gave no indication that anything was wrong.

  “You were hurt in a helicopter accident,” she said, wondering if he was really okay, or just putting up a brave front.

  “I was.”

  She waited, wondering if he’d say more. He didn’t, and she touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip. “You’re not worried about being in one now?”