She Can't Say No to the Greek Tycoon

She Can’t Say No to the Greek Tycoon

THE KOUVARIS MARRIAGE DIANA HAMILTON

THE GREEK TYCOON’S INNOCENT MISTRESS KATHRYN ROSS

THE GREEK’S CONVENIENT MISTRESS ANNIE WEST

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About the Author

DIANA HAMILTON is a true romantic, and fell in love with her husband at first sight. They still live in the fairytale Tudor house where they raised their three children. Now the idyll is shared with eight rescue cats and a puppy. But, despite an often chaotic lifestyle ever since she learned to read and write Diana has had her nose in a book – either reading or writing one—and plans to go on doing just that for a very long time to come.

PROLOGUE

DONE!

Maddie Ryan straightened, hot and sweaty beneath the sun that blazed from a cerulean sky, and rested her grubby hands on her curvy hips. Every leaf and bloom was perfect, the terracotta planters were arranged in attractive groupings around the arcaded courtyard. The ancient central stone fountain was beautifully restored and finally working, sending a silvery plume of water dancing skywards, then falling back into the shallow stone basin, creating lovely water music.

Everything was ready for tonight’s party and her first important commission as a landscape gardener was successfully completed, a commission given by her best friend since schooldays, Amanda.

Thinking of Amanda, she grinned. It was an unlikely friendship—everyone had said so—the tomboy and the fastidious, delicate blonde beauty. But it had worked. On leaving school, Amanda had made her mark as a top model and led a truly glamorous lifestyle. But Maddie, working her way through horticultural college, hadn’t been envious, just happy for her—especially when she’d fallen in love and married a fabulously wealthy Greek tycoon.

Then, three months after the wedding, she’d phoned one chilly spring day. ‘How do you like the idea of a well-paid working holiday? Cristos has bought this fabulous villa just outside Athens. The house is perfect but the grounds are a neglected mess—especially the courtyard. I fancy something Moorish. Could you take the commission? Cristos said money no object.’ A breathy giggle. ‘He’d do anything to please me. He’s not like your normal Greek male; he treats women as if they have minds of their own!’

Tomorrow Maddie would be returning to England with a fat cheque, a tan, and a bunch of happy memories—and the hope that her mother had fielded at least a couple of responses to her adverts in the local press while she’d been away.

Turning to make one final check on the discreetly hidden irrigation system that kept the planters watered, she noticed the stout wooden door that led from the courtyard to the lemon grove swing open. Thrusting out her lower lip, she huffed away the strands of caramel curls that were tangling with the thick upsweep of her lashes and got an unimpeded view of the hunk—no other description fitted—who had sauntered into the courtyard.

Like her, he was dressed casually. Almost threadbare faded jeans, against her skimpy cotton shorts, and an ancient black vest top that except for size matched her own. One of the locals, she deduced as he strolled towards her, looking for casual work. But, unlike the late adolescents she’d hired to help with the heavy stuff, this guy looked older—thirty-four or-five at a guess.

Out of work, with a wife and a brood of young children? Looking to pick up a few days’ pay? What a waste. With looks like his he would never want for work as a male model: tall, dark and gorgeous, his face crafted to guarantee weak knees in the female population. Strong bones, a firm, commanding mouth with just the right hint of sensuality, she listed to herself. Adding, as he came nearer, an intriguing pair of warm golden eyes fringed with sinfully long dark lashes.

Those fascinating eyes held a question as he halted in front of her, and Maddie had to swallow an annoying constriction in her throat as she apologised with genuine sincerity. ‘The project’s finished. We’re no longer hiring. I’m sorry.’

‘Is that so?’ He didn’t look disappointed. He actually smiled. And the effect was electrifying. Fresh perspiration broke out on her short upper lip. A dark eyebrow quirked. ‘And you are?’

‘Mad.’ Qualifying that quickly, in case he thought she really was, she went on, ‘Maddie Ryan. Project designer.’ Christened Madeleine because her mother, having given birth to three boisterous boys, had longed for a daughter she could dress in pretty clothes and bring up to be ultra-feminine. But Madeleine had refused to answer to anything but Mad—or Maddie, at a pinch—and could clearly remember back to the age of three or four, when her poor mother had tried to dress her in something pink and frilly for her birthday party. She had gone stiff as a board, screaming her head off as she’d refused to wear anything so girly.

She adored her parents, but she idolised her big brothers, and had always set out to prove she could do anything they could do—from climbing the tallest trees and tickling trout to paddling a home-made raft across the lake on the estate where her dad was employed as head groundsman. Eventually her mother had resigned herself to having a tomboy daughter—freckle-faced, permanently grubby, sticking plasters adorning her coltish legs, untameable curls—and loved her more than she’d thought possible.

‘So you are English?’ The sexy golden eyes wandered over her, and, nodding the affirmative, Maddie felt her flesh quiver as his eyes swept back up to fuse with hers. In all of her twenty-two years no man had ever had this effect on her, and the unaccustomed and scary stinging sensation of intimacy shook her rigid. ‘Do you speak my language?’ he asked, on a throaty purr that sent something hot sizzling through her veins. Then his eyes dropped to her wide mouth, lips parted as she puzzled over why he should ask that. His attractively accented voice had implied more than mere politeness. ‘I am interested to know how you relayed your wishes to your workers.’

‘Oh—that!’ Maddie relaxed. Friendly question. Friendly she could handle, no problem. She’d had plenty of male friends, both at school and at college. Been best mates with most of the village boys. But never a serious boyfriend. None of her male friends had ever picked her as his special girl. They’d treated her as one of them—come to her with any problems, discussed stuff—but when it came to romance they’d picked the sort of flirty girlies who could simper and giggle for England.

Speedwell-blue eyes smiled. ‘No, I don’t speak Greek. I picked up a few words from the casuals—’ her smile broadened to a wide grin, her neat freckle-banded nose wrinkling ‘—but I sort of guessed they’re not words one would use in polite company! Nikos—the permanent gardener Cristos hired—is pretty fluent in English, and he translated for me.’

Her voice tailed off. Flustered, she noted that he didn’t seem to be listening to her side of this strange conversation. Had he simply asked the first thing to come into his too-handsome head just to keep her talking? Because he was back to making that slow, thoroughly unsettling inventory of her too-bountiful body again, his eyes lingering too long for her comfort on the smooth golden thighs directly beneath the ragged hem of her skimpy shorts.

Pressing her knees close together, to guard against a decidedly perverse instinct to shift them apart and tilt her hips towards that gorgeous, power-packed rangy body, she decided to get rid of him. Aiming for repressive, her words emerged in a husky tone she didn’t recognise as her own. ‘Did you want something? Can I help you?’

Worryingly, he moved just that little bit closer. His broad shoulders lifted infinitesimally, the bronzed skin gleaming like oiled silk, as it made her wonder what that skin would feel like beneath her fingers.

He gave no answer, but the silence sizzled with something unspoken and his slow smile made her tremble, made her wonder what was happening here—because as sure as hens laid eggs no male had ever made her feel this strange before. This—this what? Expectant?

She swallowed thickly just as he said, ‘I think that for now you should find shade.’ With lazy grace, the lightest of touches, he brushed a strand of damp hair away from her hot forehead. ‘You are hot. Very hot!’ Golden eyes danced. ‘I’ll see you around.’

Not if I see you first, was Maddie’s wild unspoken thought as she took the hint and scurried away from his unsettling presence, heading for the wide door that led to the cool interior of the villa. Her skin was still tingling where he had so lightly touched it, sending responsive quivers down her spine.

Typical Greek male, she fumed. Most of the casuals had been the same. Unable to stop strutting their stuff when a female was around. She’d been able to overlook them, no trouble at all. She didn’t do flirting. Didn’t know how. Didn’t want to know how. Hadn’t had any practice.

But the stranger had been different. And how! It had made her feel uncomfortable. An extra large dose of charisma, she decided as she reached the sanctuary of the suite of rooms she’d been given. A knock-out dose that would make him irresistible if he had seduction in mind.

Seduction? She wasn’t going to go there. No way! No doubt he acted that way with any female under ninety. So snap out of it, she scolded herself.

Getting out of her work clothes, she headed for the shower and put him quite brutally out of her mind. Or tried to. With little success, she conceded with vast annoyance.

The party was going with the sort of discreet swing that only serious money could contrive. Ultra-glamorous guests wandered out from the lavish buffet to the courtyard, wine glasses elegantly in hand, murmuring congratulations for the romance of the strategically placed uplighters, the plants Maddie had chosen for their perfume, the pale roses and sweetly scented jasmine festooning the pillars of the arcade. And because Amanda and Cristos, bless them, had made sure everyone present knew she was the creator of the lush loveliness, Maddie kept her fingers crossed that some of the guests might remember her if they needed any work done in the future.

Amanda joined her on the secluded stone seat Maddie had retired to to get her breath back after answering so many horticultural questions, a glass of chilled white wine in her hot hands.

‘It’s going perfectly. Everyone’s impressed. You never know—you might get one or two commissions.’

‘I hope so!’ Maddie grinned at her friend. ‘I’d love to work here again—I’ve fallen in love with the country! And I’ll never be able to thank you enough for thinking of me.’

‘Who else would I think of, dolt?’ Amanda’s lovely face dimpled with affection. ‘And take my advice—if you are offered a commission, charge top dollar. These people come from the top layer of Greek society—money coming out of their ears—they expect to pay mega-bucks. Offer them cut price and they’ll come all over squeamish and run a mile!’

‘I’ll remember that slice of cynicism!’ Maddie took a grateful long sip of wine and pushed her untidy fringe out of her eyes with her free hand, her dancing blue eyes wandering between the groups of beautiful people who were slowly circulating, chatting, the women discreetly pricing and placing each other’s jewels and designer dresses.

Dressing for the party, Maddie hadn’t even tried to compete. Heck, how could she? Willowy she wasn’t, and her wardrobe was as sparse as the hairs on a balding man’s head. So she’d got into the only dress she’d brought with her—a simple blue shirtwaister, plain but presentable.

She immediately wished she didn’t look so ordinary when she saw him.

An uncontrollable something made her heart leap and her stomach perform a weird loop. The guy she’d tagged as a casual worker—magnetic in a white tuxedo, urbane, elegant—was obviously one of the super-wealthy beings her friend mixed with now she’d married into the highest stratum of Greek society. All his attention was being given to the dark, fashionably skinny beauty clinging to his arm as if she’d been grafted there.

‘Oops—latecomer. I’d better do my hostess thing.’

Amanda, noticing the unmissable, rose to her feet, and Maddie, because she couldn’t help it, asked, ‘Who is he?’

‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?'Amanda smoothed the ice-blue silk of her skirt and giggled. ‘Dimitri Kouvaris—the shipping magnate and a near neighbour. He walked over this morning to discuss a business deal with Cristos—but he’s taken! The clinging vine is Irini—some distant family connection, I believe—and the general consensus is that wedding bells are soon to be tolled! So you have been warned!’

Great! Maddie thought bracingly. And the warning was unnecessary. Seeing him in this exalted milieu provided the metaphorical bucket of cold water she’d needed—because despite all her good intentions she hadn’t been able to get him or his final words out of her mind. Or the way he’d looked at her, the sexual interest demonstrated by his body language—and what a body!

She had to put a stop to the unwanted and repeated invasion of the totally stupid thought that he might be the one man capable of making her break her vow of chastity. A vow made to herself because her burgeoning career meant far more to her than any romantic entanglement, and because of her need to prove herself to her parent, who seemed to think that a woman needed a man to look after her, to make her whole.

Codswallop!—as she’d inelegantly informed her mother when she’d aired that outdated view.

But she couldn’t help watching the latecomers and noting the way that the hand that wasn’t around the beautiful Irini’s waist lifted in a salute of recognition as he glanced beyond Amanda to where she was sitting on her stone bench.

Her face flaming, Maddie refused to respond, and tried to wriggle further back into the shadows. The last thing she wanted or needed was for him to saunter over, clinging vine in tow, and humiliate her by reminding her how she had mistaken him for a casual worker.

If that had been his intention she was spared, when a group of guests headed by Cristos joined him. But she squirmed with embarrassment and uncomfortably strong frissons of something else entirely when his eyes kept seeking her out. Narrowed, speculative eyes.

A huge shudder racked its way through her. Enough! She wasn’t going to sit here like a transfixed rabbit while that man stared at her! Clumsily, she shot to her feet, and headed briskly back to the villa, where his eyes couldn’t follow her, making for her room and the calming, sensible task of packing for her departure back to England in the morning.

It was beginning to grow dark when Maddie parked her old van at the side of the stone cottage that had been her home for all her life. It had been a tight squeeze with four children, but her mother had made it a comfy home. Too comfy, perhaps, she reflected wryly. Only Adam, the eldest, had moved out, when he’d married two years ago. He and Anne had been lucky to get a council house on an estate a mile away, his job as a forestry worker providing for his wife and the next generation of Ryans—a toddler of eighteen months and twins on the way.

Sam and Ben still lived at home. Their joint market garden business—supplying organic produce to local pubs and hotels—didn’t make enough profit to allow them to move out. Not that they seemed in any hurry to turn their backs on their Mum’s home cooking and laundry service.

Taking the key from the ignition she huffed out a sigh. At nearly twenty-three she should be leaving the nest, giving Mum a break. And she would—as soon as her business took off.

The profits from the Greek job were earmarked for new tools, a possible van upgrade and wider advertising—because the local press had only brought in one enquiry for the make-over of a small back garden in the nearby market town. The clients, recently moved in, wanted the usual. What they called an ‘outdoor room', with a play area for a young child, the ubiquitous decking and a tiny lawn. Bog standard stuff which she’d completed in five days, and nothing else on the horizon.

Normally optimistic—a bit too Micawberish her dad sometimes said, but fondly—Maddie felt unusually down as she locked the van and headed for the side door that led directly into the warm heart of the house—the kitchen. Mum would be beavering away, preparing the evening meal for when her ravenously hungry menfolk returned. Friday night, she usually made a huge steak pie. Maddie would prepare the massive amount of vegetables as soon as she’d got out of her muddy work boots and shed her ancient waxed jacket.

Fixing a bright smile on her generous mouth—dear old Mum had better things to do than look at a long face—Maddie pushed open the door and her smile went. Her mouth dropped open and her heart jumped to her throat, leaving her feeling weirdly lightheaded.

He was there. Dimitri Kouvaris. In the outrageously gorgeous, impeccably suited flesh. Sitting at the enormous kitchen table, drinking tea, and being plied with shortbread by her pink-cheeked chattering parent.

He looked up.

And smiled.

It was a perfect spring day. The day after his bombshell arrival on the scene. Her blue eyes narrowed, Maddie watched him saunter ahead along the narrow woodland path.

Dressed this morning in stone-coloured jeans that clipped his narrow male hips and long legs, and a casual honey-toned shirt that clung to the intimidating width of his shoulders, he dominated the surroundings. The sea of bluebells, now in promising bud, didn’t even merit a glance. She had eyes only for him. And deplored it.

Last night, at Mum’s invitation, he’d stayed for supper, integrating easily with her family. He had explained that he’d met her in Athens through a mutual friend, and that as he was in the area on business he’d decided to look her up.

And she might, if she’d tried hard, have believed it.

But not after the way he’d turned up this morning. All bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, smoothly imparting that as he had a free day and Maddie, as he’d discovered—prised out of someone, more likely!—had no work on, he’d appreciate it if she showed him some of the surrounding countryside. He had tossed in the invitation that they all dine with him that evening at his hotel, erasing Mum’s tiny questioning frown at a stroke.

But Maddie was still questioning.

Why should a drop-dead handsome, rotten rich Greek tycoon with a gorgeous fiancée take the trouble to ‘look up’ an ordinary working girl and her ordinary family? A stranger to male sexual interest, she wasn’t so green as to fail to recognise it when it came her way. She’d registered it on that first day back in Athens. She chewed worriedly on her full lower lip. Trouble was, it was mutual, and she was drawn to him when common sense dictated that she should be running a mile.

Turning as the narrow path debouched onto a wide grassy meadow, Dimitri waited for her, his heartbeats quickening. Glossy curls surrounded her flushed heart-shaped face, her sultry lips were parted; her lush body was clothed in faded jeans and a workmanlike shirt. She was as unlike the elegant designer-clad females who threw themselves at him on a tediously regular basis as it was possible to be.

Testosterone pumped through his body. Self-admittedly cynical about the female half of the population, who looked at him and saw nothing but spectacular wealth, this immediate and ravaging physical awareness had never happened to him before. And no way was he about to knock it. He wanted her and would have her—would fight to the death to claim her!

‘Why are you here? What do you want?’ She sounded breathless. She was breathless. Yet the pace he’d set hadn’t been in the least taxing. All part and parcel of the effect he had on her, she conceded uneasily, and quivered as he took her hand and raised it to his lips.

The warmth, the firmness of his mouth as it trailed over the backs of her fingers, took what was left of her breath away. And when he murmured, ‘You want the truth?’ it took an enormous effort of will to look him in the eyes.

‘What else?’ she said.

Meeting those spectacular, mesmeric golden eyes had been a big mistake, she registered, as her knees went weak and simultaneously her breasts peaked and thrust with greedy urgency against the thin cotton of her shirt.

As if he knew exactly what was happening to her, his long strong hands went to her waist, easing her against his body, making her burningly, bone-crunchingly aware of the hard extent of his arousal.

Feverishly torn between what her mind was telling her and what her body craved, it took some moments before she registered his, ‘I need to get back to Athens within the month. And when I go I will take you with me. As my wife.’ When it did, her mind took over with a vengeance.

Pulling away from him, she squawked, ‘Have you gone crazy? How can you want to marry me? It’s madness. You hardly know me!’ Then her eyes narrowed to scornful slits. ‘Is that the way you usually get into a girl’s knickers? Promise to marry her?’

Shaken by his sudden peal of laughter, she could only splutter as he folded his arms around her and vowed, ‘I knew I wanted you in my body and in my soul the first time I saw you. And if that is crazy, then I like being crazy. Tonight, at dinner, I will ask your father’s permission to court you. And then I will do everything in my power to persuade you to accept me.’

At her shaky accusation, ‘You are mad!’ he lowered his head and kissed her. And all the niggling questions as to why a guy like him, who could pick and choose between the world’s most beautiful women, should earmark her as his future bride disappeared for the next earth-shattering couple of hours.

CHAPTER ONE

HIS face like thunder, Dimitri Kouvaris strode down the first-storey corridor of his sumptuous villa on the outskirts of Athens, hands fisted at his sides, his wide shoulders as rigid as an enraged bull about to charge.

Eleni, the youngest member of his household staff, flattened herself against the wall at his approach, and only expelled her pent-up breath as he shot down the sweeping staircase two treads at a time.

The soles of his handmade shoes ringing against the marble slabs, he crossed the wide hallway and after a cursory rap entered his aunt’s quarters.

‘Did you know about this?’ he demanded on a terse bite, lobbing over the piece of paper crumpled into his fist. And he watched, the gold of his eyes dark with inner fury, as the thin pale fingers of his father’s elder spinster sister smoothed the creases out.

The few words burned like acid into his brain.

Our marriage is over. My solicitor will be in touch regarding our divorce.

Three months and she said it was over! No explanation. Nothing but a note left on the pillow of their opulent marriage bed. How dared she?