Mediterranean Mavericks: Greeks
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He cleared his throat, his nostrils flaring. “I agree that it is not your usual…style.”
She nodded, wondering why she couldn’t have just shut her mouth. Why some stupid, irrational, brazen part of her always insisted on putting herself in his line of fire. Why, even as she hated his overbearing interference, she recklessly courted it.
“You are saying that this stylist, that someone in my staff picked, chose…this demure, dutiful little outfit,” he repeated her words, “based on how I want my wife to be presented to the world?”
“Yes.”
He lounged in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “Why did you give in then? You won’t even breathe air if it means following my orders.”
“You commanded an army to help me get dressed for a party. Like any sane person would, I assumed that you hate how I dress. Just as you hate how I breathe, talk and generally conduct my life.”
“I don’t hate how you dress. You do, somehow, own and wear the flimsiest articles of clothing of I have ever seen…”
“That is my style as a designer—light and dreamy bohemian pieces,” she sputtered, affronted.
“…and will probably expire either because of the sun or the cold one of these days, but you always look sexy and sophisticated.”
Little pinpricks of heat awoke all over and her gaze flew to his. He stared right back, as if daring her to challenge his accurate and somehow intimate observation of her style. Or maybe his right to comment on it.
The moment stretched and morphed into something else, a strange heat filling the cabin.
Accepting defeat under the thundering boom of her heart, Leah looked away. She cleared her throat and fingered the fabric of her dress.
“For all my sins, thee mou, I did not dictate how you should be dressed.”
She looked up. “Then she, like everyone else in the world, rightfully believes that you are ashamed of me and decided that her job was to make me somehow worthy of you.”
“Do not push me, yineka mou.” The glitter in his eyes pushed Leah into keeping mute. “Tell me why you relented, Leah.”
She looked away, squirming under his leisurely scrutiny. “I’m being dutiful, cooperative…”
The words trailed on her lips as he started laughing.
It swelled in the decadently silent cabin, crept inside her, filling every yearning space with itself. Scraped against her senses, like a physical thing meant to incite that relentless clamoring in every cell again.
“When you laugh, you almost look human,” she blurted out.
“As opposed to an alien?”
“As opposed to a man whom I’ve never seen to be anything but rigid, autocratic, and driven by duty and responsibility. When was the last time you did something because you wanted to do it and not because your lofty sense of morals said you should do it? Something that’s totally crazy but feels unbearably good? Something that devours you until you have it?”
Lazy interest flickered in his face. Little pinpricks of desire uncurled within her. “What and when was the last time you did something like that?”
Her throat dry, Leah licked her lips. “I ate half a cheesecake that Rosa baked for me last night. It was heavenly.”
That tawny gaze fell to her mouth. And lingered. “Wanting to do something with an utter madness is usually a sign of why you shouldn’t.”
Leah could very well imagine that mouth, beautifully carved and yet cruel, pressing on hers, could feel the liquid desire skitter across her skin.
“Living like that, with no thought to the future or the people around has lasting effects, pethi mou. It’s a choice that has consequences beyond one.”
“Like what?”
He shrugged, something shuttering in his expression.
“How is it that Dmitri and you are such close friends and he didn’t corrupt you at all?” Leah asked.
“Maybe I’m incorruptible.”
The cocky rise of his brows goaded her on. “Maybe,” her heart beat so loud, “the right temptation to corrupt you hasn’t come along.”
The challenge simmered in the air. But terrified as she was, Leah wouldn’t look away. Something about that hard, unyielding arrogance of his shattered her usual defenses, drove her to one risk after the other.
Being in his company made her forget all her fears, she realized with a staggering self-awareness.
Suddenly, he caught her hands and dragged her forward on the seat. Only his hands touched hers, and yet she was aware of every inch of her skin.
“You have been working all kinds of hours this week.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” She searched for something to concentrate on instead of his tight clasp. “Anyway, so do you.”
“Yes, but mine is not grueling, backbreaking work like yours. Rosa tells me you take frequent breaks to stretch and run, so that’s good.” He turned her hands around in his, as if testing the weight and fit of them against his. Slowly resting them back in her lap.
“So you do admit that I know how to take care of myself?”
“I never disagreed that you have the faculty for that. Whether you choose to use it or not…” Uncharacteristic hesitation danced in his face. “Leah, I ordered an army because I thought you would enjoy being pampered for a day. Thought you would like dressing up, have a chance to catch up with others like you. You did say my estate was in the middle of nowhere.”
Warmth swelled in her chest and spilled over. Nothing she said to herself to contain it helped.
She was like the pathetically adorable little puppy that whimpered and promised forever for a little bit of attention and kindness.
Did she thank him for it or did she brazen it out with an inappropriate remark? In the end, she did neither. Just nodded and stood up, suddenly feeling caged in her own skin.
She wanted to, needed to, hate Stavros. And seeing this side of him was slowly but surely eroding the entire foundation of her life.
“What kind of party requires that we stay there for a week?”
“Katrakis Textiles is celebrating its fiftieth year anniversary. Tonight’s grand celebration is to honor everything Giannis has accomplished in the past fifty years. And then we will spend a week with him.”
Katrakis Textiles—Giannis’s legacy for Dmitri, Stavros and her. “I want no part of it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Trembling with panic, Leah locked her hands by her sides, the urge to pound at him rising again.
“I’m not lying about this. Dmitri and you are welcome to it. Now if you could please tell your pilot to turn around and head back to your estate—”
He didn’t even blink. “I won’t. Maybe I forgot to mention it, but this is one of the conditions you have to meet for your freedom, Leah.”
Her throat felt like it was made of glass. “You can’t do this.”
Rising from his seat, Stavros planted himself in her way. He frowned, taking in the trembling of her shoulders, the real flare of panic in her eyes. “Leah, what’s going on?”
Her chin tilted up, her gaze slowly focusing on him again. Jaw gritting, she squared her shoulders. “I don’t want anything to do with Giannis or his legacy. He…rejected my mom without looking back just because she fell in love with my dad. He didn’t even come when she died, he never accepted my dad.”
“He was heartbroken that he had driven your mother away, Leah. And she…she was just as stubborn as him.”
“He loved you and Dmitri more than he ever loved her or me. He took me in because he had no choice after my dad died.”
“He tried to make amends for his mistakes.”
Leah shook her head, forcing the words to come. “He did what he failed to do with my mom, to me. He…he ruined my life by bringing you into it. He took away my freedom by forcing you to marry me.”
“He did not force me, Leah. I owed him everything in my life. I would have made any sacrifice he…”
She recoiled from him as if he had struck her.
Christos! She was a complex puzzle he would need to spend a lifetime to understand.
Beneath the reckless defiance, beneath her constant animosity for him, did Leah want his approval?
“Of course,” she said, her voice trembling. “The great Giannis Katrakis who’s made kings of his godsons, plucked them from poverty and obscurity…and the honorable Stavros Sporades who would do anything for him, to the point of marrying his obnoxious granddaughter…and whose life has been ruined by it?
Mine.
“I’m not an instrument in achieving redemption for Giannis or for you to show your gratitude.”
“You don’t understand how much he longs to—”
“And you do? You understand feelings and fears, Stavros? Even Calista’s death…all it means to you is a failure…Do you ever miss her? Did she ever mean anything to you other than being a responsibility?”
Tight grooves appeared by his mouth, his stunning face white beneath his dark skin. He looked haunted. “I took care of her since she was a crawling toddler. I—”
“You took care of her, you protected her, you bought her clothes and jewelry, but did you ever love her? Does Giannis mean anything to you other than a debt to repay? Am I anything but a penance for your supposed failure? God, it’s like your heart is nothing but stone.”
Pure fury wreathed his features and yet, he didn’t scare Leah. All she wanted was to hurt him for pushing her to this.
First her father, then Calista—they had left her shattered, inconsolable, alone. Yet, somehow she had managed, she had found something she loved and started pouring her heart and soul into it.
She couldn’t risk getting attached to her grandfather, she couldn’t survive another loss.
“Everything you have ever done has been self-serving, and you dare to question me?” he shot back.
“Yes, I dare. You have no fears, no doubts, nothing that holds you back from what you think is right. Don’t pretend like he means something to you.”
“Giannis is the father I never had. He’s been a better mother to me than the one who walked out on us. He has been my family, my friend; he’s everything to me. He came for me based on a small promise my drunkard father roped him into making for some age-old village tradition. If he hadn’t kept his word, I wouldn’t have known kindness or honor. I would have spent my life in poverty and misery. So yes, I would do anything if it means it would bring a smile to his face.”
His outburst stunned Leah, the ache in those words irrefutable, rendering her bitter accusations a lie. That he had suffered neglect at the hands of his parents, that there was so much depth to his determination toward his duty, it shook her from within.
The silence rang with his fury, his movements caged and restless.
He ran a hand over his eyes and exhaled, suddenly looking extremely tired. A haunted look wreathed his features. “I don’t care if you think he ruined your life. All he ever intended was to keep you safe, even from yourself.
“So you will not only act how Giannis Katrakis’s granddaughter and heiress should tonight, you will also spend the next few days with him, and you will tell him how grateful you are for everything.
“If you know what’s good for you, and I think that is one thing you know very well, you will obey me.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
LEAH LOOKED OUT from the huge balcony that gave a view of the lush acreage surrounding her grandfather’s house.
The estate was covered with huge marquees. Multicolored fountains were lit up in the grounds, buffet tables groaning under the weight of delicacies and dishes. Soft music filtered from unobtrusive speakers nearer the house.
Laughter and greetings in Greek floated up from the crowd of two hundred or more guests, piercing through the melancholy that gripped her. In the half hour or so she had spent down there, she had only heard goodwill for Giannis and praise for Stavros and Dmitri.
It seemed her grandfather couldn’t have chosen better men to continue his legacy. She was the outsider, the curiosity, the unknown, and being among people who had known her mother, the fact hurt. Yet she had no one but herself to blame.
When she had stepped out of the limo on Stavros’s arm, it was as if the entire world had come to a standstill. Thundering silence had reigned as she had walked through the parting crowd, her gaze both searching for and bracing for the sight of her grandfather.
He’s taking a break, Stavros whispered in her ear and her breath left her in a ball. Her knees would have buckled beneath her if he hadn’t held her up against his solid frame.
An hour later, here she was waiting for Giannis, everything she had done over the past decade rushing up toward her.
She hadn’t been in her grandfather’s house for almost eight years now, having chosen to live with Calista at Stavros’s house even before he had tied her to him. The grand house was as lifeless as Stavros’s house had been full of peace.
Her grandfather had been so open and loving of her when Stavros had brought her home. Just fifteen, she had been grief-stricken, too shattered by her father’s sudden death to respond to Giannis with anything more than single-word responses. But he hadn’t given up on her. He had bid Stavros to bring Calista along next time. And just as he had predicted, Calista had been a welcome storm in her life—fun, reckless, daring, and somehow, she had understood Leah’s grief.
Except Leah had never imagined it would be Calista that she would lose.
Crippled by Calista’s loss, stunned by Stavros’s decision, she had refused to even look at Giannis. If she didn’t love him, if she didn’t hug him as her arms sometimes ached to, if she didn’t pin all her love on her kind grandfather who told her thrilling tales about a mother she had never known, she wouldn’t have to live through another loss.
If she didn’t love him, there would be no pain when he was gone. Even when Giannis had recovered from his heart attack, she had refused to see him.
Stavros was right. She had truly become selfish. A coward who cared about nothing but protecting herself from pain.
Something broke her reverie and she turned around.
Stavros standing slightly behind him, for support she knew, her grandfather stood under the archway, his brown eyes hungrily studying her. “Come close so I can see you.” His voice, soft and coarse, reverberated in the stillness. Tugged as though by invisible cords, she took a few steps. Her heart thudded in her chest.
“You look so much more like her now, so much like my beautiful Ioanthe. Welcome home, Leah.”
And just like that, every defense she had put in place, every wall she had erected around her heart, came tumbling down.
Tears overflowing onto her cheeks, half blinded by the emotion engulfing her, Leah stumbled toward him. Wrapped her arms around him with no regard to his frail body, with no thought other than to lose herself in his unconditional acceptance. On the periphery, she heard Stavros’s soft curse.
Giannis was so thin and insubstantial that if not for Stavros anchoring them, she knew she would have toppled them down. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, a haunting void in her gut.
How cowardly she had been to deny herself his embrace, his love?
Her grandfather held her with a tight grip. The remembered pine scent of him made her tremble. “Shhh…do not cry, thee mou.”
When she became aware of her surroundings again, Giannis was sitting in a chair and she was kneeling in front of him, the stone floor digging into her knees. Overwhelmed by shame and grief, she hid her face in his knees while he kept his hand over her head, whispering endearments. Even in the turmoil she was in, she knew Stavros had left them alone. Breathing loudly, she swiped her fingers over her cheeks and looked up.
“I’m a coward. All I ever cared about was protecting myself.”
He shook his head and smiled, tucking her hand into his. “You are here now.”
She wouldn’t be if not for Stavros. But with all her old fears swirling beneath the joy of seeing her grandfather, Leah couldn’t be grateful to Stavros. Not yet.
Leah’s soft cries haunted Stavros as he paced room after room, trying to find her. More than two hours had passed since he had left her with Giannis and rejoined the party, his thoughts in a whirl.
When Giannis had brought him to this very mansion years ago, it had taken him a month to learn the layout of the house. Now he cursed it.
His nurse had just informed him that Giannis had returned to his bedroom an hour ago. Which meant Leah could be anywhere.
A sense of failure haunted him, a gnawing in his gut just as in the days after Calista had died. Had he pushed her too far tonight? Why had she cried as though her heart had been breaking?
Her reaction to seeing Giannis shook Stavros on levels he couldn’t grasp.
He finally found her in the dark music room, a shadow sitting in silence. Ioanthe used to play piano here, he remembered Giannis telling him fondly.
Stepping inside, he flicked the switch on and light from the overhead crystal chandelier flooded the room.
His chest swelled with a sudden surge of emotion as his gaze found her on the chaise longue, her legs tucked under her, her dress billowing around her.
“I wouldn’t comment on the wine bottle, or my dress or how I live my life just now, Stavros.” She flicked him a wary glance, guilty color streaking her cheeks. A bottle of red wine sat on the vanity table, a half empty glass in her hand. “I’m painfully alive, so that should be good enough for you.”
His breath came out in shuddering exhale, old fear lurking just beneath the surface.
Her hair had come undone from the severe style she hadn’t liked, framing her face in disarray. Her eyes looked a little swollen and that laughing, mocking, sensuous mouth was pinched at the corners. Face scrubbed of makeup and huddled against the dark red upholstery, she looked achingly innocent, and lonely. And afraid, he thought frowning.
“Are you hiding from me, Leah?”
Her sigh rattled in the silence. “Would it help my case if I said I was?”
Irritation flickered inside him. Couldn’t she tell him even such a tiny truth?
Even the proper, demure dress had lost its war against her. Crumpled and stained at the hem where she must have been kneeling while one strap hung half down her arm, it bared her neck and the upper swell of one breast. The diamond choker glittered against her slender throat.
A relentless peal of hunger began to simmer through him. His fingers itched to trace that delicate collarbone, his mouth tingling to press against the pulse hammering at the base of her throat.
But even as desire ran rampant in his veins, it was the underlying thread of tenderness that unsettled him. He should have been happy that she had done as he had asked, that she hadn’t hurt Giannis as she had…hurt him? Wounded him?
You are made of stone.
How had her words found such purchase in him? Another new awareness that only Leah could elicit, another new territory that she pushed him into…
Theos, what was wrong with him?
Tucking his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he leaned against the doorway.
“You don’t look like my version of you anymore. You look like…you. Even that dress…I think you have bent it to your will, Leah.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, sounding anything but. “Aren’t you done pulling my strings tonight?”
The dare in her tone would have made him smile if he could have believed it completely. If he hadn’t heard the quiver she worked hard to suppress. If he hadn’t seen such ache and longing ravage her fragile face when she had seen Giannis.
Still, he played along, unsure of her mood. Even more dangerous, unsure of his own intentions. “Have you still not learned not to challenge me, Leah?”
She looked down into her drink and he had a feeling she wanted to hide from him. That she didn’t want him to see her like this at all.
“I’m telling you to leave me alone, Stavros.” She confirmed his suspicions. “I’m telling you that I feel as reckless and deranged as you have always called me. I’m telling you to not dissect my actions today and pronounce judgment.”
Even as her tone rose, she still didn’t meet his eyes.
Had he made it so hard for her to show him anything but that selfish facade? Was he truly such an unfeeling monster then?
Had he always been like that?
He had worked so hard at his grandfather’s small farm, trying to pitch in for his father’s negligence, afraid that they would throw Calista and him out on the streets.
He remembered a strange calm the night his grandmother had said his mother wasn’t coming back; he remembered not shedding even a tear when he had found out that his father was dead. All he had thought of even that day was how he would shield Calista from it.
For as far back as he could remember, it had been about the little girl that had followed him around from the moment she had been able to walk, hugging him, kissing him, and coming to him with tears when she had a bruise, knocking the breath out of him.
She had had such trust in her eyes that he hadn’t known, literally, what to do with it. Hadn’t known how to return those hugs, hadn’t known what he could say to her. So instead he had done what he could.
He had protected her, provided her with everything he possibly—
Theos, no!
The thought that had always brought such comfort to him now flayed him, digging in, making him flinch in pain.
Do you actually miss Calista? Did you ever love her?
Had Leah been right in her cruel judgment of his feelings for Calista too?
After he had lost Calista, he had felt angry, confused, unbalanced. His failure poisoned his very thoughts, so he shoved them away and focused on his actions instead.
Protecting Leah, and punishing himself and her, had provided him with perverse relief.
Now, her words taking root inside him, he felt raw.
He should leave her, every instinct warned him. He should walk away when all she was capable of was piercing him with her acerbic words. He should be done with her, set her free and not look back.
And yet, he couldn’t have walked away if his very breath had depended on it.
Beneath his duty toward Giannis and his sense of responsibility toward her, even beneath his unnerving attraction to her, something very strange had begun to flutter in him for Leah.
He was in awe of that feeling as much as he was wary of it.
“What else do you intend to put me through in this test of yours, Stavros?”
Everything about what he had seen tonight troubled him. “Leah, was your hatred of me reason enough to keep away from Giannis?”
The wariness slowly dissipated as she held his gaze and finished her drink. Something new dawned in her glittering gaze—a satisfaction, and his breath rattled. One long leg stretching in front of her, her stance loosened. Her slender shoulders squared, her nostrils flared.
“I would let you think that if I thought it would hurt you. I would do anything right this moment if I thought it would make you bleed.”
He found himself walking toward her, found himself straddling the lounger to face her. It was as though the combination of pain and fury in her eyes tugged at him.
She looked glorious, infinitely breathtaking.
She had already somehow pierced him, the truth lingered on his lips. The thought of that vulnerability, of sharing that much with her made his gut clench.
Clasping her cheek, he lifted her to face him, his pulse pounding in his veins. The sound of her sharp breath was like a balm to him. “Are you so thirsty for my blood then, pethi mou?”