Tempted by Her Greek Tycoon

by Katrina Cudmore

  As a child she had learnt not to let others in—not to share deep intimacies, not to forge truly close bonds—because it was too painful every time she had to say goodbye to those people when her dad dragged her off to a new city. Yes, she had formed friendships similar to those she now had with Loukas’s siblings, but she had always avoided letting them become truly deep and intimate. It was a habit that had stood her in good stead in the past, and she wasn’t about to change now—especially with this Greek god who kept steering her off course.

  ‘I love to move around—try new careers, new cities, make new friends.’

  Loukas leant against the doorframe and considered her. ‘Georgie, for someone who likes to interfere, you don’t give away a lot about your own life. Why’s that?’

  She stepped back from him. And yelped when she stumbled into the shrubbery and encountered a particularly pointy Yucca plant.

  She gave him a breezy smile whilst rubbing the back of her leg. ‘There isn’t a lot to tell. You get what you see with me.’

  His sceptical gaze told her what he thought of her answer.

  He jingled the keys in his hand. ‘I have to go back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  She should nod and let him go, but the tiredness in his eyes had her reaching out and touching his arm. ‘Do you have to? It’s so late.’

  His gaze moved down to her hand. For a brief second his fingers touched against hers. Her heart came to a screeching halt and then fluttered erratically back to life.

  Soft, grateful eyes came up to meet her gaze. ‘I have to. My acquisitions team are waiting for my response on whether to go ahead with a hotel purchase.’

  In the few days she had worked for him she had seen the relentless pace at which he worked. Why did he do it? What was driving him?

  ‘You work incredibly hard—why?’

  ‘I’m the head of this family. It’s my responsibility to ensure that the business is a success.’

  She admired his loyalty to his family, but what must it be like to carry such responsibility?

  ‘I know you told me not to interfere, but I have to admit how much I admire how protective you are of your family, how much you love them...even if at times you go about it the wrong way—’

  Before she could say any more Loukas stepped away, raising his hands in lighthearted self-defence, a cute smile on his lips. ‘Goodnight, Georgie.’

  Her bones melted. Boy, did he look good when he smiled like that. She didn’t want him to go—not yet.

  She called after him. ‘Tomorrow morning I’m going to brief some of the businesses outside of town about the reopening. Stefania, who runs the jewellery gallery, mentioned today that there’s a tradition of wood carving amongst the island’s shepherds, so I’m going to visit some of them too.’ Despite her bravado, and her best attempts not to overthink the goat situation, she felt a deep shiver run down the length of her spine as she admitted, ‘I’m just hoping I can avoid any of their goats.’

  Loukas made his way back to the front door, rubbing his hand against his jawline as though wrangling internally with a bothersome decision.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  Really? ‘I thought you’d be too busy working.’

  ‘It’s about time I visited some of my neighbours... I haven’t done so in a very long time.’ A cheeky grin formed on his mouth, and there was a teasing glint in his eye. ‘And I can’t have my PA being attacked by crazed goats, now, can I?’

  They stood there grinning at one another.

  She should say goodnight, go into the villa and close the door. But she couldn’t. She wanted to be here, under the Greek night sky, with the sound of the Mediterranean in the distance, staring at Loukas Christou’s wide, beautiful smile, at the evening shadow trailing over his jawline, the pull of his huge powerful body beneath that tight-fitting white polo shirt he was wearing...

  His smile faded. The humour in his eyes faded too. To be replaced by an awareness, an intensity in his gaze that threatened to drag her forward, towards him.

  Unable to breathe, she felt a fuzzy warmth spread through her limbs. And then her heart soared. He was moving towards her.

  Gently he laid his hand against her hair. He came closer and closer and closer. The promise of his approaching mouth, his scent, the warmth of his touch was leaving her dizzy.

  His lips brushed against her cheek. ‘Goodnight, Georgie Jones.’

  And then he turned and walked away.

  Georgie, it was only a peck on the cheek. He’s your boss. He’s your neighbour and your friends’ brother. You’re his matchmaker! Get a grip. This guy is so out of bounds it isn’t even funny.

  She stared after him, dazed, putting a hand to her cheek where his lips had touched her now burning skin.

  Chapter Four

  THE OLIVE GROVES on either side of the steep track did little to shade them from the midday sun as Loukas and Georgie pedalled their bikes away from local farmer Vasilis’s house. They turned at Vasilis’s call to travel safely—‘Kaló taksídi!’—and Georgie’s bike wobbled towards his in the process.

  Loukas reached out and placed a steadying hand against her back, feeling the cotton of her sleeveless white blouse warm under his touch. She wobbled away from him again, throwing him a grateful smile.

  And once more something pinged in his heart.

  What was he doing here? He should be at work. He should be returning Zeta’s calls. He should be keeping his distance from his PA... For heaven’s sake, he was going on a date she had set up for him tonight! This was crazy—especially how much he wanted to spend time with her, know her better.

  He even had a crazy need to try and protect her. Which made absolutely no sense because Georgie was a distraction he and the rest of the family didn’t need right now. A distraction who seemed incapable of not interfering in family matters.

  But there was something about her empathy, her kindness, her openness to embrace others that touched him.

  They had spent the past forty minutes sitting with Vasilis, in the shade of his porch, drinking ellinikós kafés, the thick and potent Greek coffee. Like most of his contemporaries on Talos, Vasilis was working long past retirement age—in his case, as a shepherd and olive grower. In his spare time Vasilis carved his own olive wood—exquisite miniature replicas of Talos’s main landmarks: the lighthouse, the cannons lining the harbour wall, the abandoned fortress at Kiotari.

  Georgie had held each of Vasilis’s carved pieces as though they were priceless artefacts, marvelling at the minute detail, and Vasilis’s pride and flirtatiousness with Georgie had grown more outrageous with each passing minute. Georgie had played along, smiling and gently teasing Vasilis, and Loukas had seen the spark that had been missing from Vasilis in the years since his wife had died and his only son had left the island never to return.

  When they had finished their coffee Vasilis had tipped Georgie’s coffee cup upside down on a plate and read her fortune from the leftover grounds. With a wicked glint Vasilis had declared that she would soon find love on Talos. Georgie had laughed at Vasilis’s hopeful grin. But when she had glanced in Loukas’s direction her eyes had darted away immediately, and a blush had blossomed on her cheeks.

  Georgie was leaving with six pieces of Vasilis’s carving, carefully wrapped in newspaper and sitting in her wicker basket alongside pottery, wood carvings and other artwork she had collected from artisans throughout the morning.

  She was now further up the path from him, crouched over, pushing hard on her bike pedals against the steep and uneven incline. His eyes trailed over the curve of her bottom above the saddle. He gripped his handlebars tighter, pushed down on his own pedals more furiously.

  Her hair was tied back in a high ponytail... Was it crazy to find the exposed skin at the nape of her neck so sexy? To imagine laying his lips there? To inhale her? Taste her? Would she sigh?
Shiver? Turn to him? Pull away?

  He needed to stop this.

  What had happened to his self-discipline?

  He needed to turn for home.

  Now.

  He needed to focus on what was important: honouring his father’s commitment to buy the Convento San Francesco and doing everything in his power to ensure the success of the family business. Both of which required him to find a suitable wife.

  By her own admission Georgie wasn’t interested in relationships, and even if she was Georgie wasn’t what he needed in a wife. He needed someone truly committed to island life...a no-nonsense personality who would take his siblings to task.

  At the top of the track they joined the main road that linked Talos Town with Kiotari, the only other major town on the island. Georgie crossed the road and came to a stop in the sheltered shade of the pine forest that ran along that side of the coastal road. The opposite side of the road dipped down to the sea.

  The coastline here offered up tranquil coves, sandy beaches and ancient farmhouses like Vasilis’s, set amongst the olive groves that stared out to the tumbling beauty of the Mediterranean Sea.

  Georgie fanned herself with the map of the island she had annotated with a list of businesses and artisans she wanted to visit. ‘Gosh it’s hot.’

  She waved the map in his direction, playfully fanning him too.

  ‘We just have the yoga and equestrian centres in Kiotari to visit now.’

  She drew the map back to fan herself again.

  ‘We haven’t had much luck finding you any more dates this morning, but maybe we’ll find you a sexy yoga teacher at the centre.’

  He stepped a little closer. Leant down. Fixed her with a steady gaze. ‘Perhaps. Or maybe we’ll find one at the equestrian centre... I’ve always thought a woman in the saddle looks particularly sexy.’

  Her eyes grew wide and her homemade fan fluttered faster, like the wings of a hummingbird. She turned away, tried to fold her uncooperative map and eventually just threw it into her front basket.

  ‘Thanks for coming today...it’s been fun.’

  For a moment she paused and bit her lip, running a hand against the length of her neck. And then those hazel eyes met his and the vulnerability in them felt like a smack to his heart.

  ‘My farmhouse is only a ten-minute cycle from here. I’d like to make you lunch as a thank-you...if you can spare the time, that is.’

  He knew that he should say no. That he needed to get back to work. Back to the reality of his life.

  But the whispering of the sea breeze, the lazy intensity of the sun, the nearness of Georgie Jones and the hesitation in her hazel eyes that told him her invitation had not been given lightly had him saying, ‘Lunch would be good.’

  * * *

  Georgie’s single-storey farmhouse, like Vasilis’s, was set at the end of a dirt track off the main coastal road. Tall cypresses ran along the track, and corn poppies of brilliant red filled the fields behind them.

  When they came to an arched pedestrian entranceway Georgie hopped off her bike and placed it against the pale stone garden wall. Even if she hadn’t looked so apprehensive he would have known she was nervous, because she wasn’t uttering a word. She opened the slated wooden garden door and gestured for him to enter.

  She was clearly unsettled by him being here...so why had she invited him in the first place?

  Inside, on the farmhouse terrace, an abandoned cement mixer and a lot of builders’ rubble sat next to the old stone mill that would have once been used for pressing olives. Windowless, the house looked blank—as though it had lost its soul.

  Georgie went and stood by the low terrace wall that ran along the front of the house, her hand running against the peeling paint of the wooden railing that sat upon it. With a low sigh she said, ‘I’d forgotten just how much work there is still to do.’

  He went and stood beside her. Steps from the terrace led down to a garden that had grown wild, and a path cut through it, leading to a small private sandy beach.

  ‘Building work always looks worse than it really is.’ He gestured around him to the work still to be done on the exterior, ‘All this can be sorted within a week.’

  She gave him a weak smile. ‘Hopefully...’ She gazed down at the garden. ‘I spent almost a week clearing out the garden, but it doesn’t even look like I’ve touched it.’

  Then, crossing to a small wooden table and two matching chairs, shaded by an ancient olive tree and with endless views of the Mediterranean, she tilted one of the chairs and brushed some leaves off the seat.

  ‘If you wait here, I’ll go and get us some lunch. I locked all my non-perishables in my utility room,’ she said, and gave him a wide-eyed teasing look, her nervousness forgotten for now, ‘so don’t worry—I won’t give you food poisoning or anything like that.’

  At the traditional wooden double doors to the farmhouse she stopped and searched the pockets of her turquoise shorts, her long legs dancing impatiently until finally she fished a key out of one of the pockets.

  ‘Don’t tell me that you locked the door when you have no windows?’

  She turned at his question, puzzled, and then with a laugh shook her head. ‘You’re right... I suppose it’s just habit. I’ve lived in some dodgy places in the past.’

  He winced at the thought of her ever being vulnerable, living somewhere she wasn’t safe, and followed her inside to see a large reception room with a carved stone fireplace. The room was empty of any furniture or belongings. It was understandable, with the house still incomplete, but the empty room stirred something inside him—concern for Georgie, but also the feeling that she was just passing through...not just with this house, but with this island, his family...even with him.

  He followed her again as she disappeared through another door, this time into a large kitchen-dining room. New kitchen units in a pale cream shade and wall tiles in vintage Moroccan tapestry colours of blue and grey had already been installed. A metal patio table and two chairs sat in the dining room.

  Georgie walked to the rear of the kitchen and unlocked the door there.

  ‘This farmhouse is quite isolated. Don’t you think you’ll struggle, being so far away from people?’

  About to go into the room she had just unlocked, she turned at his question. ‘I’ll have guests staying with me when I’m here.’

  ‘What are your plans for the winter months?’

  Georgie shrugged and turned back to the utility room door. ‘I’ll probably head to the Nordic countries this winter.’

  Her tone was flat and lacking in her normal enthusiasm. For a moment he considered trying to persuade her to stay, pointing out the opportunity for her to organise walking holidays here during the winter months. But he caught himself in time. Georgie’s plans were none of his business.

  He inhaled some air and said, ‘Why don’t you show me around?’

  She led him from room to room, explaining the changes she had made, what was still left to do. She had restored the original dark timber ceilings and the flagstone floors. Some walls had been removed to create larger, brighter rooms, and additional windows added to take advantage of the panoramic views of the glistening Mediterranean. In each of the four guest bedrooms, new en-suite bathrooms had been added.

  They ended their tour in the last bedroom along the corridor, and then Georgie led him back out onto the terrace. There she tended to a bougainvillea with crimson blossoms, training new shoots back onto the trellis attached to the wall.

  He picked up an empty terracotta pot that had fallen over, seeing a tiny crack on the side before walking over to her. ‘I’m impressed with what you’ve done here. The villa will make for a great guesthouse.’

  She turned to him. ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘Why are you so surprised?’

  She turned back to the bougainvillea and b
egan to train more infant shoots. ‘You own some of the most prestigious hotels in Greece. And look at the work you’ve done in The Korinna.’ She paused, her fingers lightly touching against the petal of a blossom. ‘I suppose I’ve been worried that I’m not doing justice to this house...that I’m not doing it right.’

  The disquiet in her voice, and the fact that though she’d glanced in his direction it had been only for a brief second...as though to do so for any longer would leave her too exposed...made him ask, ‘Right for whom?’

  * * *

  Georgie closed her eyes for a brief second. Why was having Loukas here in her home so unsettling? Even inviting him here had her tied up into knots of uncertainty that she hadn’t expected. She did want him here, wanted to thank him for this morning, but for some reason sharing her home with him had left her feeling vulnerable and unsure and not in control.

  She inhaled deeply before admitting, ‘I want to get it right for my dad.’

  For crying out loud, why is my throat so tight?

  She walked away from the concern in Loukas’s eyes and stood again at the entrance to the room they had just been in. ‘I’m going to make this my bedroom... It will get the morning sun. It’s large enough for a sofa too, so I’ll have my own personal space.’

  Loukas did not move from where he stood. ‘What happened with your dad?’

  She had spoken about her dad with her colleagues in Malaga, even with Loukas’s siblings. Shared some of her upset and dismay. But there was something about the intelligence, the empathy in Loukas’s eyes, in his voice, that sent everything inside her into a tailspin.

  ‘He died of an aortic aneurysm.’ She flapped her hands, as if that would somehow ease the pain inside her. ‘I’ll go and get us some lunch.’

  She fled through the bedroom and down the corridor. In the utility room she grabbed some dried penne, a jar of pesto and a bottle of red wine.

  When she went back out to the kitchen Loukas was blocking her path. When he didn’t shift out of the way she had no option but to look up at him.

  His soft, understanding gaze ate up her soul.