Xenakis's Convenient Bride(3)

He blew out a disgusted breath. After two decades of bearing up under  his grandfather's dictates, and now facing a demand that he marry, he  was at the end of his rope with being told what to do.

No one answered the doorbell so he let himself in through the gate at  the side and went down the stairs into a white-walled courtyard that  opened on one side to the view of the sea. His arrival didn't stir Venus  from her slumber.

Damn, but his tension wanted an outlet. He let his gaze cruise over her  stellar figure once more. If she was a wife, she was the trophy kind,  but she wasn't wearing a ring.

The mistress of the place, his employer had said. He would just bet she  was a mistress. How disappointing to have such a beauty reserved by his  boss's client.         

     



 

In another life, Stavros wouldn't have let that stop him from going after her.

This was another life, he recalled with a kick of his youthful recklessness.

Crouching, he scooped up a handful of water and flicked it at her.



The spatter of something against Calli's face startled her awake-in the  pool, where she reflexively tried to sit up and immediately unbalanced.  She tumbled sideways, sunglasses sliding off her nose, arms outstretched  but catching at nothing. She plunged under the cold water into the blur  of blue. Oh, that was a shock!

Ophelia.

Calli caught her bearings and pumped her arms to burst through the surface, sputtering, "You are so grounded. Go to your room."

But that wasn't Ophelia straightening to such a lofty height at the side  of the pool. It was a conquering warrior, tall and forbidding, backlit  by the sun so Calli's eyes watered as she tried to focus on him. His  yellow T-shirt and shorts did nothing to detract from his powerful,  intimidating form. In fact, his clothes clung like golden armor hammered  across the contours of his shoulders and chest, accentuating the tan on  his muscular biceps.

She couldn't see his eyes, but felt the weight of his gaze. It pushed  her back and drew her forward at the same time, making her forget to  breathe, making her hot despite being submerged to her shoulders and  treading water.

Heat radiated through her, that dangerous heat that she had learned to  ignore out of self-preservation. This time it wouldn't quash, which  caused a knot of foreboding in her belly. He mesmerized her, holding her  suspended as though in amber, snared into a moment of sexual  fascination that seemed destined to last eternally.

He folded his arms, imperious, but his voice held a rasp of humor. "Lead the way."

To his room, he meant. It wasn't so much an invitation as an order.

She had the impression of a dark brow cocked with silent laughter, which  made her feel vulnerable. Not threatened, not physically, but imperiled  at a deep level, where her ego resided. Where her fractured heart was  tucked high on a shelf so no one could knock it to the floor again.

Her chest prickled with anxiety and she wiped her eyes, trying hard to  see him properly, trying to figure out who he was and why he had such an  instant, undeniable effect on her. His T-shirt sported the pool man's  logo, but she'd never seen him before.

"I didn't hear you come in."

"Obviously. Up late?"

"Yes." It struck her very belatedly that it couldn't have been Ophelia  to wake her. Calli had fallen asleep in the pool because she'd arrived  home in the wee hours after leaving Ophelia at her maternal  grandparents' home in Athens. She had driven half the night, then dozed  in the car as she waited for the ferry.

Takis wasn't here. No one was except her and this barbarian of a man.

"I was traveling." She skimmed toward the stairs at the shallow end. "I  knew workers were coming and didn't want to miss speaking to you by  falling asleep inside. Where is Ionnes?"

"He gave me my assignment and told me I have two weeks."

"Yes, there's a party scheduled." The roll of alarm wouldn't leave her  belly. It trebled when his shadow fell across her as she climbed the  steps. He had plucked her filmy wrap from the chair and held it out for  her like a gentleman.

He was no gentleman. She didn't know what he was, but had the distinct feeling he was somebody. Not a normal plebeian like her.

She took the wrap and struggled to push her wet arms into the loose  sleeves. Why was she shaking? Oh, Ophelia had misguided taste! Why  wasn't this wrap opaque? It was a birthday present and Calli had thought  it delightfully feminine when she had opened it, but with the simple  hook-and-eye closure over her navel, it was more provocation than cover,  hanging open down her cleavage and parting in a slit over the tops of  her thighs.

He noticed. He studied her from chin to toe polish, unabashed in the way  he let his gaze move down and up, tightening her hair follicles inch by  inch.

It wasn't the first time she'd been eyed up, but the locals knew she  wasn't interested. Or considered her off-limits, at least. With  tourists, she pretended she didn't speak English if she wanted to reject  an advance.

Either way, it was always easy to brush men off, but not today. She felt  his gaze. She told herself it was the water trickling off her, but that  had never turned her inside out this way.

Once again she was accosted by defenselessness. Why? She'd been inoculated against men who used their looks to devastate.

Nevertheless, that's what he was. Devastatingly handsome. Standing on  the same level with him didn't make him any less intimidating. He was  big and powerful and now that she could properly see his face, she  caught her breath in reaction. He wore a day's shadow of stubble and  finger-combed hair, but those hollow cheeks and ebony brows were pure  perfection. It wasn't the sculpted beauty of his face that arrested her,  though. It was the fierce pride and unapologetic masculinity he  projected.         

     



 

It was the undisguised desire that flared in his black-coffee eyes as their gazes locked. The arrogant assumption he could have.

Because he knew she was reacting to him? Knowledge made his eyelids  heavy while smug anticipation deepened the corners of his mouth.

She couldn't tear her eyes from his wide mouth, his lips brutally sensual, his jaw determined.

As he spoke, his voice lowered an octave to something that promised, yet warned. "Tell me what you want. I'm at your service."

Her body stung with a renewed flood of heat, countering the chill of her  damp suit. Please let him think the cold hardened my nipples. But it  was him. She knew it and he knew it and it scared her.

She scrambled back a step, trying to escape his aggressively sexual aura, and nearly stumbled into the pool.

He caught her by the arms, saving her from falling onto the steps under  the water. It was chivalrous, but paralyzing, leaving her shaken. What  was wrong with her?

She tried to lift her chin and look down her nose at him. "Let me go."

The amused heat in his brown eyes cooled to mahogany. "If that's what  you want." He waited a beat, then lifted his hands away and straightened  to his full height. "Watch your step."

He wasn't cautioning her about a slippery pool deck.

Her stomach wobbled and her heart pounded so hard she wanted to press  her hand against her chest to calm it. She clenched her fist instead,  swallowing to ease the dryness in her mouth.

"Your accent is strange." She narrowed in on that as a way to hold him  at a distance. Something about his voice caused a prickle of  apprehension in her. "Where are you from?"

His expression blanked into what must be a winning poker face. Which had to mean he was lying when he said, "I was born here."

"In Greece or on this island?" She knew most of the locals by sight, if not by name. "I don't recognize you. What's your name?"

A flash of something came and went in his gaze. Annoyance? "Stavros.  I've lived abroad since I was twelve. I'm back for a working vacation."

She might have latched on to his lack of a surname if she hadn't just realized what colored his fluid Greek.

"You're American." On vacation.

Her blood stuttered to a halt in her veins, sending ice penetrating to  her bones. No. Never again. No and no. She didn't care how good-looking  he was. No.

As if he heard the indictment in her tone, he threw his head back, expression offended. "I'm Greek."

She knew her prejudice was exactly that. It wasn't even a real  prejudice. She quite enjoyed chatting with rotund, married American  tourists or any American woman. She wanted to go to America. New York,  to be precise.

No, the only people she truly held in contempt were straight men who  thought they could treat the local women like amusement-park rides. It  didn't matter where they came from. Been there, done that, and her  wounds were still open to prove it.

But the man who had left her with nothing, not even her reputation,  happened to be American, so that was the crime she accused this one of  committing.

"You're here to fix the pool," she reminded with a sharpness honed by  life's hardest knocks. "You only have two weeks. Better get to it."