Xenakis's Convenient Bride(9)

Stavros drew back enough to frown. "Who's that?"

"Takis." She looked past his shoulder, through the blur of the curtain,  to see Takis pause outside the door as though looking for her. She  pushed at Stavros.

He didn't move. "Get rid of him."

Seriously? "He's my boss."

Stavros glared at her, backed off enough to glance down to where his shorts were tented and bit out a dissatisfied curse.

He threw himself through the thin waterfall into the pool.



Stavros came to the surface in time to see a flustered Calli moving  toward a silver-haired man in a suit. He kissed her cheek, but it was a  distracted greeting. His frowning gaze lingered on her blushing face  before fixing on Stavros with open hostility.

"Who is that?"

"Stavros. He's fixing the tiles."

"From the water?"

It was a singular experience for Stavros to be spoken about when he was  right here, listening, especially in such a dismayed, dismissive  fashion. Like he wasn't good enough to be in this man's world, let alone  his pool.

The denigration was enough to cool his ardor, but made him want to laugh at the same time. Do you know who I am?

Takis probably regarded himself as quite wealthy and powerful, but he  would very soon be selling this country cabin to Stavros for what  amounted to pocket change.

There was more that Stavros instantly disliked. The man kept his arm  looped around Calli's waist as he watched Stavros climb from the pool.

Whatever he needs me to be.

A surge of something ripped through Stavros. Jealous rage? The thought scored a direct hit in a way the condescension hadn't.

He reacted reflexively, walking tall as he approached, shoulders set,  oblivious to the water sluicing off his sopping T-shirt and shorts,  puddling with each footstep as he advanced, about to go on the attack.  Eager for it.

He was not only the heir to a fortune, but the bold, innovative  president of a multinational corporation who had exponentially increased  the reach and value of that entity into the stratosphere. In becoming  that man, he had learned to exert his will over a tyrant whose  autocratic nature matched his own. Nothing held him back. Nothing was  unattainable. Men like Takis weren't even breakfast. They were a protein  bar washed down with a swish of water on the way to a morning workout.

A frown of alarm pulled between Calli's brows, like she wasn't sure she recognized him.

In that second, he remembered the bet. Five more days of playing pool boy. He bit back an imprecation.

No matter which guise he wore, Stavros Xenakis was no lame quitter, but  he wasn't about to bow and scrape before Calli's boss. Or pretend that  Calli was anything except his. Takis could delude himself all he wanted.  She had fallen apart against him.

Stavros conveyed that message as he extended his hand.

"Takis. Nice to meet you. Thanks for the dip. I needed to cool off." He  let his gaze cut to Calli's, allowing them both to see he was  remembering how she had climaxed from merely the tease of sex. How would  she react when they were naked and he was inside her? Would she scream?         

     



 

She blushed ferociously. "I'll leave you to show Takis your work," she choked. "Coffee?" she offered her boss.

"Thank you." He released her, face hard, eyes diamond sharp.

Takis didn't say much as he took in the work Stavros had completed thus  far. The broken tiles were gone, Ionnes having removed the bin from the  front late last week. Since then, Stavros had been laying the new ones,  and he was taking as much care and pride as he would if the house were  his own. He had already sent a text to Antonio, asking him to arrange an  agent to appraise the house since he couldn't contact his own.

Takis went into the house and Stavros went back to work, chafing at the  need to be patient. He was coming down the outer stairs with a load of  tiles when he overheard voices through the small, shutter-covered window  above him.

"-damned sure he's not a tile layer by trade, so who is he?"

"Ionnes wouldn't send anyone he didn't trust." Something snapped, like a  towel. Calli, folding laundry perhaps. "If you have concerns, tell me  and I'll relay them."

"My concern is that you were kissing him."

Stavros set down the tiles with care, straightening to scowl at the window.

"Are you sleeping with him? You are." The accusation held dismay. "I can see it in your face."

"I am not! And it's none of your business if I was. Do I ask you why your shirts smell like perfume?"

"He's a womanizer-"

"I know what he is." The words burst out in a hot voice. "I know he's only here on vacation, but there's more to him than that."

"I'm sure there is, but whatever it is, you haven't seen it. What happened to waiting until you married?"

"I said that for Ophelia's sake."

"You said that to me. And I did offer to marry you."

The green haze returned to Stavros's vision. His chest grew tight.

"Takis-"

"I'm not asking again," he said impatiently. "I'm past wanting more  children myself. But I expect you to shoot higher than a pool boy,  Calli. You'll starve. Is it because he's American? I've told you, if you  want to visit New York, I'll take you."

"I need more than-That's not why-Do you think I want to feel this way?"  Something slammed, like the door on a washer. "About someone only  passing through? But maybe I could do with a conquest, too. Did you  think of that?"

"No." The word was flat and hard. "That is the furthest thing from who  you are. He is a walk down a path you've already traveled. Learn from  your mistakes..."

Their voices faded and Stavros picked up the tiles. He would have been  amused by the blatant snobbery if it didn't sound so much like his  grandfather.

Show me you're capable of looking to the future. Find someone worthy of carrying on our name.

Their American name.

What the hell was wrong with the name he'd been born under?

Edward Michaels had groomed Stavros to take over Dýnami Pharmaceutical,  but on his terms. Stavros was sick of it. He had poured enough of his  own blood and sweat into the company to have earned his place at the  top, yet his grandfather kept pointing Stavros toward the bevy of  potential brides in Manhattan, ordering him to select one if he wanted  control of his birthright.

Stavros had been so resistant to the idea of marriage, he hadn't looked there or anywhere else.

Suddenly, however, he had a vision of Calli circulating through that  social reef. Her thick black hair and elegant figure would look stunning  in a burlap sack, let alone a designer gown. In fact, even without  cosmetics or a high-end hairstyle, she would stand out as exotic against  all those pale, blue-eyed blondes.

None of those overworked beauties possessed so much as a hint of warmth  or passion, but when he had kissed Calli, she had matched his lust  breath for breath. His blood ran hot as he recalled how responsive she  was. Under the hand of a talented teacher, she would be incandescent.

That sort of passion would burn out, of course, but a marriage could be temporary, too.

It hadn't occurred to him to arrange both a marriage and a divorce when  he'd been ordered by his grandfather to choose from their existing  circle, but if she was a nanny from Greece with much lower expectations?

To hell with buying back his old house as a way of putting his  grandfather on notice that his life was his own. There were better ways.  Greek immersion, Stavros thought with wry delight. The kind that  included sinking into a divine Hellenic figure every night and  exchanging pillow talk in the language of his birth. He throbbed just  imagining it, his skin growing tight, blood burning in his veins.         

     



 

And when he considered the look on his grandfather's face as he presented a Greek wife...

A grim smile crept across his mouth.



Calli managed to sneak out of the house as Stavros was doing a final  sweep of the courtyard. Takis had been quick to follow her outside all  week, getting between them and not giving her a chance to have so much  as a private word with Stavros, let alone private time.

Stavros hadn't made a concerted effort to see her, though, which had  begun to erode her confidence. She was feeling bereft. Cast off, even.

It was silly. She and Stavros weren't even lovers! Not really.

"It's beautiful," she told him as she gazed in wonder at the transformed courtyard.

Whether he was a certified tradesman or not, he was meticulous and  talented. He had managed to replicate the subtle pattern from the  driveway, which was more complex than it looked on first glance. She had  spied on him while he worked, absorbed by the way he carefully measured  and cut each tile, turning it this way and that to get it exactly  right.

Rather than replant the trees that had broken the old tiles, he'd  suggested they order pots of fragrant wisteria that would eventually  climb the walls and overhead trellis. He had hung strings of white  lights and now, as dusk fell, the scattered pinpricks were like stars  that were close enough to touch. Pure magic.