Contracted To Her Greek Enemy

“I wouldn’t date you for a million dollars.”

“How about two million?”

Stephanie Logan would love to throw Damen Nicolaides’s outrageous proposal that she pose as his girlfriend back in his face, but the truth is she needs his money to save her family.

The arrogant Greek seduced and discarded her once before, so Steph makes sure their contract says Damen can’t kiss her again! But she might soon regret that clause. Because trapped in paradise with her enemy, his all-too-potent chemistry is pushing her ever closer to breaking point!

Growing up near the beach, ANNIE WEST spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasising about gorgeous men and their love-lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact her at annie@annie-west.com or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

Also by Annie West

Contracted for the Petrakis Heir

Inherited for the Royal Bed

Her Forgotten Lover’s Heir

The Greek’s Forbidden Innocent

Revelations of a Secret Princess

Passion in Paradise collection

Wedding Night Reunion in Greece

Royal Brides for Desert Brothers miniseries

Sheikh’s Royal Baby Revelation

Demanding His Desert Queen

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Contracted to Her Greek Enemy

Annie West

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09820-5

CONTRACTED TO HER GREEK ENEMY

© 2020 Annie West

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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This is my 40th book for Harlequin Mills and Boon!

Celebrations are in order, and thanks:

To the readers who enjoy my stories. You’ve made

my dream of writing romance come true.

To my terrific editor Carly Byrne.

To my writer friends, especially Anna Campbell,

Abby Green, Michelle Douglas and Cathryn Hein.

To Efthalia Pegios for advice on Greek.

To my wonderful family.

This book is dedicated to my mum.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

‘I’VE HAD ENOUGH, DAMEN. I can’t stand it any more. I feel like running away.’

Damen’s eyebrows rose. Clio wasn’t the sort to run from trouble. ‘It can’t be that bad.’

Wrong response, Nicolaides!

Even before she flashed him an outraged glare, Damen realised his mistake. With a mother and two younger sisters, he had a healthy respect for feminine temper. Clearly this was serious.

‘Oh, can’t it?’ She shook her head and her diamond drop earrings swung. ‘He’s not just badgering me, but Mama too. It’s his only topic of conversation. I don’t dare show my face or call Mama because it sets him off again.’

She hefted a shuddery breath and Damen was horrified as he watched tears well. He’d never seen his cousin Clio cry. And though they were only second cousins, they were as close as siblings.

Clio’s chin wobbled. ‘It’s Cassie’s wedding soon but I’m not sure I can face going to it. My own little sister’s wedding!’

Damen’s gut churned. Clio was hurting and he was responsible. He should have realised—

‘All my father does is rave about how I as the eldest should be marrying first. How you and I are a perfect match and how selfish I am not settling down with the man who’s decent, honourable and suitable in every way.’ She bit her lip and slanted him a glance. ‘Of course, he never mentions how suitable your fortune is.’

That flash of humour didn’t ease the dark cloud settling over Damen’s conscience.

This was no joke. Manos was a difficult man at the best of times and he could make life hell for Clio and her whole family.

Damen grabbed her hand, felt it tremble and cursed himself for putting her in this situation. Once Manos got an idea it was almost impossible to shift it.

‘I’m sorry, Clio. This is all down to me. I should never—’

‘Don’t go all macho and say it’s your fault, Damen Nicolaides! I know you’re used to shouldering responsibility for everyone, but you’re not solely to blame.’ She sighed. ‘We both are. You think I haven’t enjoyed going to all those A-list parties with you? You think I haven’t been networking like mad, building up a list of potential clients for my business?’

‘It was my idea.’ Because he’d tired of fending off women who wanted more from him than a mutually satisfying fling. No matter how often he said he wasn’t in the market for the long term, they thought they could change his mind.

With Clio as his semi-regular date things had been much easier. His occasional lovers were more accepting of the fact he wasn’t shopping for a wife.

A cold shiver started at his nape and crawled down his spine at the word, chilling each vertebra as it went.

Gentle fingers squeezed his hand. ‘You did nothing wrong, Damen.’

He focused on Clio’s earnest face and wondered if she was talking about this issue with her father or the past, when clearly Damen had been to blame. Typical of Clio to try to absolve him.

She’d stood by him when he’d really needed it. She deserved better than this mess.

‘Okay, let’s agree neither of us were at fault.’ They were adults, entitled to socialise together, even if they weren’t and never would be lovers. ‘That still leaves the problem of your father. We have to find a way to disabuse him of his expectations without him blaming you.’

Clio pulled her hand away, smoothing it down the silk dress she wore for today’s celebration.

‘I tell you, I’m running away. To Tierra del Fuego.’

Damen heard despair beneath that light-hearted tone.

‘Do you even know where that is?’

‘Okay, then, the Arctic Circle. I’ll branch into interior design for igloos.’

Despite himself, Damen laughed. His cousin could do it too. She was a talented designer, up for any challenge.

Except getting herself out of this mess. It would take more than Clio’s word to convince Manos she and Damen weren’t an item. Especially with the prize of Damen’s vast fortune in the equation. Which it always was.

That was one of the prime reasons he’d resorted to ‘dates’ with his cousin, to stave off the women angling to snare a rich husband. A Greek billionaire with no wife and a healthy cash flow despite the recent economic troubles was a catch. One in his early thirties with a full head of hair and all his own teeth was a rarity.

‘Forget the igloos and leave this to me.’

‘You have an idea?’ No mistaking the hope in her tone.

Damen nodded. ‘The beginnings of one. But give me time to sort out the details. Trust me, I’ll sort Manos.’

Relief eased her tight expression. ‘Thanks, Damen. I should have realised I could count on you.’

Twenty minutes later, Damen stood beside his best friend, Christo, who was to marry today. Christo was checking his phone, leaving Damen free to admire the panoramic view of the sea off Corfu. But Damen ignored the vista, instead surveying the guests gathered in the villa’s garden.

What he needed was a woman. And quickly.

A woman to play the part of his lover long enough to persuade Manos that Damen and Clio had no future together.

If he attended the upcoming wedding of Clio’s sister, Cassie, with a striking new girlfriend in tow, that would dent Manos’s hopes. If Damen kept that new girlfriend with him for a couple of months, his very public companion...

But which woman?

Someone single. And attractive, for Manos was no fool. There had to be a sizzle of desire between Damen and his new companion.

But Damen needed someone who wouldn’t see this as an opportunity to angle for a real relationship. A woman who wouldn’t try to win his affections and carve out a place for herself in his life.

‘Relax.’ Christo’s voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘I’m the one getting married, not you.’

Damen flashed his old friend a smile. ‘And marrying the same woman twice. That’s some sort of record.’

Christo shrugged and spread his hands. ‘The first time I had no idea how much she meant to me. This time everything is perfect between us. I just hope you find a woman like Emma one day. A woman who’s the centre of your world, the love of your life.’

Damen’s smile solidified. As if he believed in that any more! For others, if they were extraordinarily lucky, but not himself. He’d lost his naivety a decade ago.

Ruthlessly he yanked his thoughts from the events that had changed him, and his family, for ever. Today was a joyous day, not one for dwelling on mistakes and tragedy.

Damen retrieved two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and passed one to his best friend. ‘Here’s to you and your lovely Emma. And,’ he added when they’d both sipped their wine, ‘here’s to me finding my own perfect woman.’

One who was attractive, intelligent, amenable and, above all, expendable.

‘You look stunning, Emma.’ Steph finished pinning the antique lace veil in place and stepped back. She’d never seen her best friend so happy. She positively glowed.

Emma grinned. ‘You’ve seen the outfit before.’

It was the one she’d worn the first time she married Christo, before she deserted him on learning he didn’t love her. So much had happened since, but miraculously, in that time Emma and her Greek billionaire husband had sorted out their differences. They were so much in love it almost hurt to look at such joy.

‘Hey, Steph, what is it? Are you sure you’re okay?’

Instantly guilt crowded in. Emma was too sharp. She’d taken one look at Steph when she stepped off the plane at Corfu Airport and asked what was wrong. Persuading Emma that she was fine, just tired after the trip from Melbourne, had taken all Steph’s skill.

Steph refused to mar Emma’s big day with her woes. She’d find a solution to the fix she was in, though every avenue she’d pursued so far had proved a dead end. She’d just have to try harder.

Because this trouble didn’t affect her alone. She suppressed a shiver.

‘Of course I’m okay! Can’t I just be a little emotional, seeing you so radiant? You look like a fairy princess.’

For a second she read doubt in Emma’s expression before it was ousted by another smile. ‘I feel like one! Pinch me so I know this is real.’

Steph didn’t pinch her, but she did hug her, hard. ‘I’m so happy for you, Em. You deserve this after all you’ve been through.’

‘If it’s a matter of deserving...’ Emma stepped back, shaking her head and clearly intending to say more, but Steph stopped her.

‘Come on, Em, it’s time to get this show on the road.’

Emma gasped when she saw the time and turned to the door in a flurry of long skirts. Steph twitched the veil into place and followed her out into the warm Greek sunshine.

It was a glorious day in a perfect setting. The garden of the gracious old villa made a wonderful wedding venue, with the stunning blue-green sea as a backdrop. But what made the event so special was the sight of her dear friend committing herself to the man she loved.

Yet now, as Steph mingled with the well-wishers after the ceremony, she couldn’t concentrate fully on this wonderful occasion. Not because of her own worries. They’d still be there later, crowding close again soon enough.

No, the buzz of discomfort came from him. The man who, every time she turned, was watching her. Even as he chatted with, it seemed, every female under forty at the reception.

Steph could trace his progress through the crowd, since he left behind a trail of starry-eyed women.

But not her.

Because the dark-haired man standing head and superb shoulders above the throng was Damen Nicolaides.

Snake.

Lowlife.

The man who’d conned her into making a fool of herself.

She felt sick when she thought of it.

She couldn’t believe how simple it had been for him. Steph might be impulsive but when it came to men she’d learned almost from the cradle not to trust easily.

So why had she forgotten her hard-won lessons the moment Damen Nicolaides crooked his finger? She who’d never allowed herself to be swayed before by masculine charm and a sexy body.

Because she’d made the mistake of believing Damen was different. That he was loyal and caring. Which it appeared he was, for those he genuinely valued. Anyone outside that charmed circle had to be wary. For he was also devious, calculating and utterly ruthless.

The memory of that evening in Melbourne still haunted her when she let her defences down or when she was tired. Which was often, these days, as worry kept her awake most nights.

And why, oh, why had she allowed herself to be wrong-footed by yet another plausible, smooth-talking male, even after her experience with demon Damen?

In her weaker moments Steph toyed with the idea that in succumbing to Damen’s charm she’d somehow destroyed her defences and her judgement. Obviously it was now fatally flawed when it came to the opposite sex.

From now on she’d have nothing to do with them. It was safer that way.

At least with Damen it was only her feminine pride that had been bruised. Which led inevitably to thoughts of the catastrophe facing her back in Australia.

Anguish churned her insides. Suddenly she wasn’t in the mood for celebrating.

Steph spied a path leading away from the villa. Picking up her long skirts, she followed it, only stopping when the sounds of celebration grew muted. She was at the top of a low cliff looking over a horseshoe beach of perfect white sand. The breeze brought the mingled scent of cypresses and the sea, and Steph drew a steadying breath.

She’d head back soon. Just take a few moments to recharge her batteries and overcome her maudlin thoughts. This was Emma’s special day and Steph intended to be there for her.

‘You’re not enjoying the party?’

The voice slid through her like melted chocolate, smooth, rich and compelling. To her horror Steph felt something deep inside ease and loosen.

As if she’d been waiting for this.

She’d avoided speaking to Damen Nicolaides. Yet she’d know his voice anywhere. Not merely because she’d earlier heard the deep tone of his murmured conversation with Christo, but because she still heard him in her dreams.

Steph clenched her jaw and stood straighter. So he had a great voice, deep and luscious. She knew better than to be taken in by that.

‘I wanted a breather. Some time alone.’

If she stared at the picture-postcard view long enough surely he’d get the message and leave.

Instead she heard the crunch of measured footsteps on gravel.

‘Direct as ever, Stephanie.’

Steph bit her lip, hating the way that softening sensation spread, as if the man only had to speak and her female hormones got all fluttery and eager.

Just because no one else called her by her full name. Or made it sound like an invitation to sin.

Heat flared in her veins and shot to her cheeks.

‘Then perhaps you’ll take the hint and go back to the party.’

His only answer was a huff of amusement that rippled across her tight shoulders and nape. Instead of retreating, he stopped behind and to the side of her. She couldn’t see him in her peripheral vision but sensed him. It was an awareness she couldn’t explain and didn’t want to.

‘Here, I brought you a peace offering.’

A hand appeared before her, broad, olive-skinned, perfectly manicured. It held champagne in a crystal glass.

Steph was about to refuse when he continued. ‘I thought we could toast the happy couple.’

It was the one thing that could persuade her to accept the drink. Did he know that?

Of course he did. He was smart, this man. Cunning. Steph recalled how easily he’d made her dance to his tune.

And you’re only giving him more power now by letting him see that still bothers you.

Steph reached for the glass, careful not to touch those long fingers. She drew a deep breath, reluctantly inhaling that faint scent she remembered from before, a woodsy, warm, appealing aroma. Recognition skittered through her, a spurious sense of rightness. She ignored it and turned.

‘To the bride and groom.’ She lifted her glass and swallowed. Then took another long sip to ease the sudden dryness in her throat.

Up close he didn’t look like a snake. He looked as handsome as ever. Honed cheekbones and a squared jaw that gave him an aura of determination. Long, straight nose, a sensual mouth and eyes of forest green that seemed to glint in the afternoon light. Dark hair that she knew to be soft to the touch.

Her fingers twitched and the glass jerked in her hold. Quickly she dipped her head and took another tiny sip.

‘To Emma and Christo,’ he murmured. ‘May they be happy together for the rest of their lives.’

He drank and Steph found herself watching his throat work. As if there was something innately fascinating about the movement. When she lifted her gaze it meshed with his and awareness jolted through her.

No, no, no. Not awareness. This wasn’t like last time. Dislike. Scorn. Disdain. Any of those would do.

‘Thank you for the drink,’ she said politely, as if to a complete stranger. There, that was better. Treat him like a stranger. ‘Now, I’d better head back. Emma—’

‘Is surrounded by excited friends and family. She can do without you a little longer.’

Steph’s eyebrows rose. ‘Nevertheless, it’s time I returned.’

‘I’d hoped we could talk.’

‘Talk?’ What could they possibly have to discuss? ‘We have nothing to talk about.’

Was it her imagination or did that strong jaw clench? The gleam in those remarkable eyes dimmed and Steph had the impression, suddenly, that something serious lurked behind his air of assurance.

‘About Melbourne—’

‘There’s nothing to discuss. It’s in the past.’

‘It doesn’t feel like it. You look at me with hostility, Stephanie.’

Her fingers curled around the stem of the champagne glass as she fought the impulse to throw the rest of her drink over his too-handsome face.

Except she wouldn’t make a scene at Emma’s wedding.

Her eyes rounded in disbelief. ‘You’re surprised by that?’

‘I apologised.’

‘Oh, and that makes it all right, does it?’ Steph waved her hand and vintage champagne arced through the air, splashing onto the ground.

‘I did what was necessary to help my friend.’

‘You kidnapped me!’ Steph jammed her finger into the centre of his chest.

‘Only a very little kidnap. Christo was desperate, wondering where his bride had disappeared to on their wedding day.’

‘That’s no excuse. She sent a message saying she was safe. Besides, you can’t blame Emma for leaving when she discovered the real reason he’d married her.’

Slowly Damen shook his head. ‘They’ve made their peace now. But that week Christo was mad with worry. I had to help him locate her. And you,’ suddenly he leaned towards her, his free hand covering hers and capturing it against his chest, ‘you knew where she was.’

‘You assumed I did.’ Steph kept her eyes on his face, rather than that broad chest where his heart thudded strongly beneath her palm.

‘It was more than an assumption, Stephanie. It didn’t take a genius to work out she’d had help disappearing so completely and quickly. I could see you were uncomfortable keeping quiet about Emma’s whereabouts. I knew if I could just get you alone and persuade you...’

The heat in Steph’s cheeks turned scorching hot, exploding in fiery darts that shot through her whole body. She ripped her hand from his grasp and stepped back.

‘Is that what you call it? Persuasion?’ Her breath came in sawing gasps that didn’t fill her lungs.