You’re destined to die a virgin. #foreveralone.
“I guess if you have to ask, I’m not doing a very good job of it.”
She was ready to walk away then. It would be easy enough to step down from her barstool, thank him for the drinks, and try her luck somewhere else. With someone else. Like any good student, she could learn her lesson and pick someone a little less intimidating. She could chalk this up to a practice run. After all, there would be no consequences here. That was the whole point of it.
But the second she went to move, a big hand wrapped around her wrist. There was such a contrast between them—her pale complexion against his rich tan, the size of him against her.
“Why did you want to have a drink with me?” he asked. “Other than to make up for the punch.”
“I…” She swallowed. Should she give it one last-ditch attempt? “I was hoping you might be able to show me around. I’ve never been to Corfu before.”
He nodded slowly. “Then why didn’t you ask me that?”
“I was working up to it.”
“Finish your drink. Then we can go.”
…
Nico wasn’t sure why he was encouraging Bianca/Marianna. The whole situation was strange, from her awkward sincerity and adorable fact-spouting to her trying to flirt with him and doing a terrible job of it. The woman wasn’t a great actress…unless she was brilliant at acting like she was terrible at acting. Could Daniel Halsey be pulling the strings in the background?
He wanted to find out what the endgame was.
If she was meant to seduce him into a business deal, then her brother had sent the wrong woman for the job. He should have used a practiced seductress, a woman confident in her abilities. Not this sweet woman who was oddly charming and socially clumsy. A woman who was, from everything he could discern, so far from his type that she might as well have been an alien species.
And yet, he was enjoying the hell out of himself and didn’t want to be anywhere else. Nico’s Maserati GranTurismo ate up the road, propelling them forward while Bianca/Marianna sat beside him, hands tangled in her lap, eyes wider than the large plates those fancy restaurants used to serve miniscule portions of food.
Perhaps he was getting bored with life. That would explain why he was currently zipping through Moraitika, intending to show this stranger a slice of his life. She still hadn’t mentioned her brother beyond the fact that she was in Corfu with him. She had, however, taken a picture of Nico’s license plate and emailed it to herself and her best friend, Jules, in case he “tried anything funny.”
Nico pulled up in front of his house and killed the engine. After they exited the car, he motioned for them to head down to a narrow, shrub-lined path that ran along the side of his property. As they approached the beach, the sound of gulls and the soothing back-and-forth swish of the ocean settled over him.
“Wow,” she breathed. “It’s magnificent.”
This picturesque slice of his world never failed to please him, either. Breathtaking blue stretched out for miles, capped by views across the Ionian Sea of the mountains of Epirus and Albania. This was the home he’d dreamed of as a little boy, confined to the Greek Orthodox monastery where his orphanage was housed. Every night he’d shut his eyes and conjured this—the blue and gold, the freedom. Though back then his childish heart had sketched other people into this picture. A wife. Children at his feet. A family.
Nico had survived a lot. Unfortunately, he could not say the same for his dreams.
“Shall we?” He removed his shoes and socks, and paused to roll up the bottom of his suit pants.
She bent down to slip off her sandals, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders. “Did you grow up in Corfu?”
“I did.” He watched as she swung the sandals from one finger and dug her unpainted toes into the sand. “Though I’ve spent extensive time overseas. London, Paris, Rome.”
But he always came back. Corfu was the bad habit he couldn’t shake.
“You’re like a Greek James Bond,” she said with a laugh. “Mysterious businessman travelling all around the world.”
“How do you know I’m a businessman?” he asked.
Was this the moment where she’d trip up?
“Everyone knows Rolex means money.” She pointed to his watch.
“I could come from old money. Or I could be a prince.”
“If you were a prince, you’d have an entourage.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And yes, I guess you could be from old money, but I don’t see it.”
More likely, it was because she knew far more about him than she was letting on.
They walked toward the ocean, the impressions of their footprints becoming clearer and crisper as they walked from the dry part of the beach to the densely packed sand at the water’s edge. A salt-drenched breeze ruffled her long hair and scattered the strands around her shoulders, whipping her white dress against her fair legs. Right there, backlit against the bright blue sky and the fat globe of the sun, Nico wondered if perhaps he’d underestimated Daniel Halsey and his sister.
Maybe the awkward innocence was all an act. A ploy to lull him into a false sense of security. Because right now, Bianca or Marianna—or whatever the hell he was supposed to call her—looked positively luminous.
“We should go for a swim,” she said, turning suddenly. “It’s the perfect temperature.”
This section of the beach wasn’t as busy as the area close to the resorts and hotels and boat rentals further up the island. But they were far from alone. A child skipped along, a spade and bucket in crayon-bright colors swinging from his chubby hand. His parents followed along a few paces behind, hands entwined.
“I don’t suppose you have a stack of spare towels at your place?” she added hopefully.
“You’ve got a swimsuit?”
She nodded.
“Then I’ll get changed and bring us some towels.”
He wasn’t about to let her into his house. Not yet, anyway. When he’d mentioned the private beach access and how peaceful and calm this stretch of Corfu was, she’d jumped at the chance to see it. Which made it a perfect play if her idea was to get into his house.
Okay, now you’re being a paranoid asshole. What could she possibly want with your house?
“Make yourself comfortable here, and I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said. “I’m sure you’re dying to know what’s going to happen next in your book.”
Her eyes widened, and her nostrils flared. It was dangerous, that expression. So innocent but with a hint of excitement. The kind of look that would bring a man to his knees.
The only way you’re getting down on your knees is if you’re pulling her bikini bottoms off.
The illicit image roared to life in his head, but he immediately tamped it down. He wouldn’t be doing anything of the sort while there was still such a big question mark hanging over their heads.
By the time he returned to the beach, a pair of board shorts hanging low on his hips and a bundle of towels in his hands, Marianna was sitting on the sand, reading. She looked up at him as he walked up beside her.
“Well, this is first-class service if I ever saw it.” She grinned.
Just wait until she saw the picnic he’d asked his chef to bring down to the beach. Given she’d sunk a generous amount of tsipouro at the bar without any food, he wanted to make sure she was fed. And there weren’t any food outlets on this stretch of the beach.
Her eyes skated over his naked torso, the beaming Corfu sun warming the muscles in his chest and shoulders. The little thing was checking him out, and not too subtly, either.
“Better strip down,” he said as he laid their towels down. “The water’s waiting for you.”
Her hands went to the first of a string of buttons that drew a line from her chest to her waist. They were small and white, fine and reflective. Her hands trembled, and after the first button was pushed through its hole, she struggled with the second.
“Do you need a hand?�
�� He stepped forward.
She bit down on her lip. “I know how to undress myself.”
“You look like you’re struggling.”
He wasn’t sure he should help—her curvy figure would be perfection poured into a little white bikini. The textured fabric rubbed against her dress, creating a shadow that told him such a top would hide absolutely nothing.
Getting close to her was a bad idea. But for once in his life, Nico wasn’t inclined to listen to his gut.
Chapter Three
The smooth, white sand stretched into a sea so vividly blue, Marianna wondered if she’d stepped into a painting. The sun was high, and it burned with an intensity that made the mountains in the distance appear golden and shimmering.
“I’m not struggling,” she lied. It was hard to keep control of her motor functions while he looked at her like that. “I’m simply taking my time so I can admire the view. It’s hard not to be distracted, you know. Must be amazing to wake up to this every day.”
Nico drove his fingers into his hair, pushing the onyx strands away from his forehead. “It suits me.”
She couldn’t argue with that. The only way Nico could look any more like he belonged would be if someone cast him in bronze and placed a plaque at his feet.
“Still admiring the view?” he asked with an amused smile.
God, why was she so nervous? They were just going for a swim.
Dark hair dusted his deeply tanned chest, and his nipples were coppery and flat. He was unlike any man she’d seen half-naked before. Definitely unlike Jules with his soft, pink-toned skin and freckles. Nico’s waist was perfectly enhanced by a set of muscles pointing down to the waistband of his board shorts. And a trail of hair drew her eyes down from his bellybutton to the drawstring knotted at his waist. The key to his kingdom.
Suddenly her mouth was as parched as the dusty earth back home.
When his eyes caught hers, challenge glimmering in their icy depths, she immediately looked down. Her fumbling hands came to the buttons at her bust, shaking so hard she had to stop and take a breath so she could get them through the buttonholes.
“Did you know there is a constructed language estimated to have more than two million speakers? People named it Esperanto after the creator’s pseudonym.” Her breath sounded slightly squeaky.
Things are going well. Relax and everything will be okay. This is what you wanted.
“No, I didn’t know that.” His eyes tracked her closely, and it only made the facts spin faster in her head.
The last button finally popped free, and she reached for the hem of the dress and dragged it upward. A sound made her still. It was something like a quick release of breath, but with all the fabric blocking her sight she couldn’t quite tell. Perhaps it was the wind. Or maybe she’d imagined it. Swallowing, she lifted the fabric higher, tugging the dress over her head. But it didn’t budge. She tugged again.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
It was like one of those horrifying moments in a department store changing room. The sweaty, prickly feeling of panic that you were going to have to call the sales assistant to help. She tugged hard, and the sound of a seam ripping made her wince. But it was no good. She was stuck.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Why now?
“You okay?” Nico’s husky voice sent a tremor through her, the sexy sound slicing through her panic.
“Uh, this is the first time I’ve worn this dress.” Her cheeks were flaming hot as embarrassment snaked through her. “I guess I had too many loukoumades.”
The chuckling sound made her feel simultaneously better and worse. Marianna wasn’t exactly thin—she had full hips and a little rounded tummy. Her boobs were a bit bigger and not as perky as she would have liked. But those things had never bothered her before. Her mother had been the same—curvy and soft, rounded—and she thought her mother had been the most beautiful woman on the earth.
But now, struggling in the too-tight white dress, Marianna felt unsophisticated. She was an idiot to think she could pull off some grand seduction with a guy who clearly had the world at his feet.
Eventually she gave up and sighed. “Can you help me? Please.”
Her body jolted when a warm hand brushed the side of her bare waist. The touch—so gentle and feather-light—was like a volt of electricity straight to her nervous system.
“Keep your arms up,” he said. Deft hands eased the narrow waistband of the dress over her bust and shoulders, slowly extracting her from her cotton prison. “There we go.”
He pulled the dress over her head and folded it neatly into a square, placing it on top of the towel so it didn’t touch the sand. The kind gesture warmed her heart. It was an unexpected sweetness from this charming devil of a man who oscillated between goading and studying her.
“Thank you,” she said, fighting the urge to cover herself.
She’d purchased the bikini online, along with a few other beachy things like a cover-up and her sandals. It had arrived the day before they left, so she’d only tried it on for the briefest of seconds. Now, on reflection, it was skimpier than it had looked on the website’s model.
Very skimpy. The romance-novel heroines would be proud.
The white cups were slim, allowing some cleavage and decent side-boob action. And the bottom barely covered the little triangle of dark hair that she’d trimmed herself in the privacy of her own bathroom, after chickening out of attending a waxing appointment. All the necessary bits were hidden away, but everything else was on show.
Her eyes drifted up to Nico. The impish amusement and cocky smirk were long gone. In their place was an open flame, burning bright and intense and calling her to stick her hand out so she could be scorched.
“Wow,” he breathed.
Marianna had no idea how to respond. She could only watch as his large hands toyed with the knot at his waist. His legs were dusted with the same dark hair as his chest. It wasn’t something she’d ever thought she would find appealing. But the hairs only served to highlight his muscular thighs and calves, the mouth-watering lines of his body.
And…oh. Marianna gulped at the way his boardshorts hugged his trim waist and the rather large-looking bulge beneath it.
Just breathe. In, out, in, out.
Oh god, that was not a motion she needed to fixate on right now.
“The water should be warm,” he said, holding out his hand.
She allowed him to lead her to the ocean. The waves lapped at her, making the sand suck her heels down. It was so picturesque and romantic and everything she’d dreamed of when she fantasized about this trip in her head.
“Ready?” he asked.
No. Yes. Maybe…yes.
“Mm-hmm.” She nodded with a stiff smile before taking her first step. The water was indeed warm, perfectly so. “It’s lovely.”
“As are you,” he said, his eyes roaming her openly.
Was this what it was like to feel wanted? To feel desirable? Marianna worried that this would be like taking a hit of a highly addictive drug. That after today she would not feel sated. She would want more and more and more.
She waded in until the waves lapped at her ribs, and then she pushed forward, trying to swim as gracefully as she could while keeping her head above water. Working her arms and her legs, she turned so she could watch Nico swimming behind her. Water ran in rivulets over his body, dotting his broad shoulders and strong arms and turning his hair even more impossibly black.
“How do you get any work done with this right outside your door?” she asked. She was treading water now, letting her body become one with the ocean.
“Is it terrible for me to say that sometimes I forget it’s here?”
“You shouldn’t take these kinds of things for granted.” She looked around. “If I lived here, I’d be on the beach every single day.”
…
Nico watched Bianca/Marianna enjoying the waves, jumping up to catch each foamy crest of blue as it rushed toward the shoreline. Her joy and delight st
irred up old feelings. He’d been like that too, once. Wide-eyed, excited, and hopeful.
These days he couldn’t even remember what if felt like to look at anything with wonder.
On the beach, one of his staff members set down a picnic basket on their towels. He’d requested some fresh fruit, pastries, bread, and cheese. A little wine.
“Is that what I think it is?” Her head snapped toward him, a delighted smile on her lips.
“Sustenance,” he confirmed. “No rush…unless you’re on a deadline?”
She shook her head. They eventually made their way back to the beach after spending more time floating and swimming. With each minute that passed, Nico found himself increasingly captivated by this Australian woman. She was sweet and seemed genuine—something he didn’t encounter too often these days.
“So you’re a language student, huh?” he asked as they walked out of the surf, sand immediately sticking to their legs and feet. “What made you choose that field of study?”
She chuckled. “My family was always really strict about swearing. Back then, my older brothers would give me hell if I said anything bad.”
“You learned another language so you could swear?” He shook his head and laughed.
“Very mature, I know. But I found it fascinating to see how words changed from one language to the next.” They dropped down to the towels, and she brushed the sand from her legs. “One of my favorites is a German expression. Du Lauch! It means ‘you leek,’ like the vegetable.”
Nico grinned. It was such a silly thing, but the thought of this sweet, fresh-faced woman swearing like a sailor in multiple languages made him very happy. “I wonder what leeks ever did to the Germans.”
He unpacked the food prepared by his chef—fresh pita, strawberries and figs from the garden, honey, a slab of cheese, some kourabiedes.
“I have way more where that came from. In Danish, røvbanan literally means ‘ass banana.’”
Nico snorted. “I’ll have to remember that one.”
“Go n-ithe an cat thú, is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat.” Her voice transformed into something even more unusual-sounding. “That one’s Irish Gaelic. ‘May the cat eat you, and may the devil eat the cat.’”
Beauty and the Greek Billionaire Page 3
