A Perfect Man: International Billionaires IV: The Greeks (15 page)

Her smiles were now returned.

Henry’s laugh had been joined by the emir and his staff.

Alex’s description of the design had been received with delighted approval, even if the presentation had been delivered with studied indifference.

The deal was a done deal. Clearly.

Unless something or someone botched it.

The boy-man came closer. “How did he convince a lovely woman like you to marry him?”

She brightened her smile to a beam. “Oh, it was exactly the opposite.”

“What?” His unibrow arched.

“I chased him all over New York City.” She tried her best to plant adoration of Alexander the Great on her expression. “He’s just unusually beautiful and smart, you know?”

“Humph.”

“I love him soooo much.” She clasped her hands to her chest and sighed. “He’s the perfect man.”

The boy-man’s unibrow lowered.

Had she gone too far? Had she played the wrong card?

“I have heard of his legendary charm.” The young sheikh eased back in his leathered chair with its scrolled handles. “I have yet to see it tonight.”

“That’s my fault.” She leaned forward. Why not use the wretched boobs she’d never liked? It was for a good cause.

“Your fault?” The words were murmured as his gaze dropped where she wanted it.

“Yes.” Her brain tripped along various alternatives until it hit on precisely the right one. “I took him shopping. He hates shopping.”

An answering gleam in the twit’s eyes told her she’d picked correctly. “I hate shopping too.”

“All men do, don’t they?” she chirped. “But I couldn’t let him out of my sight.”

“His partner, Kluge, did mention Stravoudas hadn’t been present at the meetings this afternoon.”

What meetings? The stray thought zoomed around in her head. Alex had said he’d finished work early. He’d walked out of a meeting?

“I guess if a woman as pretty as you asked me for a favor, I’d give it.” The smarmy guy smiled a smarmy smile.

“The shopping made him irritated enough, though, that his mind isn’t focused tonight as it should be. I promise you, I won’t ask him for anything else on this trip,” she cooed in a soothing voice. “I know how important this building is to you and your family.”

“Yes, it is.” He shifted in his seat. “Very important. My father needs to make some decisions in the next few days.”

She tipped her chest closer. “I heard there’s another competitor.”

“Uh, yes.” His expression glazed as he stared at her reluctant offering.

There had to be some kind of promise, something that would nail down this deal once and for all. Why not use this boy-man’s libido against him? “But I’m looking forward to traveling with my fiancé to your home. I want to see the construction of this beautiful building.”

Beady eyes jerked to her face. “You’ll be coming with Stravoudas?”

“Of course.” She smiled, a deep, intimate smile she’d once seen Jade give to Antony. “How could I miss it?”

“Sophia.” Alex’s voice came from behind her chair, grim and flat.

Yanking her head around, she almost screamed when she saw his expression. He glared at both the emir’s son and her as if he was ready to commit murder.

No, no! He was going to ruin everything. Jumping to her feet, she grabbed his arm and yanked his face to hers. “Don’t be an idiot,” she whispered in his ear.

His cerulean gaze burned, a white-hot flame at the center. “You are not—”

Cutting off his words was imperative. She knew PDAs were probably frowned on by the emir and his entourage, but she had no choice. Pulling on Alex’s tie, she planted an irritated kiss right on his open mouth.

He hissed in surprise.

Taking advantage, she pulled back and gave a blinding smile to the silent table. “You see? I can’t get enough of him.”

“I can see.” A thin line of reluctant amusement ran through the young sheikh’s words.

Yes, yes! This was exactly the outcome she wanted.

Her stupid fake fiancé opened his mouth and added to his idiocy by glaring at his potential client’s son. “I don’t want you anywhere near my—”

“Darling.” Throwing her hands around his neck, she tugged him back and stuck her tongue down his throat. What a fool he was. Couldn’t he see she was winning this deal for him? Didn’t he know her well enough to see she’d never ruin this for him?

His broad hands landed on her hips, trying to push her away. Idiot dickhead. Tightening her grip on him, she plastered her body on his.

His dick was hard.

She gasped in his mouth and opened her eyes. He met her gaze, his own eyes flaming with anger, yes, but something much more important and potent. Her mouth went dry at the need and desire she saw in those deep depths.

A kind of desire she’d never elicited in any other man.

Alex tore his attention away from her and started to do his stupid again. “I don’t want you anywhere—”

“These lovebirds.” Henry’s voice boomed from the end of the table. “They can’t get enough of each other.”

“I can see that.” The emir appeared to be oblivious to Alex’s anger, thank goodness. Amusement shone from his black gaze as well as his son’s. He threw a couple of words out across the table in a foreign tongue and his companions dutifully laughed.

Time to escape.

“If you’ll excuse us for a minute.” Sophie put on her best smile and tugged an unwilling dickhead toward the latticed arch of the doorway. “We’ll be right back.”

Coarse laughter followed in their wake.

“Are you crazy?” Pushing Alex into a circular window seat set deep in a stone turret, she grabbed at the floor to ceiling velvet curtains and swung them shut. The small enclave immediately plunged into darkness, only the lights of Paris streaming across the dark water of the Seine giving off any illumination. “What are you thinking?”

She saw nothing, but she felt him surround her. Heat radiated from him, filling the small space with his masculine vitality. It was as if she stood in a room with the sun, all fire and flame and fury.

“You’re supposed to be the charming one around here.” She crossed her arms in front of her and took a step back into the velvet because threat emanated from him. “This is your deal.”

His breathing came harsh, hard.

“Henry and I did the best we could, but this is your time to shine. This is what you do, Stravoudas.”

Silence rolled in the short distance between them. Not a clear, cool calm. No, this hush roared with anger and thundered with…

Pain.

“Alex,” she sighed, her frustration dropping away, replaced with compassion. “Talk to me. What’s going on with you?”

A large hand came out of the darkness to curl around her neck and yank her into his fire. His long, lean body flamed at her side, sending her temperature zinging into space. “No talking,” he muttered, his mouth whispering across the curls at her hairline. “No more talking.”

His lips brushed along her temple, slipping across her brows and then to her hot cheek. Everything inside her stilled.

This wasn’t the time.

This wasn’t what he should be doing or she should be allowing.

And yet, everything inside her reached out to him, yearned to take this moment and make it fill her entire life with his brightness.

But this was his dream. This building. This contract.

“What is going—”

His wide mouth captured the beginning of her protest, swallowing her will and her words at the same time. Twining his tongue around hers, he sucked her in, causing her to hum with pleasure in one short second.

He was magic. He was.

Like an ancient sorcerer, he bewitched her. His lips went soft then hard. His body pulled her in and then pushed her against the stone wall. His heat wrapped around her making her drowsy with need and far more alive than she’d ever been.

Shock pummeled inside her.

More alive
? With Alex Stravoudas?

Every muscle froze.

“
Krotída mou
.” His voice—the voice that could charm and cajole with clear intent, that could laugh and tease with delicious decadence—sounded drugged and delirious. “Kiss me back.”

Her eyes popped open to see nothing except a thick darkness splashed with tiny ripples of murky starlight. The shape of his head and shoulders were all she could see in the dangerous, dusky gloom.

“I have been kissing you back.” She pushed the words out in a huff.

A silky chuckle came. “No, you haven’t
.
You haven’t given me everything.”

Give him everything?

Her hands came to his chest to push him back, but before she could maneuver past him, he grabbed her wrists and pulled them above her. His big body pressed her to the wall, his warmth contrasting with the cool stone.

“Sophia.” He drew her name out like he intended to relish every vowel and consonant. But in the strands of his voice wove a plea, a crooning, mournful craving that tugged at the center of her soul.

His breath brushed across her mouth. “Kiss me.”

He didn’t say please. Still, she felt the need in him, the same hopeful, angry pain of wanting her when he didn’t want to that she felt towards him.

She shouldn’t want Alex Stravoudas.

She shouldn’t like him.

She shouldn’t let him win this war between them that had raged for months. This simmering brew of insults and desire, of bitter anger and violent passion.

“Come on.” The ache in the two words was too much for her will or her pride.

Tugging him to her was impossible with her hands clasped above her, his lean, tense body pinning her to the wall.

So she went to him.

On her tiptoes, she touched his neck with her lips and tongue. The slide of her body on his made him stiffen. A low groan rumbled from him as she licked his skin. He tasted of salt and musk and male. His jaw tightened as she made her way along the edge and when she reached the sharp point of his chin, she felt him swallow.

“Come here,” she said. “Let me kiss you.”

Again, the unique taste of him filled her mouth. The taste of culture, with its flare of elegance mixed with richness. The kick of roughness, in the way he pierced her with his need. The wet of his mouth, the touch of his tongue. He gave her all of his heat, melting the last hold on her conviction to keep away.

She let herself fall. Let herself go.

Kissing Alex wasn’t just kissing. Kissing him was not like any other kiss she’d ever received or given.

Kissing Alex was like kissing with her heart.

Her heart.

Oh, God.

She gasped. A keen of bewilderment broke from her mouth before his captured hers. With a rush, he let her hands go and spread his own across her waist. She caught her breath against his lips and before she could let it out, the air clogged in her throat as he moved once more.

His hands brushed up to her breasts, down to her thighs, around to her butt. He encircled her body with his big hands, melding and molding until she gasped again this time with surprise and pleasure.

The want in his touch screamed in every stroke.

The way he rolled her tight nipples through the silk, the way he tightened his grip on her hips and pushed her into his hardness, the way he kept kissing and stroking her mouth with his tongue.

He wanted her desperately.

Alex wanted Sophie.

The knowledge blasted into her, erasing every thought and emotion. The only thing she wanted was to climb into his skin, come into his heat and become one with this man. She didn’t think about her heart or her pride or her soul. He had swept past all that to the core of her.

She wanted, she wanted—

Bright light flashed from behind them as the curtains were yanked back.

“Alex.” Henry’s loud voice boomed into their enclosed hiding place.

The curtains swished back once more, closing off the sudden noise of the party moving from the dining room back to the parlor. The scent of Henry’s distinctive cologne drifted over both of them, cutting through the sexual haze.

“Oh!” She jerked herself out of a suddenly loose grip.

“Have you gone mad?” His partner’s voice shot through the air again, pointed and caustic. “This is a once in a lifetime deal and you’re mauling your fiancée instead of attending to the emir?”

“Open the curtain.” Alex’s curt tone came in instant response.

Henry whipped open the curtain with an irritated fling.

Expecting a dozen curious eyes to peer in, Sophie relaxed as she realized the party had moved past. She smoothed her trembling hands down her dress, hoping the creases weren’t too apparent.

“You look fine, Soph.” His friend gave her a forced smile. “No thanks to this animal.”

“Leave it alone,” her fake fiancé snarled.

The other man turned and frowned. “This contract is teetering on a knife edge, Stravoudas.”

“I’ll deal with the emir.” His blue eyes latched onto hers. “Don’t go near that little asshole, Sophia. Do you hear me?”

A shaft of hurt shot up her spine. She’d been trying to help, dammit. “I was just—”

“No where near.” He spaced the three word out like marching orders.

“I don’t know why—”

“Listen. Both of you.” Henry cut through the burgeoning argument with the harshness of his words and the slash of one hand. “We don’t have time for this.”

“I’m telling her—”

“He’s so stupid—”

“Sophie.” Alex’s partner zeroed in on her. “Do you want to help us?”

“Yes, of course.” The hurt pumped like a painful sore on her heart.

“Then don’t go near the young sheik, okay?”

“Okay,” she muttered.

“She better stay far away from—”

“And you.” Henry cut off the snarling male in front of him. “You focus on the emir. I’ll take care of Sophie.”

Alex stared at him before shrugging and turning away from both of them. “Fine.”

“Good.” Henry slid his hand around her elbow. “Do what you do best with the emir and everything will work out perfectly.”

She risked one more glance at Mr. Perfect.

The change in him was astonishing. Blank blue eyes. Bland face. The lean body filled with casual grace.

The hair on her neck bristled.

S
ophie woke
to the muffled chirping of two robins perched on the iron grill outside her window. The sunlight was murky, yet from the way the light traveled across her bed, it was mid-morning already.

She’d slept deeply and for a long time.

Surprising, considering the turmoil rolling around in her head and gut. But she’d been tired and today was the first day they didn’t have any early-morning appointments with a pastry chef, so she was due.

Stretching her arms above her head, she closed her eyes and breathed in. There was something about the air in this fabulous apartment that reminded her of the richness of Paris. The faint hint of lilies combined with the lemony smell of the cleaning oil seeped over years into the wooden antiques. The whiff of yeasty brioche from the boulangerie across the street. The lingering scent of cafe au lait coming from the exquisite kitchen down the hall.

Her eyes popped open.

Alex’s cafe au lait.

He was gone. She knew it from the silence. From the stillness inside herself.

Three days had passed since their scorching kiss at the emir’s house and she hadn’t seen a hair on his head after the moment he’d said a clipped goodnight and stomped into his bedroom that evening.

Not that she cared.

She’d been extremely busy filming during these last three days. Learning from and talking with some of the best pastry chefs in the world was pure joy. If she’d thrown a glance over her shoulder a time or two, it had nothing to do with looking for a tall, blond man.

Pleased as punch would be how she felt when Henry had called her to tell her she wouldn’t need to attend the dinner parties with the emir any longer. Evidently, her one visitation had been so impressive she’d passed the test. In her darker moments, she wondered if it had anything to do with the flirting young sheikh and Alex’s uncontrolled anger. Perhaps Henry was cutting off any chance of a confrontation. But since she’d disliked the emir and his entourage and wanted to never meet the boy-man again, she’d been relieved.

Honest.

The smidgeon of guilt swimming through her thoughts during the last three days had been pulverized by dogged determination.

So what if she’d promised to help Alex get this deal?

She was here. Where he’d commanded her to be.

If he and Henry decided they didn’t want her help, better for her.

Better for her to spend time with Will and Jake as they explored the Louvre. Better for her when she’d spent a solitary afternoon strolling along the intimate streets of Ile Saint-Louis.

Better for her to be on her own.

She whipped off the plush, rose-colored duvet and silver silk sheets. Plopping her bare feet on the cool oak floor, she paced into the adjoining bathroom. A bathroom she’d cheerfully live in for the rest of her life. If she’d had the chance. Which she would not.

A knot of regret twisted inside her.

The pearled tile on the floor and walls made a girl feel she stood in a cocooning oyster. The white marble, laced with black veins, rolled around the sides of the standalone bathtub and covered the long basin with his-and-hers sinks. The silver-lined mirror matched the gleaming silver faucets.

Sophie ignored the bathtub big enough for two.

Turning on the shower, she stripped off her orange T-shirt and stepped into the stream of hot water. Lifting her face to the flow, she swallowed. For all the fun and work and being in Paris, a wretched coil of sadness stubbornly lodged in her throat like a burr. Ever since the kiss, a kiss that made her realize how far she’d fallen down the slope into Mr. Perfect’s allure, the burr had grown inside until it now threatened to choke her.

“Stupid.” She ducked her head, letting the water wash through her long hair, wishing it would wash him from her mind and memories. “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”

By the time she’d wrapped her bathrobe around her, combed out her wet hair, and marched her way into the kitchen, she’d made several resolutions.

One. The kiss had been nothing. Look at how he had responded—with complete disinterest, as if it had been nothing. He was right. The kiss had been nothing.

Two. It was a really, really good thing he had made himself scarce during the last few days. She’d been very close to doing something stupid, like maybe throwing herself at him; something Alex felt was his due with every woman he met. But now she had her feet back on the ground.

Three. She only had a few more days in Paris and then one more measly month at his monstrous New York penthouse before she was free from him forever. December was one of her busiest months at the bakery. She probably wouldn’t see him much at all.

The burr clogged her throat as she turned into the compact, elegant kitchen.

A brown paper bag sat in the middle of the stove. She knew what it was without even opening it. A gift. Some kind of wonderful pastry. He’d left these kinds of gifts throughout the past three days. A yummy chocolate box sitting on her bedside table. A bouquet of daphnes, with their delicate pink petals, placed on her bed. A stunning, multi-hued silk scarf hung across her old peacoat in the hallway closet.

The clog tightened and a film of tears blurred her sight.

She didn’t understand him.

How could he kiss her with such desperation, as if she’d become the center of his being, and then disappear for days without a word? How could he turn into the smiling, gentle man who cooked her dinner and made her laugh, when he’d started out as a grim-faced businessman intent on using her to get a deal? How could he show her this sensitive, caring side by leaving these amazing gifts and then not want to see her or be with her?

Sophie crept to the tempting bag and edged it open. Inside were two superb palmiers; one dusted with sugar, the other dipped in dark chocolate. Taking the sugared one in her hand, she bit into the puffed pastry, letting the sweetness of the caramelized sugar, mixed with the mellow nutty-flavored butter, roll across her tongue and down her throat. The pastry kissed her morning like a bright touch of sunshine.

Although he wasn’t here, wasn’t with her or waiting on her or wanting her, she still felt as if he’d just kissed her.

The burr in her throat melted as the rest of the palmier disappeared between her lips.

Squawk
!
Squawk
!

The ring of her phone echoed down the hall from the bedroom. For a second, her mind zoomed to the thought of Alex, but common sense swamped the wish immediately. That would be Jake firming up their plans for this afternoon. Dropping the pastry, she rushed to her bedroom and grabbed the phone as it chirped its last ring. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” Jake’s voice came through the line, scratchy and hoarse.

“You’re hungover.”

“Yep,” he said with cheer. “I sure am. Will’s even worse.”

“You both better be in tiptop shape this afternoon.”

“We will.” He slurped some kind of drink before talking again. “I wouldn’t miss filming in the talented Monsieur Paol’s bakery.”

“I can’t wait to get there.” A shiver of excitement ran through her. To be allowed into the hallowed building of the greatest pastry chef in the world—it was almost too much to take in.

“Remember to keep your focus on Paol and not on that handsome fiancé of yours.” Jake chuckled at his own jest.

The fizz of connection with Alex, the fragile hope she’d allowed to bloom inside her unnoticed, the tiny, delicate imagining that perhaps Alexander the Great thought she might be perfect—

“Soph?” Her assistant’s voice went hesitant. “I was kidding.”

“Alex won’t be there. He’s busy.” And too perfect. Whatever he was trying to do by leaving these gifts strewn around the apartment didn’t amount to much. His actions shouldn’t be something she focused on.

Sophie frowned at her reflection in the circular mirror overhanging the king-sized bed. This excitement for her business was what was important. Not a fleeting infatuation with Alex Stravoudas. Her career was what was important, not Mr. Perfect.

“Soph?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” She was. Totally. She’d slid for a moment; she’d let herself mope around for a few days, but now she’d found solid ground once more.

Pure Pastry.

Her business.

The TV show.

These were the only things that were important.

B
y the time
she’d completed the long session at the Paol bakery, darkness had fallen on the city. Sophie was ready to get into that gloriously big tub with a nice glass of wine and call it a day.

Thank goodness she didn’t have to deck herself out and go to the emir’s.

Hugging Will and Jake and wishing them a safe journey home tomorrow, she pulled her peacoat around her and marched toward the apartment. All the taping was done and the only thing she had left to do in Paris was wait two more days until Alex and Henry got the emir to sign on the dotted line.

Two days to explore Paris.

She should be jumping for joy, licking her lips, planning her remaining time in the City of Lights.

Sophie took a deep breath in, and then sighed.

She didn’t want to go out tonight. Leftovers from last night’s dinner were still in the fridge and she had almost a half a bottle of wine. Since Alex would have left for the emir’s by now, that meant she’d have the enchanting apartment all to herself to wallow in…

Happiness.

Happiness, dammit.

Another deep breath ended with another deep sigh.

Jake and Will had both told her the tapes from these past days were amazing. Freddie had called to tell her she was going to become a national star. Tamika had sent her a taped Skype message saying business was booming and Sophie’s dad was a gem to work with.

Every one of her dreams about her business and her career were coming true.

Sophia Charlotte Feuer should be happy.

Dammit.

She threw open the front door of the apartment building with a bang.

“
Mademoiselle.
” The old snob—Marcel, that was his name—lurched out of his chair. “Please be careful of the door.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled as she stomped toward the stairs.

As she slid the card through the apartment door’s lock, she made herself a promise. Tomorrow, first thing, she was going to make a busy plan to explore every inch of Paris until she was exhausted. Then she’d drag herself back to this beautiful home and fall into bed with not a thought about—

Alex stood at the window staring at the Eiffel Tower.

His unexpected presence stunned her to an abrupt stop. “What are you doing here?”

He glanced over his shoulder, throwing her a haughty look that immediately stoked her temper. “This is my family’s home?”

“I meant,” she slammed the door behind her, “you’re supposed to be at the emir’s.”

He shrugged. “I don’t have to be there tonight. Henry’s going through the final figures with him.”

“It’s a done deal?”

The broad shoulders shrugged again. “Looks like it.”

Pulling off her coat, she threw it on the nearest chair. “You don’t seem very happy about it.”

“Do you want me to jump up and down in joy?” he scoffed. Turning, he walked to the other end of the room to glower down at the boulevard. “Perhaps I should scream with delight?”

Sophie stared at him. “My. We are in a fantastic mood.”

He stuffed his big hands in the pockets of his pants and brooded. She could tell this by the way he lowered his head, sending the flow of his golden ponytail slightly askew.

How had she come to know him so well?

The burr in her throat reappeared.

Silence descended. A thick, uncomfortable one. One she wanted to break, but couldn’t think of anything to say to him.

His hands fisted in his pockets.

With a shock, she realized he wasn’t wearing his usual power suit and power tie and power shoes. She’d been so jolted by his presence and his mood, she hadn’t taken in the details of his appearance.

He had on a ratty pair of jeans, almost as ratty as her favorite pair. His T-shirt was old too, navy and tattered, something that looked like he’d pulled it out of the garbage. And he wore no shoes—his big feet matched his brutish hands.

“Are you all right?” The words burst from her.

He swung around, a scowl on his handsome face. “I’m fine. Perfectly fine.”

“You aren’t.”

“How would you know?” He marched across the room to her peacoat lying on the silk-covered curule and glared at it as if her coat were a personal affront.

“Go ahead. Yell at me about hanging my coat in the closet where it belongs.” A bubble of excitement rose inside, a stupid, asinine response to this man’s moodiness, yet there it was. Fighting with Alex made her insides go frizzy.

“If I started to yell about what you leave around here.” He waved at the jumble of her shoes by the side of the door before pointing at the two sweaters she’d left on the back of an antique sofa yesterday. “I’d never stop.”

“Come on.” She grinned at him. “Yelling at me will make you feel better.”

He kept his glare on her coat. “I’m not yelling.”

“You want to. I know you do.” Fearless, she stepped into his personal space and gave him an even bigger smile. “I can take it.”

When he finally lifted his gaze to meet hers, the turmoil in his eyes—the agitated azure fighting with the churning cerulean—made her take a step back.

The smile fell off her face.

“I don’t need to feel better.” He paced to the window and stared at the Eiffel Tower once more. “I feel fine as it is.”

Maybe she had it all wrong, but by the unfamiliar slump of his broad shoulders, she didn’t think so.

Alex was hurting. He was troubled.

A flash of intense desire shot through her. Not a desire for his kiss or his body. Rather, this was an intense desire to help him, make it, whatever
it
was, right for him.

“Let’s go out.” She grabbed her coat and jerked it back on. “Put on some shoes.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere,” he growled.

“Don’t be a spoilsport.” Yanking open the closet door, she pulled out his trench coat. “Here. Put this on. We’re leaving.”