Mediterranean Mavericks: Greeks

‘No, I think you’re in exactly the right place,’ he said evenly. ‘So let’s go into the house and I’ll show you around. I think you’ll find things have changed quite a lot since last time you were here.’

‘No, honestly. You don’t have to do that,’ she said. ‘Demetra has already offered.’

‘But I’m offering now.’

She tilted her head to one side. ‘Surely it would be more appropriate if another member of staff took me round? You must have plenty of other things you’d rather be doing—a busy man like you, with a great empire to control.’

‘I don’t care whether or not it’s appropriate, Keeley. I happen to be a very hands-on employer.’

‘And what you say goes, right?’

‘Exactly. So why don’t you just accept that, and do what I say?’

He was so ridiculously masterful, Keeley thought resentfully. Didn’t he realise how out of touch and outdated he sounded when he spoke like that? But even though she objected to his overbearing attitude, she couldn’t deny its effect on her. It was as if her body had been programmed to respond to his masculine dominance and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Her face was hot as she shut the cottage door and followed him across the beach towards his home, her flip-flops sinking into the soft sand as she scurried to match his pace.

‘Any questions you want to ask?’ he said, glancing down at her.

There were a million. She wanted to know why—at thirty-five and surely one of the world’s most eligible bachelors—he still wasn’t married. She wanted to know what made him so hard and cold and proud. She wanted to know if he ever laughed and if so, what made those sensual lips curve with humour. But she bit all those questions back because she had no right to ask them. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘What made you knock the old house down?’

Ariston felt a pulse flicker at his temple as he lessened his stride so she could keep up with him. How ironic that she should choose a subject which still had the power to make him feel uncomfortable. He remembered the disbelief he’d faced when he’d proposed demolition of the old house, which had been rich in history. How people had thought he was acting out of a sense of misplaced grief after the death of his father. But it had been nothing to do with that. For him it had been a necessary rebirth. Should he tell her that he’d wanted to raze away the past along with those impressive walls? As if believing that those dark memories could be reduced to rubble, just like the bricks. That he’d wanted to forget the house where his mother had played with him until the day she’d walked away—leaving him and Pavlos in the care of their father. Just as he wanted to forget the parties and sickly-sweet stench of marijuana and the women flown in from destinations all over Europe—their given brief to ‘entertain’ his father and his jaded friends. Why would he tell Keeley Turner something like that—when she and her mother had been exactly those kind of women?

‘New broom, new era,’ he said, with a hard smile. ‘When my father died I decided I needed to make a few changes. To put my own stamp on the place.’

She was staring up at the wide glass structure. ‘Well, you’ve certainly done that.’

Her cooing words sounded speculative—the instinctive reaction of an avaricious woman confronted by affluence—but that didn’t quite cancel out the pleasure Ariston got from her praise. Or stop him thinking how much he’d like to hear that soft English voice whispering some very different things in his ear. Was she one of those women who talked during sex? he wondered. Or did she keep quiet until she started to come, gasping out her joyful pleasure into the man’s ear? His lips curved into a speculative smile. He couldn’t wait to find out.

He gestured for her to precede him though her wiggling bottom made it difficult for him to concentrate on the tour. He showed her the tennis court, the gym, his office and two of the smaller reception rooms—but decided against taking her upstairs to each of the seven en-suite bedrooms or, indeed, his own master suite. His throat tightened. Demetra could do that later.

At last he led her into the main sitting room, which was the focal point of the house, carefully watching her reaction as she was confronted by the sea view which dominated three of the massive glass walls. For a moment she stood there motionless—not appearing to notice the priceless Fabergé eggs which lay on one of the low tables, nor the rare Lysippos statue which he’d bought from under the noses of international dealers in an auction house in New York and which had sealed his reputation as a connoisseur of fine art.

‘Wow,’ she said indistinctly. ‘Who came up with this?’

‘I asked the architect to design me something to maximise the views and for each room to flow into the next,’ he said. ‘I wanted light and space everywhere—so that when I’m working it doesn’t seem like being in the office.’

‘I can’t imagine any office looking like this. It looks…well, it’s the most stunning place I’ve ever seen.’ She turned to face him. ‘The family business must be doing well.’

‘Reassuringly well,’ he said blandly.

‘You’re still building ships?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘My brother didn’t tell you?’

‘No, Ariston. He didn’t tell me. We barely had time to reacquaint ourselves before you dragged him away.’

‘Yes, we’re still building ships,’ he affirmed. ‘But we’re also making wines and olive oil on the other side of the island, which have become a surprising hit in all kinds of places. These days people seem to value organic goods and Kavakos products are on the shopping list of most of the world’s big chefs.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Anything else you want to know?’

She brushed the palms of her hands down over her shorts. ‘In England you said you were expecting guests this weekend.’

‘That’s right. Two of my lawyers are flying in from Athens for lunch tomorrow and there are five people arriving at the weekend for a house party.’

‘And are they Greek?’

‘International,’ he drawled. ‘You want to know who they are?’

‘Isn’t it always polite to know people’s names in advance?’

‘And handy when you’re trying to research how much each is worth?’ he offered drily. ‘There’s Santino Di Piero, the Italian property tycoon who is coming with his English girlfriend, Rachel. There’s also a friend of mine from way back—Xenon Diakos who for some reason has decided to bring his secretary. I think her name is Megan.’

‘That’s four,’ she said, determined not to rise to the nasty digs he was making.

‘So it is. And Bailey Saunders is the other guest,’ he said, as if he’d only just remembered.

‘Her name seems familiar.’ She hesitated. ‘She’s the woman you took to the opening night of the photographic exhibition, isn’t she?’

‘Is that relevant, Keeley?’ he questioned silkily. ‘Or, indeed, any of your business?’

She shook her head, not knowing why she’d mentioned it, and now she felt stupid—and vulnerable. Embarrassed by her own curiosity and angry at the unwanted jealousy which was making her skin grow heated, Keeley walked over to the window and stared out unseeingly. Was she going to have to spend days witnessing Ariston making out with a beautiful woman? See them frolicking together in that amazing infinity pool or kissing on the beach in the moonlight? Would she have to change their bedsheets in the morning and see for herself the evidence of their shared passion? A shiver of revulsion shot through her and she prayed it didn’t show. Because even if she had to contend with those things—so what? Ariston was nothing to her and she was nothing to him and unless she remembered that, she was going to have a very difficult month ahead of her.

‘Of course it’s none of my business,’ she said stiffly. ‘I didn’t mean to—’

‘Didn’t mean to what?’ He had walked across the room to stand beside her at the window and she found herself inhaling his subtle citrusy scent. ‘Check out whether or not I had a girlfriend? Find out whether or not I was available? Don’t worry, Keeley—I’m used to women doing that.’

She struggled to say something conventional. To make some witty remark which might dissolve the sudden tension which had suddenly sprung up between them. To act as if she didn’t care or take him to task for his spectacular arrogance. But he was standing so close that she couldn’t think of a single word, and even if she could she didn’t think she’d be capable of saying it with any degree of conviction. Just like she didn’t seem capable of preventing the way he was making her feel—as if her body were no longer her own. As if it was silently responding to things she’d only ever dreamed of.

She looked up into his face to discover that his eyes had become smoky and it was as if he’d read her thoughts because suddenly he lifted his hand to frame her face with his fingers, and he smiled. It wasn’t a particularly nice smile and it didn’t even reach his eyes but the sensation of his touch sent Keeley’s already heightened senses into overdrive. His thumb stroked its way over her bottom lip so that it began to tremble uncontrollably. That was the only thing he was doing and yet it was making her want to melt. He was making her more aroused by the second and surely that must show. Her nipples had hardened into two painful little points and somewhere low in her belly she could feel a distracting and molten ache.

Did he realise that? Was that why his hold on her changed so that instead of cupping her face with his fingers, he was pulling her towards him? Pulling her into his arms as if it were his right to do so. His eyes were blazing as they stared into hers and she could feel the softness of her body moulding perfectly into the hardness of his, as he brought his mouth down on hers.

And Keeley shuddered because this was like no other kiss. It was like every fantasy she’d ever had—and wasn’t the truth of it that those fantasies had always involved him? He kissed her slow and then he kissed her hard. He kissed her until she was squirming, until she thought she would cry out with pleasure. She could feel the rush of heat and the clamour of frustration and all she wanted was to give into that feeling. To wrap her arms around his neck and let desire take over. Whisper in his ear to have him do whatever he wanted. What she wanted. Have him ease this terrible ache inside her as she suspected only he could.

And then what? Let him take you to his bed even though you know how much he despises you? Even though Bailey Saunders is arriving in a couple of days? Because that was how these people operated. She’d seen for herself the world in which he lived. Easy come, easy go.

It didn’t mean anything. She didn’t mean anything—hadn’t he already made that abundantly clear? And for someone with an already shaky sense of self-worth, such an action would be completely insane.

‘No!’ Keeley jerked away from him, taking a couple of steps back and trying to ignore the silent protest of her body. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Ariston?’ she demanded. ‘Jumping on me like that!’

His short laugh was tinged with frustration. ‘Oh, please,’ he drawled. ‘Please don’t insult my intelligence, koukla mou—or your own for that matter. You were—are—hot and horny. You wanted me to kiss you and I was more than happy to oblige.’

‘I did not,’ she snapped back.

‘Oh, Keeley—why deny the truth? Not the best start, in the circumstances—not when I consider honesty an invaluable asset for all my employees.’

‘And surely crossing physical boundaries with your staff is unacceptable behaviour for any employer—have you stopped to consider that?’

‘Maybe if you stopped looking at me with such blatant invitation,’ he said silkily, ‘then I might be able to stop responding to you as a man, rather than as a boss.’

‘I was not!’ she said indignantly.

‘Weren’t you? Ask yourself that question again, only this time don’t lie to yourself.’

Keeley bit her lip. Had she been looking at him in invitation? Her heart pounded. Of course she had. And if she was being brutally honest, hadn’t she wanted him to kiss her since she’d seen him standing at the windows of his glass mansion, his powerful physique dominating everything around him? Maybe even before that—when he’d come striding across the London gallery towards her and Pavlos with a face like thunder and a body which was tensed and powerful. And she mustn’t let herself feel that way. She was here to earn money to help care for her stricken mother—not tangle with a self-confessed chauvinist like Ariston and get her heart broken in the process.

Drawing in a deep breath, she willed herself to at least look as if she were in control of her own emotions. ‘I can’t deny that there’s an attraction between us,’ she said. ‘But that doesn’t mean we’re going to act on it. Not just because you’re my boss and it’s inappropriate, but because we don’t even like each other.’

‘What does liking have to do with it?’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Totally serious.’ He shrugged. ‘In my experience, a little hostility always adds a touch of spice. Surely your mama taught you that, Keeley?’

The implied slur piled on yet another layer of hurt and Keeley wanted to hurl herself at him. To slam her fists angrily against that powerful chest and tell him to keep his opinions to himself because he didn’t know what he was talking about. But she didn’t trust herself to go near him because to touch him was to want him and she couldn’t afford to put herself in that position again. He had asked for honesty, hadn’t he? So why not just give it to him, even if it meant swallowing her pride in the process? Why pretend there was no elephant in the room when a whole herd of them were threatening to trample over her?

‘I have no intention of getting close to you, Ariston, mainly because you’re not the kind of man I like,’ she said slowly. ‘I came here to earn good money and that’s what I intend to do. Actually, it’s all I intend to do. I am going to work hard and to stay away from you as much as possible. I don’t intend putting myself in a position of vulnerability again.’ She forced a smile, injecting the requisite note of subservience into her voice, reminding herself to behave like the humble employee she was supposed to be. ‘So if you’ll excuse me—I’d better go and find out if there’s anything Demetra wants me to do in the kitchen.’

CHAPTER FOUR

SHE WAS DRIVING him crazy.

Crazy.

Sucking in a lungful of air, Ariston dived beneath the inky waters of a sea just starting to be gilded by the sun coming up over the horizon. It was early. Too early for anyone else to be around. Not even the staff were awake yet and the shutters remained tightly closed in the bedroom windows of Keeley’s cottage. And that was a pretty accurate metaphor for the current state of affairs between them, he thought grimly. For a man so utterly confident about his sexual power over women—and with good reason—things with Keeley Turner hadn’t quite gone according to plan.

For a while he swam strongly beneath the shadowed surface of the water, trying to rid his body of some of the restless energy which had been building up inside him, but that was easier said than done. He had been sleeping badly, with images of Keeley in various imagined stages of undress haunting his erotic and frustrating dreams. Because she’d meant what she’d said, he was discovering with growing incredulity—and despite the sexual chemistry which sizzled so powerfully between them, she had stubbornly kept him at arm’s length. He’d thought at first that her behaviour had been part of some contrived act intended to keep him on his toes. But there had been no relaxing of her attitude towards him. No sudden softening which might have indicated she was weakening. All interaction between them had followed a formal yet highly unsatisfactory path.

She politely enquired whether he would like coffee or bread, or water. She kept her eyes demurely lowered whenever their paths crossed. And no matter how many times he told her it was perfectly acceptable for her to use his Christian name in public, it fell on deaf ears. She was a conundrum, he thought. Was she really immune to the admiring glances she had attracted from his Athens-based lawyers when they had arrived on Lasia for lunch—or was she simply a very clever actress who knew the power of her own beauty? She acted as if she were made of marble, when he knew for a fact that beneath that cool and curvy exterior beat the heart of a passionate woman.

Had he thought that she would have succumbed to him by now? That the memory of the kiss they’d shared on her first day would have her sneaking in his arms to finish off what they’d started?

Of course he had.

That brief kiss had been the most erotic thing to happen to him in a long time but it had led precisely nowhere and although he wasn’t a man used to being denied what he really wanted—he was now being forced to experience exactly that. So he’d been a little distant with her, intending to indicate his disapproval of women who teased, thinking his impatience would make her realise his patience was wearing thin. He’d anticipated her finding him alone in some quiet moment. He’d imagined her sliding down the zipper of his trousers and touching him where he ached to be touched. He swallowed. Any other woman would have done—and Keeley certainly had history on that score. If things had gone according to plan, by now he should have bedded her and enjoyed several sessions of mind-blowing sex. In fact, by now he probably would have been growing bored with her inevitable adoration and his only dilemma would be working out the best way to tell her it was over.

But it hadn’t turned out like that.

She had thrown herself into her work with an enthusiasm which had taken him by surprise. Had she stacked supermarket shelves with such passion? he wondered wryly. Demetra had informed him that the Englishwoman was a joy to have around the kitchen and around the house. A joy? he wondered grimly. He had seen little evidence of it so far.

Was her frosty attitude intended to stoke up his sexual appetite? Because if that was the case then it was working. His blood pressure soared every time she walked onto the terrace in her crisp white uniform. The white cotton dress gave her a look of purity and her blonde hair was scraped neatly back into a no-nonsense chignon, which made her appear the perfect servant. Yet the glitter of fire in her green eyes whenever she was forced to meet his gaze was unmistakable—as if she was daring him to come near her again.

He resurfaced into the bright, golden morning, shaking droplets of water from his head before beginning to swim powerfully towards the shore. It was time to face the day ahead and to play at being host. Four of his guests had arrived but Bailey Saunders was no longer on the guest list. He’d phoned her a couple of days ago and asked for a rain check, and she had agreed. Of course she had. Women always did. He felt a beat of anticipation as he walked across the sand.

Maybe it was time for Keeley Turner to realise that it was pointless resisting the inevitable.

‘Will you take the coffee out, Keeley?’ Demetra pointed to the loaded tray.

‘Of course.’ Keeley smoothed down her white uniform dress. ‘Shall I put some of those little lemon biscuits on a plate?’

‘Efharisto.’

‘Parakalo.’ Automatically checking that she had everything she needed, Keeley carried it out onto the terrace with a heavy heart. Another trip to the table which had been set up next to the infinity pool, where Ariston was finishing a long lunch with his glamorous guests, and she was dreading it. Dreading seeing his rugged face watching her, his expression hidden behind his dark glasses as she tried to walk along the edge of the pool without appearing too self-conscious, but it was difficult. Just as it was difficult to forget that kiss they’d shared, when he’d made her usually non-responsive body spring to life—and left her in a state of frustrated arousal ever since. It was as if he’d lit the touchpaper of her repressed sexuality and set it on fire.

And she had only herself to blame.

Why hadn’t she stopped him from pulling her into his arms like that? Because she’d been powerless to stop him. She had wanted him to do it. She still wanted him to do it.

She bit her lip. She’d done her best to push him to the back of her mind—avoiding him whenever possible and concentrating on her work, determined to do a job she could be proud of. She wanted to wipe out his negative impressions of her and show him she could be honest and hard-working and decent. Just like she was determined not to raise the suspicions of the people she worked with. She liked Demetra and Stelios, just as she liked the extra staff who’d been drafted in from the nearby village to help with the house party. She didn’t want them to think she had some kind of thing with the boss. All she wanted was to be seen as the helpful Englishwoman who was eager to take on her fair share.

The sun was warm on her head as she took the coffee outside to where the five of them were sitting around the remains of the meal she’d served them—Xenon, Megan, Santino, Rachel and Ariston. She’d been introduced to them yesterday and they all seemed the jet-setting type of people she no longer associated with. She’d forgotten that life where women changed their outfits four times a day and spent more on a straw hat than Keeley spent on her entire summer wardrobe. She’d been as polite and as friendly as her position required but she was also aware that as a member of staff she was mostly invisible. Only the friendly Rachel had treated her as if she was a real person—and always made a point of chatting whenever she saw her.

Rachel’s long, bronzed legs were stretched out in front of her and she brightened when she saw Keeley approaching with the silver coffee pot glinting in the sunshine.

‘Oh, yum. I love this Greek coffee!’ she said. ‘It’s so thick and sweet.’

‘I won’t make the obvious comparison,’ commented Santino drily, easily catching the hastily balled napkin which his girlfriend hurled at him in mock rage.

Rachel took a small cup from the tray. ‘Thanks, Keeley. Is it possible to have some more sparkling water? It’s so hot today. You must be baking in that uniform,’ she observed, with a frown. ‘Does Ariston allow you to cool off in the pool or does he constantly keep your nose to the grindstone?’

‘Oh, Keeley knows she has the run of the place when she isn’t working,’ murmured Ariston. ‘She just chooses not to take advantage of it, don’t you, Keeley?’

They were all looking at her and Keeley was acutely aware of the fact that Rachel and Megan were both wearing gauzy kaftans over tiny bikinis, while she was wearing a uniform which made her feel completely overdressed as well as overheated. All Ariston’s staff wore uniforms—but somehow on her it looked all wrong. It was the right size and everything but it did unwanted things to her figure. It was the one thing she’d inherited from her mother which she could do nothing about. Because no matter how much she tried to disguise her shape with loose-fitting clothes, her bust always seemed too big and the curve of her hips that fraction too wide, so everything clung precisely where she didn’t want it to cling.

‘I have a great big ocean on my doorstep if ever I feel the need to swim, but when I’m not working I mostly spend time doing stuff on my computer,’ she said and then, because they were still looking at her questioningly, she felt obliged to offer some kind of explanation. ‘I’m studying for a diploma in business studies,’ she added.

‘Well, that’s all very admirable but you need to take time off occasionally. What’s it they say about all work and no play?’ questioned Rachel, raking her fingers back through her dark hair and shooting Ariston a quizzical glance. ‘Didn’t you say that Bailey has bailed this weekend, if you’ll excuse the pun?’

‘Bailey is no longer coming, no,’ Ariston said smoothly.

‘So we’ll be a woman short at dinner?’ persisted Rachel.