Kitabı oxu: «Greek Millionaire, Unruly Wife»

Chapter 1

“I’ll take that one.”

“The green gown, Monsieur Leonadis?”

“No, the model.”

The man chuckled. “The model’s not for sale, monsieur.”

“You wanna bet?” Michalis Leonadis loosened his tie, lifted an arrogant eyebrow at the sales manager of the Haute Couture show in Paris, and geared up for battle…not with the manager but…with her. Tracking the model every step with his slitted gaze, he slipped a hand inside the pocket of his jacket and extracted a card, then a pen.

Julia, strutting down the runway and steaming up the ballroom in the Hôtel de Crillon had cost him a marriage, and a billion dollars in a Tokyo deal gone belly-up. As if that hadn’t been enough, his head of security informed him she’d recently given—

Applause broke out, splintering his thoughts, and spiking his fury…his passion. For revenge.

She’d ripped his heart out. Shredded his pride. Cost him.

Her untimely exit had rocked his sphere and his bank account. She nearly bankrupted him. He’d put everything on hold to search for her, and to clean up the legal mess his uncle’s amour had created when she’d charmed…er…scammed the old guy into signing half the Leonadis fortune to her and ultimately her heir. The fortune Michalis had slaved over years to amass.

He set his jaw, batted that distraction from his mind, and turned his laser sharp eyes back to the supermodel, his present dilemma.

When he found out Julia had been living it up in Paris, he’d shut her out, and scrambled to salvage his business and stay afloat—he’d waste no more time on her. He was better off without her.

A spike lodged in his aorta, but he ignored the sting.

He clamped his teeth, his breath rumbling in his chest and escaping through his nose in a hostile sound. How dare she keep that a secret from him?

Cold, calculating bi—the expletive stinging his tongue was smothered by shouts of “Brava!” from the audience.

He scrawled a message on his business card, adrenaline pumping him to action.

She’d definitely pay. He curled his lip. His way.

Michalis slapped the card in the man’s hand. “Make sure she gets it.”

The man glanced at the bold insignia of the Leonadis Cruise Line on the card and inclined his head. “Oui, Monsieur Leonadis.”

Michalis tuned him out.

He liked things simple. She’d been anything but.

He liked to keep his focus razor-sharp, his mind alert, his instinct in play and quantum leap over his competition. That biz acumen had held him in good stead when, years ago, he’d taken over his uncle’s run-down tourist boat rentals in Athens and built it into a mega international shipping line. At thirty-eight he still thrived on the thrill, the challenge. Julia’d been that, and he’d conquered her resistance, caught her; an unbidden smile skimmed his mouth, then morphed into a snarl.

He’d given her everything—he’d given her the world. And in return, at the first sign of rough waters, she’d jumped ship and created a tidal wave of confusion.

But now, she looked none the worse for it. And that rankled his ego.

The stylist had swept her sun-bleached hair up, and the dresser had fitted her into a body-hugging gown, matching her eyes and the emeralds dangling from her ears. The high collar and flared hem, a demure contrast to her sultry gaze, pouty mouth, and the sway of her hips as she worked the catwalk.

Worked the room.

Cool. Sexy. Seductive.

The male clientele salivated and the women gasped in admiration.

He smirked. So much for the sophisticated façade of the VIPs who’d flocked to the fashion extravaganza. His smirk turned into a guffaw. She’d gotten to them… engaged their imagination…triggering fantasies and loosening purse strings.

He should know. His already rock hard abs tensed. She’d gotten under his skin…his psyche. Shaking his head, he chuckled; an empty sound. Past tense…had. No more. The padlock on his heart and ice in his veins proved it.

He’d not end up a stooge like his uncle.

Nodding to the man holding his business card, Michalis strode to the exit, but couldn’t resist tossing her another glance over his shoulder.

A hot babe. He jutted his chin. A classy stunner. That’s what had attracted him in the first place—amusement tugged the corner of his lips. How did she manage to walk on those high heels? He shrugged, about to continue on his way, but then braked to a stop.

She paused, pivoted. And the fur stole slipped from her shoulders, the edgy cut of the neckline plunging to the small of her back.

His chest tightened, his hand fisted, a growl built in his throat.

Beneath the stage lights, her bare back gleamed smooth, flawless…and his fingers tingled, his memory kindling. He’d touched her…her skin hot beneath his fingers…his mouth nibbling down to the curve of her hip—he ground his teeth, his pulse thudding—he’d cupped her buttocks, turned her over, her breasts scorching his chest, his mouth on hers…she’d wrapped her legs around him, holding him close, and he had thrust deep inside her—

A crescendo of sound from the band splintered his erotic fantasy, and he blinked, gulping the growl away.

She inched off a long glove, tossed it to the audience and did the same with the other, to the eruption of wolf whistles. Then, dismissing her admirers with a quirk of an eyebrow, she placed a hand on her hip and sauntered away, the stole trailing at her feet. At the top of the ramp, she paused, glanced over her shoulder, hinted a smile, winked and disappeared back stage to deafening applause and cheers of, “Encore!”

Michalis grazed his jaw with his knuckles.

Her signals were practiced and unmistakable. Luring…snaring… vanishing.

She’d played that game on him, and every cell in his body sizzled with desire, but his mind defied the temptation.

The sensation warring inside him could be nothing more than his determination to recoup what belonged to him. What she’d stolen from him. He curled his lip in contempt and stomped from the ballroom, his pulse drilling into his ribs. His every move had to be a tactical tour de force to ensure a victory.

* * *

“Merci beaucoup.” Julia kicked off her shoes and thanked the wardrobe girl helping her from the gown, the chiffon a caress upon her skin.

Unclipping the emeralds from her ears, she set them on the dresser, and a sigh struggled from deep inside her. Not long ago, she’d owned countless such designer gowns, shoes, jewelry, and had the man—the life—to go with it. A sound gurgled in her throat, and the girl cast her an odd look. Julia swallowed and turned away, blinking back the tears pressing against her lids.

In just three months, her dreams had soured, her fairytale marriage to the Greek billionaire fractured, but—a tremulous smile traced her mouth—she hadn’t come away empty handed.

She pulled a sweater over her head and slipped into her jeans, sucking in her tummy to get the zipper and snap to work. She grimaced. A few more pounds still to lose, but with the tricks of the trade, she managed to fit into the designer threads. Unclipping her hair, she fluffed it with her fingers, let it fall to her shoulders and rubbed her scalp with her fingertips. A hint of hairspray tainted the air. She twitched her nose and glanced in the mirror. Her makeup would have to wait ’til she got home.

“Ah, chéri.”

She glanced up from slipping on her ankle boots and smiled. “Hey, Chachee, how’d it go?”

“Magnifique!” He kissed the tips of his fingers for emphasis.

“Of course, what else for Chachee Originals?” She grinned, plunked her wool beret on her head, grabbed her jacket and shoulder bag. “Brr.” She mocked a shiver. “Paris in the spring might be the stuff of dreams, but it’s freezing today.”

“Doesn’t have to be, chéri,” he teased, wiggling his pierced brow. “You have an admirer.”

“You’re terrific at boosting a girl’s confidence, Charles.” She smiled and stepped toward the exit sign above the door. “But I gotta go.”

“Worth checking this one out.”

“Some other time.” A man wasn’t her priority right now, not since Michalis—a pang pierced her heart, and she shook her head, dispelling the taunting image. Michalis Leonadis had been her colossal blunder, and she wouldn’t think about him. Not now. Not ever.

“Oh, no.” Charles slapped a hand on his forehead and another against his heart in mock despair.

She laughed, and he put the card in her palm, folding her fingers over it.

“I’d go for him myself but—” He winked.

She laughed the louder, for Charles was as straight as they came, with a wife and a couple of kids. But his flamboyant style: blue locks and bejeweled hands, often gave rise to rumors in this highly-strung, fast-paced fashion industry. So, he nipped them in the bud with his brash repartee.

“But since I won’t—” He took her by the shoulders, spun her around, and gave her a nudge out the door. “—how ’bout you go check him out?”

“I can’t, Chach,” she said. “I gotta get home.”

He shrugged, walked past her and raising a hand, pointed toward the lobby.

“Oh, okay, I’ll take a peek on my way out.”

His chuckle echoed back to her. It brought a twitch of amusement to her lips, and then she sobered. She owed him a debt of gratitude. If he hadn’t booked her on the show, she wouldn’t have made the month’s rent. At twenty-eight, and having been away from the fashion circuit for over a year, modeling opportunities were few and far between.

Walking down the hallway, she looped the strap of her purse over her shoulder and opened her hand. She glanced at the card and got socked in the stomach. A gasp shot from her mouth. Her head spun, her limbs shook, and her pulse raced. The familiar signature zoomed in and out of focus. 8 p.m. Le Bar. ML. Bold, direct, like the man.

What was Michalis Leonadis doing on her doorstep after a year’s silence?

Perspiration oozed from her every pore, making her sweater stick to her skin even in the air-conditioned corridor. Michalis Leonadis, the man she’d loved, once…and the man she now hated with every fiber of her being.

What did he want? Shivers iced her skin. What did he know?