Playing the Playboy (3 page)

And she was about to fuck him—not just because it was strategic but because she genuinely wanted to.

She actually
wanted
him.

Suddenly, she couldn’t stand to be close to him. She planted her hands on his chest and pushed him away.

She hadn’t been rough, but Andrew took an awkward step back. His face was damp with perspiration, and he was obviously pretty far gone.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, rubbing her face to try to get her mind to work again. “I don’t do this. I can’t do this.”

“Wait,” Andrew said, grabbing her arm as she started to walk away. “At least—”

She shook off his grip. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

She hurried away, and this time he didn’t follow.

She just needed to get away from him.

The security footage would have caught their kiss, but that wouldn’t be enough to threaten the Damons with exposure, as she’d originally planed.

Andrew would show up at her inn tomorrow. He would be awkward and surprised and rattled, but it wouldn’t be enough.

She was desperate. She was about to lose everything. But she wasn’t as strong as she’d thought.

Laurel cried a little as she drove back to her little inn in Oia, back to Hector and Agatha, the elderly couple who served as her live-in domestic staff, and back to her three German Shepherds.

She had no idea what had happened today, but one thing she knew for sure.

Her Master Plan was never going to work.

Andrew arrived at the inn, which was just on the edge of the quaint city of Oia, two hours before his scheduled appointment time the following morning.

Maybe it was a hollow gesture, since he’d completely blown off yesterday, but arriving two hours early was at least an attempt to follow typical Damon strategy.

Besides, it was better than lying in bed and thinking about the beautiful, mysterious woman who had run out on him the day before—something that was bothering him more than it should.

After parking the car he’d rented the day before, he walked down a set of very steep steps, which were built into the cliff wall and led down to the level of the main building.

The stairs were a hazard and were clearly not handicapped accessible. The first thing that needed to be done when they took possession of this property was rebuild the stairs so they were safe and accessible.

The front patio area was pleasant, with a couple of café tables, potted ferns, and colorful flowers, but it was also very small.

Andrew brainstormed on possibilities as he walked—not into the lobby at the main entrance—but around the building and down some more stairs to the second building.

Like most properties on Santorini, the inn was built into the cliff face and so it was divided into several levels and a number of small, white-washed buildings, connected by stone steps and walkways.

He looked around. The location was ideal and the inn was charming, but he found a number of major improvements that would need to be done to bring the property up to Damon standards.
There was also the problem of the adjoining property, which was evidently a small, low-rent hotel that catered to college students. Even at this time of day, the pool next door was rowdy. The wall between the properties really needed to be built up to muffle the noise.

He finally walked up the steps leading to the level that was farthest from the main building. He opened a turquoise-colored gate into a scrubby yard that didn’t have the furnishings of the other terraces. He looked around, wondering why this part of the inn had been ignored, since it was big enough for a large outdoor sitting area—maybe even another pool.

The cliffside gave way to a small cave, and he walked toward it in interest. Many of the houses and buildings on the island were built out from caves in the cliff. If that cave could be built out, it would add substantial square footage to the property.

He peered into the cave and was about to step in when a ferocious snarl startled him.

He stepped back instinctively and then kept stepping back when a very large German Shepherd advanced on him, growling threateningly under its breath.

“Let’s not be melodramatic,” Andrew said, keeping his voice calm. “I didn’t mean to invade your home. I didn’t even know you were there.”

Before he’d finished speaking, however, two more German Shepherds emerged from the cave, stalking just behind the first.

“Perfect,” he muttered, his heartbeat accelerating as he moved into crisis-mode. “Just perfect.” He’d never live it down if he got mauled by dogs during a hotel inspection.

What the hell was this Grayson woman thinking, letting animals like this loose in a commercial property.

Deciding it was worth a try, he said in his most authoritative voice. “Sit.”

All three dogs stopped snarling and sat.

Andrew blinked in surprise.

Deciding not to press his luck, he took a step backwards in order to leave the yard enclosure, but his foot landed in a hole one of the dogs must have dug. His ankle turned, and he ended up on the ground in an embarrassing sprawl.

Fortunately, the dogs were the only ones to witness it. They came over immediately and stuck their noses in his face to see if he was all right.

“What’s going on?” a female voice demanded from behind him. “Theo, Circe, Persephone.
Come
.”

The extravagantly-named dogs all trotted happily over to the owner of the voice as Andrew heaved himself up and brushed futilely at the mud on his trousers, wishing he hadn’t been in such an undignified position to confront Laurel Grayson.

The woman had married a much older man eight years ago, no doubt for his money. She hadn’t chosen wisely, though, since Jerry Grayson had made a number of bad investments and had filed for bankruptcy before he’d had the heart attack that killed him. The inn was in his wife’s name, which had protected it from his creditors, but his widow was clearly naïve and selfish, since she’d ignored all of their attempts to communicate with her about their claim to the inn until they’d been forced to file an injunction to keep her from opening the property to guests until the legal ownership could be determined.

He had a certain picture in his mind of what Grayson’s widow would look like.

Never in his wildest dreams would he have expected to find the irresistible stranger from the day before.

She wore shorts and a tank-top, as she had yesterday, but her hair was now braided into two long braids, there was dirt on her legs and hands, and she carried a basket of vegetables.

Andrew had absolutely no idea what she was doing here.

“What are you
doing
here?” she demanded, clearly as stunned as he was as she processed his presence.

His first response was irrational. He was suddenly afraid she would think he was some creepy stalker. “I didn’t follow you or anything. I didn’t even know you were here. I have an appointment with Laurel Grayson.”

She frowned. “What were you doing to my dogs?”

“I wasn’t doing anything to them.” Then it finally registered in his brain. “
Your
dogs. So you’re…”

“Laurel Grayson. And you’re—”

“Andrew Damon,” he admitted. “I guess we have an appointment.”

She recovered from the surprise more quickly than he did. “Why are you here so early? I wasn’t expecting you for a couple of hours.”

“Yeah. I came early to look around. You should really do something with this yard, though. It’s a hazard with all these holes. And the dogs might be a problem to some guests. Even if they’re well-trained, they look rather intimidating.”

“I never asked you for advice on what to do with my dogs or my yard.” Her voice was cold and clipped, nothing at all as it had been the day before.

She’d been such a fascinating contradiction yesterday—competent yet vulnerable, friendly yet strangely distant. She was obviously gorgeous, but there was something else about her he was drawn to in a way he hadn’t been with a woman for a really long time.

He wiped his hands on his pants, smearing more dirt on them. How Harrison would laugh if he could see him now, making a complete mess of what should have been a fairly straightforward job.

Even knowing who she was, Andrew was still attracted to Laurel. The slightly girlish braids and the mud on her bare skin did nothing to change how sexy she was. He suddenly wanted her so much his body reacted.

He remembered how it had felt to kiss her the day before, how passionately she had responded.

She seemed to make an effort to compose a polite smile. “Sorry if the dogs knocked you down.”

“They didn’t knock me down. I stepped in a hole.”

“Oh. Okay.” She stared down at the basket she still held.

“Were you picking vegetables?” Andrew asked, rather stupidly. It seemed so strange to see her with the basket of produce.

“Yeah. I have a little garden.” She nodded in the direction she’d come in. “I need to get cleaned up some. And so do you. Then maybe we can talk.”

That sounded like a reasonable plan, so Andrew followed her, but he was very uncomfortable with the events of the morning.

He was used to easing his way through life, charming his way out of any awkward situation.

But this was as awkward a situation as he could think of, and he could still feel his body respond as he walked up the steps behind Laurel, watching the long graceful line of her legs and the smooth curve of her ass.

Maybe she really was selfish and shallow and had married just for money, but he wanted her anyway.

Either all of his notorious skill with women had deserted him, or Laurel wasn’t like any women he’d ever met.

Whichever it was, Andrew needed to get things back to his even keel. Fast.

***

Laurel’s back was getting sore.

She got up at five in the morning every day to work in her kitchen garden or clean or do odd jobs around the inn. She had limited funds for domestic staff—and even more so this season since the Damons’s injunction had prevented her from earning money on guests—so she, Hector, and Agatha now did almost all the work.

Even without guests, there was always a lot of work to do around the place, since she was barely keeping it from falling down around her, despite all the love and effort she’d poured into it for several years.

Whenever she worked too hard, however, her back started to hurt, after she’d injured it a couple of years ago when she and Hector were resurfacing the pool, and she knew she needed to take it easy now or her back would go out completely.

She was upset about the Damon situation and even more upset this morning about what had happened with Andrew the day before. When she was upset, she buried her problems with simple, mindless labor.

Which was why she’d been working for two hours in the garden that morning before she found Andrew sprawled out on the ground in the dog’s yard.

She’d been so startled by his appearance that she hadn’t remembered to put on the act she’d strategized in bed last night. She’d decided the only thing she could do now was try to get Andrew to feel sorry for her by acting fluttery and upset and taken advantage of.

Andrew seemed to have a soft heart beneath all the lazy indulgence. Since her original plan wasn’t going to work out, she figured at least she could try to get him on her side.

Instead, she’d been almost rude. She was always curt when she felt flustered or felt like things were spiraling out of control.

She told him she’d show him to a room where he could clean up some, since he was almost as muddy as she was.

“Let me take that,” he said, reaching for the basket of vegetables she still held. He smiled at her, his startlingly green eyes scanning her from her messy hair to her dirty sandals. She had no idea what he was thinking.

“Oh, no. I’ve got—” She broke off when he simply took the basket out of her hands. “Thanks,” she said, hiding her annoyance. She was half-tempted to snatch the basket back. “They go in the kitchen.”

They’d reached the main building, and she reached for the kitchen door, trying not to bristle. She didn’t like presumptuous people. She didn’t like anyone insisting on helping her. She’d always managed fine on her own.

She knew, after she’d married Jerry, that people thought she was a fortune-hunter, marrying a rich man who was fifteen years her senior for the lifestyle he could give her. She’d never lived on his income, though. The only thing of high monetary value he’d ever given her was this inn, and that she’d managed entirely on her own.

She’d met Jerry at the bar in West Virginia, after she’d been promoted to a manager. She’d found him confident and sophisticated and unlike any man she’d ever met. She’d fallen for him hard, and the marriage wasn’t an unhappy one.

She’d learned, however, not to rely on even her husband. He’d kept his financial problems from her until it was too late for her to help.

Things always worked better when she relied on only herself.

“Did you hear me?” Andrew asked.

Laurel gave a little jerk and stumbled a little on the step into the kitchen. “I’m sorry—what did you say?”

“Are the dogs allowed inside?”

Laurel looked past him and saw the dogs waiting in a row behind him. She smiled at the sight. Theo, the male, was always first. Then Persephone. Then submissive Circe. “Of course.”

“Your guests are okay with three German Shepherds hanging about inside?”

His tone sounded so dubious that she bristled. “We have no guests at the moment,” she replied coolly. Then she realized she was supposed to be getting him on her side. She really wasn’t any good at this. She transformed her face into a smile. “Except you, of course,” she added. “I can send them outside if they bother you.

Andrew’s lips twitched again. “The dogs are fine.”

In the kitchen, Agatha was peeling potatoes. The older woman peered suspiciously at Andrew as he set the basket of vegetables on the table.

Laurel said good morning to Agatha and then, trying to act more gracious than she felt, asked Andrew, “Did you want any coffee?”

“Water would be great. Thanks.”

At Laurel’s nod, Agatha went to get a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

“Thanks for carrying those in for me,” Laurel said in an attempt to sound helpless and grateful.

Andrew looked down at her with a whimsical smile. “No problem.”

“What?” she demanded, feeling strangely embarrassed at his expression.

“You look like Pocahontas in those braids,” he murmured, flicking one of them with his finger.