Mediterranean Mavericks: Greeks

Her skin paled, leaving such a frightened look in her eyes that Stavros jerked her around to him.

Was that unwise desire that widened those beautiful eyes real?

Was the pain in her eyes when she spoke of Calista real?

The whole week that he had been gone, he had found himself running through every encounter he had ever had with Leah.

Wondered why she had done so many things he had forbidden her to do, wondered how someone who could be so rejecting and disrespectful of Giannis again and again could also turn around and mourn for his sister, Calista, for so many years.

She had lied about the apartment. She had lied today about liking the estate, a seemingly inconsequential thing that threatened nothing that she held dear.

A keening frustration spread through his veins. Like there was a pit full of dangerous truths that he had never faced and Leah held the key to it all. He forced a smile to his mouth and pressed his hand to her back.

She instantly stiffened and he gritted his jaw, fighting the shockingly strong urge to assert his right like an uncivilized thug.

Right then, it seemed he cared very little about duty, or what was right. All he wanted to do was touch her, to feel like this stranger who told him nothing but lies, that selfish, reckless girl he had married, was really present.

Right then, he wanted to claim something, a part of her, even an emotion, an expression, that no one else knew but him.

Right then, he wanted to be a self-serving bastard like Dmitri and assure himself that she would respond, even against her own surprisingly strong will, when he touched her. That she couldn’t pretend, fake, or lie to him in that.

It was as if suddenly there was a beast inside him that wanted to do as it pleased, that was railing against the cage after a lifetime of doing what was right.

And it was Leah that did these things to him.

“So your lawyer friend visited you on Wednesday.”

Resignation flattened the curve of her mouth. “His name is Philip.” He was only a few inches taller than her, and standing a step below her, his eyes were level with her mouth.

What would she do if he touched those lush lips with his?

Would she fight him and scratch him like the alley cat she had always pretended to be? Or would she sink into his kiss as that desperate desire in her eyes suggested?

Which was the real Leah?

“He was in a foul temper because I came away with you without taking his advice. Not knowing how autocratic you can be, he thinks I gave in too easily.”

Stavros wanted to figure her out, put her in a category and move on with life. He didn’t want this curiosity, didn’t know how to arrest this indulgent self-awareness that she incited in him.

“I think he sees his piece of pie from your fortune dwindling away.”

She walked around the table like a cornered prey. “Because he befriended me with nothing but an eye toward what I’m worth?”

“Yes. Your fortune always attracts those kinds of men.”

A sigh escaped her, but she wasn’t spitting in fury as he had imagined. As if he were the despot she could hate again. “And of course, you know everyone and their intentions best.”

“No, I know Philip Cosgrove better than you do. He has had two broken engagements—one with an American candy heiress and the other with a princess from a minor South American nation. He has also been having an affair with a client.”

Hands on hips, she looked like a wildcat. “You had him investigated?”

“You should know the truth about him.”

“Truth about his personal life? He’s a friend and my lawyer, Stavros. Not my lover. If he was going to be one, I’m sure he would have volunteered that information. And even if he didn’t, it’s my decision to make.”

The thought of Leah with any man…he wasn’t prepared to ponder his reaction to that. “Now you know what decision to make.”

“About whether I want to screw him or not?” she said crudely, even as color darkened her cheeks. “You don’t have the right to police me on who I sleep with.”

“Discussing my rights and privileges when it comes to you is not a conversation you will like, agape mou.”

“No, I won’t. Because you’re a hypocrite. Do you tell your lovers that you have a wife you hide as if she were a stain on the very fabric of your life, Stavros?” Her fingers clutched his hand and pulled it up, a startling tremble in it. The contact jolted through him. “Do you take it off when you undress your lover? Do you—”

“I don’t have to tell them anything,” he whispered, dragging her against him. She was stiff against him, yet just the drag of her body set his muscles curling with need.

Ever since she had entered his life, there had been no escape from the shackles his own sense of honor bound him with.

Strange then that he had resented it and fought it for so long.

Was it because, as he had always known, Leah would never be the kind of wife he had imagined for himself—someone calm and dependable like Helene? Even then, had he known that she would incite him to this kind of reckless, unwise need?

“Anyone who’s someone knows I have a wife. Which also means I don’t have to fend off women with marriage on their mind…”

She stared, unblinking. Her nostrils flared. “You’re…disgusting.”

It was addictive to play her own game with her, so compelling to watch the different expressions pass through her eyes. In that moment, there were no lies she could tell him. In that moment, the connection between them was as explosive and destructive as the wildfire that had wrecked through the surrounding acreage a few years ago.

A fire that was going to need feeding soon if he didn’t it to want it to consume him, as it had already begun to…if he didn’t want to lose all sense of right and wrong.

And what was wrong with wanting his own wife in his bed? Maybe if he gave in to the fire, he could function normally again.

“You wanted to know,” he goaded her.

“No, I didn’t. I was just trying to make a point.”

“You sounded like a nagging, jealous wife. Just what I wanted my marriage to be.”

All color fled from her face, leaving her gaze stricken. Tears pooled in her eyes. And the sight of those big brown eyes brimming with moisture punched him in the gut.

“Theos, Leah—”

“I hate you. I hate that you’re keeping me here. I hate that you have so much power over my life and that you use it at every turn to put me in the wrong. And I’m such a pathetic coward that I still stand here, day after day, hoping that you will change your mind. I forget that all you want is to punish me, and yourself, for what happened to Calista.

“That’s all this is, isn’t it? Duty, righting a wrong…nothing touches you beyond that.”

She cast another desperate glance at him, swiped her hands roughly over her eyes and walked away.

Her words sliced at Stavros rendering everything she said about him a lie.

It did hurt, he realized with a strange new awareness. What she said about him mattered because he hadn’t meant to hurt her today. Christos, he had never meant to hurt Leah.

He had been powerless about her influence on Calista, he had despised her willful rejection of Giannis’s love, he had resented that she had sealed his fate the moment she had walked into his life but he had never meant to hurt her.

Not even the day when he had spoken his vows to her utterly petrified form.

Yet, it seemed it was all he had ever done.

That Leah could be vulnerable when it came to him, instead of making him powerful, felt like a curse.

Giannis had saved him from a life of misery and poverty and yawning emptiness and all he had done in return was make his granddaughter’s life miserable.

He wouldn’t forsake his duty, but neither did he want to hurt Leah anymore.

Leah leaned against the wall in her workroom, shame ringing in her ears. She couldn’t believe she had betrayed herself like that. She didn’t even care that he had investigated Philip or about what he had found.

But when he had called her a nagging, jealous wife, it was as if she could see their future like that…as if he would never see her true self. As if he would never know the real her.

Standing up, she reached for a jug of water. Poured herself a tall drink and guzzled it down.

It couldn’t matter this much, not when she would be gone soon.

She couldn’t be so vulnerable to him, couldn’t get so emotional. The only way to accomplish that was to accept him this way. He would watch her, hover over her, dictate her life forever, if she wasn’t careful now.

She would give up a little now for the long run.

It wasn’t as if the news of Philip’s past engagements affected her.

For as long as she had understood herself, only one man had always stubbornly occupied the space in her head. And still, only one man could set her heart racing, only one man could make her hate herself that she wasn’t smarter or calmer or even stronger, that she wasn’t a match for him in any way.

For the next week, Leah barely slept. The retail buyer, Mrs. DuPont, set up an appointment to see what Leah had for her so far. The conversation that followed, where Leah explained to her that she was now living at Stavros’s estate and her reaction to the fact that she was that Textile Magnate’s wife, had been extremely awkward. As if suddenly Leah’s worth as a designer had changed. Whether for good or bad, Leah had no idea.

Once she had heard from her, Leah had finished the sewing on the first three dresses.

Unaccountably nervous, she had snarled at Stavros yesterday for making it all so complicated.

The evening after Mrs. Dupont had called, a seamstress had arrived at her workroom. Her mouth falling open in awe, she fingered the turquoise sheer silk of the cocktail dress, had said in broken English that she loved sewing, and would Mrs. Sporades please give her work.

Having neatly been maneuvered into it, Leah had nodded. Now, she was glad she had given in to Stavros’s tactics. Anna was not only talented but also enthusiastic. Having arranged the three dresses on a rack, Leah endlessly tidied the workroom, her stomach a tangle of nerves.

She had risked a lot to be able to make this ready for Mrs. DuPont, to arrive at this stage of making her dream come true.

And yet, it was Stavros’s challenging gaze that stayed at the forefront of her mind. The strength of her desire to show him that she was talented, hardworking, that she had what it took to succeed, only grew.

She was determined to make him see her as his equal, in this at least.

Leah would have had her meeting with the retail buyer this afternoon.

The small nugget jolted through Stavros’s subconscious like he had set up a reminder chip in his brain to go off every hour. All through his day, through numerous meetings, he found himself thinking of her, of how nervous she had been last night, of how he had seen her work long hours, only remembering to eat because Rosa threatened her.

In the last two weeks, he had found that he couldn’t fault her dedication or hard work. And the night before last, learning that she had once again skipped her dinner, he had gone into her workroom.

He had found himself on her doorstep, stunned into silence as Leah commanded Anna to turn around slowly. Being almost as tall as him, Anna was the perfect model to showcase a knee-length sheath dress in red silk.

Simple yet chic, it touched Anna with sophistication she hadn’t possessed before.

Suddenly, he was extremely glad that Giannis had pushed him and Dmitri to start their work at his textile factories on the sewing floor.

In two weeks, he had learned how dedicated and hardworking she was, and in that moment, Stavros had no doubt of her talent.

It was after six by the time the helicopter touched down at his estate. A curious eagerness buffeted him like the wind from the rotor blades.

He headed directly for her workroom, seeing the light on as he approached the house.

He found her at her drawing table, one hand around her nape, turning her head this way and then other. And then her face flopped down onto her table, her shoulders trembled, and a loud, rattling sigh escaped her.

The depth of frustration in that sound startled him.

She straightened up again, tore off sheets from her sketchpad, crumpled them and tossed them.

He must have made a sound, because she suddenly turned then. “I’m so sorry, Anna, but I won’t have any work for you in the near—”

In the few seconds before she realized that it was him, Stavros saw it. Distress and disappointment, which slowly cycled to wariness for him.

She slid off the high stool, holding herself stiff. “I thought it was Anna.”

“How did it go?” he said, his eagerness to know unprecedented.

Folding her arms defensively, she shrugged. He saw her swallow, look away, and turn toward him again.

When she met his gaze again, she looked ready to battle him. “You were right,” she said with bitterness coating it. “She didn’t like a single design. You’ll be happy to know—”

“You think I would be happy that all your backbreaking work came to nothing?”

She had the sense to look ashamed. Theos, she truly believed him to be a sadistic monster, didn’t she? Had he ever given her reason to believe otherwise?

“How so?” he asked, noting the lines of strain around her mouth.

Now, she looked stunned. “What do you mean?”

“Why did she reject them? Did she give a reason?” When she still stared at him blankly, irritation touched him. “I’m trying to have a conversation, not attack you,” he burst out.

“She thought they were far too high-end for her store, way too sophisticated and bohemian for the clientele that comes to her boutiques. Too geared toward the jet-setting club like your husband’s were her exact words.”

Whatever she had shown her, Mrs. Dupont had refused to budge from her stance. Disappointment settled on Leah’s shoulders like a heavy cloak. Had she risked everything for nothing?

“So what is your plan of action next?”

She pulled her attention back to Stavros, sharply aware of his potent presence in her small workroom. In every conversation they had ever had about her work, his interest had been genuine, and suddenly she felt like an ungrateful bitch. Grabbing the notebook, she showed him the notes she had scribbled earlier. “I did what you said I should do in the first place. Had a lengthy discussion about her expectations.” That he asked so politely made her failure even more real. “So it’s back to the drawing board for me.”

He took the book from her and flipped through the notes. “Didn’t you leave the fashion house because you wanted to give your own vision a try?”

It had been the foremost thought in her head since Mrs. DuPont had left. “Yes, it was. But it also means walking away from a sure customer, and continuing to trust my vision.”

Leaning by her side, he crossed his ankles. The long stretch of his legs in front of her, his tapering waist, the breadth of his shoulders…his masculinity was a striking contrast against her silks and dresses.

“Tell me… all the ideas you discussed today, do they excite you enough to want to risk everything like you did with me?”

Sucking in a deep breath at how effectively he shot to the heart of the matter, Leah shook her head. Talking strategy with him was the last thing she had expected.

He threw the book on the table and turned to her. “Then it is as simple as saying no, and forging ahead.”

“But—”

“I saw Anna wearing that red dress and I believe that you’re talented, Leah. Add to that, a rich husband who’s willing to feed you and supply you with endless fabric. Trust your gut and go for it.”

Stunned into a monosyllabic response, Leah stared after his retreating form hungrily, all of her crushing disappointment from the day leaving her in a whoosh. Every muscle in her body ached and yet she felt like there was a renewed fire in her.

And it was thanks to the man she had deceived and hated for years.

CHAPTER SEVEN

LEAH SMOOTHED DOWN the fabric of the beige, supremely boring satin silk she was wearing and suppressed another sigh. The dress, picked by the stylist and coming with a hefty designer tag, wasn’t ugly per se.

But the classic fitting bodice and the flaring skirt were not at all her style. With her hair pulled back from her face and the cashmere wrap, she felt thoroughly unlike herself. The heavy diamond choker lay against her throat like a dead, cold weight that could siphon off every bit of warmth from her skin.

Blinking, she looked at Stavros sitting on the other side of the wide cabin, his arrogant head bent to his laptop.

She unbuckled the seatbelt and paced the length of the long cabin all the way to the rear and back.

Her back ached from all the work she had done the past few weeks, once she had received the delivery of all the raw material she had ordered.

In the evenings, she had had meetings every day of the week, some arranged by her, some by the man who, it seemed, would never relent in his duty.

She had met with a graphic designer, a contact she had made working at the fashion house, who was designing her website; a seamstress who had come in from the village because, like Anna, she had heard what Leah did and begged to work on them with her, because she loved dressmaking; and with an attorney that Stavros had arranged to take care of trademarking her label and setting up a company in her name.

Tears had filled her eyes when she had eyed the paperwork with her name on it.

Leah Huntington Sporades—Head Designer.

Her father would have been so proud of her. Giannis, if he knew, would be so proud of her. Even more so, because he had started Katrakis Textiles as a small retail merchant decades ago. But seeing him would mean getting close to him and she couldn’t risk that.

Stavros had stood witness to all of it, a silent specter in the room as the platinum-tipped pen had slipped from her hand a couple of times when she wanted to sign the papers. Lost in the magnitude of the moment, she had felt grateful for his hand on her shoulder.

“Have you picked a name for the label?” his question had boomeranged in the silence, testing her strength.

Calista and she had made so many plans. She had been the one who had pushed Leah into stretching her wings, given her confidence that her designs were brilliant. Had worn the dress Leah had designed to her eighteenth birthday party and had dazzled the world in it.

Holding the logo she had come up with with the help of a graphic designer—an elaborately stylish L and C tangled up together, she whispered, “Leah & Calista.”

His silence beat down on her as she braced herself against his censure.

All her hopes and happiness tied to that name, she couldn’t feign defiance. Couldn’t muster any defense against his intrusion into what was a monumental moment for her. Would have crumbled into pieces if he had pushed her.

But he had said nothing. Neither praise nor judgment.

Only studied her with a strange light in his eyes until the room had swelled and collapsed around them, echoing with her lies and his questions.

The waiting lawyer had finally cleared his throat and Leah had looked away.

After that day at the pool, Stavros and she had fallen into a surprising routine. Every evening, when he returned from work, he would come into her workroom and they would discuss his business and her work like two polite strangers reading from a script, carefully steering away from any number of topics.

And the elephant in the room, that sharp and growing awareness of each other, roamed free.

At least she had made a lot of progress in the week. And by the end of the day, her back hurt, her fingers ached, and she fell into bed exhausted.

To Leah, it felt like the calm before the storm. But she was determined to continue the peace for as long as he was determined to keep her future hanging in the balance.

So when he’d walked into her workroom yesterday morning, his skin tanned in the glorious Greek sun, and declared that she needed a break after a grueling week, she had readily assented, even if the thought of going away somewhere with him filled her with all kinds of tension.

Had not even blinked when he had told her that they would be attending a small party, would be staying away for a week and that he’d arranged a stylist for her.

He had stood there, as solid and magnificent as ever in a white shirt and tight jodhpurs and riding boots, sweaty and sexy and insanely real, waiting for her to argue and throw a fit.

She had rubbed a hand over her chest, as if she could appeal to her heart to stop its frenzied clamoring. Delusional really, that she still thought she could beg, force or control her body when it came to Stavros.

Did he hate how she dressed? The stinging question had come to her finally. But she had nodded and thanked him, like the dutiful Leah he wanted her to be.

So here she was, on his private jet this time, ensconced in sheer luxury. Thick cream carpet that swallowed her, spacious rear cabin with a huge king bed, and the man who was turning her inside out, as always.

Sighing, she locked her fingers in her lap when all she wanted was to sweep her fingers into the elaborate updo the stylist had twisted her hair into.

The weight of her thick hair piled into that unceremoniously tight knot pressed against the back of her head and neck. Tension piled into her shoulders.

When the stewardess arrived and inquired after her, she requested sparkling water and aspirin.

“You do not feel well,” he stated in that final tone of his.

In a movement that was as graceful as it was quick, he reached her side of the aircraft. His seat was not attached to hers yet he was far too close.

She remained stubbornly silent, determined to win the war against herself.

“You’ve been fidgeting uncontrollably for the past hour.”

“If I’m disturbing you, I—”

“Theos, Leah. For once, just answer my question.”

“I… I don’t like this hairstyle or this dress. They make me feel like…” Closing her eyes, she leaned back against her seat. God, she couldn’t have sounded like she was ten years old if she had tried harder.

“Like what?” his tone hovered between resigned amusement and curiosity.

She took the water and aspirin from the stewardess and swallowed it while it watched her.

“Answer me, Leah.”

Fighting the urge to burrow into herself like a turtle, she said, “I look like your version of me.”

“My version of…” He looked stunned. “Explain.”

“In this dress and jewelry, I am Leah Sporades, the demure and dutiful wife of respected billionaire Stavros Sporades. There’s nothing of me in this. It is all you.”

He froze and it seemed air and sound, the very matter around them froze along with him. “I do not understand.”

“That stylist you hired, she—” she forced herself to breathe “—this is what she presented me with.”

Frowning, he ran his gaze over the straps and over the tight ruffles of the bodice.

Her skin warmed up as if she was a flower and he was the very sun she craved. Leah tightened her fists to stop from covering herself.