Mediterranean Mavericks: Greeks
‘I know it’s serious, whatever it is.’ He pushed the coffee away from him and stood up.
Rose failed to follow suit. Instead she watched as he slung on his jacket, her fists pressed into her lap.
‘I don’t want to go anywhere, Nick. I want to say what I have to say here. Where it’s impersonal…’
Nick shot her a brooding, sideways glance and hesitated before removing his jacket and carefully replacing it on its hanger. Then he walked towards the window and stared down at the city streets below, trying to get his thoughts in order, filled with a cold, clawing panic and the painful knowledge that he had to say what he had to say before she unleashed whatever truth it was she had come to impart to him.
He could feel her eyes on him and, sure enough, he turned around to find her watching him.
‘Look,’ he began, ‘I’m…I don’t know how to say this…’ He raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head, suddenly restless and uncomfortable. ‘I’ve never said this to anyone before…’
Rose, having screwed up every ounce of courage she possessed to tell him what she had to and as quickly as possible, breathed a silent sigh of relief that he was doing the talking. Okay, it was just a case of putting off the inevitable and it was cowardly, but she relaxed just a tiny bit.
She was also curious, even though she didn’t want to be. She hadn’t come to his office expecting to have a conversation, or at least not until she had told him about the pregnancy and then conversation probably wouldn’t quite describe what she imagined would follow. Recriminations, accusation, bitterness—nothing that she would classify as conversation.
‘Said what?’ she asked, bewildered.
Even more bewildering was the expression on his face. Gone was the easy self-assurance she associated with him. In its place was uncertainty and hesitation, which was as perplexing as the dark flush that stained his cheeks.
She almost forgot what she had come to say when he walked towards her and dragged his chair round so that he could position himself right next to her, on her level.
‘I…’ he began. ‘I…I’m glad you’re here…’
He didn’t look glad. In fact, he didn’t look anything, at least not anything she could identify. And if he really was glad, then she was pretty sure that it wasn’t a sentiment he would be harbouring for very long.
‘I…the past few weeks, Rose…’ He once again ran his fingers through his hair and looked away from her. ‘Not good.’
In a flash, she knew where he was going. He had probably assumed that she had come to his office with a view to taking him up on his offer for her to live with him and was now, against the dictates of his pride, going to repeat the offer because he still wanted her. Want, want, want! The most distasteful and egotistical word in the universe.
She closed her mind off to her memories of him. It gave her strength to think that this man, whatever he said, hadn’t wanted her enough to take their relationship that one important step further. She had declared her love and that, psychologically, must have led him to assume that she would return, grateful for the crumbs he could throw her.
‘I’m not here to talk about that,’ she interjected quickly.
‘You don’t understand, Rose. I need to talk about it. I need to talk about what a fool I’ve been.’ He reached out and took hold of her fingers, idly playing with them, obviously, she thought, unaware of what that simple, inoffensive gesture was doing to her insides. She stared, fascinated and dry-mouthed, at his long brown fingers as they fiddled with hers, and gulped.
It was amazing that he couldn’t guess the reason for her visit. Astute as he was, his mind was obviously not programmed to think the unthinkable.
‘I let you go,’ he said quietly, looking directly at her. ‘I let the woman who loved me go.’
Rose didn’t want to be reminded of that. ‘I’m not here to blame you, Nick. You did what you had to do and there are no hard feelings. I haven’t come to discuss the past.’ She made an effort to slide her hand out of his grasp but his fingers tightened on hers, clasping them into submission.
‘I’ve always thought that love was a complication, something of which I had no need. I enjoyed women but I didn’t want them clambering into my private life and interfering with it. My goals were set and there was no place for cosy nights in and joint holidays in Italy with the eventual two point two.’
Which snapped Rose back to the present like a bucket of cold water.
‘No. I gathered,’ she said coolly.
‘I was…mistaken…’
It took a couple of seconds for his words to sink in, then her thoughts were adrift, bobbing about in confusion as she tried to assimilate that telling, wrenched remark.
‘I…beg your pardon?’
‘I was mistaken,’ Nick said simply. He felt a weight lift off his chest. Whatever dire news she had come to break, then she would know how he felt and it was something he should have said a long time ago. Courage, he was discovering, was something he had measured using all the wrong tools. Courage was this. Telling the only woman he had ever loved that he loved her.
Rose wasn’t sure what she was hearing. She knew what she wanted to hear.
‘You’re playing games,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Please.’ This time she succeeded in withdrawing her hand, which she held up because, riveting though his disclosures were, she couldn’t trust herself not to start believing them, and hadn’t he already made it perfectly clear that he was not in the business of love? What would he do to get her back into his bed? she wondered. Seduce her with words he knew she wanted to hear?
No. She would say what she had come to say and watch him fall back in horror. Better that than to be lulled into a false sense of security that would be snatched away the minute she broke her news.
‘Just listen to me and stop…confusing me.’
Nick had the cold feeling that he had left things too late. The horse had bolted and, not only had he failed to realise what a treasure he possessed, but he had closed the stable door and returned to the house whistling a merry tune. He deserved to have her walk out on him and never look back. His punishment would be to spend the rest of his life living with his mistake.
‘I…’ Now it was her turn to stammer. She took a deep breath and said in one quick rush, closing her eyes to block him out, ‘I’m pregnant. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it has. You don’t have to feel responsible. You don’t have to feel anything. I came here because I felt you ought to know, not because I wanted anything from you. You’re telling me now about mistakes, but I know you for who you are. I don’t want money from you; I don’t want time from you. I just thought…you should know…’
In a minute she would do the brave thing and open her eyes. The silence lengthened around them and into it she read an assortment of reactions. Eventually, though, she peeped at him and then opened her eyes fully when she realised that he hadn’t drawn back in horror.
‘You’re pregnant?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Rose whispered.
‘You’re pregnant.’
‘I realise this is the last thing you want…’
‘I don’t believe it.’ Nick shook his head in wonderment. It had never occurred to him. How naïve was he? He had lurched from thinking that she had returned because she wanted him, to imagining the worst, that she was ill, perhaps fatally so. But she was carrying his child and he was overwhelmed with a sudden feeling of elation.
He looked at her and grinned.
‘You’re…not upset?’ she asked cautiously.
‘You’re having my baby…’ He wanted to sweep her off her feet and swing her around. ‘I love you, Rose. I love you, I can’t live without you and now you’ve given me the best news I could ever have hoped for. Lord, when you walked through that door, with that serious expression, white like a ghost, I thought…I don’t know what I thought…that you were going to tell me that you were ill…that I had lost my chance to show you how much you mean to me…’
Rose’s brain had registered his declaration of love and had stuck there.
‘If you loved me, why didn’t you say something sooner?’
‘Because I didn’t understand myself.’ Nick smiled wryly at her. ‘You crept up on me and took over my soul and, like an idiot, I still thought that I was in control. When I heard that you had come here, my world fell into place again.’
‘And what if I hadn’t come here?’ Rose was not going to allow hope to push her headlong over the precipice. ‘Would you have let me disappear?’
‘I could never have done that.’ Nick thought about it, thought about his pride, realised that it would have lasted so long and then he would have woken up to the fact that he couldn’t live without her. And he wasn’t too proud, now, to tell her that and to delight in seeing her wariness finally melt away.
‘And now I’m going to be a father…’ God, he felt choked up. ‘Let’s get out of here. I want to celebrate and then I want us to get married.’
‘What, today?’ Rose laughed.
‘By the end of the week,’ Nick growled. ‘You need looking after and the sooner I get started, the better…’
Greek Mavericks: Winning the Enigmatic Greek
The Pregnant Kavakos Bride
Sharon Kendrick
The Greek’s Pregnant Bride
Michelle Smart
Bought for Her Innocence
Tara Pammi
www.millsandboon.co.uk
The Pregnant Kavakos Bride
Sharon Kendrick
Hired by the Greek billionaire…
Shipping magnate Ariston Kavakos expects stunning blonde Keeley Turner to be just like her gold-digging mother. So the only way to keep her away from his brother is to make her a proposition himself: a month’s employment—at his beck and call—on his private island…
Her family’s finances in dire straits, Keeley reluctantly accepts Ariston’s offer. Soon her resistance to his smoldering good looks, and their sizzling chemistry, weakens! But their spectacular night together has an unforeseen consequence, and Ariston makes one thing clear: he won’t rest until Keeley becomes his bride…
For the ever-amusing Amelia Tuttiett, who is
a brilliant ceramicist and an inspirational teacher.
CHAPTER ONE
SHE WAS EVERYTHING he hated about a woman and she was talking to his brother. Ariston Kavakos grew very still as he stared at her. At curves guaranteed to make a man desire her whether he wanted to or not. And he most definitely did not. Yet his body was stubbornly refusing to obey the dictates of his mind and a powerful shaft of lust arrowed straight to his groin.
Who the hell had invited Keeley Turner?
She was standing close to Pavlos, her blonde hair rippling beneath the overhead lights of the swish London art gallery. She lifted her hand as if to emphasise a point and Ariston found his gaze drawn to the most amazing breasts he had ever seen. He swallowed as he remembered her in a dripping wet bikini with rivulets of water trickling down over her belly as she emerged from the foamy blue waters of the Aegean. She was memory and fantasy all mixed up in one. Something started and never finished. Eight years on and Keeley Turner made him want to look at her and only her, despite the stunning photographs of his private Greek island which dominated the walls of the London gallery.
Was his brother similarly smitten? He hoped not, although it was hard to tell because their body language excluded the rest of the world as they stood deep in conversation. Ariston began to walk across the gallery but if they noticed him approach they chose not to acknowledge it. He felt a flicker of rage, which he quickly cast aside because rage could be counterproductive. He knew that now. Icy calm was far more effective in dealing with difficult situations and it had been the key to his success. The means by which he had dragged his family’s ailing company out of the dust and built it anew and gained a reputation of being the man with the Midas touch. The dissolute reign of his father was over and his elder son was now firmly in charge. These days the Kavakos shipping business was the most profitable on the planet and he intended to keep it that way.
His mouth hardened. Which meant more than just dealing with shipbrokers and being up to speed with the state of world politics. It meant keeping an eye on the more gullible members of the family. Because there was a lot of money sloshing around the Kavakos empire and he knew how women acted around money. An early lesson in feminine greed had changed his life for ever and that was why he never took his eye off the ball. His attitude meant that some people considered him controlling, but Ariston preferred to think of himself as a guiding influence—like a captain steering a ship. And in a way, life was like being at sea. You steered clear of icebergs for obvious reasons and women were like icebergs. You only ever saw ten per cent of what they were really like—the rest was buried deep beneath the self-serving and grasping surface.
His eyes didn’t leave the blonde as he walked towards them, knowing that if she was going to be a problem in his brother’s life he would deal with it—and quickly. His lips curved into the briefest of smiles. He would have her dispatched before she even realised what was happening.
‘Why, Pavlos,’ Ariston said softly as he reached them and he noticed that the woman had instantly grown tense. ‘This is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you here so soon after the opening night. Have you developed a late-onset love of photography or are you just homesick for the island on which you were born?’
Pavlos didn’t look too happy to be interrupted—but Ariston didn’t care. Right then he couldn’t think about anything except what was happening inside him. Because, infuriatingly, he seemed to have developed no immunity against the green-eyed temptress he’d last seen when she was eighteen, when she’d thrown herself at him with a hunger which had blown his mind. Her submission had been instant and would have been total if he hadn’t put a stop to it. Displaying the sexist double standards for which he had occasionally been accused, he had despised her availability at the same time as he’d been bewitched by it. It had taken all his legendary self-control to push her away and to adjust his clothing but he had done it, though it had left him hard and aching for what had seemed like months afterwards. His mouth tightened because she was nothing but a tramp. A cheap and grasping little tramp. Like mother, like daughter, he thought grimly—and the last type of woman he wanted his brother getting mixed up with.
‘Oh, hi, Ariston,’ said Pavlos with the easy manner which made most people surprised when they learned they were brothers. ‘That’s right, here I am again. I decided to pay a second visit and meet up with an old friend at the same time. You remember Keeley, don’t you?’
There was a moment of silence while a pair of bright green eyes were lifted to his and Ariston felt the loud hammer of his heart.
‘Of course I remember Keeley,’ he said roughly, aware of the irony of his words. Because for him most women were forgettable and nothing more than a means to an end. Oh, sometimes he might recall a pair of spectacular breasts or a pert bottom—or if a woman was especially talented with her lips or hands, she might occasionally merit a nostalgic smile. But Keeley Turner had been in a class of her own and he’d never been able to shift her from the corners of his mind. Because she’d been off-limits and forbidden? Or because she had given him a taste of unbelievable sweetness before he’d forced himself to reject her? Ariston didn’t know. It was as inexplicable as it was powerful and he found himself studying her with the same intensity as the nearby people peering at the photos which adorned the gallery walls.
Petite yet impossibly curvy, her thick hair hung down her back in a curtain of pale and rippling waves. Her jeans were ordinary and her thin sweater unremarkable yet somehow that didn’t seem to matter. With a body like hers she could have worn a piece of sackcloth and still looked like dynamite. The cheap, man-made fabric strained over the lushness of her breasts and the blue denim caressed the curves of her bottom. Her mouth was bare of lipstick and her eyes wore only a lick of mascara as they studied him warily. Hers was not a modern look—yet there was something about Keeley Turner… An indefinable something which touched a sensual core deep inside him and made him want to peel her clothes from her body and ride her until she was screaming his name. But he wanted her gone more than he wanted to bed her—and maybe he should set about accomplishing that right now.
Deliberately excluding her from the conversation, Ariston turned to his brother and summoned up a bland smile. ‘I wasn’t aware you two were friends.’
‘We haven’t actually seen each other for years,’ said Pavlos. ‘Not since that holiday.’
‘I suspect that holiday is an event which none of us particularly care to revisit,’ said Ariston smoothly, enjoying the sudden rush of colour which had made her cheeks turn a deep shade of pink. ‘Yet you’ve stayed in touch with each other all this time?’
‘We’re friends on social media,’ Pavlos elaborated, with a shrug. ‘You know how it is.’
‘Actually, I don’t. You know my views on social media and none of them are positive.’ Ariston made no attempt to hide his frosty disapproval. ‘I need to talk to you, Pavlos. Alone,’ he added.
Pavlos frowned. ‘When?’
‘Now.’
‘But I’ve only just met up with Keeley. Can’t it wait?’
‘I’m afraid it can’t.’ He saw Pavlos shoot her an apologetic glance as if to apologise for his brother’s bullish behaviour but social niceties didn’t bother him. He’d worked hard for most of his life to ensure that Pavlos was kept away from the kind of scandals which had once engulfed their family. He’d been determined he wouldn’t go the same sorry way as their father. He’d made sure that he’d attended a good boarding school in England and a university in Switzerland, and he had carefully influenced his choice of friends—and girlfriends. And this pretty little tramp in her cheap dress and come-to-bed eyes was about to learn that his baby brother was strictly off-limits. ‘It’s business,’ he added firmly.
‘Not more trouble in the Gulf?’
‘Something like that,’ Ariston agreed, irritated at his brother’s attitude and wondering why he’d forgotten you didn’t talk family business in front of strangers. ‘We can use one of the offices here at the gallery—they’re very accommodating,’ he added smoothly. ‘The owner is a friend of mine.’
‘But Keeley—’
‘Oh, don’t worry about Keeley. I’m sure she has the imagination to take care of herself. There’s plenty for her to look at.’ Ariston turned to give her a hard version of a smile, noticing that her knuckles had suddenly whitened as she clutched her thin shawl. For the first time he spoke directly to her, dropping his voice to a silken murmur which his business rivals would have recognised as being a tone you didn’t mess with. ‘And plenty of men hanging around who would be all too happy to take my brother’s place. In fact, I can see a couple watching you right now. I’m sure you could have a lot of fun with them, Keeley. You really mustn’t let us keep you any longer.’
Keeley felt her face freeze as Ariston spoke to her, wishing she could come up with a suitably crushing response to throw at the powerful Greek who was looking at her as if she was a stain on the pale floorboards and talking to her as if she was some kind of hooker. But the truth was that she didn’t trust herself to speak—afraid that her words would come out as meaningless babble. Because that was the effect he had on her. The effect he had on all women. Even when he was talking to them—or should she say at them?—with utter contempt in his eyes, he could reduce them to a level of longing which wasn’t like the stuff you felt around most men. He could make you have fantasies about him, even though he exuded nothing but darkness.
She’d seen the way her own mother had looked at him. She could see the other women in the gallery watching him now—their gazes hungry but wary—as if they were observing a different type of species and weren’t sure how to handle him. As if they realised they should stay well away but were itching to touch him all the same. And she could hardly judge them for that, could she? Because hadn’t she flung herself at him? Pressed her body hard against his and longed for him to take away the aching deep inside her. Behaved like a cheap little fool by misinterpreting a simple gesture on his part and managing to make a bad situation even worse.
The last time she’d seen him her life had pretty much imploded and eight years later she was still dealing with the fallout. Keeley’s mouth tightened. Because she’d come through far too much to let the arrogant billionaire make her feel bad about herself. She suspected that the mocking challenge sparking from his blue eyes was intended to make her excuse herself and disappear, but she wasn’t going to do that. A quiet rebellion began to build inside her. Did he really think he had the power to kick her out of this public gallery, as once he had kicked her off his private island?
‘I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,’ she said, seeing his eyes darken with anger. ‘I’m quite happy looking at photographs of Lasia. I’d forgotten just what a beautiful island it was and I can certainly keep myself occupied until you get back.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll wait here for you, Pavlos. Take as long as you like.’
It clearly wasn’t the response Ariston wanted and she saw the irritation which hardened his beautiful features.
‘As you wish,’ he said tightly. ‘Though I cannot guarantee how long we’ll be.’
She met his cold blue stare with a careless smile. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’m not in any hurry.’
He shrugged. ‘Very well. Come, Pavlos.’
He began to walk away with his brother by his side and, although she told herself to look away, Keeley could do nothing but stand and stare, just like everyone else in the gallery.
She’d forgotten how tall and rugged he was because she had forced herself to forget—to purge her memory of a sensuality which had affected her like no other. But now it was all coming back. The olive skin and tendrils of hair which brushed so blackly against his shirt collar. Yet she thought he seemed uncomfortable in the exquisite grey suit he wore. His muscular body looked constrained—as if he was more at home wearing the sawn-off denims he’d worn on Lasia. The ones which had emphasised his powerful thighs as he’d dived deep into the sapphire waters surrounding his island home. And it suddenly occurred to her that it didn’t matter what he wore or what he said because nothing had changed. Not really. You saw him and you wanted him, it was as simple as that. She thought how cruel life could be—as if she needed any reminding—that the only man she’d ever desired was someone who made no secret about despising her.
With an effort, she tore her gaze away and forced herself to focus on a photograph which showed the island which had been in the Kavakos family for generations. Lasia was known as the paradise of the Cyclades with good reason and Keeley had felt as if she’d tumbled into paradise the moment she’d first set foot on its silvery sands. She had explored its surprisingly lush interior with delight until her mother’s startling fall from grace had led to their visit being cut brutally short. She would never forget the hordes of press and the flash of cameras in their faces as they’d alighted from the boat which had taken them back to Piraeus. Or the screaming headlines when they’d arrived back in England—and the cringe-making interviews her mother had given afterwards, which had only made matters worse. Keeley had been tainted by the scandal—an unwilling victim of circumstances beyond her control—and the knock-on effect had continued to this day.