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What the Greek Can't Resist
Maya Blake
One night to change everything…CEO Arion Pantelides is always in control – but for one night he gave in to oblivion with a stunning stranger. Yet passion is quickly matched by fury when Arion – prizing honesty above all else – discovers the woman who came undone in his arms has only recently been widowed…Perla Lowell’s marriage was a painful sham, so now – penniless and alone – she refuses to let this dark-hearted Greek intimidate her. But when Arion offers Perla a chance to prove herself she’ll show him she has nothing to hide! Until she discovers she’s pregnant with his child…Discover more atwww.millsandboon.co.uk/mayablake
Arion reached into his desk and slid across a small black triangular piece of gleaming plastic.
There were no markings on it. It might have been one of those if-you-had-to-apply-for-it-you-couldn’t-afford-it credit cards reserved for multibillionaires. She’d read about them in a magazine once. Or it might have been a loyalty card for die-hard coffee addicts. Perla had no way of telling.
She looked from the card to Arion’s face. ‘What’s that for?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘That card lets you into that lift. The lift will take you straight to my penthouse. You’ll wait for me there—’
‘No.’ Perla stopped what was coming before he could finish.
His nostrils flared. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I won’t do … whatever it is you have in mind. I know what you think of me, but you’re wrong. What happened between us that night wasn’t cheap and it wasn’t tawdry. Not for me at least. And I despise you for thinking I’d stoop that low to get you to help me—’
‘Be quiet for one second and listen.’
The rough command in his voice dried her words.
‘You have nowhere to stay. I have a meeting in … exactly eight minutes—which will last for five hours. Minimum. Unless you intend to wander the streets in the rain until I’m finished, my offer is the best you’re going to get.’
Surprise stamped through her. ‘Oh, you mean you want me to go up and just … wait for you?’ she asked.
‘Why, Mrs Lowell, you sound disappointed …’
THE UNTAMEABLE GREEKS
Rich, powerful and impossible to resist
Sakis, Arion and Theo Pantelides—three formidable brothers who have risen up from the darkness of their pasts to conquer the world. Powerful, gorgeous and fabulously wealthy, these deliciously arrogant Greeks can have any woman they want—but none will ever tame them.
Until now?
WHAT THE GREEK’S MONEY CAN’T BUY April 2014
Sakis is hungry to give in to the forbidden temptation of his buttoned-up PA—but will the cynical Greek pay the price for breaking his golden rule?
WHAT THE GREEK CAN’T RESIST June 2014
Perla Lowell is the last woman Arion should want yet he can’t deny himself one night with this irresistible temptress—but what will happen when the dark-hearted Greek discovers the consequences of succumbing to his desire?
Don’t miss Theo’s story, coming soon!
What the Greek
Can’t Resist
Maya Blake
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MAYA BLAKE fell in love with the world of the alpha male and the strong, aspirational heroine when she borrowed her sister’s Mills & Boon
at age thirteen. Shortly thereafter the dream to plot a happy ending for her own characters was born. Writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon
is a dream come true. Maya lives in South East England with her husband and two kids. Reading is an absolute passion, but when she isn’t lost in a book she likes to swim, cycle, travel and Tweet!
You can get in touch with her
via e-mail at mayablake@ymail.com (mailto:mayablake@ymail.com), or on Twitter: www.twitter.com/mayablake (http://www.twitter.com/mayablake)
Recent titles by the same author:
WHAT THE GREEK’S MONEY CAN’T BUY
(The Untamable Greeks) HIS ULTIMATE PRIZE MARRIAGE MADE OF SECRETS THE SINFUL ART OF REVENGE
Did you know these are also available as eBooks?Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
CHAPTER ONE (#u13780cd3-b141-5479-856d-2a9313aeb8d6)
CHAPTER TWO (#u928ca6f4-550f-566c-a91c-e82a169fb191)
CHAPTER THREE (#u372d3d67-f365-5695-8e10-f655cb321622)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u368467f1-8027-5453-a388-20c4ca4d9f06)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
THE CAR PARK was as quiet as she’d hoped it would be. Inside her trusted Mini’s soothing cocoon, Perla Lowell bit the tip of her pen and searched fruitlessly for the right words.
Four lines. Four paltry lines in two hours were all she’d managed to come up with. She swallowed her despair. Three short days from now she’d have to stand up in front of friends and family and make a speech...
And she had no words.
No, scratch that. She had words. But none rang true. Because the truth... No, she couldn’t...wouldn’t subject anyone to the truth. Her whole life for the past three years had been a colossal lie. Was it any wonder her hands shook every time she tried to write? That her heart pounded with self-loathing for the lies she had to perpetuate for the sake of appearances?
But how could she do anything else? How could she repay kindness with humiliation? Because doing or saying anything else other than what was expected would bring devastation that she couldn’t live with.
Anger mingled with despair. With a vicious twist she ripped the paper in two. The cathartic sound echoed through the car and spilled out into the night air. As if loosening the stranglehold she’d exercised on her emotions for longer than she cared to remember, the tears she’d been unable to shed so far now pierced through her tightened chest into her throat.
Her fingers gained a life of their own. Two halves of paper became four, then eight. She ripped again and again, until the sheet spilled through her hands in little wisps of illegible confetti. She upended her hands and watched the mess strewn all over the passenger seat. With a jagged groan, she buried her face in her hands, expecting finally, finally, to shed a tear.
The tears never came. They remained locked inside, as they had been for the last two weeks, taunting her, punishing her for daring to wish for them when deep down she knew to cry would be shamefully, deeply disingenuous.
Because, deep inside, she felt...relieved. At a time when she should’ve been devastated, she felt a shameful lightening of being!
Slowly, she dropped her hands and stared through the windscreen. Her vision cleared and she focused on the palatial Georgian structure in front of her.
Despite its recent multi-million-pound revamp, Macdonald Hall had retained its quintessential old English charm, along with its exclusive membership-by-invitation-only Macdonald Club, and the extensive gold standard golf course that lay beyond the imposing façade.
The centuries-old establishment’s only nod to the common man was the cocktail bar, which was open to the public from seven until midnight.
Perla sucked in a deep breath and glanced down at the ripped paper. Guilt bit deep as she acknowledged how good it’d felt to let go. Just this once, to not hold herself back, to not watch her every word or smile when she felt like cursing her fate. To be normal...
The feeling wouldn’t last, of course. There was still tomorrow to get through and the next day, and the next.
Dark anguish had her reaching for her bag.
She was far enough away from home not to be recognised here. It was, after all, why she’d driven for over an hour to find a quiet spot to compose the hard-to-find words.
Granted, her journey had been futile so far. But she wasn’t ready to return home yet; wasn’t ready to face the cloying compassionate gestures and well-meaning, concerned but probing looks.
Her gaze refocused on Macdonald Hall.
One drink. Then she’d drive back home and start again tomorrow.
Opening her bag, she searched for the small brush to run it through her hair in an attempt to tame the unruly curls. When her fingers touched the tube of lipstick, she nearly dismissed it.
Scarlet wasn’t really her colour, and normally she wouldn’t even glance at one that described itself as Do Me Red; she only had the sample lipstick because it’d come free with a book purchase. She would never dare to wear anything so bold. So daring. Even on other women, she found the colour too sensual, too look-at-my-mouth.
Fingers trembling, she uncapped the tube, angled the rear-view mirror and carefully applied the lipstick. The unexpected result—the wanton, blatantly sultry image that stared back at her—had her rummaging through her bag for a tissue to reverse the damage. When she came up empty, she paused. Her gaze slowly slid back to the mirror.
Her heart hammered.
Was it so bad? Just for tonight, would it be so bad to look, to feel like someone else other than Perla Lowell, complete fraud? To forget the pain and unrelenting humiliation she’d suffered for the last three years, if only for a few minutes?
Before she could change her mind, she fumbled for the door handle and stepped out of her car into the cool night air. Her party days might be long behind her but even she knew her simple black sleeveless dress and low black pumps were appropriate for a cocktail bar on a quiet Tuesday night.
And if it wasn’t, the worst that could happen was she would be asked to leave. And right now, being thrown out of an exclusive cocktail bar where no one knew who she was would be a walk in the park compared to the monumental farce she had to go through.
A smartly dressed concierge greeted her and directed her through a parquet-floored, oak-panelled hallway to a set of old-fashioned double doors with the words Bar fashioned in burnished gold plate above them.
Another similarly dressed man opened the door and tipped his cap to her.
Feeling seriously out of her depth, Perla took fleeting note of the discreetly expensive wood and brocade décor before her eyes zeroed in on the long, low-slung bar. Seriously intimidating rows of drinks were displayed on a revolving carousel and, behind the bar, a bartender twirled a sterling silver set of cocktail shakers while chatting to a young couple.
For a split second, Perla considered turning on her heel and marching straight back out. She forced herself to take a step and another until she reached the unoccupied end of the bar. She’d come this far... Sucking in another sustaining breath, she slid onto the stool and placed her handbag on the counter.
Now what?
‘What’s a fine girl like you doing in a place like this?’
The cheese-tastic line startled a strained laugh out of her as she turned towards the voice.
‘That’s better. For a second there, I thought someone had died in here and I hadn’t been told,’ the bartender’s white smile, no doubt tailor-made to drive hormonal girls wild, widened as his gaze traced her face in blatant appraisal. ‘You’re the second person to walk in here tonight looking like you’re a fully paid-up member of the doom-and-gloom brigade.’
In another lifetime, Perla would’ve found his boyish, perfectly groomed looks charming. Unfortunately, she existed in this lifetime, and she’d learnt to her cost that the outside rarely matched the inside.
She willed her smile in place and folded her hands on top of her purse. ‘I...I’d like a drink, please.’
‘Sure thing.’ He leaned in closer and his eyes dropped to her mouth. ‘What’s your poison?’
Her gaze darted to the cocktails on display. She had no clue what any of them were. The last time she’d been in a bar like this, the drink in fashion had been Amaretto Sour. She wanted to ask for a Cosmopolitan but wasn’t even sure if that was still in vogue these days.
She gritted her teeth again and contemplated walking out. Sheer stubbornness made her stay on the stool. She’d been pushed around enough; endured enough. For far too long she’d allowed someone else to call the shots, to dictate the way she lived her life.
No more. Granted, the scarlet lipstick had been a bad idea—it was clear it drew far too much unwanted attention to her mouth—but Perla refused to let that stand in the way of this one small bolstering move.
Squaring her shoulders, she indicated a dark red drink with lots of sunny umbrellas sticking out of it. ‘I’ll have that one.’
He followed her gaze and frowned. ‘The Pomegranate Martini?’
‘Yes. What’s wrong with it?’ she asked when he continued to frown.
‘It’s a bit...well, lame.’
Her lips firmed. ‘I’ll take it anyway.’
‘Come on, let me—’
‘Give the lady what she wants,’ a low, dark drawl sounded behind her right shoulder. The smooth but unmistakable cadence in the masculine voice spelled a foreign accent, possibly Mediterranean, that caused a shiver to dance down Perla’s spine.
She froze in her seat, her back stiffening as sensation skittered over her skin.
