The Fallen Greek Bride\At the Greek Boss's Bidding (27 page)

“Yiassis,”
she said, raising her glass and clinking it with his.
To your health.

“Yiassis,”
he answered.

And then silence fell, and the stillness felt wrong. Something was wrong. She just knew it.

Kristian shifted, and a small muscle suddenly pulled in his cheek. Elizabeth watched him, feeling a rise in tension.

The mood at the table was suddenly different.

Kristian suddenly seemed so alone, so cut off in his world. “What’s wrong?” she asked nervously, fearing that she’d said something, done something to upset him.

He shook his head.

“Did I do something?” she persisted.

“No.”

“Kristian.” Her tone was pleading. “Tell me.”

His jaw worked, the hard line of his cheekbone growing even more prominent, and he laughed, the sound rough and raw. “I wish to God I could see you.”

For a moment she didn’t know what to say or do, as heat rushed through her. And then the heat receded, leaving her chilled. “Why?” she whispered.

“I just want to see you.”

Her face grew hot all over again, and this time the warmth stayed, flooding her limbs, making her feel far too sensitive. “Why? I’m just another battleaxe.”

“Ohi.”
No. “Hardly.”

Her hand shook as she adjusted her silverware. “You don’t know that—”

“I know how you sound, and smell. I know you barely reach my shoulder—even in heels—and I know how your skin feels—impossibly smooth, and soft, like the most delicate satin or flower.”

“I think you’ve found your old pain meds.”

His dark head tipped. His blue eyes fixed on her. “And I think you’re afraid of being with me.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.” She reached for her water glass and took a quick sip of the bubbly mineral water, but drank so much that the bubbles ended up stinging her nose. “I’m not afraid,” she said, returning the glass to a table covered in white crisp linen and flickering with soft ivory candlelight and shadows. “How could I be afraid of you?”

His lips barely curved. “I’m not nice, like other men.”

Her heart nearly fell. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “I’m not going to even dignify that with a response.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re baiting me,” she said.

He surprised her by laughing. “My clever girl.”

Her heart jumped again, and an icy hot shiver raced through her. Liquid fire in her veins.
His clever girl.
He was torturing her now. Making her want to be more than she was, making her want to have more than she did. Not more things, but more love.

His love.

But he was promised, practically engaged. And she’d been through hell and back with one man who hadn’t been able to keep his word, or honor his commitments. Including his marriage vows.

“Kristian, I can’t do this.” She would have gotten up and run if there had been anywhere to go. “I can’t play these games with you.”

His forehead furrowed, emphasizing the scar running down his cheek. “What games?”

“These...this...whatever you call this. Us.” She shook her head, unable to get the words out. “I know what you said earlier, that tonight we’re not patient and nurse, we’re just a man and...woman. But that’s not right. You’re wrong. I
am
your nurse. That’s all I am, all I can be.”

He leaned back and rested one arm on the table, his hand relaxed. His expression turned speculative. “And will you still be my nurse when you return to London in two days?”

“Three days.”

“Two days.”

She held her breath, her fingers balling into fists and then slowly exhaled.

His mouth tugged and lines deepened near his lips, emphasizing the beautiful planes of his face. “Elizabeth,
latrea mou,
let us not play games, as you say. Why do you have to go back?”

“I have a business to run—and, Kristian, so do you. Your officers and board of directors are desperate for you to return to Athens and take leadership again.”

“I can do it from Taygetos.”

She shook her head, impatient. “No, you can’t. Not properly. There are appointments, conferences, press meetings—”

“Others can do it,” he said dismissively.

Staring at him, she felt her frustration grow. He’d
never sounded so arrogant as he did now. “But
you
are Koumantaros. You are the one investors believe in and the one your business partners want to meet with.
You
are essential to Koumantaros Incorporated’s success.”

He nearly snapped his fingers, rejecting her arguments. “Did Cosima put you up to this?”

“No. Of course not. And that’s not the issue here anyway. The issue is you resuming your responsibilities.”

“Elizabeth, I still head the corporation.”

“But absent leadership?” She made a soft scoffing sound. “It’s not effective, and, frankly, it’s not you.”

“How can one little Englishwoman have so many opinions about things she knows so little about?”

Elizabeth’s cheeks flamed. “I know you better than you think,” she flashed.

“I’m referring to the corporate world—”

“I am a business owner.”

It was his turn to scoff. “Which we’ve already established isn’t well managed at all.”

Hurt, she abruptly drew back and stared at him. “That was unkind. And unnecessary.”

He shrugged off her rebuke. “But true. Your agency provided me with exceptionally poor care. Propositioned and then blackmailed by one nurse, and demeaned by the others.”

She threw her napkin down and pushed her chair back. “Maybe you were an exceptionally poor patient.”

“Is that possible?”

“Possible?”
she repeated, her voice quavering with anger and indignation. “My God, you’re even more conceited than I dreamed.
Possible?”
She drew a swift breath. “Do you want the truth? No more sugar-coated words?”

“Don’t start mincing words now,” he drawled, sounding as bored as he looked.

Her fingers flexed, and blood pumped through her veins. She wanted to smack him, she really did. “Truth, Kristian—
you
were impossible. You were the worst patient in the history of my agency, and we take care of hundreds of patients every year. I’ve had my business for years, and never encountered anyone as self-absorbed and manipulative as you.”

She took another quick breath. “And another thing—do you think I
wanted
to leave my office, put aside my obligations, to rush to your side? Do you think this was a holiday for me to come to Greece? No. And no again. But I did it because no one else would, and you had a girlfriend desperate to see you whole and well.”

Legs shaking, Elizabeth staggered to her feet. “Speaking of your girlfriend, it’s time you gave her a call. I’m done here. It’s Cosima’s turn to be with you now!”

CHAPTER NINE

E
LIZABETH
RUSHED
OUT
of the restaurant, past the three other tables of patrons. But no sooner had she stepped outside into the decidedly cooler night air than she felt assailed by shame. She’d just walked out on Kristian Koumantaros, one of Greece’s most powerful and beloved tycoons.

As gusts of wind whistled past the building, perched on the mountain edge, she hugged her arms close, chilled, overwhelmed. She’d left a man who couldn’t see alone, to find his own way out. And worst of all, she thought, tugging windblown tendrils behind her ears, she’d left in the middle of the meal. Meals were almost as sacred as family in Greece.

She was falling apart, she thought, putting a hand to her thigh to keep her skirt from billowing out. Her feelings were so intense she was finding it difficult to be around Kristian. She was overly emotional and too sensitive. And this was why she had to leave—not because she couldn’t still do good here, but because she wondered if she couldn’t manage her own emotions, how could she possibly help him manage his?

In London things would be different.

In London she wouldn’t see Kristian.

In London she’d be in control.

A bitter taste filled her mouth and she immediately shook her head, unable to bear the thought that just days from now she’d be gone and he’d be out of her life.

How could she leave him?

And yet how could she remain?

In the meantime she was standing outside Kristian’s favorite restaurant while he sat alone inside. God, what a mess.

She had to go back in there. Had to apologize. Try to make amends before the evening was completely destroyed.

With a deep breath, she turned and walked through the front door, out of the night, which was rapidly growing stormy. Chilly. She rubbed at her arms and returned to their table, where Kristian waited.

He was sitting still, head averted, and yet from his profile she could see his pallor and the strain at his jaw and mouth.

He was as upset as she was.

Heart sinking, Elizabeth sat down. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, fighting the salty sting of tears. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

“It’s not your fault. Don’t apologize.”

“Everything just feels wrong—”

“It’s not you. It’s me.” His dense black lashes dropped. He hesitated, as though trying to find the right words. “I knew you’d need to go back, but I didn’t expect you’d say it was so soon—didn’t expect the announcement today.”

She searched his face. It was a face she loved.
Loved.
And while the word initially took her by surprise, she also recognized it was true. “Kristian, I’m not leaving
you.
I’m just returning to my office and the work that awaits me there.”

He hesitated a long time before picking up his wine glass, but setting it back down without taking a drink. “You couldn’t move your office here?”

“Temporarily?”

“Permanently.”

She didn’t understand. “I didn’t make this miracle, Kristian. It was you. It was your focus, your drive, your hours of work—”

“But I didn’t care about getting better, didn’t care about much of anything, until
you
arrived. And now I do.”

“That’s because you’re healing.”

“So don’t leave while I’m still healing. Don’t go when everything finally feels good again.”

She closed her eyes, hope and pain streaking through her like twin forks of lightning. “But if I move my office here, if I remain here to help you...”

“Yes?”

She shook her head. “What about me? What happens to me when you’re healed? When you’re well?” She was grateful he couldn’t see the tears in her eyes, or how she was forced to madly dash them away before anyone at the restaurant could see. “Once you’ve gotten whatever you need from me, do I just pack my things and go back to London again?”

He said nothing, his expression hard, grim.

“Kristian, forgive me, but sometimes being here in Greece is torture.” She knotted her hands in her lap, thinking that the words were coming out all wrong but he had to realize that, while she didn’t want to hurt him, she also had to protect herself. She was too attached to him already. Leaving him, losing him, would hurt so much. But remaining to watch him reunite with another woman would break her heart. “I like you, Kristian,” she whispered. “Really like you—”

“And I like you. Very much.”

“It’s not the same.”

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this. I only know what I think. And I believe you belong here. With me.”

He was saying words she’d wanted to hear, but not in the context she needed them. He wanted her because she was convenient and helpful, supportive while still challenging. Yet the relationship he was describing wasn’t one of love, but usefulness. He wanted her company because it would benefit him. But how would
she
benefit by staying?

“Elizabeth,
latrea mou,
” he added, voice deepening. “I need you.”

Latrea mou.
Darling. Devoted one.

His voice and words were buried inside her heart. Again tears filled her eyes, and again she was forced to brush them swiftly away. “No wonder you had mistresses on every continent,” she said huskily. “You know exactly what women want to hear.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

She wiped away another tear. “I’m making an observation.”

“It’s not accurate.”

“Cosima said—”

“This isn’t working, is it? Let’s just go.” Kristian abruptly rose, and even before he’d straightened the restaurant owner had rushed over. “I’m sorry,” Kristian apologized stiffly, his expression shuttered. “We’re going to be leaving.”

“
Kyrie,
everything is ready. We’re just about to carry out the plates,” the owner said, clasping his hands together and looking from one to the other. “You are sure?”

Kristian didn’t hesitate. “I am sure.” He reached into his pocket, retrieved his wallet and cash. “Will you let my driver know?”

“Yes, Kyrie Kristian.” The other man nodded. “At least let me have your meal packed to go. Maybe later you will be hungry and want a little plate of something, yes?”

“Thank you.”

Five minutes later they were in the car, sitting at opposite ends of the passenger seat as the wind gusted and howled outside. Fat raindrops fell heavily against the windshield. Kristian stonily faced forward while Elizabeth, hands balled against her stomach, stared out the car window at the passing scenery, although most of it was too dark to see.

She didn’t understand what had happened in the restaurant tonight. Everything had been going so well until they’d sat down, and then...

And then...what? Was it Cosima? Her departure? What?

As the car wound its way back down the mountain, she squeezed her knuckled fists, her insides a knot of regret and disappointment. The evening was a disaster, and she’d been so excited earlier, too.

“What happened?” she finally asked, breaking the miserably tense silence. “Everything seemed fine in the helicopter.”

He didn’t answer and, turning, she looked at him, stared at him pointedly, waiting for him to speak. He had to talk. He had to communicate.

But he wouldn’t say a word. He sat there, tall, dark, impossibly remote, as though he lived in a different world.

“Kristian,” she whispered. “You’re being horrible. Don’t do this. Don’t be like this—”

His jaw hardened and his lashes flickered, but that was his only response, and she thought she could hate him in that moment—hate him not just now, but forever.

To be shut out, to be ignored. It was the worst punishment she could think of. So unbelievably hard to bear.

“The weather is going to be a problem,” he said at last. “We won’t be able to fly. Unfortunately we are unable to return to Taygetos tonight. We’ll be staying in the capital city, Chora.”

The driver had long ago merged with traffic, driving into and through a harbor town. If this was the capital city it wasn’t very big. They were now paralleling the coast, passing houses, churches and shops, nearly all already closed for the night. And far off in the distance a vast hulking fortress dwarfed the whitewashed town.

As the windshield wipers rhythmically swished, Elizabeth gazed out the passenger window, trying to get a better look at the fortress. It sat high above the city, on a rock of its own. In daylight the fortress would have an amazing view of the coast, but like the rest of Chora it was dark now, and even more atmospheric, with the rain slashing down.

“You’ve booked us into a hotel?” she asked, glimpsing a church steeple inside the miniature walled town.

“We won’t be at a hotel. We’ll be staying in a private home.”

She glanced at him, her feelings still hurt. “Friends?”

“No. It’s mine.” He shifted wearily. “My home. One of my homes.”

They were so close to the fortress she could see the distinct stones that shaped the mammoth walls. “Are we far from your home?”

“I don’t think so, no. But I confess I’m not entirely sure where we are at the moment.”

Of course—he couldn’t see. And he wouldn’t automatically know which direction they were going, or the current road they were traveling on. “We’re heading toward a castle.”

“Then we’re almost there.”

“We’re staying near the castle?”

“We’re staying
at
the castle.”

“Your home is a castle?”

“It’s one of my properties.”

Her brows pulled. “How many properties do you have?”

“A few.”

“Like this?”

“They’re all a bit different. The monastery in Taygetos, the castle here, and other estates in other places.”

“Are they all so...grand?”

“They’re all historic. Some are in ruins when I purchase them; some are already in operation. But that’s what I do. It’s one of the companies in the Koumantaros portfolio. I buy historic properties and find different ways to make them profitable.”

Elizabeth turned her attention back to the fortress, with its thick walls and towers and turrets looming before them. “And this is a real castle?”

“Venetian,” he agreed. “Begun in the thirteenth century and finished in the fifteenth century.”

“So what do you do with it?”

He made a soft, mocking sound. “My accountants would tell you I don’t do enough, that it’s an enormous drain on my resources, but after purchasing it three years ago I couldn’t bear to turn it into a five-star luxury resort as planned.”

“So you stay here?”

“I’ve reserved a wing for my private use, but I haven’t visited since before the accident.”

“So it essentially sits empty?”

The wind suddenly howled, and rain buffeted the car. Elizabeth didn’t know if it was the weather or her question, but Kristian smiled faintly. “You’re sounding like my accountants now. But, no, to answer your question. It’s not empty. I’ve been working with an Italian architect and designer to slowly—carefully—turn wings and suites into upscale apartments. Two suites are leased now. By next year I hope to lease two or three more, and then that’s it.”

The car slowed and then stopped, and an iron gate opened. The driver got out and came round to open their door. “We’re here.”

A half-dozen uniformed employees appeared from nowhere. Before Elizabeth quite understood what was happening, she was being whisked in one direction and Kristian in another.

Left alone in an exquisite suite of rooms, she felt a stab of confusion.

Where on earth was she now?

The feeling was strongly reminiscent of how she’d been as a child, the only daughter of Rupert Stile, the fourth richest man in America, as she and her parents had traveled from one sumptuous hotel to the next.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t had houses of their own—they’d had dozens—but her mother had loved accompanying her father on his trips, and so they had all traveled together, the young heiress and her nannies too.

Back then, though, she wasn’t Elizabeth Hatchet but Grace Elizabeth Stiles, daughter of a billionaire a hundred times over. It had been a privileged childhood, made only more enviable when she had matured from pampered daughter status to being the next high-society beauty.

Comfortable in the spotlight, at ease with the media, she’d enjoyed her debutante year and the endless round of parties. Invitations had poured in from all over the world, as had exquisite designer clothes made for her specifically.

It had been so much power for a twenty-year-old. Too much. She’d had her own money, her own plane, and her own publicist. When men wined her and dined her—and they
had
wined
and dined her—the dates had made tabloid news.

Enter handsome Greek tycoon Nico. Being young, she’d had no intention of settling down so soon, but he’d swept her off her feet. Dazzled her completely with attention, affection, tender gifts and more. Within six months they’d been engaged. At twenty-three she’d had the fairy-tale wedding of her dreams.

Seven and a half months after her wedding she had discovered him in bed with another woman.

She’d stayed with him because he’d begged for another chance, promised to get counseling, vowed he’d change. But by their first anniversary he’d cheated again. And again. And again.

The divorce had been excruciating. Nico had demanded half her wealth and launched a public campaign to vilify her. She was selfish, shallow, self-absorbed—a spoiled little rich girl intent on controlling him and embarrassing him. She’d emasculated him by trying to control the purse strings. She’d refused to have conjugal relations.

By the time the settlement had been reached, she hadn’t been able to stand herself. She wasn’t any of the things Nico said, and yet the public believed what they were told—or maybe she’d begun to believe the horribly negative press, too. Because by the end, Grace detested her name, her fortune, and the very public character assassination.

Moving to England, she’d changed her name, enrolled in nursing school and become someone else—someone stable and solid and practical.

But now that same someone was back in Greece, and the two lives felt very close to colliding.